Sunday, October 28, 2018


Trigger Warning: this post discusses mental illness (in general), suicides, and self-harm. 

It might be the lack of sleep that triggers it. It might be the book that I'm currently reading. It might be that I have been cooped up in my room all weekend (even though it's only 1pm). But whatever it is, I know that I have just been sitting and standing around over the edge, kinda expecting this to happen at some point. 

What I know is that I'm not feeling that great and I'm not just saying its one of those moods that always comes and goes, this is different. This only happened a few times, even on those dark days back then. 

This heaviness on my chest is getting a bit too much and I don't know anymore how to make it go away. I know I'm still functioning and all. I know I can still study, I still enjoy reading, personal hygiene and food is still important for me, so yes, I'm basically still functioning and all despite what's been on my mind. 

Some days I just think to myself that I want it all to stop, to end it. But to end what? Do I want University to be over? Do I want this semester to be over? Do I want this heaviness and pain to end? Do I want all the hate in the world to be erased? Or all of the above and I just want it all to end, so might as well end it? 

It is the impurest thoughts out of all: to end your life. More than thinking about sex. More than thinking about conning someone. 

At least it is in my book. 

But the worst things isn't knowing that I wouldn't do it, but knowing that those thoughts creates an urge in me. A great, strong urges, to cut. 

Look, I'm not trying to be emo here. I just don't feel like I could go to anyone about this. They will just try to make me feel better so that they could feel better. They will just have this look on their face that kind of says, "seriously?" or "what the fuck? Stop being so bloody emo." They just wouldn't really understand. But most of all, even if they could understand, I have too many shits that I don't even understand myself and for the life of me wish could be fixed, yet telling them all of these just wouldn't change a single thing. Just sort of stalling the inevitable. So, I guess after all this time, it's the reason why I'm back here, writing it all down again.

Getting tired of talking. Getting tired thinking in poetry and prose. We're back to basics. Fun. 

But do you know what's frustrating about all this? It's no longer different moments. These moments of dark thoughts are no longer happening on different time when I'm "functioning". So I'm basically just fucking basics just like everyone else. I'm a fucking functioning, suicidal (-ish), self-harming, whatever else label I should put in there to describe myself. So, I can't tell anymore when I'm actually doing okay or when I'm having "one of those days". Because I can be okay one moment, and I kid you not, the second after, all these intrusive thoughts just barge in and I'm just there. Helpless. Confused. 

With all the issues I'm having with myself, I mean, the identity crisis alone is honestly taking so much of my energy. I honestly can't handle all of these intrusive thoughts/urges. I'm also tired of asking for help if once again, I don't get any answers, let alone get rid of all these inside. 

So, yes. It's taking everything I have to stop myself from hurting myself. I mean, I have enough scars already and it just doesn't look pretty, okay? Yes, yes. Of course I care about my appearance. Geez. And I really don't want to see the look on those I love. The look that says sigh in a look form. The look that says, "why didn't you come to me? I could've helped. I am so sorry. And you should feel sorry too." Who else is tired of that look, because I am. But I love them for it because it means they still care. I just can't really bring myself to talk to them. I just don't want to listen to the sound of their voice that says they think I'm just looking for attention, but thought against saying those out loud. 

This inadequacy is getting a bit much. I'm going back to my book. Thanks for reading, if anyone is still (if ever) reading this. 

If you're triggered by this post, I suggest you seek help, which is probably something I should do. Like soon. I'll try. Promise. 

— It's taking everything I have to stop myself. It's taking everything I have to help myself. 

Yours truly. x

Monday, March 12, 2018


"I understand being tired sih tapi sometimes I wonder kenapa you always feel like shit cause truthfully, you're way better than most of the people I've met and that's definitely nothing to be insecure about. I mean you've gone trough a lot but you've survived!!!! and that basically justifies your worth. if only you can see how great you are." –S.K.T.

A best friend of mine said that to me maybe three years ago or so and I probably already wrote her words in some other post or writings. But that only proves how her words still lift me up, more than anyone else's could, until this day. We don't talk as much anymore, but as I am embarking on a journey and embracing my life as an undergrad student, she's graduating soon and am sure she will do an even better, greater things afterwards because she already is; because in ways I hope she knows, she inspired me and her drive encourages me to never give up and always working hard towards all the things I want in life. That I should always work hard for everything, not taking it all for granted.

The last one week or so my emotional state was in many ways unstable. Once again it fluctuates between the extremes. The reason why I'm writing this is because, although it is harder to write it this way, but it is easier to understand. But that is all I can hope for: easier to be understood. Because I spend my life feeling misunderstood, abandoned, forgotten, and as if all these words I had in me is simply a thing to be ignored. As if every time a word came out of my mouth, what happened is it became a white noise, as if I speak in a different frequency than all of these people; as if I don't speak clear enough, or loud enough for these people to hear me, that is why, with a confused look on their faces, they don't say a word before they turn their backs on me. Or sometimes, they have this look on their faces that say they simply don't care of what I just said.

As much as I try to control it, it never happens the way I want it. But when everything else around me is falling apart, I would like to have something that can give me a sense of control. That is why I plan. Plan and plan and plan. Then when everything around me feels like it's standing still, while I'm the one that is falling apart, I write and read and write and read. I tell the pages of my books the things I don't say out loud; the things that are hard to say; the things that make people feel uncomfortable; the things that people don't understand. I tell the pages of my books the things I don't understand and know how to explain and make someone understand. I tell the pages of my books the things I wish can be understood, easily, but in reality, not. All these pages and books, rescue me from my own self. They guide me to where I needed to go. They cheer me up and cheer me on. They gave me a home when a home doesn't even feel like home.

So I put my pen down for awhile and taking a momentary break from writing what is harder to be said in poetry, and coming back to a familiar place to write.

As was said, the last one week or so my emotional state fluctuates and was is very much unstable. This last one year, I really thought I have manage my mood better but this period of fluctuation didn't come in waves like it usually do, but it comes in like a storm—unannounced, wrecking havoc from within. Uninvited bleak, and obtrusive feelings and thoughts flooded in. I woke up every day for the last seven days feeling worthless, a failure, dumb, untalented, incompetent, and the unfortunate familiar thoughts of simply feeling not enough. I walked around feeling like nobody wants me—as their friend, as their girlfriend, as their anyone—and how they probably think I'm a horrible person while also thinking of how they, and myself, are sabotaging my life—i.e. paranoid.

I want to be me; unapologetically be me. But in times when your mind could not even be trusted, it is easier to listen to the cruel voice inside. In moments of clarity, I apologized to myself for listening to them; for not trying hard enough to come out of the storms unwounded; for making the wound deeper. Because the worse the episode, and the deeper the wound, the more I grew silent about it. The worse it gets, the more I want to keep it to myself because it is easier to unapologetically be me when you're not forced to be anybody else; when no one asks you to be anybody else—in a way that doesn't make them feel any discomfort, or makes yourself feel like a burden to them more than you already are especially by telling them your sad and pathetic story. Also, it is easier to keep it all to yourself because then you don't have to have all these expectations of them understanding you and all these expectations that maybe, just maybe, that you will get better. To be fair, while it didn't always last, I did get better even if for a little while.

All my life I have learned to suffer in silence, it's the only way I know how. I have this habit of mine that is in some unseen ways destructive—instead of saying things out loud, I stay quiet. The more complicated it is, the harder it is to be said, the more I keep it to myself. As sometimes our thoughts imprison us from doing whatever it is we wanted to do, from saying the thing that is not should left unsaid, and the worst part is, sometimes from letting us grow or simply keeping us away from happiness and closer to sorrow. Then, someone asked me of what I want from them and today he asked what he can do to make things better. Instead of answering it, I grew silent. I have all these things in my head, all these words, and all these sentences. But I cannot have what I want. He cannot give me what I want that would probably make things better which is for everything to never happen in the first place, because it already did and time travel isn't really possible so that's that, why bother to even say it. So he decided to leave and I wasn't surprised by his action. Just like having the expectation that he will understand after all the poetry that I wrote (but didn't); the expectation that he will never make me feel like shit on my own birthday (but did); the expectation that he will never hurt me in ways I wish he didn't (but did); leaving was the thing that was expected, staying this long was on my desired list but it wasn't on the expectation list.

My friend once was so perplexed by my coldness and cynical way of seeing love, she (or he, I couldn't remember who said it, to be perfectly frank with you) said to me, "I don't know what's wrong with you. I don't know how you can be so cold because I know you want to feel something. But why do you build up a wall so high no one can climb it? Why do you push people away? It's like you exile everyone before they can even knock on your door. Why?" to this very day I still have no idea how to answer that in a short way because I'm not even sure I can even explain it with the long version. Can anyone explain it to me why? Why do I push people away? Why is it that I would rather choose to not give a fuck than feeling it all? Why is it that I would rather choose to not talk about things that I know needed to be talked about and dismiss it as if it's not important enough for me anymore when it still is? Tell me. I would like to know the answer to the things I don't even know and too tired to listen to what myself have to say about because it hurts too much already. That is also why I don't mind writing for myself. I don't mind writing myself a love letter because no one can reach the deepest part of my darkest thoughts, except me and I think that is okay. So maybe I should stop writing, not completely. I will still write but I will simply stop writing about you and for you. Maybe then you don't have to understand—or tries to–what goes on inside this head of mine. Maybe the best way to love you is to release you from all these expectations and all these burden. Maybe the best way to understand you is grew silent about my pain and scars. And you know, you expect people to disappoint you, but then what if you one day wake up and realised that you are the disappointment? So maybe, being me—carrying all the unwanted package—isn't the best way to approach this, maybe the best way to be the best for you is to not be me.

The worst distance that could happen between someone is one that is caused by misunderstanding and miscommunication. I have always known that from time to time you need to show and tell someone how you feel and yes, some people will eventually leave because they don't understand the silence you're creating. But in moments of clarity, I hoped that there is still some good people around and if I'm lucky enough, at that moment I wish to someday found that good person and they won't leave no matter what happens. But then again, we still need words and not just noises to understand the silence we don't understand. I truly do cherish every moment that we spend together; all your imperfection; your strength, passion and patience; the surreal quality of your complex mind; the beauty of your smile; and I cherish you as a person, that is kind and gentle. I truly and utterly thankful to have you in my life and I once also wrote, "you're the only temporary thing in my life that I want to make permanent." I stand true to my words, even after all the pain I cause you and you cause me. I want to be bound to you and only you. I don't know how else to convince you how much I love you. But I guess it's not a matter of being persuasive, it's a matter of being enough or not and maybe all of it wasn't enough. Maybe complexity isn't for you.

It pains me that I have to look to another person or place and take refuge in them because you cannot give me the warmth that I needed and the air for me to breathe. It pains me that you think I don't appreciate you and all the things you have done for me. It pains me that you think I don't try to understand you as much as you try to understand me. It pains me that there is a high probability in order for me to heal and to release you from the immense expectations I put on you, is by stop writing about and for you. It pains me that you drink to cope from me, while I cut to cope with my pain. It pains me that you made me feel unappreciated with my writings. It pains me that you have to make me happy out of obligation. It pains me that my pain causes you pain. It pains me that my burden becomes yours. It pains me that you don't get the best thing that you truly deserve from me. Yet it also pains me that some days, you turn out to be just like everyone and hurts me. It pains me. Writing this pains me. But compared to my poetry, maybe it will be easier for you to understand. If it didn't, then I will truly, for the last time, truly release you and will once again only write mostly for myself. But when that happens, don't blame me or wonder why I don't write about you anymore or for you anymore. When it happens, don't ask me to write about you or for you again. When it happens, don't hate me for it. To be release is what you wanted, and will be your choice.

In so many ways, I wish to be proven wrong but just like you I, unfortunately, don't always get to experience that. But that's okay, because I have been keeping myself warm and helping myself breathe when it aches all over, and I'm afraid I can do it again.

Much love,
C.L. xxx

Thursday, January 4, 2018


I don't write as much these days and when I told him this, he grew sad and said that he felt guilty. He felt guilty for helping me get better emotionally, and when my emotional state is better, the writing seems to stop. I laughed when he said that to me though because I don't know whether him feeling guilty is the sweetest thing or just the weirdest thing.

A lot of sweet words were said, but not without arguing about the little things, about the big things, and basically about everything. There were times when we hurt each other (some were unintentional, but there were some that were intentional. I regrettably, of course, did most of the intentional one), but we keep coming back to each other every time and tends each other's wounds. From the first moment that we talked, I can feel as if everything starts to fall into place. That first grinned that felt like the calmest wave in a storm, and the dreamy look he gave as he watches me admiring and enjoying the rain and simply whenever.

A friend of mine asks me today, whether all the hurtful things a lot of people (guys in particular) ever said and did, were worth it after all. She doesn't have to ask and no one needs to remind me how worth it, it all was. I mean, it would be great to not have to go through one bullshit after another, but without the struggles, I don't think I'll be as appreciative and careful with this. Because of those who know me might know whom this writing is about. I am actually holding something back as it is my private life after all and I guess since the beginning I was always careful when it comes to writing about him, even if it is poetry. There are the instinct and sense of wanting to keep him to myself as he is mine and mine alone, at least for the time being. Yet I also have this intricate sense of want and need of wanting to share what I have with him to the world and make the world envious of it. Sounds more like the intricate sense of paradoxes and my head is filled with too much poetry, prose, and to be honest, science essay that I don't know how much of my writing makes some sense and good and not pretentious and crap.

But yes, he can be the thickest person ever. Though he has his moments when everything that he said and did is the sweetest things. Without even trying he can do and say the right thing and what I needed to hear. Without even trying, he can do and say what I needed to hear to tear down the walls I've built against those who didn't have the truest intentions and against love. Being with someone who made you believe and reminded you every single day that not only magic is real but its always within your reach as it can be found in you and everywhere you go, its always going to be there as long as you believe, is the most exhilarating thing—and for lack of a better word, its bloody magical.

I'm not hundredth percent sure how it will all end—or begin—as only time will tell and no sweet words can ever be enough. No 'I love you' can ever be enough. But telling you that I think I am ready, at least emotionally, might be enough. Yes?

As I am the gladdest thing under the sun as you cast your fragrance and radiance over me. I am delicate in all the right ways whenever you're around and there can always be a thousand prayers being said for you and about you but I am thankful for all the thousands of prayers I've uttered that leads me right to you. To a home that keeps calling and one that wanted to stays forever.

But only time will tell.

Yours truly x

Tuesday, December 5, 2017


After so many times being disappointed by people and life, your head is filled with the many possibilities how things could go wrong and all the possibilities how this and that might not work out, that we forget to think about the possibility that it might work out. What then? Will you be able to make the most of it and simply take a chance? Or are you simply going to walk away because of the fear of being happy? 

Saturday, November 25, 2017


I had been having great birthdays the last couple of years after I had a week of episodes on my 17th birthday; I put no expectation, I made plans and the day turned out pretty alright. But not this year. I made a plan that simply turned yesterday into a day that I was afraid of having: full of tears and ended with cutting and suicidal thoughts. WTF, I know. I don't like it more than you do.

I welcome twenty-one with a drink on one hand and words of reassurance on the other. I'm not even kidding that most of those people who called themselves my friends, legit forget about my birthday. Hey, I get it you're busy but even my own best friend only texted me saying, "omg it's your birthday!!!" and then nothing else. Am I the only one seeing the problem here??? justify it all you want but that's just wrong man. come on. I never needed a gift, but wishes from those who said and claimed to love me matter, always. And the one person that I thought would at least made my day better, even with the time difference, he decided to sleep through the day. Out of 24 hours +7hours from the time difference, we've only talked for about 15 minutes. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but for once I wished those—who makes me feel this way—the same pain and bitterness.

Another year has passed but a birthday is only an excuse to make people feel bad about themselves because as you get older, the more you and your bday being forgotten. This is why I keep saying to someone that I don't have him, not really. Because at the end of the day, especially these kinds of days, all I have is myself and no one else. Not your boyfriend, not your best friend, not your closest friends. Because people need to stop making such a big deal like birthday especially with one that has a specific age like 16, 17, 18 or 21. Like I'm just getting more wrinkle and getting closer to my death, and birthday sucks big time in the first place so don't put too much expectation on a specific age/birthday. People make a big deal out of something and they tend to forget to meet it or at least tries to meet it and then when the person who says that they shouldn't make a big deal out of something gets a bit excited about it, they decided to not fucking show up on the D-day. Which is a legit definition of what the fuck. So that is how I spend my twenty-first birthday, alone and bitter and in tears and heartbroken and disappointed, and ended up watching so many series episodes and eating fast food cs the person who supposed to have a movie date with you (this was my plan this year to avoid any episode cs I tend to have one on or after my bday) decided to sleep through your birthday when he knows how you feel about yesterday (he better be comatose or something men. this is not what I would have called as resting). Yet, I can't be upfront about my disappointment and bitterness because how can a birthday trumps death? Can't fucking with this. I'm just so damn done.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017


God sends hope 
in the most desperate moments. 
God show me light
through the imperfection of a man.
as you, are possibly one of
the best gift
a God has given me, 
as I prayed and he listens. 
So walk with me, 
love me inside out
let me see the light filling 
your brown eyes, to colour
the sky with every colour
than just blue, grey, and red. 
be a home that keeps calling,
be a home that stays forever. 
be a home, for me
and I, for you.


Saturday, August 19, 2017


banyak yang di rasa gpp
tapi coba mengurangi 
hal-hal yang sbnrnya diluar kontrol 
dan seharusnya cukup dijalanin aja.

mencoba untuk bisa lebih mengerti
mana yang cukup, kurang, dan berlebihan.
mencoba lebih baik lagi menjaga dia
yang memberi harapan,
yang mengisi ruang,
yang membuat hidup jd penuh 
dengan warna yg lebih baik.
terus mencoba untuk selalu jadi lebih baik 
bukannya kembali menjadi diri yang dulu
yang cuma mengerti pahit dan apa yang mengoyak hati,
yang asing dgn sesuatu (dan seseorang) yang menenangkan jiwa.

coba untuk bisa berhenti sejenak
mencoba untuk berdiam
untuk memahami, menyadari
apa yang tersembunyi
apa yang sulit untuk di ucap
dan apa yang lebih baik.

mencoba untuk bisa membedakan
fakta dan rasa.
perlahan mencoba,
perlahan terbentuk dan menjadi
yang lebih baik, lebih kuat, 
lebih berwarna, lebih bermakna.