Just writing

I don’t remember when was the last time I wrote something about myself. Maybe months? I don’t know.

It’s hard to be in a situation where you start invalidating your own self.

What am I even doing? Was this all I ever wanted? Am I suppose to feel this way? Is it the right thing to do?

I started questioning myself that I sometimes chose not to do anything. Just exist.

Doing something irrelevant to my being. Unnecessary work. Things that won’t remind me of being me.

Am I making even sense?

I guess not. Maybe I’ll just put this in a way how chaotic these words are in my head right now.

I’ve been through a lot no one knows about. Not because I don’t like sharing things about me but because I did hope I have someone to talk to.

Then I came up with an idea that everyone has their own baggages to carry. And that’s when I told myself it’s okay.

You have yourself.

Even though sometimes I hate seeing myself.

You cannot get away with who you are. You can try to keep out of your shell sometimes, but being away from it for a long time makes you dead. So we need to keep coming back.

Even though you will be leaving something, or someone, behind, it’s alright.

You will never know when you will get to meet again.

So maybe…

It is a good idea to keep a journal.

Write something about your day, even if you just finished one season of your favorite series.

Write something about the three good things happened, even if you just made yourself a hot coffee.

Write something about the hours you wasted looking at the ceiling the entire day.

Write something, so you could talk about it with someone someday.

Even though there are things that you wish never happened.

Now I realized what was my reason why I stopped writing.

I wished I never happened.

I was hoping of discrediting my narrative in this lifetime.

There’s nothing worth sharing about my life.

Because I regret a lot of things I did, and things I did not do.

I find it difficult to breathe, like I was gasping for more air.

That is how it was. Remembering things that caused you too much pain.

But we cannot escape forever.

We need to settle.

I should stop doing things for others.

I should stop writing for the sake of someone to read me.

I should write to understand myself.

And so I tried again.