Personal Paradox

Hey X,

I feel unwanted today. Like a broken toy or an old piece of clothing. Dusty. Worn out. Torn. Out of place. Replaceable. I don’t know if it is normal to feel all these bad things at once. What I am sure of is that this is something I wouldn't want any person I love to feel.

I also feel helpless. No power. No means to actually create a fire, let alone spark a plug.

I feel numb and hurt both at the same time. I cannot explain why and I feel embarrassed even to myself to admit why.

I guess this is the price you have to pay when you are aloof, frigid, cold, and emotionally distant. When you push people away and far from you.

But sometimes, all I want is for them to pull me closer the harder I push them away. Sometimes, all I want is for them to need me back.

And yet again, I am selfish and I always ask for too much.

Not that you listen but thanks,

N

Of burgers and tears

Dear X,

I cannot talk about things like this to anyone that even my shrink tells me I am being illogical. So I am writing this down here just in case someone understands. I’m going to start calling you X from now on because I do not know and I couldn’t be sure who is reading this, whether someone does, so I’m going to start referring to you as the variable ‘X’.

My dad just brought me my favorite burger not over an hour ago. And my reaction was more of horror than thankful. I figured he had to leave work early today and I hope it is not because he finds a need to buy me a freaking burger. Thing is, he brought me this big burger which I am fond of eating before, which I never eat anymore. And that has to mean one thing after his question early this morning before we went for our usual run.

I am not sure what gave him the idea but he asked me if I slept in late last night. I can’t bring myself to look in the mirror to check if my eyes are puffy or red or both. If that’s what gave everything away. I didn't know I slept crying last night, like I didn't know that I do for the past months. I answered ‘no’ and he didn't give a fuss anymore.

I respect so much of my dad, more so for respecting my privacy and not asking too many questions that’s only going to make me tear up. The last thing I want to do is to cry in front of my parents. But I guess, my silence is worst than my crying itself. I do not know if my mom has told him of why I am like this (not that I said much), whatever I am like these days or for the past months. Why I find it necessary to go home whenever I can (because I cannot be left alone in my dorm room, because I will just start crying and bawling and shrinking into a ball and cry all over again). Why I push myself to run at least a mile a day or until my legs hurt. Why I do not eat or sleep or talk too much like I used to. Why I always ask for hugs. Why I cut my hair. Why I am not the same happy person that I once was.

I can only hope that they do not worry about me. Another thing I don’t want them to do is to worry about me, not when they are leaving in a few months.

Are dads always like this? Do they easily pick up what troubles their daughters? Do they sense that they are hurt or sad or feeling abandoned? Do they really feel something is wrong even if we do not speak of it?

Daddy, I know you are not ever going to read this but thank you. Thank you for all these. For not asking more than what I can answer, for keeping me on my feet, for always making me feel that I am worth it and that I am worthy of all the love in this world. I love you and I love that I will always be your girl.

I love you that much that I ate half of the burger even if I didn’t want to. I ate it even if it made me feel sick and that it was hard for me to stomach it. Partly, I ate it because I do not want you to worry and I do not like you thinking that something is wrong (even when there is truly something wrong).

I hope this is the first and last burger. Not only because I do not want to eat it, but also because I do not think the burger is going to help me get that space between my thighs. :)

Love you Dad,

Wanina

Of pain and getting inked

Hey you, if anyone’s out there, if anyone still stumbles into this blog I keep for my sanity, if anyone still bothers to read,

I want to get a tattoo. No, that’s not it. I will get a tattoo. Get myself inked. Not a henna. A real one, the type that uses those scary needles to beautifully scar your skin with a solid black color.

I have been thinking about this for a few months now. And I think, at the back of my mind I have always wanted one. And I know that people who know me personally would not approve should they find out. My parents would freak out. My dad mostly and seeing my tattoo might give him a coronary. As for my mom, I don’t know. I think she’ll hate me for a while but I don’t think there’s anything they can do since you can’t erase it (unless they’d rather see me with big keloid scars over where the tattoo used to lay). As for my friends, I guess they’d keep an open mind. As for my future lover who will see it one way or another, I can only hope that he won’t judge. After all, I feel empowered by getting one. I feel that my current state of pain and helplessness will be gone once and for all if I get through the pain of getting inked. Well, maybe, maybe not. I can only hope that he’d still see me for what and who I really am despite the thing marked on my skin.

So for ideas…

I want a tattoo on my wrist. Not yet sure of what. Not yet sure whether on the right one or left but that’s not what worries me. I am a nurse and people tend to really judge people with inks, let alone a nurse who has one on her wrist. So, um, I guess not.

I want an anchor tattoo. A simple anchor. This is more of a symbolism and I don’t think it is necessary to explain what an anchor symbolizes. This would look good on my lower back, left or right, I have yet to decide.

Or maybe a good phrase from a good book I have read. Or a song lyric. Not sure what exactly since most of my favorite quotes from a book or lyrics from a song are sentences long. And what worries me with this is what if I don’t believe in that saying anymore? Nevertheless, I think another option is getting one on my inner torso.

Birds. Birds. I can’t even begin to start to talk about how this is my best idea for a tattoo. Birds. Again, this is a symbolism. A bird flies and is free. And that is basically what I think I am – free. I am in awe of these beautiful bird tattoos on the back and since there aren't really rules that say you can’t copy someone’s tattoo, I think I’ll get this one.

I know I have to think and rethink about this more. I got time. I feel like getting one for my birthday or before my birthday. Or when my parents are no longer here in the country that they can’t chastise me for being so reckless, not that I think getting inked is reckless.

I haven’t even thought about the pain. I am not afraid of needles and I think I have a degree of tolerance to pain. I think getting pins of needles on your bare skin can mask whatever pain one has. But nevertheless, I can only hope that that future lover of mine won’t not only judge but kiss that tattoo of mine as he kisses all my pain goodbye, as I tell him my story. :)

x,

N