September 29, 2002 ~ 10:51 p.m.
Feeling:
Oh damn I need to write...damn damn dammit I just have to...
I did it again. Oh help me God I've done it again. I know I've told myself this before, but there are just times when I have to. I read a friend's diary. And it scared me. I know my friend wouldn't want to worry me, but the entry was open, public, and I read it. But maybe I shouldn't have. But then again...it made me discover something.
Somehow...my sense of empathy is getting stronger. Either that, or I'm really paranoid. The effects have worn down after I read that entry. After skimming through most of the entry, it hit me right in my heart. Finding out about my friends' or certain people's problems and how the emotion may be sad or angry, it makes me teary, I tremble, my blood runs cold and my heart feels like an arrow got lodged in it. I've calmed down now...
I don't know if these...'symptoms' are a good or bad thing. Most likely it's a bad thing...it's not good for my health. Ha, like I'd care at all about my health...I try. But not enough to probably let me live to my 90s. Maybe even if I changed my personal health habits and became really healthy in the future I probably wouldn't live to be too old. But I'll stop the negative words here.
Reading some things...it just kills me. Literally tries to rip my heart and soul out of my body. Because it hurts that bad. Times when I continue to tell myself to pay attention to my own needs and self-improvement, doesn't stop my curiosity or my will to see how my friends are doing. After all, it was their choice to put their thoughts and feelings into public just as I do. But I just want to get through to them.
My aforementioned friend in particular...in real life, we are completely different. Yet, we have some things in common. We both try to appear 'content and happy' in public, when in secrecy, we're depression-torn souls that constantly search for something to make it all stop. Sometimes, one of us will go to the other just to talk, because we don't seem to have any other friends that could understand.
Well...I like my life. I was created by God, born as I am, and I've accepted it. Lately I've become busy, and made it so that I have a lot of things I can be proud of, to make my parents proud, to have my friends see that I am a good person, a good role model. Yet...my emotions run wild and are torn in many ways. I like the things that I do, but I do know sometimes I don't want to do them because I need some spiritual time to myself. Times when I need to do some 'soul-searching'. That's why I have my religion. I have my church, my youth group to give me the opportunity to give me these days of 'retreats' when I know that I myself cannot do it alone.
I'd better get back on track here. My friends...I love them all dearly, I'd want to do anything/everything for them, but I know I can't. I can only do what I can. Some of whom, have public online diaries, and once in a while, we read each other's thoughts and see how the other is doing. This seems ok, sometimes it's nice to read about someone else's life. Sometimes not.
For me...it's a bullet to my chest. So help me I'm personally torturing myself to have to read about someone else's troubles or depressions. But then again, I am never really prepared for the unexpected. Still...I'm only sitting behind a computer screen, reading little letters and words, trying to contemplate my own life after that of the person I just read about.
It hurts me so to see my friends go through that...it hurts me more to have to go through the same thing and feel that pain. It just fills me up again.
I'd let it out once in a while...through tears. Though they never seem to end. I kept on thinking I'd get rid of my tears if I cried often enough. Last Tuesday, I poured out most of my burdens, I told most of everything I felt to my dad. Because I had a terrible night that time. So many family problems hurting me that time, I couldn't handle it and I was shaking and I tried to hold back the tears.
I told my dad a lot of things about how I felt. Some of the things archived within this very diary. He gave me advice. Some words of which I would never forget. But then again, telling him only so much only helped for a little while. It seems as if I constantly need someone to cry to. Yet I have no one. I could talk to my dad again, but I'm feeling ashamed to have to keep on telling him constantly. Besides, there should be other things I need to talk to him about and settle. He has his own things to worry about.
I was so tired that night, I couldn't even do my math homework, (which resulted the next day in my math teacher telling my parents at a parent/teacher conference meeting that I didn't do it, but my teacher was kind enough to let it pass, and I did finish it for him the next day) and the rest of the week was hell. I felt like sharp metal poles were being forced into my brain during classes. At least I managed to stay awake.
I guess I knew I'd go through this again. Maybe I'll never get over this. At least I still have something to keep me going.
I once received a note from a friend, saying something like that there are two types of people in this world: those who know not what to do except write about things they could do, and those who don't have time to write about the things they do because they are out doing them. I might have the quote a bit wrong, and I don't remember the author.
So why aren't we doing that? Why aren't we...
Can't take this crap anymore...
Torn
Staying Strong
Heavenly Music
A Filipino Drunkard's Party
Living life »»†«« in solitude...
