Raw

It's 3am. And I'm still awake. I was rolling in bed, compelling myself to sleep but I couldn't.

I could feel my thoughts racing, and there's just so much to say.

I really am the night owl, huh.

I crawled out of bed, turned my lights on and opened up my laptop.

I'm writing this with squinting eyes, still adjusting to my lit room.

I haven't written anything in a long time. 

I remember how it used to be – I used to be so excited to blog about my days, writing about everything and anything, whether it was interesting or not, whether people were reading it or not.

But I stopped.

And that's a story for another day.

I have so much to tell, but it has always seemed like no one has always been interested in whatever I had to say. Maybe that forced me into my shell. And whenever I tried to speak, I would always get interrupted or spoken over. And that would force me deeper into my shell.

I wasn't always an introvert.

I used to be this crazy, bold, gusty girl, who wore her heart on her sleeve, and said whatever came to mind.

I mean, I still do wear my heart on my sleeve. Still that trusting, naive girl. But I'm more reserved now. Sometimes you can see moments of my extrovert side popping out – when I try making small talks with strangers, when I get excited to make new friends, or when you see me speaking out instead of keeping quiet. Then I'll feel embarrassed and retreat back into my shell.

I miss that old me.

I don't know if it's because I've grown up – or matured, if I could say so myself – knowing that I can't just say what I want anymore without getting into trouble. But it also felt like a part of me died.

Now I just keep quiet and I don't even stand up for myself anymore. At times, I don't even recognise myself anymore. I beat myself up knowing that I should and could have said something when I didn't. It was as if I was locked up in a glass cage, watching a movie of my life. Then banging on those glass walls, screaming at myself, to do something, to say something – only to be answered by silence.

Now I'm just so jaded. Maybe it's because I know whatever I want to say will always be rebutted with an excuse. Or it's just that humans are really the scariest thing on Earth, and nothing in the world is going to change anyway. So what's the point of speaking out? The world's still gonna be spinning, eh?

I don't even remember what was the purpose of this post anymore. It's more of a word vomit post, which I've been doing too frequently. But at least I'm getting how I'm feeling out in the open. And I guess that's healthy?

I've been so used to bottling things up until I finally explode, and the consequences are irreversible. So maybe this is better for me.

Maybe it's finally time for me to start opening up again. And I know deep down that writing will help me get there.

I don't know. We'll see.

Is it normal that my smile no longer reaches my eyes?

Is it normal to no longer love yourself?

Is it normal to just want to feel that you will no longer be happy and all you want to do is burst out crying?

Is it normal to just want to die?

I can feel myself decaying and fading away.

I don’t have any drive in me.

I don’t have any spark in me.

I don’t have any hope in me.

I don’t have any joy in me.

I don’t have any life in me.

I know I need to talk. Speak. Confide. But I don’t want to, I can’t. It’s not in my nature.

I have everything, yet I have nothing.

I feel everything, yet I feel nothing.

I know no one reads this anymore, so this is my safe space to say that I feel like life isn’t really worth living. 

I have never deemed life so bleak and pointless before.

I’m just so tired.

Mould

I realise now why I don't actually use social media as much (other than just posting stories on IG & FB).

It's not that I'm private or busy. Well, actually I'm kinda busy with work and I spend the rest of my time playing games, or other ways trying to keep my sanity. But it's because I don't wanna see my friends' updates. I don't wanna get upset and be jelly seeing how everyone has got their shit together, their lives together, and/or are doing what they love.

I love my friends and I'm glad that their lives are going so well, but I can't genuinely congratulate them as long as that tiny, little speck of green envy. I love that they're happy, but I hate that they're happy too. Because that's what I want, too. And it's ugly. It's ugly and I hate that and it makes me a bad friend, and even a bad person. Eventually, this green speck will grow and spread - covering and dampening my spirits and my spirit.

Ultimately, I do know that I only have myself to blame for not taking the leap when I was younger, or even now. The idealistic me knows that it's always better late than never. There are so many stories of people just waking up one day realising that enough is enough. So they leave their jobs and just do whatever they wanted. 

I doubt my choice of career daily because I wanted a job with decent pay at 23. And now 3rd job in, I'm stuck because I can't see myself going back to the drawing block and starting from scratch. I say it's because it's not practical financially, but maybe it's my ego.

How do I, at 29, go back to being an intern in a new industry? Yet at the same time, everyday I feel unfulfilled and unhappy. I miss being young and carefree, when I had so many passions, dreams and hopes - when the the world was your oyster and you feel limitless and invincible. 

Back when I was at my first job, I felt trapped after 3 years, like I wasn't sure if this was what I wanted to do. I was having a quarter life crisis, so I quit and just went on a break. I had no goals, except for travelling ones, I spent my days playing games, chilling and took on part-time jobs to help fund my pockets. I was having the time of my life and I made decisions that were bold and outrageous. 6 months later, I got another job and even though the company sucked, the company of my colleagues was amazing. But eventually, everyone started leaving and I'm now on my 3rd job. Looking back, I had a great time with my colleagues and even had great relationships with my managers. But what made me unhappy was the fact that I wasn't doing what I liked. I also realised that great colleagues and teammates definitely helped me last a lot longer in a place which wasn't adding value to me as a person (not career-wise), but it can only be for so long. Now, I'm still stuck in a job that I know does well for me career-wise, but it doesn't make me feel genuinely happy. And due to Covid, I don't meet my colleagues as frequent as we would pre-Covid, and our interactions at a personal level is very low. It has been a year, but I don't know how long more I can hang on.

I am extremely grateful for all the luck and opportunities I was and have been given, and I do know the people I surround myself with want to see me grow and be fulfilled. But why do I still feel so empty? Void.

I love being financially independent. I love having a safety net. I love knowing what's coming up.

Yet at the same time, I miss reading and writing. I miss singing. I miss being free. 

And most of all, I miss being happy.