September blues

It’s past 1 a.m., and my time begins now.

I have Darkest Hour on repeat because I feel that melodic metalcore could purge my ears. Apathy has filled the day, leading to self-denial and disillusionment. What’s worse is I didn’t know what to do about it. I lack courage. It’s nothing new that my ex still haunts me in my dreams, at least once a week. No, I’m not keen on bringing him up, but it’s something I have to face. I have to reimagine Prince Charming and focus on him instead.

Yes, green eyes. I’m a sucker for green eyes. I dreamed of Prince Charming last night. He was a nameless blonde. I know he was Prince Charming because there was this intense moment where we were looking into each other’s eyes. I felt a spark. You have no idea how scared I get when it comes to looking people in the eyes. Are they going to eat my soul? Anyway, I felt different about Prince Charming. It was a fleeting moment, yet precious. And precious moments are ephemeral, impossible to fathom.

Then, something disastrous happened: the sex was terrible and emotionless, that I had to fake an orgasm. Secondly, every time I wasn’t looking at him, he’d suddenly be cheating on me with someone else. He’d be having sex with someone before my eyes. He would look at me when penetrating some bitch like I didn’t matter. I haven’t been that mad in my dreams for a long time. I started to build fists and attempted to hit him in the face. But I had no power; I didn’t hurt him the slightest. The anger and hate were present, but I lacked the power. I wish I’d had something sharp, like a pair of scissors. And I wish Cronos had taken over my body to give me strength. I’d have let him do the job, as I don’t have the guts. You’re free to do anything in your dreams. You should have control.

So much to Prince Charming. So much to green eyes. For some strange reason, Bluebeard comes to mind. He merely asks his wives for trust, but they all abuse it. You may call me mad for empathizing with a fictional killer. What I do is unreasonable and stubborn because I don’t know how to forgive. But family and friends deserve second chances–lovers–on the other hand–zero.

I’m looking forward to my second novel, which will be about a female surgeon, nymphomaniac and suffering from post-traumatic stress. She will be the embodiment of Cronos. Ellen Parker is her name, and she will do what needs to be done. Please remember her name, as you will hear it again in the future.

I think what totally numbed me the entire afternoon was the realisation that there was no Prince Charming. On a brighter note, there’s no one to waste my time. I’ve already wasted 1460 days of my time as a young adult. I want to be free for the next ten years, have some fun and become a better version of myself. I know it’s an easy thing to say.

My family will always come first, along with my goals. Yet, I want people to count on me as a good friend too.

I have to learn to become a better listener and work on my EQ. Apathy robs your empathy. The weird thing is that I only empathize with people when I observe them closely. I don’t like hearing them talk unless they speak in metaphors: words and descriptions, which are intense and deep. It’s more exciting when you don’t understand them. Why would you want people to understand you fully? Better they viewed you as poetry. This is why I stopped seeing my psychiatrist. He referred to who I was to the culture of my race. That is not how you explain what’s in my head. He was just one of those bastards who wouldn’t even recognize me in a crowd of Asian people. We all look the same, don’t we? At least my gynecologist recognizes me in the supermarket.

I’m still scared of ghosts. I never actually wrote the real reason down in my journal. All you knew was that I sleep with the desk lamp on. I’m scared of sleeping in the dark because this is where I feel most vulnerable. I’ve grown to hate sleeping in general. So I only go to sleep when I’m tired.

“Every night I go to bed, I get scared of ghosts. When in bed, I always face the outside to be on guard if anyone was standing in front of me.” – July 5th 09

That was the first sentence of my blog post from over a month ago. On July 28th, I had a bizarre incident that made me question my sanity. I’ve only told close people about it. However, I’m sure many people have it worse than I do. I woke up at around five. I had forced my eyes open as though escaping from a nightmare that I didn’t remember. It was a sudden wake.

I turned my head and saw a fat person standing next to my bed, wearing a red suit with tartan patterns. The streetlights didn’t reach the head, so I didn’t see the face. I’m sure it was a man. I screamed and watched this person slowly float into the ceiling. I jumped out of my bed and turned the light on. Everything had gone then. The moment I crawled back to bed, I felt it shake. I screamed and jumped out of bed again. I realized that my body shaking, not my bed.

God, I don’t want to experience that again. When going to bed every night, I turn on the desk lamp. I can’t stop thinking about it. The sight of tartan patterns makes me want to puke.

I’m scared of the night, and yet I adore it—4:08 a.m.

I want Prince Charming to give me my soul back. I want to stop living in self-denial and finally let go of the hate. But I can’t.

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