Losing my will.

Months back, sitting here in front of my beloved laptop and typing away, was the greatest bliss one day could procure. Now, it seemed like that will has been locked behind the chains of woes and lament that bound this pathetic heart of mine. You might ask the reason of this post here, which obviously contradicted with my above-said reasons, so let me tell you this; for the first time I’m typing something for the sake of maintaining the welfare of this blog, which is under threat of once more dropping itself into an empty and meaningless site.

Funny, though. I’ve always constantly told myself that pain is the greatest drive to write; under the suffocating torment of depression the greatest way to breathe freely is to express oneself, and in my case, with words. But now I’m losing my will to write/type, and the main cause of it is due to my constant barrage of misery from these few days. The ideas are not coming, and the older ideas were cast under a shadow of obscurity so that no light can be shed to it. Even stringing words together is losing its flow, the beauty of it somehow marred by the muck that draws it back. Losing this will is adding on my depression as well. What is happening to me?

Come to think of it, it’s pathetic. The problems I’m facing are merely kindergarten compared to the crisis one faces in the age of adults & maturing teens. It’s no heartbreak. It’s no money-crisis. It’s no I-want-to-down-a-bottle-of-Dettol problems. And yet I’m depressed over it. Wuss.

Her smiles don’t seem to have the same effect anymore. That is, because she doesn’t seem to smile at me that much anymore (and why should she? I’m disgusting). Perhaps her seemingly eager to ignore me has drowned her smile, making it distorted. I’m annoying her, perhaps. Or maybe I disgust her. Maybe I just piss her off by standing around trying to make conversation. Feels like I’m faltering below regular friends. Feels like I’m merely just a friendly classmate, whom she can have a couple of jokes about and walk away, whom she can ask if she borrow something or do a small favour and then say a thanks. I can’t blame her. I blame myself. Me and my chicken-ass guts. Me and my idiocy. Me and my inability to just have a conversation.

Cousin Ivan said I should just go on and confess, ignoring the answers and just let the consequences come what may. I’m still under an illusion that I can still make her see, and somehow notice me. But then, suddenly, both seem so irrelevant. In fact, I don’t really care anymore. Yes, I still have her in my heart, and once in a while my mistakes stung. It’s just that her face doesn’t appear within so often as before, and I can tell myself, “So what if I don’t have her?” Perhaps I should just let her slide away from my feelings. Still, I’m tempted (or disillusioned, perhaps) to just walk up to her and tell her, then without caring for an answer, let things come what may. My friendship with her is faltering badly enough already. A little more won’t change a thing.

So tell me, my dear readers. Confess or let it be?

Dad’s been comparing me to Jasmine, my cousin, super-study person with excellent exam results and highest academic future in the history of my family and relatives. She recently won some poetry recitation at UTAR, and appeared on the paper. Dad said “Look, people achieved something. What have you done?” as usual. Normally it’s OK (he’ll compare me to teenage geniuses that managed to invent the first prototype solar toilet-paper refilling canteen, or something of the sort), but it’s my cousin now, 2 years or so younger, perfect student, perfect academic achievements, perfect family nerd (sorry, I dun mean that). If he was trying to fuel me to achieve something better, he failed miserably. I doubt my abilities to do better. But I’ll show him one day, something that’ll make him see that what I’ve set out for, no matter how improperly irrelevant to him.

I can’t seem to study as well, not unless I bandage my hands as a reminder that I have things to mend (which is starting a debate within my family that I’m going mental, or becoming increasingly weird). I don’t care what they think; it works, that bandage thing. Who said anime never teach you good stuff? What the heck. I’m going crazy.

I just realised that I have yet to complete my April’s Fool story, and I have 5 unfinished ideas. My writing is not improving. It’ll be a long, long time before I start on novels…

Have a nice day, people.