throwback - Oct 10, 2012: hello doctors.

i tend to keep my doors open for too long,
give too many chances,
tolerate too much.
that's how i've degraded myself, i guess.
because that's how the living world is:
everybody wants something that they can't have,
nobody wants anything that is easily obtained.
.
and when i've had enough,
shut my door, stop giving second chances,
giving back the shit i've been handed,
apologies started.
"i'm sorry"..."i won't do it again, promise."
.
am i suppose to believe those words?
after all, words are nothing but a moment's worth of information,
easily lost once you've missed it.
no use hanging on to it by yourself if others don't remember it.
.
i'm human too.
i want tolerance, respect, to be trusted, appreciated and understood as well.
since when have i lost my rights for those?
do i have a rubber-stamping of the word "slave" on my forehead or something?
.
oh wait.
i guess i do.
as a matter of fact i've never been trusted by anyone since young.
so it's logical for me to feel not-trusted by anyone, ever.
considering the fact that i don't know how it feels like to be confident about myself.
.
i feel that the only person in this world that appreciates me is myself,
only because if i don't, i would've ended my life long time ago.
.
slitting my wrist,
jumping off from a high-rise building,
i've thought about it all during my free time, or when i day-dream in class.
.
but i'm fine, really.
i just have masochist thoughts about myself once or twice every week.
it's my way of dealing with my problems. fantasize.
makes me wonder how worthless i am alive, and dead.
.
i could've penned this down in my diary, and no one would've seen this,
but i finally decided to post it here,
let's say someday i DID succumbed to the thrill of suicides,
someone might've noticed this.
or maybe someone might've seen this today, or tomorrow, or the next month,
and realized that there's something that is psychologically wrong with me,
and let me know so i could seek professional help.
.
because i can never tell reality from my fantasies.
plus, no one around me has ever questioned my mental health anyway.
so i'm kind of relying on the virtual world as my doctor, in a weird, twisted way.
.
.
.
.
2019 me: *reads 2010 me's writing that somehow wasn't published*
it's strange how much i can still relate to my old self. of course, i've move past the suicide thoughts.
i guess that's some progress, at least.