The stillness of the humid night makes my mind wander into a distance that it has rarely traversed into since 2016.
As I sit there, mindlessly scrolling through my photos on my phone, I wonder what had happened exactly.
It’s coming up to two months of my relative social media silence, given that I spend most of my time on Twitter, and without its distractions, my mind begins to focus on the more relative now.
The lingering hate I have for myself and the body that I possess sweep over me like a crashing wave and I feel as though I am sinking deeper into the suffocating sea. I was overwhelmed to the point of silence.
Multitudes of emotion crossed my mind at once and I had to bite my tongue to not cry.
Things never changed, I just pretended they weren’t there so I could at least pretend to be happy. In the end, reality will always be the same.
I hate myself and that has never changed. The truth is simple. I wish to feel loved and sometimes I find myself yearning for a relationship, then I beat myself over it because who the hell would love someone like me? I’m a freak. A disgusting being.
It would take years to get to a point to where I am satisfied with myself, and the longer I wait to start, the longer it will take. My head reels at the thought of bringing it up to my parents again because they seemed to have forgotten it as though it was a phase. It hurts to think that they will be happier if I am suffering like this.
I could have started my journey already. My mind tells me this sometimes. If I weren’t a coward, if I weren’t so dependent, I could have what I wanted the moment I turned eighteen.
But it never happened and I fear it is too late. My twenty-first birthday is coming up soon and there are many things that won’t be granted to me even if I start my journey right at this moment. I understand that there are those that started way later than me and are still pretty much indistinguishable from others, but it’s different for everybody.
The wait is also anguish, especially since this wait has no definite ending. Who knows when I’ll be waiting to? Maybe one day it’ll be 2087 and I’m still waiting.
Or perhaps, I’ll be gone by then.
I just wish there’s some magical way where I can either get rid of my disgusting feelings or my disgusting body. Then I’ll be happy with myself.