I’ve been crying a lot lately.

—

Swirling thoughts, as if they try to crush my existence. An endless staircase that leads me to nowhere but despair, despair, and another despair that greets me over and over. An unfathomable, non explainable feelings that I fail to express to others; and they only came out as faint scars. Countless voices screaming into my  imaginary ears that I yearn to stop, and I deafened myself from those voices by running away to even louder voices. Something inside of me that carves the walls of my skin with a gushing, sharpened knife, but I can’t grasp the reality of that knife so I just stand there and ignore it.

The cycle of me trying to fight my painful, unexplainable misery. Even so, I couldn’t cry.

I couldn’t express all of my predicament, so I couldn’t cry.

That’s why it became a cycle. Again, again, again! I suffer, to the point I want to cut my own throat and die.

“Don’t cry. Crying means you're weak,”

those were the words that were said to me ages ago. Why do I always remember that? I think the person who said that to me already forget about it.

—

Then, when I thought all of my miseries flooded inside me, they spilled. I cry, ugly face in front of the mirror. Oh boy, when was the last time I saw those eyes, that were usually red below the pupils, wet? When was the last time I sobbed that hard?

That was the first time I sat on the public toilet,

crying.

—

“What’s wrong with crying?”

A person said that to me. A person said that people who don’t cry are the weird ones; do they not blessed with these beautiful, miraculous thing called emotions? Cry, cry, cry, because tears are ...

—

So, the cycle came back to me. Gushing thoughts hitting me madly, along with staircases that still lead me to land of despair. But now, I cry when I think of them.

I cried.

And cried.

And cried and cried and cried.

—

I’ve been crying a lot lately.