Strange Days

The last thing I remember is being controlled by my friends to my room and falling face down on my bed.

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It was your birthday the day before. I sent you a greeting via text but I thought you were too ungrateful to say thank you. Or maybe you just didn't receive it, after all I'm living in the blind spot of cellular networks. I sent you a message on Facebook instead, you said thanks, gave me your new mobile number, and told me about your new job. All is cool.

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My high school friends planned a get together. I offered our place so I can do whatever the fuck I want without having to worry how to go home. We ate, we drank, and got extremely fucking merry. It was as if tomorrow we will die.

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That girl probably didn't even know when your birthday was--she just greeted you because she saw in her timeline that you were thanking people who greeted you. Then you said you want her to go to your heart? Fuck that lame pickup line. I am a fan of Sherlock and I find this situation rather amusing and annoying. I have arrived at the conclusion that you publicly display these shit to hurt me. And that is never cool.

It's crazy that you act strange around people the way I act strange around you. But I guess you're batshit crazier for doing that to hurt people.

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The moment I saw a box full of booze, I instantly knew that this is gonna be a long night.

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I didn't even care what I was drinking. All i know is that everything seems nice when you've been alone and sad for a long time. Spending a night with my friends is a break from talking to myself. I see the words in the sky that I want to say to you but I am already too numb to.

I think I already had way too much but I don't care.

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I was talking about you and how you hurt me, and the ways that I probably hurt you too without me being aware of it. I guess we will always be like that. You will always be the person that hurt me the most, the one who will continue to hurt me, the one who was *this* close to being the one. And in many ways, maybe I am that person in your life too.

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One of my friends excused himself for a while to make a phone call. Apparently he and his girlfriend were celebrating their second anniversary. It was all cutesy words and music and stuff that we overheard. I used to want to do those things but now they repel me.

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Now I am listening to The Doors, writing this blog, and believing that I am completely sobered up. For the past two days I didn't have to worry about my insomnia because El Hombre took care of that. I just had to nurse a massive hangover the next day. In those hours my head was too painful to care about you.

Now I kinda understand why sad people drown their souls in alcohol.

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I woke up with my gay friend on my bed the next morning. I think I missed out on a lot. I slept the entire day. My head is throbbing like fuck.

I puked and flushed my dental retainer on the toilet. Damn.

I took a sick leave yesterday to take care of my heart. Or maybe just some time on my own is what I really need.

When I went back to the office everyone was asking me how I am feeling. They were asking me if I am okay. Some are even delighted to see me! Isn't that awesome.

I guess life really is beautiful if you know where to look.

I am KC's Tiny Heart

Today I am having my first sick leave ever.

I wasn't really very sick. I've been having an upset stomach and minor headache since yesterday and I am afraid to eat anything because I am too lazy/tired to barf it out afterwards. I don't know what caused this, it's been a long time since my stomach has been a hyper acidic piece of organ randomly floating in my body, but that's kind of how it feels like today.

For me this is more than just a sick leave. This is a manifestation of something more going on inside my head. Maybe the emotional turmoil is just too much to take that I am starting to become physically ill. Once again you have affected me in a way that's beyond the threshold of my tiny little soul.

Your photos are up again on Facebook. Congratulations on your face. Congratulations to your parents for having such a pretty son. Congratulations for still having the same effect that you did to me three years ago. And congratulations that another chinky-eyed girl noticed that angel face of yours.

Forgive me because I loved you even if I am not chinky-eyed. Forgive me if I want to kiss that face of yours and at the same time destroy it, Fight Club style.

I am KC's misplaced jealousy.

I actually think that your photos are meant to put me on an emotional tsunami and it actually did. I just filed a sick leave just to take care of my heart. You win. Those photos are everything that I want to forget. Your piano, a jacket (probably smells as good as it did before), and a car that looks like it was about to fly (with the help of jetpacks of course) and break into the second floor of a building for a high-end car show. Those photos are so... You.

I am KC's unwanted memories. I am KC's lack of will to forget you.

I am KC's rational self and I am telling KC to move on. There's no need to wait for an answer or any form of communication from you because it will never happen. Nothing shouts closure more than your lack of desire to communicate even though she told you she loves you twice (even thrice if you read her well enough). But KC won't listen because it's her nature to hold on to something familiar for as long as she can, and right now there is nothing more familiar to her than her thoughts of you.

I am KC's desire for a closure.
I am KC's complete sense of disappointment.

I am KC's crushed heart. I am KC's doubt in the power of love and everything she used to believe in. I am KC's mind that you have transformed from a starry-eyed hopeless romantic into a monster who shut herself down from the very ideas she used to write across her heart.

I am KC's love slowly turning into hate. I am KC's fear of love slowly turning into hate.