This is a *photo dump.

and it literally has been years since I’ve written about you. Maybe it’s because we haven’t been in touch for a long time; in touch in a sense that we would always have--and make--time for each other that no one would need to call anyone up because we’d always show up uninvited (the good kind, as we know it). Now I felt the need to make you my point person again because, even if everything isn’t like it was before, some things didn’t change. And I’m really not in the mood to comfort you by saying “this isn’t about you” when I subtweet my emotions again.

This has been the fastest I’ve typed whilst lashing out my feelings, after the longest time (read: probably around 2016). There have been times I wanted to be the same internally-angry-at-everyone Yana that I was just so I could be inspired to write SOMETHING down.

I’m not angry at you, but I have to say that spending the entire day with you was tiring. Not only did you take advantage of my would-be (and frequent) episodes and tried to talk me out of buying a stick of cigarette, but I am now enjoying another one for you. Even the one good deed you thought was “good,” I know it was only so that you could rub it in my face and dive onto the pity pool you have working on for me. I’m not even talking about the unsolicited advice you gave as a parting present--but that one pulled a lot of strings. That was the last straw.

“The last straw.” Of course it was the last straw, I literally called it a day--a day of you having someone push around and be an asshole to. Some time soon I hope that you genuinely realize that things aren’t the same with us anymore. Your “tough love” is only demons I would take with me to bed if I even fall asleep tonight. It would be another familiar feeling from when I was in a slump, underrated that word as it is. It’s me constanly thinking of verbal comebacks and being alert everytime you’d open your mouth so I could shield myself. But I don’t know, I guess the solution I have is to stop opening the door at the back of my mind and giving you free passes. I know you’d just be all over the place.

It’s one of those nights when I have to be completely burned out just to fall asleep. A familiar feeling but a completely different spawn to the point that some parts of me still cannot comprehend that what had happened has happened. To some extent, I still would have found out with a lot less effort but I figure that would sting a little bit more... wouldn’t it? 

in a sense that I’m not sure of. For some reason, I stopped functioning.

Now I think I’m just upset. In a matter of days I’ll be getting kicked out of the apartment because my housemates are graduating soon and I have no one to share rent with. This semester’s bedroom holds so much memories I can’t even begin to think of.

I failed Physiology.

I stopped attending my lawn tennis classes a month ago and deliberately didn’t take the Third and the Final exam for Immunology.

Yesterday I was /mildly/ confronted about my downhill performance for the semester. I was about to cry but he kept spreading my eyelids apart with his pointer finger and thumb. Today I couldn’t do anything to lessen his anxiety. It’s a really terrible week.

The last time I wrote something like this, I had a fear of abandonment from my friends who would soon be graduating. I would like to think I feel better about it. It doesn’t bother me that much anymore.

The last time I wrote something like this, I had an elephant on my chest. She was in a discomfort I couldn’t picture and it hurt me. I couldn’t cry. I think I know how it managed to get up there but I couldn’t understand why she did and she kept stomping and stomping. I wanted her to stop but I don’t speak elephant.

The last time I wrote something like this, you were probably in a bad place too. Or so I imagine. I didn’t think it was possible for you to be, given your sparkling disposition and the good spirits you manage to give to everyone you talk to. I didn’t think of you as someone who’s just as bad as me, or maybe—and I really hope not—even worse.

I was hoping that the last time I wrote something like this would be the last time I would write something. Wwwrrriiitttiiinng required wanting to disappear. Die. A deep despair I would fall into. Sometimes I manage to even drown myself. I’d kick the waters but I just fall deeper.

“Unstable” was a term I used as an excuse, but it was true. I was hoping you’d forget, but you aren’t that type of person. You remember details like the back of your hand; and you sail the tides like guitar chords you’ve been strumming your whole life. You were someone I thought I didn’t deserve anymore, ever since I decided I didn’t want to be with someone who loved me with all his heart.

I stare at my phone. I keep rambling words and pairing them but they don’t fit well. I guess I find it taxing to associate you with sadness. And now I think it’s safe to say you aren’t causing this, whatever this is……………..ah, now I have no clue what it is. Square one, I am here again.

This is the last time I wrote something like this. I gave into misery, and vulnerability is all I am. I felt it with her words “give this girl some social life.” I agree, and then I disagreed. Was it anxiety? Was it pressure? Was it just me wanting you to ask me one last time? “No,” I replied. And as if that wasn’t enough, I added an “I don’t want to.” I wanted to. I didn’t have control. And the last time I was puppetted like that I wanted to throw myself in front of a moving car just to make the stomping stop. I am so tired, I thought. The elephant is sleeping on me. It’s a constant weight on my lungs and somehow a better whim of air. I could breathe but only in slight shots. I thought of sleeping too, but I knew I would wake in the middle of the night with a kind of longing that strangled me in the neck as I gasp for breath. I would have my heart taken out and given to me singlehandedly and I would see it beat a minimal amount.

Cheats Art & Soul X UPLB Com Arts Society October 12, 2017