eden

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ hi everyone i'm eden!

she/her || 18 || 中文·/en OK

on this blog i will mostly be posting stuff that I write! huge trigger warning, a lot of them are based on the stuff i deal with. depression being a big one and other mental illnesses. i use my writing to cope and in retrospect, i hope that the stuff i write can help other people who are struggling as well!

i draw sometimes as well although I likely won't be posting art on my account!

i play guitar and i may post covers?

anyways my plans for this account are not clear, but we will find out together lol

In societal terms, I am a weed among a sea of perfect flowers. Gardeners look upon me with disdain, seizing any chance to pull me out of the earth due to my incompetence. To them, I am the imperfection in an otherwise flawless garden, a blemish among their cultivated beauties. They forget that I too, grew from the earth that nurtured their flowers.

I don’t have vibrant colors or a sweet, sickly scent. I’m just plain, a sore thumb that sticks out.

I imagined that if I reached for the sun, I would bloom like them. I would become beautiful and appreciated like them as well. So I did.

I studied until my eyes became dry, each blink becoming more painful than the last. I chased grades that were never high enough. Each word from my textbooks were engrained in my head, yet I could not retain any of them. Every waft of coffee that entered my airways made me feel sick. I did everything I could to stay awake, anything to help me bloom.

I convinced myself that I was someone unattainable. All of these sacrifices made me extraordinary. I thought I had already been standing at a place where no one could reach. Surely, no one could understand what I endured to get here.

Or at least that’s what I thought.

I started meeting people who had reached even higher. Absorbing information as if it had been nothing. Others seemed to stumble into opportunities due to sheer luck, yet still grew taller and more vibrant than me.

I wondered when I realized that the sun simply chose them to be the lucky few.

So I tried to search for opportunities myself. I wanted to make the sun notice me. I wanted proof that I belonged in this garden. I applied for as many jobs as I could, anything to prove that I was competent to society. The rejections arrived one after another. Some never replied at all, as though I had never existed in the first place.

I spent years believing that education was the fertilizer that would help me bloom. If I worked hard enough, every sacrifice would be awarded. Instead, all those dedicated years only taught me how to fail more efficiently.

Over time, I learned to prune myself. The parts that were unusual, inconvenient, and too emotional. I believed that conformity was the price to belong in this garden. I wanted to be like the flowers too.

No matter the amount of imitation, it could never hide the fact that I was a weed.

I wondered what was wrong with me. Time and time again.

Eventually, I gave up trying to reach for the sun. After all, it had already decided what individuals are worthy of its warmth. The flowers continued to bloom as they grew taller and more vibrant.

The gardeners don’t care much about the effort, only the aftermath.

I was unlucky enough to never receive the ending I coveted so badly.

The gardeners didn’t care about my desperation. They only cared about the fact that I never became a flower.

Like all other weeds, my fate was predecided. Before I had a chance to even prove myself, I had been uprooted from the earth. The gardeners discarded me.

But the flowers continued to bloom. The sun continued to shine.

The rush of wind I felt from the bullet train that went past me reminded me of us, before it had departed. The crowds of people in the subway station reminded me of our conversations that overflowed our screens. Yet when night falls, the once crowded subway only left a quiet shadow of weary strangers trying to get back home safely. I couldn't help but think of us. Our words becoming just as scarce.

The red light that glared into my eyes from the traffic light reminded me of us. As I waited for the light to change, I couldn't help but reminisce about the conversations I kept expecting to return. Even a glow from my phone gave me a small sense of hope that it would be your name, yet it was just a news report from earlier.

I didn't know what they meant when they said "people come and go". Or at least, I didn't think it would happen to me. I thought leaving would be somewhat dramatic, something impactful. What I didn't expect was that sometimes, people leave without ever turning away. Yet it only hurts more than what I expected. Our messages were once overflowing with stories, laughter, and jokes. It's funny how all of a sudden, an abundance of affection can turn into a mere word that stays on the screen, before a new message replaces it months later.

I measured our friendship in birthdays. 4 birthdays that we celebrated together. And 4 reminders of the distance that came with it. What initially started with heartfelt gifts and heartfelt messages progressed into empty hands and a simple, "happy birthday". I don't resent you for finding someone you love. I only mourn the friendship that we had, that slowly slipped through the cracks of your new beginning. Somehow, we only became strangers who knew each others birthdays.

I miss you.

I miss laughing with you, ranting with you, and joking with you. I didn't lie when I said "I always feel at ease with you". But I definitely directed that statement to your former self. Now, I only feel as if I'm on eggshells around you.

My secrets are no longer *our* secrets, but the secrets you share with the person you love. I'm no longer laughing with you, but seeing you laugh with that person. I've never coveted your affection. I've never wanted your affection that way. I only wanted my friend back.

But then I started to realize I was no longer one of the people you instinctively reached for. Your world started to get bigger and bigger, and mine was stagnant. New stories and new jokes entered your world, of course you'd be bored with what I have to offer. There are inside jokes I'll never be able to understand and memories that I'll never be able to witness. I'll try to stay with you as long as I can of course...I'll give you as much as I have to offer, as much as this body will allow me. But over time, you'll get tired of me. Over time, you'll get sick of me. Over time, I'll be nothing but a memory. There were times when I wondered if you'd notice that I had gone quiet. But it seemed I was just irrelevant in your life, because I ended up making you forget me.

I'm desperate, I know.

I ask you questions that I know the answer to because I want to talk to you. Our interests have waned over time. In that new world of yours, new chapters start to form. Yet mine only start to dwindle. There are nights where all I think about are you. It's overwhelming. The tears that stain my shirt wet and the thoughts that plague my mind through my sadness are all because of you. There are times I dream about us. I scream through my tears about how "I care about you the most", only for me to wake up and realize it was all a dream.

It feels like a rubber band ball lodged down my throat that I can never cough up. It feels suffocating and I can't breathe. This feeling of dread plague my body and I try my best to fight the suffocation. But there are also times when I think about how, maybe suffocating wouldn't be that bad. Maybe finally, you'll acknowledge my existence. Maybe then, you'll feel bad for me, that you've driven me down this road.

I know our friendship will never be reconciled.

Sometimes, I catch myself imagining the impossible. You'll find me with your heart in pieces, searching for the comfort you once found in our conversations. I imagined that I'd cruelly turn you away, making you wait. Making you wonder if I still cared. Making you feel the same way I did. The thought disgusts me as quickly as it had appeared.

I don't want your happiness to fall apart. I only want to be part of it.