Gazing over Dysfunctional Soul

by M. A

Blogging is therapeutic. I really can’t go somewhere else to feel alone. I love it here. Here’s is quiet. Here’s dominated by darkness and desaturated kaleidoscope. I was this girl with a good heart. good manner. Who could cry over something touchy. Who would feel empathy for someone who’s going through minor sickness. And now I’m so cold-hearted and despising some others’ values or voices. I can scream here, I can be myself. I can be inconsiderate here. I can feel my soul.

To feel how good it is to touch the soil, to play splash water, to lay feel the warm sun outside. I have run out such feelings. I have been too logical who cry inside. I have gone through a lot of pain. It might be the factor why I turn out this way. I can’t hear the voice of my heart. You would feel how dysfunctional I am the whole time.

It’s been great and painful years. I keep going and reassure myself that I can do it. That I can get what I deserve. That I’m fine. That I’m normal kind of person. But I know I’m not. I’m not happy rambling about football or any match. Food over fuss. Oddity over dreams. Logics over feelings. I can’t understand why.  I know that some people would love to cheer me up and making me see the light side of life. But I’m not looking for that, I guess. I don’t how to describe this but sometimes pain is my only friend. Beauty.

If I’m being investigated by The Lightman Group, they might see that I’m showing a hopelessness. I might be a person who would jump off the bridge just to finalize the beauty of pain. Yet I would still regret it because I will make people I love feel miserable because of me. I can’t. I feel I have to stand up straight. Looking at the sun and take bullets for people I love. But sometimes the magic doesn’t work everywhere. Only in a small room filled with a nice voice and dreams. The magic keeps me alive.