Her Sanctuary, Her Space

Wasted is not the apt word to describe it but it’s more of emptiness. Emptiness that you begin to realize is there deeply-rooted inside you no matter what happens. You were in high spirits a while ago and in an instant, you’re down to being miserable the next. Why is that? Why feel forlorn all of the sudden? Why are you giving in to the miseries you do not even know existed? Then you start to think and then you assumed. There is this big hollow inside you. It has been there ever since you could remember. That no matter how many times these insignificant people will try to fill the void, your cup of life will always remain empty.

Next to emptiness is the sense of worthlessness. Many times you have wanted to shut your life and be gone. You feel sick being trapped with your too many ghosts inside a filthy dungeon. You are always dead beat to the point that you don’t want to wake up and see the sun anymore. What good is it to feel the sunlight in the first place? Everything around you is worthless. And that includes you. You belong to the dark because darkness is always your world. In there, nobody will find you; no one will ever search for you to begin with.

Then you slowly cover yourself with a cloak of numbness. Face it, it is the only outfit fit for you and nothing more. In that piece of garment, you hide and you seek solace; never wanting to look at those insignificant people for the longest time. Then you crawl back inside your dungeon and be one with your ghosts once again, thinking how was it that you have become such a lowly, sick and dim-witted infidel?

Then you step inside your home once again; manic depression welcoming you and embracing you tightly like it never want to let you go.