For the longest time.

Catharsis has not been a habit for me. Even crying seems so hard.

Is this what they call strong? Or is it what is termed as repressed.

Sometimes I stop and wonder. What have I achieved (deja vu). Not the first time I wrote such a line here on blogspot I believe. Some people have fantastic blogs. Splashed with happy pictures with friends and family. Teeming with praise for some delicacy they've got to savour. Overflowing with life and words so endearing to its readers. I'm jealous.

I'm sure my blog (or what little that I write here) could be as interesting too if I pic-whore, bitch about politics, recommend the best places to get wanton mee, show my battle scars from cycling, record all my dreams and depict all the heart-wrenching details of my otherwise outwardly-boring encounters.

But I can't do that. I've become some what an introvert in such a manner. I'm scared. That I've contracted flaws from the one I love the most. I'm losing my patience, in a way I'm finding it harder to trust and I'm becoming more negative.




















Truth be told. Suicide did cross my mind. Digging deeper, I'm ashamed that I wanted to drag you along to a selfish end. I'm falling apart. Maybe you were right. I'm not good enough.