What are your regrets?

‘What are your regrets?’

I regret every night I spent thinking why I wasn’t the one for him.

I regret crying over the thought that he might be inlove with some other girl.

I regret spending every day thinking about him.

The way I fall everytime I look at him. Every words I wasn’t able to say because I’m too nervous when he’s around. And when I turned every sound he makes a music to my ears—I regret all of it.

I regret having to wait for him to fall as hard as I did. I regret weeping when I realized that it would take more than a dozen of wishful thinking before it could actually happen. I regret hurting.

When I fell to his eyes that is the color of the Earth, and when I made him the Axis and the Orbit of my world and realized that I wasn’t a part of his, that is when I regret having my world revolve around him.

He shattered my heart as if it was glass, and used the shards to have me fall apart. He broke me in many ways but he wasn’t aware of it, and I regret letting him hurt me.

I regret loving every inch of his skin and every memories I spent with him. I regret making him the color of my gray areas and every lost piece in my puzzle.

I regret loving him, but I would regret it more if I didn’t.

A Twist in the Middle

Looking at my childhood now, It is a surprise to me that I survived. I never thought that I lived and I’m still living.

Am I grateful? Yes. Am I happy? Sort of.

Looking at how my life turned out, is very very disappointing. I’m a 16-year-old girl who desperately wants to die. I cut, I write shitty short stories and blogs, I write how much I am depressed. People thinks that what I do to my self is pathetic, they don’t go on telling me, “Trisha, you’re pathetic. Stop it.” But I can see the way they look at my scars, the way their faces turns blank when I tell them stories of how I think my mental health is worsening, I can tell they’re sick with how much I try to tell them that depression is no joke and suicide is both fine and not fine. I can see how they have no interest in anything about me.

That is disappointing.

When mama went abroad, it was okay for me since I know our need for it. When I turned 13, I had to take responsibility in house chores because our eldest sibling had to go to work. I survived, with the help of my brother. But now that he needs to go to work too, I’m left with everything. Chores are fine with me, what’s not fine is that I am depressed and I can barely live, how am I suppose to do the house job? My father doesn’t understand that. And his constant comparisons, insults and pressures, it makes me want to kill myself more.

Sometimes I’m left to wonder, do we really live just to want to die?

I’m a 16-year-old, I want to live but I want to die. I haven’t even spent a quarter of my life and yet, I’m already tired. Is this how life suppose to be? Or am I in the twist of my story? When does the twist end? Does the twist end when I end my life?