If ever I had been so hopeful, I've almost drowned every single bit of it. I'm in the point of which I'm slowly dissolving, and finding ways for escape. But then you would realize that the escape that you oh so craved is gone, that it's not even there to start with. I'm dying to die. I just don't know what else to do. I've done my best, but here we go again, my best, as usual, is never enough. And I'm nearing the point of saying "I gave up!" but the honest truth is I've already had. That, at least, is what I thought. But stupid as I am, I know I still have faith, that somehow I would be able to have my things again. To be able to appreciate it all over again. And it's almost refreshing to think about. Almost, but not completely. And then here goes the What Ifs and If Onlys. It's almost tiring to go all over again, but it's the only known redemption, my own salvation of the guilt and the grief I'm currently going through.
I hate going through the motions. Hate going through the pain and confessions. Because I know, time will come when I will have to tell my parents what had happened, and honestly I don't know how to tell the truth to them. How to face the consequences that I know would eventually come. And it's gonna be bad, super bad. Which makes me wish to die all the more sooner. But I know that's another wish that will have to wait in vain.