This is a love letter.


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There are parts of ourselves we have broken by trying too hard. Our tendons are hanging from our wrists, exposed like guts we painted on our chest. Our nails, half-bitten, have turned a dirty shade of yellow for having been kept too long under the bed. Our feet, calloused and soggy, no longer smell like feet should.

We trudge on. But as we go, we prove to be collateral damage to the people closest to us. The sharp edges of our bones slash through the void, allowing darkness to seep in. And as the night closes in, we feel them shaking. Everyone chokes on the cold and on the mistakes we’ve made when our eyes were too sullen to stay open.

Truth is, we have lost ourselves and the space where we can be honest. Air has become too salty to share with people crowding our bed so we rock ourselves to sleep on the floor instead. Do you still recognize our fingers?

Younger, we used to climb walls to reach the stars on the ceiling. Mama would reprimand us for making so much noise, but a broken nose was better than everything that came crashing down years later. We used to be so beautiful.

Perhaps, it is time for us to retreat. This is not the time to prove ourselves wrong about ourselves.

There are places that take pieces of us until we have none of ourselves left. To resist can be troublesome. We are tired, rightfully so, and we need to take a break from this emptiness too.

Sometimes, the quiet allows healing. And we need to remember what it means to be whole before we venture out again.



(Me, overthinking out loud)


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It’s been difficult for me to say things, even if I knew that saying them would prevent a massive problem in the future. If it makes me uncomfortable, I’d fold. I’d just keep the thoughts in my head and drag them on until they finally explode in my face.

Now, I’ve already recognized that this is not a good practice, at least during critical times, and I know that I should do something about this. The first step, of course, would be trying to figure out why I’m like this.

I’m not entirely sure if it’s because of my MBTI because I’m no expert on that and I’ve tried my best not to research too much about it. (I mean, it also creeps me out to discover so much about myself on the internet.) But, I just had this Eureka moment earlier today that being an ISFJ might be related to it since, in one article I read, it said that not saying what they want to say is an ISFJ’s biggest regret.

Okay. I’m going out on a limb here but this is my analysis of the situation.

As a Sensor (I’m making up terms now), I am grounded in the present. I take everything in and everything makes such an impact to me. I’m sensitive to the now, the moments because I can concretize and capture them. This is often why I’m easily overwhelmed by whatever is happening around me and I feel lopsided when things are just too much.

As a Feeler, I am in touch with my emotions. I am easily affected by events and I can easily recognize how the people around me will be affected too.

As a Judger, I have preconceived notions about things which means I’m quick to evaluate people or things around me even before I really get to know them.

Combining all three factors, I realized that my functions make it easy for me to collect so much information about the world and to have opinions about them. I’m a sponge, absorbing everything, letting it overcome me and forming ideas out of them.

But I’m a fairly quiet sponge. I’d like to keep to myself. I will not openly blurt my thoughts. I’m conscious about the discomfort opening up will bring me. (Introvert potato is me. Introvert potato is life.)

Do you see the struggle here? So much input but little output!

(Hence, I write. Writing is my creative outlet.)

Again, I’m not entirely sure about how MBTI-accurate this is. It’s just all subjective, really. (I’m not even considering the SiFe and other functions thingymajeebeez yet.) But it kinda makes sense to me.

Well, that’s all for step one. If you’ve read this, thank you. I have no idea why you did. (In case it isn’t obvious, I just wrote this to overthink. So I really don’t care if I’m listened to. Okayyyyy. Bye.)