August
Tuesday 24th August, 2010 - 5:22pm with 1 comment
I used to be a frail person, in personality and appearance. Thin hair, thin body, emotionally unstable. I overcame depression, and lately things were going really well. But then, things happen.
I think that sometimes when I’m upset, I come across the worst of myself, and I become that frail person again. Someone who hid behind the nickname “Gina”… someone who really, in essence, wasn’t me – or was just a phase of me at a certain point in my life. Sometimes I visit her and I tell her that she ought to be stronger.
Today, it was like she was there for me instead.
Yeah, I know… right now I’m different, I’m Georgie, and I’m stronger. I can punch and hit. I try hard not to cry. I don’t think of harming myself again. The latter never happens, ever. The former two, do.
I think, “Gina” taught me, never to do that again. But she didn’t tell me to stop crying.
Sometimes, there is solace in tears streaming down your face, or even just a few drops on your cheeks, or even the settling behind your eyelids. Crying lets all escape.
My pride, however, holds the capacity of my entire head. I was foolish and idiotic. I had time to think myself over and to think about what would be right. It wasn’t hard. It was the emotion. It was the feeling of crying – for once I didn’t listen to “Gina”; my pride got the fucking better of me, and my huge-ass ego just wanted to be someone who was so fucking arrogant.
And my feet took me away. Then I cried… then… then it hit me. You don’t realise how much you love someone until they’re gone. Gone a fair farewell, a sad goodbye, a trip away, passed away… or even, in the bitterness of nineteen words.
Posted on: Tuesday, August 24th, 2010 at 5:22 pm
Categories: Blurbs, Contemplation
Tags: pride · sadness · Sebastian · self
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Christine
Tuesday 24th August, 2010 at 5:34 pm
I am very much like you, Georgie. Between my brother and I, I was always considered the tough one. I was always quick to anger, but slow to draw a tear from. I, too, have too much pride for my own good. I always get so embarrassed when I cry, even in the confines of my own bedroom. I was always the one who would bottle up her innermost thoughts and feelings until they boiled over. I guess another reason for this embarrassment is because whenever I try to express my emotions to those closest to me, it makes them squirm. They don’t like getting that deep and personal with me.
But it’s not to say I don’t cry. I actually cry more often than people would think. Again, it’s always within the confines of my own room. And I, too, seek comfort from a person who isn’t even there. My dad died when I was 7, so whenever I get into one of my crying fits, I usually just hold a picture of him and cry and talk to him. Even though he’s no longer here, I get so much comfort from sharing my deepest feelings and emotions with him. I’m not a deeply religious person, but I truly feel like he can almost hear me or deliver some sort of wisdom to me when I talk to him.
(no need to return the comment on my site, it’s sort of a mess right now).
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