leointhemoon-blog

[leointhemoon-blog]

orphan.

it’s been a long time. i’m in college now. still broken as ever, maybe even more so now. i can’t tell how far my suicidal thoughts have ran. at least now i have a more definite plan in mind. i could probably makeshift a noose from some rope i can buy somewhere like at home depot..? or something. ropes shouldn’t be too hard to find. i’ll make one small loop at the end and hang it around a doorknob on the outside of my bedroom. i’ll bring the rope over the top of the door to the other side, a.k.a the inside of my bedroom. on this end, i’ll create a bigger loop for my head.

my family tells me they love me. yeah, they love me. but do they really?

if you love me so much, why do you oppress me? why do you refuse to let me grow? why do you refuse to let me better understand the world on my own? regardless of whether you wanted me to or not, i already kind of did realize how cold and dark this world is without your help. it seems like you want to be responsible for my growth. yeah, you are. you’re responsible for me becoming someone who feels fear and utter hatred for life inside this home.

if you love me, why do you choose to protect your dignity over admitting your wrongs and showing me you care what i have to say or think? if you love me, why do you relish and find happiness in insulting those i love? if you love me, why do you degrade things that make me happy?

yes, other people don’t have parents. i should be considered lucky for even having parents. but other people lost their child to death prematurely. you should be lucky for even having me. there, i said it. do i sound conceited?

i’ve been suffering hell through these past six years. you never take me seriously. you refuse to give me my medical help. i need help. i fucking need help quick before i actually lose it all and fucking just fucking kill my fucking self. fuck you. fuck you. fuck you for laughing at my face when i cry. fuck you for finding amusement in my vulnerability. fuck you for thinking you actually fucking care about me just because you give me food to eat and a bed to sleep in. i fucking went through dieting issues, stomach pains, lack of appetite because of this war i battle with my depression and possibly other issues. so what’s the point of food if i fucking shit it out and still live through each day feeling nothing but constant pain in my heart? fuck you. what’s the point of a bed if i go to sleep every night crying to myself, praying for deliverance? what’s the point?

fuck you. fuck you for being stupid lazy. i don’t fucking care if you work 7 days a week or 24 hours a day because we all fucking know you don’t. if you did, you wouldn’t have a wife constantly nagging you to go to work already. you hate work? i’m sorry, you damn 5 year old, that’s the life of an adult, bitch. i’m going to have to go through that, except with the knowledge that i never fucking had a childhood. fuck you for being stupid lazy. i’m saying that because you just fucking hand me food and dollar bills, but you don’t put in effort into helping me grow.

you don’t teach me my cultural language. you shame me for not knowing it but you don’t want to teach me. when i decided to learn it myself in school and asked you for help, you treated me like a nuisance. you don’t try to understand my sorrows and help me get mental health help. you tell me you think i’m strong enough to overcome it. bitch, don’t use sweet words to cover up your own unwillingness to fucking help me. you don’t think i’m strong. you just don’t think my mental health matters. you fucking beat me up everyday, and by that, i mean mentally. you think just because you never actually laid fists on me, you’re safe from child abuse accusations? idiot. fucking idiot.

whenever i had achieved something, i hurried to show you. because every child wants their parents to see that their child is growing and learning and thriving. what do you do? you don’t care. you scoff. and when i get mad or upset you show such negative reactions, you further defend yourself instead of apologizing. “what? ok ok it’s cool, tch. no need to cry. it’s whatever.” fuck you, bitch. now you wonder why i always stray from even talking to you as i get older.

here’s the catch: grow up. just grow up. purify yourself before you fucking taint others.

[leointhemoon-blog]

like autumn trees losing their leaves

friends. something i’ve always wanted. something i’ve desperately yearned for as a child, eager to fill in the white noise that drowned me in loneliness. ripped the voice out of my throat as i struggled to breathe through pathetic sobs and stared blindly into the dark through salty eye water.

my ghosts, my nightmares that were my goodnight dreams, my companions that resided in my head, whispered in an overwhelming mix of sneering jabs and consoling murmurs. they were the ones who comforted me in the dark, whether it’s the literal dark of the night or the “dark” that littered my head while i stand under the bright rays of daylight.

that basically summarizes the entirety of my childhood. what a shame. i wonder, if i had grew up around more friends...a more positive community where my heart was safe from the hungry jaws of loneliness... would i not be the way i am now? well... what a shame. 

i teared up at everything when i was a kid. now almost a young adult, i suppose i still do the same, although lately my tear supply has been running dry. i’d heave and tense the muscles in my face, like i’m about to cry, but the calming warm droplets appear to have left me as well. 

right. i’m already into second semester of senior year, the year i constantly describe as the first i’d ever been the most outgoing and hanging out with friends. there was that short period of ecstasy in the beginning, drawing out a false reality for me, giving me hope... singing into my ears that perhaps it was the beginning of my freedom from the chains that kept me submerged under the surface of psychotic desperation.

like everything else around me, it dies fast. friends for now, not friends for forever. i already feel it all slip through my fingers, almost as if i’m trying to hold onto water. all i can do is watch the familiar progress of losing them all through anguished lenses.

but why does it matter? you have a little over two years left... life is short, isn’t it...

[leointhemoon-blog]

depression diary day #1487

i’m utterly broken, and i’m not saying it to be edgy.

and it’s actually great you fear death because you have people to live for. it’s not bad and you shouldn’t have to deny it to “fit in”. 

sometimes, i hesitate and wonder if i’m really still here because i’m living for someone. i convince myself that yes, i am. i’m living for people, like my best friend, of course. after all, i always tell her she’s the reason i’m alive. 

well, i’m not exactly lying when i say that. if i hadn’t met her, my dumb 13 year old hands probably would’ve gotten me into the hospital. what disturbs me though, is that emptiness in my soul whenever i say those words. what disturbs me...is the lack of weight i myself feel when i tell someone that i’m living for them, because...am i really living for them? am i even living for myself?

one thing is for sure, i hesitate to finalize my decision on suicide because i wonder if maybe there’s something i haven’t accomplished yet. i’m curious to know what it is. it’s not that i care, i guess i just want to know. that means if i die right now, i’ll accept it quite graciously. plus, if i die right now, that means it was fate. you can’t go against fate anyway.

most of the times, i’m not really surrounded by things that i can easily kill myself with anyway. or at least in the way i prefer. if i die, i would really hate it to happen at a place where someone would see my dead body. i don’t want a proper burial either.

i think i really am depressed. the farthest i ever gotten to being medically diagnosed was having my pediatrician tell me i’m at risk of severe depression and i should contact a therapist. that was four years ago. 

either way, it doesn’t take a certified physician to determine i have depression or not. if the hell my mind and body goes through right now isn’t depression, then i fear what depression really is. what i’m feeling right now already feels like the most painful thing i can go through. what can be worse?

i wonder if it would even hurt less than having my skin being pulled back or having water fill my lungs. of course, those two instances would burn ferociously, but the pain they give may as well be the kind i would find myself relishing in. at the same time it ignites my nerves, it numbs them. 

i want death...i need help...but help has been out of my reach since long ago...

[leointhemoon-blog]

friendship.

all i ever wanted was a friend.

you called me your best friend. i continuously told you, no, i’m not. i already have a best friend, so i can’t be yours. i’ll admit it. that was a foolish thing of me to say. why did i say that? why did i say something so cruel?? i still don’t know why i did. but even if i turned down your constant claim of us being best friends, i never said i didn’t want to be your friend.

remember when you asked me multiple times to stay friends with you all four years of high school? remember when you asked me to stay? maybe you don’t remember. that’s fine, it’s nothing something i haven’t seen coming. maybe you do remember, but you don’t want to remember, because you regret those times.

it’s our senior year. our last year. the last year of those four years we made an indirect promise of being friends for that length of time. too bad, the friendship died before its time was due. 

it hurt me when the other day, you hit me up asking me if i was alright. when you said “i know we don’t talk much”. it was like the death of our friendship was officially announced. 

i still remember those multiple nights where i stayed up until 5 a.m. when everyone else in my home was asleep. i stayed up just for you. some of those times, i even went to the point of calling you over the phone, instead of just texting. 

well, maybe, you were only so willing to talk to me that much then because i guess it was the feelings you had for me. if you can even call them legitimate feelings. i have this assumption that most of the feelings anyone in high school gets are just a facade. a hopeless wish for a relationship. you didn’t actually feel anything towards me. you just wanted a relationship.

and, maybe you were only so willing to talk to me because you were trying to convince yourself that i wasn’t someone bad to talk to. i guess, over the years, my depressing and troublesome attitude wasn’t just trickling through the sheets like a benevolent stream anymore. it started pouring like an uncontrollable wave, shoving away anything that tried to hold it back.

i guess, i can apologize for that. to anyone really. my attitude is one of my many demons. but was i really that bad? i had my reasons for seeming aggressive. i stuck with you, even after you made comments that brought up my insecurities, demanding things from me like you owned me, making passive aggressive statements, attempting to grow guilt in me when i didn’t do something you wanted. i stuck with you, and you were what past me thought to be my first ever friend irl. well, in actuality, my first ever friend is my best friend, but i wanted friends in real life too. 

i constantly want to ask... were you just there because you were hoping to pursue a relationship with someone? was i actually someone you considered a close friend? sometimes, i get the feeling you did consider me one, and other times, i don’t. you often give me interchanging red and green lights. it drives me crazy. it makes me fear that perhaps everything was just a facade or maybe i’m overreacting or maybe i’m not. 

although now, i’ve familiarized myself with more people, trying to get more friends on my own, i still tried to keep our friendship. i still tried to keep it alive. but more and more, you rarely replied to my texts, and when you did, they were so late, it was awkward trying to continue the conversation. more and more, you left me hanging. more and more, you treated me like i was simply an acquaintance.

so what am i supposed to do? i’ve stopped trying just recently. after all, it’s futile. we really aren’t friends anymore, right? we can say we are, but we both know we’re not. it’s sad. when i think back to freshman year, freshman me probably would’ve never saw how our friendship would’ve ended this way. when i think of that, i can’t help but feel the burn behind my eyes and the heaviness in my throat.

but it’s whatever. i guess, you were just the next one to add onto my list of friends who stayed temporarily, coming in with the freshness of trying over again and leaving with a trace of bitterness and thoughts of wasted time.

[leointhemoon-blog]

my past with dieting

wow, i think this post might end up being long.

to begin with, i was a fat kid from the very start. i don’t think i was obese but i was, i guess, overweight. now that i look back at it, it might have been the baby fat that added to the illusion. or maybe not, since i was fatter than everyone else in my grade. 

before i even started school, i was just known to my family as that toddler that loved to eat. as with every story about eating disorders (disclaimer: i never really had an eating disorder but i guess... i almost did if that’s possible.), a likely factor would be the bullies. so in my story, my first bullies would’ve been my relatives. 

it’s funny because the word and notion of “family” are supposed to resemble people who support you and care about you. i’m not saying my family doesn’t, but i guess they just have the worst ways of showing it... maybe it’s part of being asian? 

anyway, i would remember when my parents dropped me off at my uncle’s place. he’s the second oldest brother of my mom. the uncle would every so often pick at me and say “oh who’s the chubby baby? it’s you” or some cringey baby talk that people do to toddlers-- except it’s usually “who’s a good girl” not “who’s the chubby kid”. lol. there was my cousin, his daughter, who is like at least a decade older than me who didn’t hide her dislike towards me and constantly ask “why do you eat so much?” i often didn’t answer because tbh, as a really young child, i wasn’t much of a person that reacted.

they weren’t wrong ofc. i actually did eat a hella lot. damn, i was a fat kid, deadasssss. even my mom joined on in the pinching of my belly and teasing. i think my first time being self-conscious about it was when i kept sucking in my belly as much as possible when my mom tried to force me into some uncomfortable ass jeans.

when i was a student at my third elementary school (my family moved multiple times), that’s when the bullying started. there’s a ton to say on that matter, maybe i’ll make a separate post, so i’ll just talk about the moments that really matter here. in general, the girls would often refer to me as the fat kid and sometimes would even throw in a comment or two. damn, why are kids so mean sometimes? even now, as a near young adult, i still see kids bullying each other and i can’t help but sigh in disappointment how it’s innate nature of humans to bully others. it’s kind of ridiculous. if you’re going to dislike someone, don’t show it enough to make them feel utterly terrible about themselves. if it gives you power to do so, you’re rotten trash. literally, you’re the real ugly one here.

i remember once when i was sitting a couple of rows behind the rest of the girls in my class in the auditorium of my elementary school, i was watching them talk. and they talked loud so i heard everything. they were just saying stuff like “i do this to my hair to make it look prettier” and “omg your hair is so long it’s so pretty”. i guess they caught me staring so one just smiled and said “(my name) can never be pretty enough with that short hair” to which another said “she’s kind of fat anyway”. ok, first of all-- i loved my damn ass dora the explorer hair cut ok? i was excited to go to the barbershop as a child to request the dora haircut specialty, bitch, i rocked it. i was sorta hurt by both the short hair and fat comments but like again, i didnt say anything i just looked away. 

after that, the next time my dad brought me to the hairdresser, i was rebellious as heck. i didnt want short hair. i wanted to keep it long. but you know, there’s only so much 6 year old me can do, so i got my hair cut anyway.

fast forward to fifth grade. after years of constant teasing about my shape and weight, i think i had my awakening after i finished some good ass sandwich at barnes and nobles. i told my mom i was going to use the bathroom and so i did. after washing my hands, i looked into the mirror. ahh, the mirror that makes all the self-conscious people shudder. but i think i had never felt extremely self-conscious and distraught until then. 

nobody was in the bathroom at that time, so i was brave enough to continue staring. i took in the sight of my flabby arms (which honestly wasn’t that flabby but it wasn’t thin) and most of all, my round belly. i was horrified as i turned to the side and gaped at how my stomach protruded out of my abdomen. it was like i have never noticed before. then as if a dam has been broken. all those comments and pinching at my body flooded my mind, screaming at me that yes, you are fat. you just realized? again, remind you, i literally wasn’t obese. i was overweight. two totally different things. if i want to make myself feel better, i guess i was borderline overweight only but idk, i was still fat. 

i went home that night looking up on the internet “how to be cute” and “how to be pretty” like the naive kid i was and i gave up reading on tips on how to stand or how to dress. i decided i was going to diet. 

when i refused to eat more when my mother offered another helping at dinner, i told her i was going to diet. immediately, she yelled angrily and was probably shocked, like who gave my daughter that idea what-- i was and still am a stubborn person so i persisted... i’m not going to go too deep into this because it was often just her trying to feed me and me trying to eat less and less. 

i remember when we were at this shopping mall we frequently visited and i was in the dressing room trying to fit on new bras. when my mom helped me buckle up my bra after i finished trying on things, she said, “(my name), you got skinnier. i don’t even need to clasp your bra at the outermost row.” there were three sections for adjustment. i had managed to go from the outermost one to the innermost one. her voice held disappointment, but my heart had felt so light. i was elated.

this continued on into sixth and seventh grade. that’s right, it continued on deep into middle school. except it gotten worse. not only was i cutting down on portions of meals at home, i even did so at school. i skipped lunch, opting to avoid the lunch lines. i managed to skip breakfast when one day i got the idea of lying to my mom. “dont give me breakfast at home. i can just eat the school breakfast” to which she believed and sent me off to school without realizing i really wasn’t going to eat anything. i spent classes with awkward stomach growling. at that time, i didn’t know people could hear your stomach make noises when it’s hungry so i was fine with it lol. i slimmed down by a whole lot. 

just to mention, if you’re going to lose weight, make exercise a thing. don’t strictly diet like me. i should’ve probably exercised but nah, i just depended on eating less or not eating at all. like any other rant, i’ll mention this: the rough start of my depression started at the beginning of eighth grade.

i was sick of “friendships”. sick of being used. sick of being second or third or anything else not first. sick of being manipulated. sick of being easily thrown away. most of all, i was just so sick of myself. i felt like i could never be able to have a friend. a friend i could depend on. i cut off all ties, if they barely even existed. i went into complete isolation. eighth grade was the grade i spoke not a single word to anyone. unless ofc i had to answer some question in class or do some group discussion. but even then, i honestly went so quiet. more quiet than i ever was before.

when i did speak a word outside in the hallway once, my classmate thought he was funny and said “wow, (my name) can talk?” and laughed like it was just that damn funny. idk bro, you got nothing better to laugh about? it’s nice that i matter so much to you, you had to make a comment, let alone say my name because clearly my attention wasn’t even on you in the first place. 

anyway, hell yeah, i was hella emo. and when i’m emotionally depressed af, my appetite is ruined. starting that year, i fell into constant times of not feeling like eating. by then i was already thin enough i guess. i admit, i wasn’t skin and bones. but i wasn’t overweight anymore. my skin grew paler. it became harder for me to stand up without feeling lightheaded. i began catching colds more often than i ever had before. none of that deterred me from dieting though, despite by the start of my depression, i was already midway through not strictly dieting anymore.

depression continued that for me though. it hurt to eat sometimes. when i feel like crying, when my throat feels rough, my heart feels heavy, why add to the pain by forcing myself to swallow food? i’m not bulimic, i never was. i just avoided food. i would constantly protest “mom, i’m not dieting, i really just am not hungry.” did i ever mention that throughout my years and still up to this day, my mom would constantly throw shade at me for choosing to diet in the past? it hurts every time she does. in fact, i started writing this long ass post just because she did it again today. 

i think she also started to notice my increase in depressing mood so sometimes she won’t say much if i refuse to eat. it was like my body hurt when i saw food and my mind drove me somewhere else to avoid the food placed in front of me. food repulsed me. my stomach turned at seeing it. near the end of eighth grade, i gotten into my first serious relationship with some girl 2-3 years older than me online. it lasted for about a year. honestly, it was a very rocky one. i constantly felt depressed. she was depressed too. she made me feel more depressed than i’d be if she wasn’t there, if i had to be honest. 

the week following after our breakup, i was utterly broken. 14 year old me had no idea what i was supposed to do. it was halfway through my freshman year at high school. i didn’t have much friends. i only had one. even then, they weren’t there to support me. the other one...who’s now my best friend...i had lost her contact number. it wasn’t until four months later til i finally got in touch with her again so she wasn’t there to help me through my post break up either.

if me skipping meals often because of emotions was bad, this week was the worst. i legitimately didn’t eat more than 3-4 small bites of food a day. even now, i’m surprised how i managed to survive that week on so little food and how my mom didn’t even say much. she did notice and ask “why arent you feeling hungry these days? something wrong?” to which i’d brush off. i cried a lot. a hella lot. most of the times, it was heaving like i was trying to throw up my heart. i mean, i still have my crying sessions as i’m still...hella...depressed and yeah it feels like that. it be like that sometimes. and then the moments besides “most of the times” was me sniffling on the school bus because i just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

i could’ve killed myself. i nearly could’ve. midyear exams were coming. the stress from both school and my personal life was overwhelming. my body was destroyed. but somehow, i manage to overcome myself and get myself back into focusing on the exams. damn, i was hella scholar. now i’m not though lol. but then, i was focused since i was only a freshman that had just gotten into a prestigious school. the exams had managed to make me forget about what happened temporarily.

now, i still constantly look down on my body and wonder if i’m too fat. i still fat check. i squish my thighs, stare at them, hold them, then stare again. i look at my belly, i pinch it, i stare, i hold it tight wishing i can make the fat disappear. i’m not fat per se. people now call me skinny af, call me a pile of bones (i’m not, they’re exaggerating but i wish i was tbh). i hold my arms, squishing them to see if they’re too thick or not. i still look in the mirror observing the width of my body. i still try to calculate how much i’ve eaten on a daily basis. thinking about what i ate today and how much i’ve eaten. 

perhaps, i’m not actively starving myself anymore, but those actions of paranoia and self-consciousness never left me...my stomach is probably ruined. will that stop me? probably not. i’ll be honest.