Ducks and a little bit of sheep

...is how I feel right now. It's not a normal feeling, but it is if you're me.

It's not fair that everybody could say that it's silly to feel like ducks and a little bit of sheep simply because people knew I can feel normally, like you can. You would wonder why I simply don't say angry, or sad, or hyperactive. But honestly I don't feel all those, I just feel like a duck.

I feel like a duck with wool like that of a fluffy white sheep, swimming in a lake chuck full of other land and marine animals that don't even care I exist, and that I had an absorbent wool that kept me from swimming normally like other ducks. I felt isolated and yet I still see other living things leer at me, wondering to myself why the fuck would swimming be hard for a duck? Simply because I'm a fucking duck.

I guess I finally can stop asking people to pity me since I'm all drenched up anyways. And people won't stop saying things like "you're born with abilities that can keep you afloat, you should be able to pull through and do what other ducks could do". It will always be too hard to notice that I have a soggy wool and I'm about as tired as anybody could be tired under piles of work that can never finish.

I guess I should stop hoping that people would care that I'm coming towards my finals and I had so much to do that I fell sick and I had to eat my medicines that made me sleepy and when I woke up I felt like I had been hit by a pan instead of sleeping for a full 14 hours under medication. I should stop trying to be so able, too.

Because simply, I had made a mistake of coming off as someone who is always there to help, listen, pull my soggy wool up and not complain about it.

I had made a mistake of thinking that being strong is a good thing.

I made a mistake of loving, with full knowledge that one day in these seemingly numbered days, I will not be able to show it. Even if that feeling never went away, it's always important to show. Like my sister once wrote. Feelings are to be shown. And there lies my mistake too.

Since this is my fucking blog, I'd better just write it off my chest since he wouldn't care what I do anymore.

Jumping off a cliff wouldn't fucking solve this problem, so even death wouldn't solve my problems and my aching, aching heart, what will? A simple text saying that I'm free to do whatever I want?

Am I not hurt? Am I not busy? Had I not have a bad day? Did I took the cough medicine just because I want to doze off and not care?

We had gone through this madness for so many times I couldn't even count anymore. But it will always, always, ALWAYS reoccur no matter what I do, no matter how many times I had to cry to explain myself, I simply can't stop it from happening.

Everything that had happened was not intentional. I was seriously busy. It wasn't like I was busy everyday, but no, I'm not entitled for one, single, busy day. No sir, not one blasted single busy day is to be pitied out of me, not one inch of understanding, not even a single blasted understanding of my situation, and it always had to be other people's bad day and not mine.

I'm so mad that I'm stuck in between either I should be a duck or a fucking sheep. Not both, no sir, I can't be both, nuh-uh. I must either quack my way out of this craziness, or jump off a cliff like any humbled, depressed, fatigued, sick and disoriented sheep would do.

I don't see the point in trying to make things right now. But I really think people stop thinking that it's my fault because everything is not intentional, an accident, yes, a bad day is an accident.

It doesn't matter if I talk or not talk about my feelings now. Just because it doesn't fucking matter to fucking anyone that I'm fucking tired, I'm fucking sick or I'm fucking busy. It doesn't matter anymore, seriously. It's always about that old lady who swept the rubbish by the road, or the frog that died in the pool, something else other than trying to understand what I'm going through.

Take it easy, I won't last long, soon enough something else will take over me, like a little greenish alien that'd rip my brain out and slip into the control systems inside my head and talk on my behalf, walk on my behalf, settle things on my behalf. I would just give it all up and take her advice : have a suntan in Ibiza like she did.

It doesn't matter that much to me. I mean the sun tan.