I'm An Emo, Do You Have Problems With That?

Why do some people hurt themselves when they feel depressed? I'm not saying that I don't do that, the truth is I actually ask this question for myself. I know it's not normal to make yourself suffer for the things that you are incapable of, like having someone love you. There were times I pierced myself just to make me feel better. Maybe to punish myself for I can't do things right. Some people might say that those who hurt themselves are freaks. But as for me, hurting yourself sometimes helps in a way or another. It must be our way of making ourselves realize that people should not always put blames on others, that sometimes we have to admit we did wrong. That's why we sometimes have to teach ourselves lessons. Hate can be a positive emotion when it forces you to make yourself better anyway.

But I know I won't go beyond piercing my own flesh. I know I am -- still -- sane enough not to think of cutting my wrists, like what other people do.

My bestfriend, Carlo (not his real name), once cut his wrist because he and his girlfriend had a fight. I realized how life could be gone in an instant, that you could have someone one moment and the next be gone forever. It showed me that depressions can actually lead to bad -- if not worse -- behaviors. Good thing he didn't died of that. But, at least he learned that there are better things in life than that stupid relationship he had.

There was that one night I caught myself staring to my reflection in the mirror. I saw myself there, piercings everywhere, hair cut very short, heavy eyeliners painted on. I pitied myself and actually cried. A real hot, uncontrollable tears streamed from my eyes. I asked my reflection, "Why do I do this to myself?". And maybe I know the answer. Maybe -- just maybe -- these piercings are reminders that I should never do the same mistakes I once made. I've learned my lessons, and because of these needles hooked on my flesh, I know I'll never forget them. And learn from them still.

Converse With My Converse

I had a heart to heart talk with my sneakers last night, converse with my Converse. I told it about the reality that life has it's own middle finger. I also said that I should count my blessings instead of counting sheeps at night. I had had lots of blessings in the last few months. Great friends, lying enemies, and people I love. Some friends are turning their backs and some trying to be there. Love losts and heartaches. New emo hair. Phone. Infectious comments. New piercings. Problems. I mean, what other blessings can I ask for? Or maybe I should have to ask God for another pair of Converse so I can have some new companions.

What You See Is What You Get

Why do I scare people away when all I want to do is to make friends with them? Is it because of the numerous piercings? Or the red hair? The filthy attitude? Or maybe they're having problems with me, as a whole. They laugh at me 'cause they say I'm different. I laugh at them 'cause I think they're all the same. This is me, I call myself Tuesday, love me or hate me. I know people are entitled to their own opinions. But, the truth is, their opinions won't make me think any less of myself. It's me, getting better!