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At times, I just hate looking into the mirror. I hate my own voice. I hate touching myself at places which are bulging here and there.

I wonder what I was ever born and had to suffer hurt and pain from other people who seem so careless of the world around them. 

That’s just a dramatic effect to tell you I hated my life and work.

I had no problem abiding by the rules and doing the same things year in and year out. What I don’t like is the environment of my workplace, which in the word of every creative person or those who think they are creative, stifles my creativity and imagination.

With people so hypocrite, you’d think the Kardashians ain’t so bad after all. People who smile at you but behind your back, couldn’t seem to find enough words to describe you that would make the Grinch cringe.

People who cannot be reprimanded or advised, who believe they could possibly do no wrong and everybody is just stupid for not doing what they are doing; may it be, talking crudely about sex, getting off early from work or evading from tasks who are truly theirs but they manage to shift the tasks to others.

Men who do not deserved to be called men just because they are sexist pigs. Who think they have the right to criticize a woman’s body although they look like a bloated penguin.

Worse, even some women indulge in the sex talk just to be part of the clique when clearly, what they need to do is open their legs to their husbands not their mouths.

Maybe I’m not the one who “doesn’t go with the flow” and try to be accepted, but if being in means having to change who I am and indulge in some empty conversations, then I’d rather be an outcast.

Times like these I remembered every single thing that my ex used to say to me. That emotionally torturing bastard who cease my self-esteem to half a woman that I should be. Saying that “Apa guna belajar pandai kalau tak pandai bergaul”. That’s his exact words. Every single time he didn’t defend me instead lowering my standard to his, making me believe I didn’t deserve what I had. Didn’t suppose to be given what I had taken. Not worthy of living. I heard he had two daughters and I laughed, now he knew what my parents felt when I had a nervous breakdown after I found that after 3 years of bullshit relationshit, he was engaged and about to be married. I hope he cried when he held his daughters’ hands when his daughters bawled their eyes out after their boyfriends cheated on them. You might think I am heartless and I should just move on, but trust me, if you got fucked over by this psychotic asshole, you would wish the same things I just did.

What’s worse, everytime I got into contact with another man, I could never feel happy because I got that feeling in the pit of my stomach that something would go wrong with the relationship. I would wake up one day and find out that he had a wife somewhere or he slept with somebody else. In other words, even when everything is fine but I’d find some ways to screw it up because I felt insecure and it is better to break it off before I got hurt.

I could never feel good enough to deserve something good. Nothing excites me anymore. I am impervious to pain. Because, I have been royally fucked and nothing could be worse than losing your dignity.

If you are reading this, and if you have broken somebody’s heart because you can’t be satisfied with just one woman, then fuck you. It’s people like you who encourage suicide and emotional distress and I hope you got hit by a truck.