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For Tammy




It was cold. I'm trying to but I cannot.


The pain that pokes my throat seems heavier, as I remember it all again. My doctor advised me to take my medicine, but I didn't--cuz it tastes bitter, and I can remember those things again because of its taste. In short, it doesn't help. Three pills of anti-depressants twice a day for a year, a dose of 1000 milligrams of vitamin C, a regular temperature check, two tablets of anti-stress for three times a week. It's that complicated. My medicine. But my memory is long gone, I've practiced not to remember, but I did, I failed. I'm hurt.




Eight years. I missed eight years of my life flowing against the will of corrupt. In return, I had pain, dreary days, a victim of lugubrious nights, an unwanted person, unmaintained, unwelcome, unloved.


That was the past. Why do I keep remembering? The pain is striking once again.


As it seems, I am imperfect. No one's perfect, that's a fact... But Tammy. Smart, gorgeous, confident, witty, and well-loved; she is my inner self. The ideal person i want to be, who everybody swoons to be. Technically, she does not exist. Only in my thoughts. She'd motivate me, always. Like an angel. A beautiful, humble, and intelligent, kind one. Michelle isn't, and so does Bernice. So at the back of my mind, I'd like people calling me Tammy, moreover not to push perfection beneath my skins, but to recall the mantra of motivation. A hopeless one. An ideal. Why? Because she's respected, honored. I'm discriminated, disturbed and called a faggot. Even lower than that sometimes.


The illusion of perfect is next to imaginary. The confusion between reality and composure makes the pressure pump like the beats of my heart. No. Not that heart that falls, nor that heart that faints. It's the heart that cleanses..the same heart that controls all pursuits.


I am insane. A victim of being neglected, being harassed, and being abused. I know we all are. But not with the same degree of intensity and sacks of burden. Mine, is almost, unbelievable. The pills. Yes. They may help me forget the past but not the pain. In my thoughts, Tammy is much empowered and much stronger than I am. Jealousy and enviousness strikes my impelled mood. Disturbed. I cannot continue my mission. Or maybe... I can.


Although this lines are blurred. Much unpredictable and uninterpretable, those who are like me can only understand. Oh, yes, Tammy, you are perfect. But not so perfect. You say you can have everything, but in reality, you cannot. You cannot acquire pain, torture, torment, and disaster. You cannot produce anger and suicidal glimpses. You are just a state of mind; people wanted you so badly. How can you blind them with the sights of false paradise, false happiness. You. Give. Pressure. You bring death close to me. But yes, this knife I am holding, is not meant for my beating heart or my borborygmous stomach. It is for you. So long, partner. Aim nothing but that unworthy promises you impose.


Categories: fiction, psychological, emotional, dreary, detective
For Tammy For Tammy Reviewed by Michelle Tan on 9:50 PM Rating: 5

2 comments:

  1. Keri yan sweetie. --vien d.r.

    ReplyDelete
  2. THIS is actually fiction. I got lots of emails asking if this were "real reflection/encounter"...no it isn't. :D

    ReplyDelete

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