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Torture Chamber

What do you have in mind when you hear the words ‘torture chamber’?

I used to imagine it as some kind of small room in a medieval tower full of iron shackles and sharp weapons.

But I realise now that you don’t need all that to create a torture chamber.

Just try walking barefoot in a room full of shattered dreams and broken hearts, with no intention to let go.

That should be enough of a torture.

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Escape

One day, one of my best friends asked me what I did to escape from sadness.

The truth is, I don’t. I never escape sadness. I embrace dwell on it.

I will cry, a lot.

I will start compiling a playlist on Spotify which reflects what I’m currently feelings, and have a good cry with it.

And me being me means that I will cry anywhere, at any time. Before going to sleep, just after I wake up, on the way to the office, IN the office, at the park, when meeting my friends, when texting my friends, in the bathroom, you name it.

At this stage, everything will look bleak to me. I cannot walk too fast (and I’m already a slow walker). I will have to stop at whatever I’m doing every now and then, just to gather my thoughts.

I will break down, completely. And I don’t know when this will end. Or if it will eventually end.

But after some time, I will cry a little less. I will be able to function to some extent. And at this point, I will find another way to channel my feelings.

Writing.

It is funny and rather ironic how in my happy times I could not fill this blog with a single sentence. But when I am messed up, words seem to just explode from my heart. Like water bursting from a hose. I can not put a stop to it. I will need to let these out. It’s really an embodiment of the following passage:

“…all sad people write. It’s a form of catharsis, a way of working through things that feel unresolved, like undoing a knot. People who are prone to sadness are more likely to pick up a pen.”

– Lang Leav, Sad Girls

Apart from writing, music is another way for me to escape sadness. I mean, by playing it.

I realise that once I have the energy to lift my fingers, the melodies will just fall into place. I wish I were a little bit more competent in this department. That way, I might be able to start composing my own song and sell it like Taylor Swift (I don’t know why I refer to her).

What else?

I cannot think of anything else, honestly. I knew some people escape the sadness by working. I really admire people who could do that. Me? I broke down to tears at work it seems a little hopeless.

But I guess people have their own way to cope with sadness, no?

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Her

She has promised to stay. But she keeps fading away with every passing day. Why? You wonder. You have given your all. Trust me, she knows. But there is nothing that she could do. Because how can you love when your heart is half broken? You need to mend it first. But how do people mend a broken heart? A heart is not a porcelain to be glued together. Neither is it a fabric to be sewn together. A heart like hers is best left alone.

Are you sure?

You wonder once again. You see her fingers bleed from trying to hold on to something that is not there. You see her become paler and paler, helplessly. Is it from the loss of blood? Or is it actually the loss of hope which is more dangerous?

You will probably never know. And neither will she.