Dolls are plastic.

Dolls are meant to be broken. They are plastic; desired and admired, then abandoned. Haven’t you ever broken a doll? Did you try tearing it apart, only to see that there’s nothing beneath that flashy exterior, so hollow and empty, so unattainable. Such grieve and agony, when all your wildest dreams disintegrate right before your very eyes. Then would you realize, that this time around, yet again, this doll is yet to be.

I deserve it. Each and every time people enter my life, linger for a while, decide that it’d be fine to hurt me, and then they leave, with no traces left behind. I’ve been too nice to people, so much so that when they hurt me, they’ll just be thinking: "It’s alright, time will heal her wounds" or "She’s used to this pain, let her be."

It’s unlike my character, but I put down my pride to salvage a friendship that I really cherish because I don’t want an incident to destroy the friendship that we have built over the years. But what do I get in return for trampling on my own self-esteem: only more anguish, disregard and disappointment. I have no choice but to stop trying. It’s pointless. Her actions have become a wedge in me and I finally come to terms with the fact that the value of this friendship no longer exists. How harsh and injurious can one’s deeds be to utterly disappoint another person, somebody who has trusted in you? Friends aren’t supposed to be likewise. We aren’t friends. It’s a pity but I have to move on.

I’ve decided. I’m tired of all these heartbreaks, time and again. I’ve decided to stop believing in love. From herein, I’ll stop chasing after my supposed grand and noble love. I can’t take another heartbreak; I can’t fight for another guy who would sooner or later wind up breaking my heart. One more time and the impact would be devastating. I’m too fragile already. Frankly speaking, be it the devotion of genuine feelings or merely a little crush, my heart’s a lacerated battlefield. I’ve decided to give other guys a try, and learn to fall for them, in spite of. Things would work out, somehow. I’m disintegrating. The next time somebody abandons me, I’m going to call the cops for the discarding of unauthorized human properties.

I keep cautioning myself against being so nice and accommodating to people, but I’d just give in, time and again. I really wonder how I could fake a smile and be so bubbly and cheery all the time when deep inside, I’m just full of scars and wounds. It’s so true; the saddest person has the brightest smile. Probably some people can make me forget how broken I am, for a short while.

I won’t deny that I take pills to assist my insomnia and I drink, to wish these pains away. But I have to stop impairing my body. I have to stop hurting myself. I’m not the one at fault. But why do I have to pay for their misdemeanors? The answer struck me: Of course you have to, who let them into your life in the first place! Who was the one who fought for them to stay? It’s you, you stupid brainless whore.

Hurt people hurt other people. I’ve been hurt WAY TOO MANY TIMES I know how it feels. And yes, I’ve been abandoned too. Guys just dissed me after having fun playing around with my heart. They’re right, for each failed friendship and love, I’d cry and get over it, some I took months, some years. I’ll be alright again, but the scars piled atop of one another, in hidden places that will bring nightmares.

Karma hurts like a fucking bitch. I’ve broken hearts before; each time round I’m devoured by guilt. People label me a player; I know I’m not. I’m just scarred, they wouldn’t know. They know of my wounds, but they only want to possess me, how long can the admirations by exterior last?

I hate being abandoned, I really, really hate it. I'm so afraid of being abandoned, I try my best to be worthy of being loved. But every single time, people walk out of my life and brush me aside.

I’m barely 18; I know that as I age, there will be more of such people in my life. They’d come and go, and disappoint me. If it’s innate characteristic, then I can’t help but be a holy sacrifice in their realistic game. But I’ll be wiser; I’ll heal. And please don’t let me break, at least first let me stitch up these wounds.

Not all girls are bitches. Not all girls are two-faced, sometimes when you’re nice to people, you just want to be accepted. You’re genuinely trying to be nice. But you can’t have the best of both worlds. You’re either an attention-seeking slutwhorebitch, a nobody or a fake.

Today, my friends were ‘bitching’ about this girl, and I actually said, “Don’t do that, we’re friends.” And guess what I got in reply, “But don’t you know when you’re not around, she actually bitched about you?” Haha. I’ve successfully morphed myself into such an utter joke. There I was trying to make things amicable, but I was already backstabbed countless times behind my back. Tell me why, it doesn’t pay to be nice. Those fairytale sagas only happen in childhood fantasy.

I’m so sick and tired of being hurt. The next time somebody wants to hurt me, I’d suggest that he/she shows some empathy and take a queue number. This is the real me: Fragile, Vulnerable, Broken. There's nothing more beneath that smile. I'd wish that somebody will hold me close and guard me against these fears. I'm just hiding behind my cowardice, every single day. 

I’ll work hard, day by day, to take this pain away. 

Don't be mistaken, I'd very much prefer to be a happy person. But it's just been the second week of 2012, second week of the year in which I turn 18, and a lot of things have been inflicting my life. I have grown a lot from these pain. I've to pick myself up again, can't bear to let people who love me worry over my current emotional state. 

♥