Frustration.

Ever felt that lump of white- hot rage surging within you, rising all the way up to your larynx, waiting to pop once you vocalize your wrath, yet remains cooped up in the confines of your emotions just because you can't seem to let your anger out on anyone?

That my friends, is called frustration. Mental, spiritual agony. With frustration, depression ensues. And with depression, well, let's just say your world is literally ending. You NO LONGER see the light at the end of the tunnel. You begin to wonder if there was ever a light at the end of the tunnel to begin with. You have fallen into an abyss so deep that darkness is all you live with everyday.

I have fallen into that abyss. Nothing makes me happy. NOTHING. Not even writing makes me happy. HOW CAN THAT NOT MAKE ME FEEL HAPPY? I'm an aspiring author for goodness' sake! Reading doesn't help either. Watching TV makes me wanna kill myself and the worst thing is, I feel even more depressed when I'm on a fucking holiday.

A holiday. How can you not feel happy when you're on a holiday?? Okay, I am starting to freak myself out with all this depression.

I was away at the beach with my family last weekend- my first holiday of the year (I skipped three family vacations this year because of fucking school events, piano and school exams). I was planning to for once, set my thoughts aside (maybe lock them up in a cupboard and annihilate the stupid key or something) and just have fun, kick back relax and all that. But I ended up forcing myself to write a poem.  ON THE BEACH where you're supposed to be surfing waves, riding horses, building sandcastles and whatever a normal human does at the beach.

I'm so sick of myself. So sick that whenever I look at myself in the mirror, I have this urge to throw up. *coughs why is it that the moment I'm done typing that sentence Ne-Yo's So Sick plays on my MP3 coughs*

Still, I got to have a lil' bit of fun with my DSLR.