I hate the fact that I cannot keep up with the good times that I have had during my earlier times. Springtime has always been the worst time of the year for me. Partly it is because it represents the end of things, like the school year. Moreover, it seems to be the time when all traumatizing experiences of mine seem to occur and never go away. Permanent scars, permanent wounds are what I’d describe them to be. Springtime is the most depressing season for me contrast to the feeling it is suppose to evoke of new life and warmth after the winter.

Everything seems to be diminished for me about springtime. This year, I had such a good time in the fall and some in the winter. I had a lot of fun and got to meet and get to know a whole lot of people. Those are my best times of the year and I remember them well. Most things seem to be going well and I had escaped my former world and started a new seemingly beginning of a good life. But then all that seems to be going away and my troubles seem to far exceed that of anything good that ever comes. For every good moment I have now comes the bad moments five times more and five times stronger. I hold on to all the good moments as if it were as precious as my life’s blood…in the end, I am stabbed more than my body can bear or heal or ever recover. I bleed and it hardly sustains the life that valued all its precious times.

The sun scorches my self rather than nourishes it with the sense of springtime to bring back life from the dreaded coldness. Rather, it is my heart that became cold as ice and melts and burns by the sun rather than making recovery. I do not have a heart of stone, but the dead winters freeze it that my life’s blood ceases to flow and all has stopped.

I like having the feeling of not having to feel. In a sense, if I had one wish for myself, I wish I could never feel any sort of feeling, neither the pleasure nor the pain, because in the end it is the emptiness that wins it all. Pleasure and pain come and go, but the emptiness always remain. In a sense, the emptiness is the absence of all feelings. All things began as nothing and are filled with either pleasure or pain. The emptiness is the cup, and pleasure and pain are the drinks of life that fill it. You drink and it is gone, but the taste lingers in your mouth and the nourishment or poisons remain in your body as the memory of either sensation. I would rather have begun with a cup that never felt either because I would never have to long or dread one or the other.

It is my cup that has been filled with pain mixed with drops of pleasure. It is not enough to change the bitterness to sweetness. It is not enough to dilute the poisons in which I drink to everyday.

What do I dread? The thought of drinking pain? The thought of not drinking pleasure? It’s actually the emptiness that I am dehydrated of either drinks. It is the heart that dies of thirst.

I would rather feel nothing if it would spare me my misery…