Ending life

I think about dying. A lot more than usual recently. Maybe a lot more than normal. But then again, I don't even know what the prescribed amount of time one should think about dying. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I killed myself. Would anyone care? I mean yeah, maybe people will take time to grieve but would anyone actually really miss me? Most people mourn, then they move on after a while. They eventually fill that void in their heart. And that's what I'll be. A replaceable, dispensible void. I'm tired. I'm tired of life. I think about killing myself sometimes, about slashing my wrists so that the physical pain can numb the emotional pain. Because sometimes I just want to watch myself bleed. The only reason I'm holding on right now is a rational one. It is that if I leave this earth, people will be hurt. Not emotionally, but financially. My parents will have a heavy burden to bear. Sometimes I think I need help, but I don't want to seek it. I want to be able to fix myself. But it's so hard. Even after I fix myself, I get spoilt again and I need to be repaired yet again. It's an endless cycle and I'm getting so sick of it.

My first lie

I was 5. My parents had decided to leave the house, probably to go on a date or something(which on hindsight, was a cute thing to do). My mum was in the toilet, washing up. She said she was going out with dad and I asked if I could go. My mum said, "Go and ask your dad." So I ran out to the living room and asked him. I don't think I caught what he said. But I ran back to my mum anyway, and asked her again. She asked me if dad said yes. I said yes. Then they talked, and I got in trouble because I "lied". Maybe I knew my dad's answer, but I can't recall the state of my mind at that point of time anymore. They brought me out anyway.
That was it. My first lie. The first sign that I had developed presupposition. And with that, a small part of my innocence left me.

Le Papillon

When I was 6, I had taken an interest to the French language. On hindsight, it was probably ignited by my obsession with Madeline, the cartoon. My uncle very kindly offered to tutor me and give me some very introductory lessons on the French language. To the curious ones out there, I have since stopped learning and I am inept in producing the /r/ sound. I can only say my Ps & Qs and count to three. I can say simple words like pomme, mademoiselle, madeleine, bon appetit. Don't try to get my to say croissant. I'd only be able to produce an abomination of it.
Moving on, I remember in that year, the movie Le Papillon was set to be released in theatres sometime at the end of the year. After seeing a newspaper advert for the movie, my mum promised me that she would bring me to the cinema to watch it. I can't recall if I was very excited for it. I know that there was some level of excitement, but I can't recall how high that level was.
Anyway, 2002 came and went. Le Papillon was released. After a couple of weeks, it stopped showing. My time to watch it had come and gone, but it had completely slipped my mum's mind. I turned 7 and had yet to watch Le Papillon. A couple of months later, my mum realised that she can broken her promise. That was my first broken promise. The first time anyone had made a promise to me and broke it. I will never forget it. I don't mean that I still hold a grudge against my mother about the movie. I don't. Eventually, I got to watch the movie when my mum tried to make it up to me by renting the DVD from the store to play it at home. But I will never forget this broken promise as a reminder for myself, not to make promises I cannot keep. I take the word promise very seriously. All my life, I have tried very hard to keep every promise I have made. I can probably count on one hand how many promised I have ever broken. (The biggest one was probably leaving church, but that's not a story for today.) I don't like to agree to things or discuss things that I don't think will happen. (i.e. when my friends say, let's go Fiji, and Whitsundays, and ____whatever country). I don't think it will happen so I don't see the point of raising my hopes and their hopes. Broken promises and broken agreements are soul-crushing, at least to me. It signifies a loss of trust in a person. Trust that took years to build up. That kind of trust can be broken in minutes or even seconds, when a promise is broken. And even more so if I have to break a promise that I made. I try so hard not to, because to break it means that I lose a part of myself, I lose a semblance of consistency in my morals. I become inconsistent in my identity and values. I become a hypocrite. And I won't be able to live with myself very well, staring in the mirror wondering what happened to the girl who kept her word, because that girl fell off the bandwagon. And even though she may get back on, people will always remember how she fell, and predict that one day, she will fall off again.