Stars have been named the lover of lies

Today, I bought a new pair of uber girly shoes.
And I like them a lot.
Looking at the pair of sandals amidst my sneakers, black shoes, boots, and flip-flops, it’s pretty much obvious to deduce that I don’t wear high heeled sandals often, but I like them (enough to take pictures of them haha!) Don’t mind that my feet are fat ;p They just look so girly it makes me giddy (talk about late bloomer - haha!). I’m normally your pants, shirt, and sneakers sort of person, but these shoes were just screaming "buy me" when I tried them on.

I hate crying, but I just did. A good couple of minutes ago.

Took some determination to holding it back before pressing the end call button on my cellphone and just bawling my eyes out.

It wasn’t one of those silent sniffles, nor was it one of those cry
so loud to make the stars fall from the sky. It was something in
between a sob and a wail.

But the good thing that we could all get from crying is that it
relieves that constricting pain in your chest. That sickening, heavy
feeling that results from the conglomeration of all that stress,
frustration, disappointment, and sadness that lodges inside that space
in our chest where our heart had once lived (after we have given our
heart to someone else). When we love, our heart is not really our own
now, is it? I’m not just talking about romantic love, but love in all
aspects. From the moment that we realized how much we care about other
people, then our heart is no longer our own . Anyway, I digress.

There are times when I wish that I have that "I don’t give a flying
fuck" attitude. Is it easier to not care than to care all the time?

Sometimes when something bothers me, I don’t say anything at first,
waiting for other people to figure out if something’s bothering me or
not. Maybe it’s my way of gauging how attuned a person is to me and my
feelings. I’m complicated, I know, but who isn’t? This is my personal
complication.

When I get these bouts of depression, there’s a point where I can
bend so far without breaking, but when I break, I break really hard. I
try not to let other people know about it, thinking that I would be
bothering them by doing so, but at the same time I want them to know
about it. It’s a push and a pull. Oftentimes, I end up turning to
drawing (like what I did earlier) and writing (as what I am doing now)
to relieve my depression. If all else fails, however, I turn to sleep
to find escape in my dreams. Few people can see into the sadness that
is inside me. I hate it, but it’s a part of me.

I’m not depressed all the time, definitely not as much as I used to
be. I know I have gone far, faaar from that angst-ridden teenager who
used to hate the world in between contemplating on suicide (which I now
think is extremely stupid), pricking little wounds on her hands, or
locking herself in her bathroom punching the tiles. But there are those
little bouts that still find it’s way into my system, just like the one
that I’m having now.

I’m looking forward to waking up tomorrow morning, coz I know that
I’m going to feel better… but in a moment I’ll be closing my eyes and
I’ll know that I’ll find myself lying down on the saddest landscape in
the world.

(from "The Little Prince" - the saddest landscape in the world)