I Still Be Honest

I thought people were not reading my words until the very, very end of it in here, so I feel really comfortable, and I can open up in here.

So, I have said to my friends that I feel so worthless when I relapse, but I lied. But not completely lied. I lied, but you can see the honest point if you reverse it.

I feel worthless, so I relapse.

Maybe it’s not that simple, but let me explain it.

So, I usually feel unworthy when I wanna go back to my house. A house that does not feel like home. A house that may not belong to me anymore. Maybe I can call it anymore. I guess.

A house that always makes me question my worth. A house that feels more like a jail. A house that suffocates me until it’s only heartache I breathe. A house that always lets me be anything I want to be, but always gives me conditions to always come back to them. In fact, I just want to go far away from them.

However, I still come to that house. I'm still here. I'm still rooting in here.

I went back to that house. I went back to that room.

Same smell from my pressured room. Same furniture from my childhood trauma. Same memories that haunt me like a ghost wherever I go.

In that little crack, with my thought of being unworthy, he came. He sneaks from the happy memories that I still hold onto. He knocks on my door with his silly joke that always lingers in my mind. He comes from the bed that had been a witness to all of my phases of life. He haunts me with the cupboard that often be my shoulder to cry and a scenery to watch while I’m craving for his attention.

All about these places, all about this city, and all about this house. I’m pretty sure they just want me to break down.

So, just break me into pieces so that I will forget how to go back to my real form. Break me with that fatherless, break me with those mother wounds, break me with that grey relationship, break me with those unwanted feelings, and break me with that one-sided love.

I’m so ready.

Written by Alna in March 2026