trepidation

I wake from an afternoon nap feeling my chest pound in trepidation. I often dream strange dreams, that have disconnected storylines, not altogether scary in content all the time. But even then I still wake up in a panic. "I am not ready to go back to work." But the dream had nothing to do with work.

My chest is still tightening. My mind is quiet, not even reeling in whatever dream-story I just went through while asleep. I am not sad. I am not angry. I am not regretful.

I sit here and think nothing, breathing normally, telling myself it is all right.

I wish my heart will stop beating in such a trying manner.

"I will be all right."

knots

I feel terrible. Not that I want to scare you.

There is this wretched feeling in my chest that wants to tie me up in varying degrees. Sometimes it is like an 'oh, shit' feeling, stirred by, say, a memory of me accidentally knocking a cherry off someone's birthday cake and messing it up. That sorta event knocks the perfectionist in me off, and I wrench into a couple of knots. Then sometimes bigger things are suddenly recalled, like shitty accents in people I do not fondly remember, asking me to do stupid things - I remember them and internally kvetch and have bad dreams. And then I think about deeper things like friendship and loss, or read messages about people missing me, and I feel sad. But most times I just knot up, like I do now.

I can hardly sleep properly. I can't sleep till late, and even then, I am ridden over by the knottiness of my memories and thoughts. I wake too early, five hours later, tired, but unable to slink back into bed, till afternoon, where I doze off involuntarily. Lunch is an almost non-affair.

I need more books. They help me sleep and they help.

C asks if I am getting better. He asks me to go out shopping. He tells me not to worry about money. When I made my decision to screw off work he said, "There were times when I felt like doing exactly the same thing, but didn't have the guts to go ahead and do it. In that sense you're a much braver person than I." He says I need to be inspired, to do things I believe in. I think C is really getting the hang of E.

I can hardly bring myself out. First thing I will want to do is to clean my house and redecorate it. When I am able to find energy to do that, I will go out. But now, I am as always a homebody.

My thoughts are so floaty and unconnected. Which is why I write a blog, not author a book.

And all these floaty knotty thoughts keep me awake.

ghost

In the middle of the night, I float around the quiet house like a ghost, stuck between wanting to fulfill my death wishes, and wanting to be alive. It is a floaty feeling of nothingness and eternity all mixed into one.

I cry over broken things. Things that break, then break the next other thing, and then another, forming one whole broken thing. It was meant to be broken entirely. I cannot revive something that has already gone off, like rotten food in the refrigerator. All the same, it makes me very sad, and no one will ever realise the loss together with me. No one.

I am going to continue floating.

While I do that, I might as well enjoy myself, while I await for nothing and eternity all mixed into one.

Are you invisible like me?

I am often stuck in these ghostlike situations. Maybe I don't know it, but those feelings of death I recently felt, were real, they really happened. I really died.

So many other breaking, broken things too, not just the one, two, things I described. I am no longer forlorn, but ethereal. A mosaic of broken mirrors and junk-like items, while I try to author and fashion them into beauty, and fail yet again and again. Ethereal, because I see everything in these mirrors and junk, nothing and eternity all the same. I am no longer forlorn, because I have art. Art of life, a mixed media sculpture of broken things.

Can you tell I am not really making sense? Not really being here, does this to me.

I am going to enjoy my quiet, now.

Read more. Write more. There is nothing else I can do better, probably. I am so effused with mediocrity.

I am such an expert at re-inventing myself my diary is full of evidence of the crime. At which I do not succeed. I am sorry to sound self-deprecatory but I am entitled to, I am depressed. I have to keep trying again and again. God, what in the world do you want me to do?!

post # 500

I couldn't sleep last night. After gaming, reading, showering, tossing, I gave up. Made some seaweed noodles and watched Jerry Mcguire, ashamedly, for the first time. Stayed up till 5am. Didn't finish the noodles.

I just re-read Lucy Sullivan Is Getting Married. I am like Lucy: I always "don't want to talk about it". I know repression feeds my depression but I am really too tired to explain my problem(s). They are a cock-shit waste of time.

Instead I should be like Jerry Mcguire and write down the solution.

I have also been reading Now, Discover Your Strengths to aid me in finding out what the hell I have been doing wrong, and what I have not been doing right. I am already beginning to suspect, rightly, I hope.

My life has been a series of failures. Maybe they are meant to be there to help me get to the right place. Maybe I am just continually getting it wrong. What makes me the authority to declare I am going to get it right this time? Maybe I never will, in this lifetime. And then I will find out, ho ho ho, it was all just part of the freaking journey of blasted self-fulfillment, in which the goal is not important, hence you will never get it.

I'm sorry I haven't written.


I have been cocooning at home the whole week, and enjoying it.


I'm sorry I am hardly explaining anything, as usual.


Books, WoW, C's company, my God, are my solace. And Lexapro too.

I am not feeling well at all.

I feel like I am in a warm space
devoid of time or human touch
where hope is silent
in the face of deaths of dreams -
I am not qualified to say this.

Entering the twilight,
where darkness comes
inevitably;
I rush to turn on the lights
so I can make sense of everything.

Before then, I am
cradled in whispering hope,
making do with some reality -
as much as I can take -
without shattering it all in me.

I feel terrible.

I FEEL MONSTER-ISH.