the last twenty days...

I am sorry I haven't written.

I think I am not too sad now. I think my moods are stabilising. Even if I do skip a dose of anti-depressants here and there, I can still be normal, just a bit irritable or mildly unhappy, but not in such a debilitating manner. I can still cope. I will stick on them and refill my prescriptions for the next few months. I think I am a nicer person when on them.

My anxiety is however not getting all that completely better. I managed to get over my constant panic attacks through talking to my resident psychologist friend Mona (superb counsel, free-of-charge!) But now instead of living with panic attacks, I live with a perpetual chest tightness and heart palpitations. When I wake, when I walk, when I am about to sleep. As such, I sleep poorly. I just carry my tightness with me all day long.

I cannot sleep at night, even if I sleep little the day before, or wake early. Or drink herbal tea, take Valerian root, read, or listen to jazz in soft lighting.

I told my parents. They worried about me, but supported me, celebrated my birthday for me, and gave me huge ang-pow for it too. Thinking about my tiramisu cake, and the money my mom gave me, make me so touched I tear up. My twenty-eighth birthday is probably the best twenties birthday I have had in my life.

And I got a job. It is a long story which I have been repeating, as such I will tell the story of that another time. But I am blessed. I start in December.

I have been shopping a lot, on my card. Mammoth cartloads of books, and new suits and clothes for work. C paid for a pair of shoes for me, and I think I will drag him to Coach for a new tote I need, as my birthday gift.

I hope I get better. My life has become as dusty as my house. Everything lies in wait for me.

sadness

The world is one big sadness, and I am a molecule in this sadness. There are no happy things, only things that alleviate this sadness, or means to express this sadness beautifully. My passion is in alleviating sadness in other people's lives. My passion is not a happy thing, it only helps me to alleviate sadness. I ask myself to think of happy things to make myself feel better, and to be honest, I come up with nothing. Love is about alleviating the sadness in my life, preventing it. Any happiness from it neutralises the sadness and makes it better. I have the most blessed relationships in my life right now; they all make the sadness better. But there are no such things as happy things.

Charlie Kaufman in Adaptation

Cue Charlie sitting at the typewriter, blank sheet rolled in. He freezes up, thinks about coffee, thinks about his writing, thinks about coffee, thinks about his writing. Eventually, he makes a start, which I feel, is brilliant. But he is completely stressed out over his screenplay project.

(Am still halfway through the movie).

I am exactly like that. Except the brilliant part hasn't yet materialised...

my earliest childhood memories

Please note that I am not here to belittle the sacrifices my parents made to have me as their daughter. They are the best parents I can have. I am doing this to help me understand my depression and anxiety so that I can save money on therapy and get myself off Xanax, (which I find myself getting resistant to, which signifies the beginning of addiction.) Earliest childhood memories probably explain a lot of things that are, now. It was used in James Frey's A Million Little Pieces regarding his inexplicable anger. It seems telling in Lionel Shriver's We Need To Talk About Kevin. So I will do the same here. Tell me if you have any advice.


I remember sadness. But I thought it was either normal or I was just being troublesome and attention seeking. I remember missing my parents so badly because they were at work and I was at home without them. I remember missing them so much that I took out photo albums and cried over my parents' pictures. My parents finally come home at say, eight in the evening, and I run to my mom crying and hugging her but she felt I was being childish. I was never allowed to cry because crying was wrong. The first time I cried guilt-free in front of my parents was when I was seventeen years old.

I remember simply not feeling like playing with my neighbours one day; I locked them out of my house and refused to answer while they kept calling me to let them in as was our usual afternoon playtime tradition. My maid asked me why and I just told her not to let them in. I shut my room windows so they wouldn't see me.

I remember once in kindergarten I was really happy that my mom stayed home from work because I was ill. It was one of the best afternoons of my life then.

I remember not being able to sleep. I faked sleep. I forced sleep. I stared into darkness for the longest time, imagining I was climbing my cupboard or flying in space. I stared, awake. It felt like an hour like this, every night.

I remember my dad and mom locking me in the bathroom once because I was disobedient. That was my most horrific punishment as a child. Worse than the time they threw me out of the house when I was ten.

These are my earliest memories. Sadness is normal. Happiness is an anomaly. Joy is a blessing. Laughter is a relief. Sadness is my norm.