Thursday, June 26, 2008

written from this afternoon until long after the sun set

I came out without a notebook and pen to town and really freaked out in panic. It is scary to have words and no paper to park them on.

So I hopped into Muji @ Paragon and got these.

I am now sitting at Coffee Bean Paragon to park these words.

Waiting, for the emergency 'tiding over' meds to kick in.

They haven't yet, really.

So I will keep writing.

It is a lonely day, carrying this sickness, without company.

I just want someone to snuggle up to and hug. Is that so hard to find? Even a girlfriend will do, but they, my girlfriends, are busy.

I just want this pain to go away.

It is not easy. Eventually it may become so. But I don't know how to get there! Nothing seems to help right now.

I don't want to be banished to JB. I will be even lonelier than before. I know I will die there.

I don't want to go anywhere. It is lonely everywhere. Just a matter of how much.

Come on meds, tide me over.
Tide me over. Tide me over.
Tide me over. Tide me over.
Now.

The pain has become beyond white. It is now ashen. My heart has been broken down by pain. Slowly. It will turn to ashes.


Tide over. Tide over. Tide over.

Tide over. Tide over. Tide over.


There is a leaden weight in me, like a despondency, that I carry around. I am almost desperate to have it removed. I don't care if I die in the process.

I am running out of words like I am running out of tears. I am giving up on the idea of having some companionship. I am tired of hoping I will be fully recovered, functioning, and fulfilling my dreams one day. I am tired of all this and of carrying around the deadweight in my heart.

When is this going to end?

I am too much of a burden for anyone, even people in combined strengths. I am like the injured soldier they should leave behind.

I don't want to be here anymore.


I am no longer thinking it is possible to live without pain in this world, in my heart. I am one of the worst patients ever. Maybe I should be hospitalised. I should be injected and zapped to get me cured. My mom doesn't even seem to get the extent of my suffering. I am beyond repair. Like a brain-dead patient on life-support. I should be killed. It is not feasible to keep me going, alive like this.


I feel so lonely. But my loneliness is too big a burden for anyone to bear, even me. I will be lonely forever.

Tide over, tide over.

My loneliness and sadness is too big to bear. God, you have to let me see the reality of what you already bore for me on the cross.

Tide over, tide over.

I want to wake up and feel no more pain when I do.

I want to feel no more pain.

Take away the pain, please. I am not as resilient as I need to be to get out of this alive.

Kick in, meds, kick in. Tide me over. Tide me over. Kick in. Kick in.

I want to wake up with no more pain. I want to die. Take me away from here. Separate this pain from me. Take it away.

I want to wake up with no more pain. Take this pain away.

The pain is metathesizing greatly. Kill it kill it kill it. I want to die. Kill it. The pain is me. It's mine. I need to die to kill it. I want to die I want to die I want to die.

Cut me up so I no longer exist.


Neglect caused this. Abandonment caused this. Loneliness caused this. Lack of affection caused this. I am pain, caused by everything that is no one's fault.

How am I supposed to extricate all that is wrong with me and make it right so I can function and walk again? It is an impossible task for me, I am already burdened by this overwhelming pain.

Tide over, tide over.

Even if the pain goes away, my fears won't.

"Liver, you have got to metabolise the meds and work for me and take away this pain."

Take away this pain. Go away. Go away. Extricate yourself from me and go away. I need you to leave.

I am alone. Well and truly alone. I have lost all my defenses and my independence. I have no ability to rise above the storm. I am the casualty; in every storm and flood there must be some who take the fall. I am one of them.


--

The meds kick in.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

killing the pain

I went to confide in my Mom. She gave me ultimatums. All I wanted was a hug, but I didn't get it.I tried Slinky, but she barely reciprocated. Afterwards Mom apologised for pressurising me. X^anax calmed me down. Crying helped a bit. After a post-dinner session of gaming, I feel empty again. After tonight I am not sure if I need to take my doctor up on his offer for an emergency prescription tomorrow morning. I am irrational and unlovable. I need to stay away from tall buildings so I won't feel like killing this pain. It feels like nuclear energy that is soon growing all white and ashen with a murderous explosion that will kill me. I am running out of tears.
Staying awake in the day makes me feel like shit. My mom persuades me every day to find a fun job to do, like working in a shop. What makes her feel that is fun for me? I will not be able to bear it. The thought of working in a confined space, with people coming in and out, makes me want to well up and cry. I will fear work every day, not even dressing up will help me overcome the dread I often feel about going out of the house. I don't know how to change her mind that I am not ready.

Doctor says that maybe I need more time for the new higher dose of Tegradol to kick in. I have to wait. If I feel down for more than three days it is significant. Today is day three. After today if I don't feel any better I need stuff to 'tide me over'. I am tired of feeling useless and being useless. I don't want the tears to return.

This is bigger than me. You know that right?

I don't feel like doing anything: gaming, watching DVDs, reading my new books and magazines. I just want to sleep and stop crying. Or cry until everything is okay. But I know it won't be okay.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

pain, reloaded

I want to write myself in to oblivion. I want to write until I no longer exist. I cannot write to make money or prove a point anymore, I can only create words that are welling in me, shouting to be put on paper. I can only write to soothe my crazed mind, a mind that fills with anger and sadness and hopelessness. I only want to not exist, that is why I write. I want to write away the pain. I want to write.

Time stabs at me as it ticks by, it stabs at my meaninglessness. I want to not feel pain, but time pains me at my lack of achievement and lack of ability. I want to not live anymore but it is too tiring to try again, too expensive, too painful to re-live the pain. I just want to go away into the hardboiled wonderland of dreams and sleep to never wake up. I don't even want to feel calm, I just want to no longer feel, or be.

Doctor will probably tell me I need to re-increase one of the mood stabilisers he just brought down the dose for me. This pharmaceutical yo-yo brings me back to my sense of normal, which is really shit indeed; my normal is shit, my normal is pain, my normal is all the anger of my twenty-eight years, my normal is sadness tears and hopelessness.

I just want the clock to hit eight. Hit eight, hit eight. Then I can pretend to be the party hostess I have to be and want to be, and drink myself to oblivion. I just want to not feel like me anymore. Me hurts like hell.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Frustrated - with life as it is, with life I cannot achieve. I am not good at what I do: I do nothing much, and I suck at what I cannot do. Words cannot articulate how worthless I feel in this world. My anger from yesterday may have dissipated in my decision to force-sleep early, but it has precipitated into a hard numb dull ache in my chest. I am not rooted in reality, but my weakness eludes reality for me. Writing gives no respite, nothing probably will. Everything is about alleviating my sadness and anger.

This anger is probably residual from everything that has happened in the the twenty-eight and a half years of my life. I am feeling it all beginning now, right now. I am ploughing on with little idea of what I will plant after I till this infertile land.

I am a nightmare to whoever loves me.

This Charming Man by Marian Keyes

I am in the middle of reading Marian Keyes' new book, This Charming Man. I have to say its superb literature. For one, Marian has married four writing styles through the voices of four women, all linked to topics of politics and domestic violence through the same man. Four stories, yet not short stories that leave you hanging for the ending, yet one superb story. No regrets following one of my favourite authors.

funk

I am in an emotional funk because I tried to pay some bills at the machines and they just kept screwing me over. Technological infrastructure riles me when I am functioning normally but this peeving has slaughtered my emotional health for the day. I feel off-balance and there is so much anger in me caused by the bill-paying, it has not abated long after I have solved (partly) the issue. What is it about even daily chores that anger me so, so much? How am I suppose to withstand the stresses of the daily world if I cannot even remain normally calm and just a bit peeved for a short while? DVD, reading, bubble tea and cigarettes later, I am still angry. But I hardly have the heart to rant about it and spoil anyone's day, so I eat my anger up, and keep it within me like nuclear energy waiting to be exploited by ill means. I am so angry. All I want to do is sleep the day off but I am not sleepy enough to sleep properly. I don't feel like watching my DVD anymore, nor reading, nor gaming. I am angry and upset that I am angry. This anger is crazily knitting up my chest and heart and all I want to do is surgically extricate it from the centre of my being. Maybe it is time to go back on my x*anax. This is a fucked up world and for me with no longer any shit-taking capacity, even more so. I want to be a non-living thing.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

after the rain

It is a really sleepy noon. Rain has fallen to the ground and cooled the urban earth. My windows are open and the breezy after-rain smell is wafting through my day curtains. High on sleepiness and nicotine I have a coffee to set the balance, but it is not working: I would rather be asleep amongst my pillows.

Pillows are no substitute for a man. They are soft and smell of me. A man would have hard legs, full of warmth and damp from heat, and he would smell of him. The feeling of having someone to hold is hard to replace, something you cannot really achieve with pillows, girlfriends, or fantasies.

Companionship and mutual care are the first two things that often happen before our hearts get warmed. Undivided attention, conversations, love in actions. These things make you wonder for more and miss the times when you did have more.

But the maybes and mistakes always spoil everything. Creating a haze that mirrors the rainy sky, making you wish for more breeze, more rain! Yet hoping the skies will clear up for blue. All the wishing and wanting for both ends of the stick.

I have finally switched on my air-con again. The heat even after tropical rain, is becoming unbearable and sticky once again. The day curtains continue to let the cloudy light in, and I burn candles to create a romantic atmosphere for one, for now.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

The Heart of the Matter using Jag's acoustic guitar

Not really my best attempt and my fingers were hurting. But I love this song.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

the good side I am trying to remember

He was supportive of my ambitions.
He understood that I had to work in close proximity with my ex-boyfriend.
He supported me financially where he could.
He brought me to nice places to dine and holiday in.
Also bought me the Ferragamo bag I love.
His parents accepted me as part of the family.
He washed the dishes and tried to help me with laundry.
He fixed my lightbulbs and other handymen type of household affairs.
He was my IT man.
He was clean, didn't snore much and had very little vices.
My parents liked him while it lasted.

I guess they all had their good side. So here is C's, just to be fair. But I really don't mind losing him at all, anymore.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

"it's coming down to just a drizzle now"

I think... my cocktail of meds is finally almost optimal. I feel normal. I still feel phobic. But I think I can get there.

Depression is like a ghost that takes you over, like a mugger on the street. You react because you had to. Then, when it is over... life resumes... it almost is like you never got mugged except that you are now wiser on the streets.

I no longer feel very poetic, nor do I write a lot in my notebooks.

But I no longer feel tired talking about myself. I no longer feel tired all the time, even without coffee. This, is truly amazing.

I am finally the chirpy person I should be like my doctor said his patients should by now.

It has been about one or two weeks of normal. I am still phobic and easily angered and stressed. But my depression is lifting and my energy is returning. I think I am coming back from the dead, fatter and more talkative, with more energy.

I really thought I would never get better. Eventually I am sure I will be given something to help me conquer my fears and stress and anger. As for now, meds, Slims and Corona save the day. And for that I am already thankful.

I kept asking God the same thing over and over this year: why did you put me through this shit?

He finally replied me loud and clear: Because the devil wanted you and I said he wouldn't be able to, even if he tried.

People say that you need to have faith in God et cetera. But I think God's faith in us is even more amazing sometimes.