safety

I am not sure what to write anymore. I am unexcitable, if I may take the liberty to make a new word for the state that I am.

I have imprisoned myself at home so that I will feel safe, and like all institutionalised members - of prisons, asylums - I do not want to be free, the idea of the vast spaces of freedom scares me. I would rather stay in and do familiar things, even then, only things that I can muster strength to do, and then in pleasure, only extreme things like gorging on chocolates or ice-cream. Otherwise I find things to clean in the house that I can bear to.

I don't feel like painting, writing, or playing music.

What I would like, is to buy some fresh flowers and candles to put in the house, to further encase the comfort of my home which I will barely even leave. But I have no spare cash at the moment for such unnecessities. To solve the problem I browse the Ikea catalogue.

There is nothing else I can do to solve the problem. I am far from able to work even though I try and I want to rehabilitate myself. I think of what a weakling others must brand me, for not working, and I cannot seem to rationalise to myself that I ought to take it slow. My actions prove indeed that I am slow, but I feel unease about the fact that I am not moving along faster than I am now.

When will I be free? I am not sure, but I am not sure either that I want to be free. Prison sentence, or simply a furlough, either way it is safety, and I want to cherish it.

Now, perhaps a spot of chamomile tea, and an enjoyment of post-rain coolness tonight.

disabled

I feel extremely disabled. My state of health hampers what I am able, or unable, to do. And the 'unable' list is long.

Instead of thinking of what I like to do, I think of what I am able to do.

Like, I teach because I used to be able to do it. I don't like it. I was just able to do it, except that for the last few weeks, I have been unable to do so because my mental health fails me, terribly.

Instead, I became able to do household chores.

Now I am also not very able to do housework, the degrading skin on my fingers makes me think twice about doing any kind of washing with detergents, and I no longer feel like doing much housework.

I have been enjoying writing again. Nothing profitable, just here, and my cat blog, which has been helping homeless animals find a new home, and bringing some business to our neighbourhood pet shop which rescues and fosters these animals.

But if I think of expanding my work opportunities from freelance teaching to include freelance writing, I fear I might let people down again, like I have my students and their parents in the past few weeks.

So the only option I can think of is to do things that I like, and not try to make them into work. Because pleasure and enjoyment is part of the cure, and is the present part that I need to work on.

I will give it a try.

Sounds easy, to just do what I like, but actually, it really isn't that easy.

Dear Elaine

You have been ill for a very long time. You need to stay strong to fulfill your recovery.

Take things slowly and easily. You make your fears into phobias if you push too hard; these unpleasant panic attacks etch themselves with their triggers into your memory, and in future what were once only fears will become phobias that hinder you.

Be spontaneous. That is what your doctor told you. If you feel like doing something, do it. You need to rediscover the pleasure of small spontaneities so that these become part of your positive experience memory bank.

Write to me.

Yours truly.

triggers

I am trying desperately to find a way to counter and neutralise my stress about working. (Even though I am not working very much lately, if ever in these past two years.)

My doc advises that I need to take things slowly. I need to focus on things that I enjoy and not pressure myself over things that induce my panic attacks. If thinking about and preparing to go out for my teaching assignments stress me out, then I need to find out what is it that stresses me. Do I not enjoy teaching?

I don't really enjoy teaching per se. I enjoy art, I also enjoy being with teenagers. I am somehow good at teaching, my students enjoy it, and it is an accessible form of work for me, that is why I do it.

I tried to think again about what stresses me about teaching, and all I could come with was that I didn't know. All I could think of was that when teaching some of my students, it means that I have to put on a whole other persona, the educator's persona, which needs to be strictly donned especially when with younger kids.

When I was asked recently, "What makes you get up in the morning?" I could only think of the answer, "To feed my cats." It is not that I would enjoy working in the animal or pet industry, it is that I am motivated by need. I enjoy feeding my cats, preparing their food, cleaning up after them, because these are simple tasks. These tasks help my inertia going, escalating me into tasks like cleaning the house, doing the laundry. These things were hard for me before, until recently.

Everything revolves about my being at home - I feel safest and most functional when I am at home.

Maybe I am simply not ready to do complex, people-oriented work. Maybe I should do isolationist type of work, like writing. I update my cat blog everyday, and I enjoy it. I enjoy writing, and I have a crazy retention rate of what I read, to the point where I can write about anything that I learn with just a short frame of information absorption. Writing does not make me ecstatic, as I am unable to feel ecstacy, but I do recognise that what I feel when I write is probably enjoyment.

Either way, I feel terrible, about letting my students down, and their parents. About letting so many people down because I am unable. I don't know how I can get my income, I don't know when I can be fully rehabilitated to the point I am functional and able to work.

Even right now, my brain feels fuzzy. Things that were usually easy and fun for me because they were complex, are now, just too complex. My heart races when I try to think straight. My logical processes are minimal when I am in a state of panic, which is often.

The things that I want to do, that would fulfill me, working in missions or in an NGO, I will not be able to do still, for some time. It will take a long time. My intelligence is in cold storage.

I am at a loss. As to finding my work stress triggers and countering them. As to finding alternative means of function apart from playing house. As to finding alternative means of work if teaching is too stressful.

Teaching used to destress me, especially when I was tutoring as a sideline; spending time with my beloved students helped me forget the real world.

But not anymore. I panic in anticipation of my teaching days, the scheduled hours, to the point I am incapacitated in panic, to the point I cannot speak nor respond nor move, to the point where I break down and cry.

Am I well? No. I try to celebrate small successes, like being able to care for my cats, like being able to do household chores again, by being able to take the bus (with J) sometimes, by being able to tolerate crowds better now even if not completely. But small successes are nothing when I am financially unsafe, when I am unable to provide for myself, when I am constantly letting people down, when I am still having breakdowns and panic attacks.

I have come far in my recovery, even if slowly. But my livelihood is hanging by a thread, my brain is in shreds and I cannot function as well as I could, my body is in an aberrant state of betrayal against my will to be normal.

What is the next step from here? Buy flowers and clean the house? Find some other, easier forms of work? The former option needs money, the latter is too complex for me to figure out on my own. It is 6 o' clock: time for the cats' dinners.

waiting

Like a cat's cradle string
pulling frown lines
reversing my idyll
sinking my cheeks
My facial muscles tire
from wearing a frown
but nothing erases it.

I am waiting
paralysed:
patience is not my virtue

I am petrified.
Invisible jowls
sink to my ribcage
asphyxiating my heart,
Silence is a commercial break
that never ends.

I hate waiting
and knock-knock jokes
They suffocate me.

enjoy beauty...

Some people say that life is meaningless without beauty. I try to think of creating beauty in words, in art, and I find myself uninspired to do so. I have lost interest. These days I can only do small functional things, like writing about my cats. I am not inspired to beauty, and pleasure derived from it is elusive to me.

In my afternoons there are gaps of time which are deafeningly silent; I fill these by watching TV on my computer. Sometimes I clean the house, but like yesterday, today hasn't been a cleaning day for me. I am supposed to be spontaneous about the things I do, the things I feel, so that I can enjoy life. Spontaneous is easy, enjoyment is a challenge. I am supposed to take things easy. Right.

Filling my life with beauty and enjoyable, small things: right now, I think I would like a red-bean potong ice-cream. Perhaps that.

And then? Nothing. I will just eat the ice cream and allow myself to feel whatever little I am able to feel.

in all fatness.,..

I always say, that it is better to be fat and happy than to be thin and sad. I am positively round, I hardly recognise myself in the mirror. Now all I need are big glasses, because my face is finally big enough to wear them. I should get myself one of those oldskool plastic frames, like this:














I could probably get them in my neighbourhood spectacle shop, the kind that sells mostly reading glasses for old folks.

Happy Birthday J

Thanks for a great year, here's the rest of our lives <3