Vun, two, ha ha

You wonder sometimes if you’re just a dramatic brat so starved of any sort of personality that maybe this is just something you drummed up to be interesting. You’re not sure whether that thought comforts you or makes it worse, because if it is simply something you cooked up, then you could end it just as easily. There was never any definitive reason that made things turn this way, so maybe it could be something you came up with while bored. You’re sure of that some days. On the bad ones, you’re not.

You felt what you felt and even if there had been no basis to it, no causative event, it was still real. Tangible. Something bitter you could always taste at the back of your throat and feel weighing down behind your eyes and on your wrists. Something heavy and oppressive and uncomfortably silky that fashioned the jagged lump that was permanently lodged in your throat.

For a brief while, you thought it had gone away for good.

It hasn’t.

There are good days, that turn into weeks, and then months. Months where you genuinely believe it’s gone. But then you’re reminded of all the ways it’ll never go away.

You do things to try and cheer yourself up.

But that slimy, sour mass of a mini black hole that seems to have set up home at the base of your stomach sits stubborn and powerful as ever. Scoffing at your pathetic, weak, whimpering attempts at retaliation. You debate giving up.

Not in an everything sense, but little things. Little things that are never noticed by anybody else but weigh warm and heavy and suffocating against your skin. Little things you gently set on the ground and then on fire.

You think it’s hilariously stupid how those little things ever even mattered to you.

Lie on your bed and breathe. And stare at the ceiling and sleep. And when the sun’s out, get out of bed long enough for a few quips and obnoxious laughs and once the house is essentially empty because everybody is at work or school, climb right back in and lie on your bed. And breathe. And stare at the ceiling. But don’t sleep, because sleep is a break your body seems unwilling to take.

The sun is setting and then you are asleep. Soft sheets and soft pillows and soft sighs.

Wake up a little later on in the night to a quiet house. To muted light coming through the window and through the crack under the door. Sleep is a break your body is unwilling to take.

Lie on your bed and breathe. And think of all the times you laughed so hard it hurt. A stabbing pain at the base of your jaw, the side of your ribs, gripping your stomach–uncomfortable and painful. It’s unfair that you laugh and your insides twist and break and give way as if they weren’t built to accommodate a joy this vast, a happiness this loud. Yet your body is perfectly content harbouring a black hole, nourishing a discontent that should have been too much for it to take. A star is dying inside of you. Made of matter compressed and pushed into a tiny space. Everything that wasn’t right that you inhaled anyway, nestled amidst organs and arteries beating red and steady–enveloping it in a warmth that is yours to be loved with but is swallowed by that swirling fog at the base of your stomach.

Your body is a traitor, and your mind even more so. And you don’t know what to do. How to teach it to be more welcoming of delight and less so of misery.

So lie but don’t sleep. Or think a little too deep, lest your heart goes the way of your dreams–hacked and torn out of existence in the absence of sleep.

Yours Truly,

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Finally Nearing The End of Boards

It’ll be over, soon enough.

Just one more week. And only 3 papers, counting the one I’ll be giving in 5 hours. That’s not so bad, right?

Except I feel completely unprepared. And I’ve had quite a few breakdowns in the past one day. It’s really all my fault. If only I’d started working from the beginning. Or at least 3 days ago. Or even 2.  ‘Next time’, I promise myself after every nerve-wrecking exam; the next one I’ll do properly, work hard and space it out. And yet it’s always the same story. It’s like an annoying song you find yourself humming no matter how many times you yell at yourself to stop.

Have I mentioned the panic attacks? They make my chest suddenly warm up in an unpleasant manner while I go cold everywhere else. This pit inside my chest opening and sucking everything into the dark, the warm, musty air engulfing everything in its murky fog.

I don’t see the results being any good. I don’t like disappointing people—especially not myself.

Next time?

Yours Truly,

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And The Chicken Crossed the Road And Other Nonsensical Titles.

Stitch it all up.
Glue and magazine strips
Don’t work.
Sew it all up
Needle in and out,
Piercing skin, the veins,
the heart.

Out it spills,
Can’t stop
Won’t stop
Lock it away
No time,
Not yet
Never enough time. Not now not ever.

Over and over,
Every year
It’s never gone
Always hovering
Sometimes higher up,
Out of sight.

A dull gray,
Not concrete,
Not dark, not solid

An inky gray.
Hovering.

Ravens, high up,
Sleek, shiny, free
A stone. A single pebble–
Wings glistening,
Then dripping red;
Bloody.
Falling, spiralling
Into the gray.

I Spiral, Therefore I Am.

I wish I could be as eloquent about the whole thing as Sylvia Plath  or Stephen Czochywatshisname but I know that’s not happening so I’m not even going to try.

Instead let’s focus on the happy:

I discovered my sister cheats at scrabble today. When I confronted her about it she threw a word tile at me (her chosen mode of communicating that she was no longer going to spend the afternoon placing plastic pieces on a cardboard square) and huffed away to complain about me with Kid #4 who, in turn, had just had a fight with Kid #3. Both of them spent a very pleasant hour listing the shortcomings of elder siblings while Kid #3 and I continued with whatever it was that we were doing, blissfully unaware of the curses being cast at us.

We just played the Game of LIFE and I may or may not have had a mini breakdown somewhere in there. But we’re going to conveniently move past that to the bey-blade battle Kid #4 and I had. He won. I have never known such shame.

We have also recently acquired a plastic tent-playhouse or whatever it is that its called. It was fun assembling it with the cool pre-rain air blowing in.

I have forgotten the art of making conversation now so I think I’ll just go. I apologize for the pathetic-ness of it all.

Sorryaboutwastingyourtimeokaybye!

Yours Truly,

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But..But I Thought–

Remember that warm and fuzzy time when I decided I was going to “work dammit” and ace all my exams and my sheer academic awesomeness would give me literal wings to fly so high that even the sky wouldn’t be the limit?

Yeah …not happening.

It’s been about a month since I set out with my highlighters and brand new notebooks, and so far, I’ve barely finished the Physics syllabus. Don’t even get me started on Maths…I love maths, I do, but lately (having been unable to attend a couple classes), I’m kind of lost with the new concepts, and rather than tackle that mountain, I kept putting it off, saying I would find time later…Exams begin next week. I got desperate enough to get a math tutor, but after a couple of classes he was suddenly taken ill (I suspect nothing of the sort) and so I’m back at square one. Anyone know any places where I can get some help with trigonometry?

Aaanyone?

And Mechanics. What am I going to do?? (I rarely use double punctuation here, and you should know that the fact that I am right now means I am currently at a very dark place I see no escape out of)

Okay breathe…I think I forgot how to breath. OhdearlordwhatamIgoing todo?

I know: stay up all night and watch Nazi Germany documentaries! This would be helpful if I still took History, but I can barely manage my 5 AS Levels and as much as it pained me, I had to drop History. And Literature. Literature hurt even worse—has anyone read Continuum by Allen Curnow? I love that poem and analysing it was heaven. I miss analysing literature and debating interpretations…

I know this isn’t a very interesting post (but then again, those are accidental and far between) But I said I would post updates. Also worrying about stuff means I can put off actually DOING it. Yes yes, all very convenient.

I haven’t gone out in a long time…Its either trying to study (I said, trying) or TV marathons or scrolling Word press. I downloaded a site blocker and that has helped with my productivity some. But being the intelligent creation that I am, it wasn’t long before I figured out a way to dupe the site blocker and now there is no stopping me…Half my troubles are self-inflicted really. And the other half, have mostly to do with the impending Dolphin Invasion, but more on that later…

It’ll be two o’clock soon. Looks like I’ll be pulling an all-nighter to get my work done according to schedule (I’m already about 2 days behind) I’m not among those traitorous, misleading con artists who say they have done “absolutely nothing”  and trick you into a false sense of security, only for you to find out later that by ‘nothing’ they mean they hadn’t revised that 3rd time—no when I panic academically, I have every reason to do so. But I wish I was among the traitorous, misleading, lucky few.

But better late than never, right? 8 hours from now, I’ll wish I had started working right now (like I wish I had started working seriously 2 weeks ago)

This is not who I want you to see

It’s just adding on weight to the darkness in me

 

Isn’t it just fantastic when words like that speak right to your black, emo heart?

Yours Truly,

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Water-repellent Plastic Ball Here

You think someone out there sees what we go through and laughs at us? Or cries with us? Or empathises or understands? When you don’t have the words or the energy to explain, you think they still understand? Do they just get it? When you’re hungry and tired and want to curl up into an impenetrable, water repellent ball of plastic, do they just know?

Or do you have to be that person? For someone else. In the hopes that eventually someone will be that for you. Or do you be that person for yourself?

I’m not the calmest of people. I tend to lose it quite a lot and quite spectacularly. Sometimes it’s pretty apparent to other people. I overreact and throw tantrums. Most of it is usually in my head—but sometimes when too many things are going on, I need to make some space to let those sink in and the only way I can do that is let some of the frustration out. Lately, I seem to be doing that more and more. Before, I could go through a complete mental breakdown and manage to get away without anyone noticing. Now, this guy I just happen to work with on one of the projects in school is asking me what’s wrong. And I tell him. Well, part of it anyway. Which gives me a clue as to just how long I have been at the ‘saturation point’. So I’ve decided I’m going to be that person for myself.

I don’t like asking people for help. It’s not because I think it’s a sign of weakness, it’s just that everyone has problems and they don’t need to be worrying about mine. Besides whatever it is that I’m going through eventually passes and I can just completely move on—and if I tell someone else, it’s like they know about that time I went off the tracks and tend to bring it up sometimes (out of concern, of course, as in ‘how are you now?’) and I feel like I’m never going to live it down.

Plus, I’m not exactly very helpful to others when they talk to me about something which is bothering them—I’m pretty clueless when it comes to ‘emotional’ stuff. I don’t know how else to say it. I mean, I deal with things a certain way and apparently I’m the only one who deals with them like that. So if I try to tell someone else to do what I did when they’re going through something similar, they tend to give me a strange look and then pat me on the back, as though saying “It’s okay. It’s not for you. I’ll be fine—just next time, leave these pearls of ‘wisdom’ at the bottom of the sea”

So when I can’t be of any help, it’s unfair to expect everyone else to drop everything for me.

I tend to beat myself up. I never forget my mistakes and I don’t acknowledge the good stuff (I’m always afraid I’m going to come off arrogant or that I’m just being delusional) I remember the first time I forgot to do my homework (when you’re a teenager though, you tend to let those things slide…); I remember all the times I forgot my speech or missed a cue; I remember the insults and the sly jabs. But then again, as do all of us. And maybe it’s time to stop. I never feel enough, you know? There is always something I’m doing wrong. But maybe that’s okay. To err is human and all that.

Until next time,

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Inside Every Cynical Person, There Is A Disappointed Idealist

I’m one of those people who have always had a plan B. It might be for something as simple as what to make for breakfast, but it’s always there. Some/most people would say it’s a good thing—but it’s not. Not really. See, the thing is, I don’t have it so I can be prepared–no it’s there because I always expect Plan A to fail. Plan A might be the most wonderful, thought-out thing ever, but I still think it’s going to fail. It’s like I’m setting myself up for a life of settling so I don’t crumble under the sheer disappointment of not realising my dreams.

Things might be going great, but that always just seems to put me on guard—I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop; for something to go wrong so my life makes sense. For a while lately, things have been wonderful—and all I can do is sit and plan out what I’m going to do when it ends.

I rationalize this pessimism by saying that I’m just being realistic—that life is hard, and puppies get run over and the world is a horrible, terrible place with no space for optimistic fools. But it’s just pathetic because even I don’t believe that. Yes, the world isn’t the most ideal of places right now—and not everyone ends up where they wanted to—but that doesn’t mean you just drop out of the race and sit at home eating peanut butter straight out of the jar (actually, that sounds like a pretty great way to spend a Sunday evening…)

I always wake up happy. Even if my head and neck hurt due to the unfortunate placement of the pillow and even if my legs are numb from the cold because my sister hogged the covers last night. It’s not a conscious thing I do—I’ve always woken up like that. When I was a kid that was because waking up meant that I could continue reading whatever I had been last night before my mum cut that short by turning off the lights, or so that I could rush out to the balcony and just take it all in or so I could get an early start on a day spent building Lego towers and playing doctor on my Barbie. Now I wake up happy because that’s what my brain has been wired to do. Even if I’m still groggy from sleep, those few minutes before I gain full consciousness are glorious. My brain is not busy calculating all the different outcomes and impacts of the events of the day and deciding on the hypothetical course of action. The most taxing thing it is doing is wondering which way to stretch so the crick in my back is straightened out.

Expecting the worst—it’s not called being prepared, it’s just me not believing in myself or what I’m capable of. I wasn’t always like this. I was one of those annoyingly optimistic brats who laughed out in delight when it started raining even if it meant the long awaited basketball match had to be postponed. I’m not entirely sure what happened, but somewhere along the line I just changed. I had my whole life planned out—with no space for any mistakes—but now I have a Plan B to my plan B, at least, career-wise. I’ve never really been one of those self-assured, confident people but doubting myself I never did. Now, I seem to be second-guessing myself about the most basic of decisions and had decided cynical was the way to be. Because when you expect the worst, disappointment is hard to come by.

It’s hard to hold onto that confidence when everyone around you seems dissatisfied with their place in life. But I’m not them—you are not them, and it doesn’t matter if things didn’t work out for them. Because they will for you. And they will for me

And if not, I could always teach Literature to high school kids—seems like a fun thing to do, no?

Don’t stop believing (hold on to the feelin’)

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P.S The title is not an original, it is a quote by George Carlin.