"… Pada hari ini orang-orang kafir telah putus asa untuk (mengalahkan) agamamu, sebab itu janganlah kamu takut kepada mereka, tetapi takutlah kepada-Ku. Pada hari ini telah Aku sempurnakan agamamu untukmu, dan telah Aku cukupkan nikmat-Ku bagimu, dan telah Aku ridai Islam sebagai agamamu…" — QS. [5:3]
Two souls, alas, are dwelling in breast. And one is striving to forsake its brother.
I had a dream the other day. I was in a room, there were some people, then I was aware of someone else’s presence. The other me. We went to a corner, not to attract any attention so we could talk.
I asked her to change, to move forward, to be better. She did not want to listen, she ignored everything I said. Then, she kept on babbling and talking nonsense. I shouted at her to stop because it would make me look crazy on the outside. A friend took a seat next to us, I was afraid he might take the wrong impression. Yet, the other me was losing it anyway.
It was as if, the other part of me, that is within, does not want a change. That it is better this way. Cannot see any point in moving forward.
A friend, someone I currently hold a partial trust, was asking why would not I want to be better. Because I have to deal with this decisively nonsensical stuff each day, it has become a daily routine it has worn me out. Physically, psychologically, and who knows about my mental health, I hope it is okay; so far, it just crashed the first two.
My doctor said I’ve shown symptoms of somatic. It may have been caused by my emotional and psycholigical issues that it has triggered my physical being: backpain, neck cramp, fatigue, exhaustness, frequent nausea (I feel like throwing up before, after, or in the middle of eating), stomachache. My sleep pattern has improved since a couple of days ago, but I honestly do not know how long. Some days, I could sleep at noon until dusk and stayed away until the next day, even for 24 hours; the other days, I would sleep at dusk and woke up just before midnight.
And I should attempt on establishing a plan or schedule to fill the void in my routine.
I do not know which is worse, to be overwhelmed or just be empty. Some people say, it would be nice not feel anything, stay stoic, or maybe heartless. But we cannot be sure how the void is being filled with, when we lose something and to replace it. It is not always good, light and bright, can be lovely, but also dangerous, or even lethal.
It is difficult to avoid embarrassment, self-loathing, and shame in the middle of everything. The feeling uselessness, being unwanted. If anyone can tell how long does depression last, please come forward.
I do not know until when I can withhold all of this shenanigans, without keeping up with the physical exercise, healthy food (at least once a day, I take a proper meal), and that damn medication, even the prayers of those people banging the the door at the skyline; I would not be able to stand–sit here today, making a gig out of this life. On this blog.
I have lost my appetite in writing anything so far, I do not even want to write this down since I’m just too tired like a blackhole is sucking the life out of me. Sometimes I just want to sleep. I want to make it go away, put my head back, close my eyes, and wade to the quiet of the stream. And sketching can be so exhausting and it requires good mood, as in not being overwhelmed. But facing the problems of life is overwhelming, if not exciting.
Do you like the sarcasm?
And when the cord between our hearts has snapt, I hope it would be a small comfort because it should not provide you with any illusions when these things had gone.
I hardly see human in humanity. It is hard to say that I want to give as much as I want to, as long as I have the will to, but I just cannot stand ignorance and those who cannot keep to their own words. If they deny any participation on the inferno that is bestowed upon us, perhaps the reality is too ugly for them.
When you have any thoughts, counter-thoughts, realisation, rationalisation, expectation, of the actions and decisions in somebody’s life, and what is happening in this world, that is participation.
And please, if you cannot keep your words, just do not use them. That would be lies. On me, the people. But mostly, on you.
And if you really care, you must have made any attempt to help. People have their own ways, as much as I do. But to the people in this planet called Earth, should you need anyone to talk to, a virtual hug, or maybe an imaginary sgoulder to lean on, you can always contact me, message, or anything.
I will try my best not to hold any prejudice, not because I have done the same in the past, it is because I may have experienced similar things and know exactly how it must have felt like. And if that would make you feel any better, to fuel your radiance, to make you feel important because you are, I would be there. I may not be in my greatest fits nor in the right head, but somehow clarity is just crashing in the way the cord between the hearts can just easily be snapt.
Currently listening to ♫♪ Coldplay – Yellow (it is beautiful, I want to appreciate this kind of feeling everyday)
Obviously, I want to save myself.
I insist to resist from the destructive spectrum.
To some extend, I feel so immersed and worn out by my own thoughts and feelings. Subsequently, I am accustomed to this. I did not adapt, no, I was just coping. Funny thing, it is as if I lost my grasp on myself, perhaps the reality I should live in.
I have detached myself from this world, the feelings of other people, created amounts of barriers from the outside, become obtuse to the purpose of life. There is flaw in the system and I am no longer surprised in the bargaining for the price of being okay. It takes one little white pill, good materials to read, and interesting problems or matters to take in.
It just occurred to me, after watching this notorious psychological thriller television series Hannibal—I highly recommend this, though, motivates me to take on medicinal field— that I may have to delve into my own head and feelings. It somehow reinforced and kind of cemented the moral and value set that I have carried all my life. Being an INFJ, this moral sets are very important for me to function, simultaneously to take action into consideration. And at the same time, it took and tried to furnish them, in dubious way.
I know that it is important to explore one’s own feelings as much I refuse and do not want to, at the end of the day, I have to. Like an obligation to put a bandage on the wounds. Probably I might be pulling at the scabs later for petty reasons, but one can always yearn to feel better.
I know that people have already begun to pick up their knowledge regarding my conditions yet I still adamant with my opinions that they may lack the need to put an action for whatever motivations they have, as much as participation they regard onto me. Maybe, arguably, I want them to take a good care of me, to look, to understand, for ay other human being it could be one of the most valuable thing they could hold on to. At least, they show gave me some insights on these matters, and I know it is true, because I can see myself in that.
And, yes, I know it does seem childish of me. But, what people have to acknowledge as well is that there are people who have this gift to empathize other people’s feelings, to mirror theirs, and to some point assume their point of view as valid reasoning. I do not claim that I do but I know as an emotional person from the start, I have the skills to empathize with others that it is sometimes getting hard for me to reflect and assume them. It can be sickening because I can feel their pain, as well as any other feelings, of course. And, surely, arguably, many people also have the similar set of skills.
But what I want to point out is that in my social circles, the place where I live in, is somehow where the people who lack those cares and skills. I do not blame them, it was a gift that was some human being born with the same as another talent and ability/disability the nature and nurture had bestowed upon us. Yet, here is where my defense mechanism even getting higher. Like building up some kind of forts. An outside barrier because perhaps to some extend I want to ignore their feelings and welfare because it may cost mine, I may recollect their pieces though the strong will to empathize and reach out to help feels righteous, somewhere between the line I feel far-fetched up. Like Bilbo said, like butter scarping on too many bread.
I have put forth my prayers to God so he would reach down His hand. Yes, I really need the help. It would only take divine intervention to keep me up, at this point. I felt so different, it maybe a great degradation of who I used to be. Though, I also feel free. Who I was and used to be is like myself being put into a cage, restrained, confined. Now, it is as if I could soar high, restless, to pursue anything I ever wanted. And, yes, I am still afraid to let go because I am worried and afraid as shit but what choice do I have?
I am only 7 credits away from getting Bachelor of Engineering. I have been weighing to apply on medical education should I drop out or ever managed to graduate. I also want to take philosophy. Or just go dormant and write any shit inside my head. I know that I still confused but at the end of the day, I have to let go.
I do not know what kind of epiphany this is but I feel the need to trackback to the point where I have been searching for God. I may not actually try my best to know and understand Him, perhaps even from the start. I thought that I already have, getting closer and closer as He would run to His creation. Perhaps it is only a wrongful justification to make me accept my condition, an effort to alter the truth to cope. But I wish I could tell how uncomfortable it is for being under my skin when I am unstable.
I am impatient, the time keeps on going, even running, rushing through, and I may chase down the train on foot in order to get better. But, then again, what chance do I have? This would not be that comfortable and unsophisticated journey to go on because I am still crawling. I feel like I could stop to take the medicine but when it is not okay, then I am not. It came back. I dirge.
I wanted to shatter the teacup and reverse the time, would I ever be able to?
I cannot quite grasp what I have been rooted in, where these all have come from, the base of the shenanigans I had to deal with, it seems so far away yet threatening, it may not real, only inside my head, but it was there. Perhaps it was just burst of my confined feelings that I have been keeping on for so long, it could be anger, sorrow, hatred, vengeance, the evil, the compassionate, self-righteous, struggle, confusion, a great fighting against, what? Things, lots of things.
I do not want to map down my own thoughts and feelings because it makes me insecure and uncomfortable, I do not want to think much of it because it stings, I need to occupy my head with anything but those, I want to surround myself with anything and anyone but those. Does not mean that I do not want any interference. I can see that my psychologist is trying to push me to go back to function, at least, as a student, it is her duty for now. The question is how could I ever move toward being a model student if I could barely function as a human being? Seeing the psychiatrist may give a little relieve when I am upset, for awhile.
But, generally, the therapy does not really work on me. Except for the medicine, it put me off. My thinking has gone slower, I eat only little, for the outcome price of not so much in explosive state and less trembling hand.
I am starting to consider if that was the case, perhaps I should cut off the medicine as well as my goddamn business with the whole world I live in. Life is unbearably boring when I could barely chew the matters I am interested with. Like, disappear completely and trying not to ever be found anymore, and create my own world and people. It would be much therapeutic for me.
It is where I bring my hatred and vengeance of the world and people that lack the effort to empathize back to life everytime I wake up simultaneously for being grateful that I am still given the chance to make amend of the shit I messed up with, cultivate them throughout the day, down to the struggle to tackle them back into the pit of forgiveness as an obligation of human being according to how I function through the set of moral value I had kept so far. It is as if it goes on day by day, it is tiring indeed, but it is not I the sole perpetrator of this current event.
Yes, I hold the feelings, feeding them up, culminate it, and put it down before I go to sleep or surrender into deep slumber. I have the anticipation, counteract, realisation of my reasoning, thoughts, and feelings. It is my participation on this battle against me and the world and the people. But it would never a battle hence the other side had never taken the participation as well. They had these thoughts of anticipation, counteract, and realisation of how I might be, through series of events, even though they barely executed of these, merely standing still, but it was, as much as it was, a participation.
Do not try to deny that. Being ignorant, as it was claimed, was a participation. If they possessed all above things aforementioned.
Is this your kind of participation against me, to bring me down, and drown me up?
Because, to be honest, as my psychologst had drawn some conlusion that I have been getting better as well as my reasoning and perception should be, I still do not understand of whatever it is that going on inside head of yours. For me, it is still a battle against me and the world and the people that lack the effort to empathize. Not only to me, but people like me, to anyone.
I know I can, I have done my part since I can remember. I know that I am expecting something in return, a little piece of consideration, but what breaks my heart the most is the blissful ignorance those people and the world hold up to other people and the world they live in, not only to me. The abandonement feelings that emerge inside of me came from the unrequited expectations, I could take that I am pretty okay with that no matter how shitty it felt like, but how could you treat the world and other people like that?
I am done with my observation that getting out to take another glimpse makes me cringe more. It is safer to hide inside my room because it is less hurting. Call me a drama queen, but as I told you I have been an emotional person even to begin with, as very receptive to others and inwardly, it has always been personal, for someone like me.
If it has never occured to you, then congratulations that you never know anything about me at all. But remember, though you did not see it, I put effort to know and understand the world and the people I used to live in before. Is this an accusation? Yes. Do you abandon the people and matters that does not fit on your behalf and benefits?
You tell me.
God, please help me in this journey to come back to You, reach down to me, and hold me back into Your graceful arms.
We talked like more than an hour or so. Not much, let’s say just the introduction, my physical conditions so far, how I have been feeling, since when it started, scratching the problems like pulling the scabs off your skin. She was a doctor specialized in psychiatry, also the lecturer of the faculty of medicine in my university.
In the end she prescribed an anti-depressant along with something to treat any ulcer disease or diarrhea that might be caused by the drugs, the side-effects. I asked her, what should I do if get those feelings of not being able to attend the class? Previously, I had failed miserably to handle that, short breaths, erratic heartbeat. I was prescribed an Alprazolam. A friend of mine mentioned that the drugs could be so-addictive like, she had gone through that before. Well, I don’t have the foggiest idea, she is my doctor, and I don’t believe she would be so reckless in giving me shit right? Besides, the Xanax (that’s how Americans call them) could only be consumed conditionally. When such attacks are attacking me.
A psychologist, last week, taught me how to control my breath and, to some extend, my rapid heartbeat. Not my tremor hands, I still have it, even while I’m typing this; it occurs occasionally, without a warning, on and off. And as long as I can control my physical condition upon those attacks, I don’t have to take the Xanax, which I’m currently scared to be obliged to. I have made my own research, the effects are supposed to be temporary, lasting only for couple of hours, but the drugs could be habit-forming. Maybe due to its short-term effect, people tend to take more, in order to take control of themselves, that’s where the addiction may lead to.
I took the anti-depressant, Fridep Sertraline 50mg this morning, well not so, it was around 1am, I kind of fell asleep the other day and woke up in the middle of the night. Then I took the Omeprazole after breakfast to anticipate any kind of these side effects that I’m starting to get into my stomach. I cannot really say much, but I feel a tad bit weirder than before: drowsy like my head was heavy, my mind was slightly foggy, and my mind was lagging. I was watching some movies to waste the time, you name it, and I could barely chew the English subtitle.
Do I still feel murderous? Well, in that case, like throwing tantrum, shouting abuse, yes sometimes I do. When thoughts are beginning to form, the ones that disturb me. It was either sad or angry, other than I feel just empty. After having little chit-chat to some people around my room, I know that the smile I put on like pieces of clothes did not reach my eyes, neither any elation brushing my conscience. Lucky me, and the others, I’m quick at catching my feelings and thoughts, so when I feel that overwhelming emotions are engulfing me like some kind of great floods, I shall make an escape, or to the least, close my mouth shut for I were to open it, I surely would hurt other people; with words. I’m glad I don’t feel the urge to lay a hand to anyone.
I know that I feel better when I’m outside this room, to walk down the road, inhaling the wind that blows, the petrichor, the chlorophyll on the epidermis of the leaves, the soil tinted in subtle acidic carbon, because it is just good to bath under the sun. But I don’t want to see the other people staring, whatever they have in mind, mostly and specifically the people I know. Well, it’s not easy to elaborate what I have in mind since I’m not particularly on the right head, that my logic probably and arguably may differ from you, but let’s just say that it is all in my head.
Whatever it is, if it is something going in your mind, it is harder to fight more than your body demands. In fact, you can never kill an idea once it’s planted. How could fight the cancerous thoughts which basically eating your mind and you could not really distinguish which one was the right thing to do, at the moment you’re not in control. In short, you are not quite you.
So, if we happen to deal some shit together, I may beg your pardon.
Today, just awhile ago, I think I let go. For now, being alone is the best that I can afford to. Seeing people, I will try to handle that, maybe tomorrow or last week, I will endeavour attend the classes anyway. Of whom do I let go? The people I thought have the slightest care of other people. The ones that have the bigger pictures in their head they forget to scrutinize their surroundings, the ones that have the great tendency that their business is always as matter of death even if and/or they’re not dying; the ones that barely know the price of being okay.
What would I go through this kind of hell? I just want to be okay.
Had I never read about God, trying to comprehend His Words, to get to know him, had I never been a believer, someone you may call as having the faith, I would have thought that death was a gift. Because you’re just tired, body and soul. Every fucking aspect in your life, even your prayer, is mechanical, somewhat, someway. Yet, I still repeating these words: O Allah, please don’t leave me.
And oftenly, at night, it is just so hard to go to bed. I’m scared that I wont be able to wake up the next morning that I’ll tire myself more, trying to stay awake until my eyes surrender and I lay down, lulling to slumber.
I don’t know whether I have to feel better about this, when I was asked by them, the psychologist and psychiatrist, do I have any close friends, then I said no I don’t (I feel insecure to share any private matters of my life with anyone, moreover, I’ve been pretty a secretive person from the start)—at least, to share with. And when people, as matter of fact, do not make any fuss when I literally disappear from their lives, I should know better that I don’t really have anything to loose from the start. What if anybody who had the thought that they’ve got friends and at the end of the day they don’t make any effort to look after them even though they know perfectly well that their fella has problems, in needs of help.
What I hate about the feelings now that swimming inside my chest is that it is as if they are robbing something in me. They were the people who taught and helped me to be the good person, firm believer, I used to be, in my normal state. And for that, I’m grateful for everything, I wouldn’t trade them for anything, for I fight my way in this world to get a piece of land in Heaven—the Paradise, the very reason that I still have the will to stay alive, would be nothing to loose; I’d be as pissed to anyone who said that the afterlife does not exist when they find out that it does.
I just can’t believe, don’t understand, how on earth they have the heart and the guts to do this to anyone they call as sisters—brothers? I’m tired of the people who can’t be true with their on words, now they all seem hollow and meaningless. The only truth lies within His hands and I shouldn’t be the one to judge. It’s a sin to abandon your own brothers and I certainly will never do so. If people only know the slightest impact they have on the other people perhaps they would not be so reckless in words and actions, to take matter to the heart and brain, to have more sensitivity, more kindness, soft-hearted, and a mind as strong as steel.
I believe if I ever get through all this alive, I’ll be as strong as fucking steel, although the brittle ones. I would never be the same, even your body keep the scars, it has flesh memory. What about the mind?
I know, it was just me so fucking angry being left alone and ignored, but due to all respect, in any moral code, rule department, what would you do when other people abandon the other? In some cases, their friends, the ones they call brothers, sisters.
An irony, I feel more safe around strangers, in public.
I never know that price of being okay is so steep. And so, this is ho it feels like to fight on your own. You were born alone, thus you shall die alone. What would I so worry about?
Allah will reach out His hand to me, He shall never leave. Never doubt that.
Today was a graduation day for our university: the bachelor, magister, doctor. Kinda lovely though, still, dull.
The sole reason that I took the effort to come along was well, there were two of my female friends that graduated today. As simple as that. And a senior, just finished her post-graduate program and would continue to pursue her doctorate at the next term. I bought two bouquets of flowers for my friends and a cute small teddy bear with name and toga for my senior.
They are not the closest ones in my life, just barely people. Friends, related in terms of academic purposes and been together going through college life. There was not anything special.
But, what I had in mind, was that I wanted them to know that I care.
A happiness can only be called so if we share the moments, the feelings. I want to feel happy for them because it was a historical day in their life. Graduation! The proud parents, pursuing dream, life in the making. A goddamn liberation! Halla independent will!
I have come to a relisation that most of people today do not have enough amount of care to secure the happiness or wellfare of the other people. So, yes, I still want to change the world. I want to fix the world, starting from me. I am a careful person, and thoughtful, or I have put tremendous effort and work to be. The most important thing is, I need to show the world, to other people, that there is still me, lika a rugged doll, vulnerable, tumultuous, but people can still have me then they have no one to go to. Yes, you can lean over my shoulder, you can rely on me if you feel like so.
We live in the world when people know the price of anything and the value of nothing, Oscar Wilde told me that. Who is he? A pen pal of mine who lived nearly 100 years ago. As cynical as it may sound, you have got to admit that those parts were true. We reach out each other through the wide world web, a cyberworld, the digital sense, without feeling the need of seeing face-to-face, having the chance of embracing the beloved ones and whom we deeply care ceased into the thin air.
There are somebody who feel miserable and alone and did not know how to ask for help because they simply COULD NOT do that. And I do not want to be like the ordinary people. Yes, it has been like hell, and still is. Despite of everything, I know that I have to be better than them in handling the world and my own feelings.
It is a relieve to me that people are okay, to some extend, it does make me feel okay as well. You would not believe that, but that came from the bottom of my heart, it made me feel that I am not into ruin.
But I admit, as passionate as I am, me myself and I could be a vengeful person. And pretty destructive.
Some times I had these thoughts that destroying myself and some people I despise would be the best choice in the world. That was when I am not okay. Perhaps I could and should spare them and just destroy myself.
Today I had two recurring times when my hands were trembling. Again. It was because, I tried to figure, perhaps I was upset that no one had been looking after me even though on the other side I wish they just had not. And I was upset in anticipating people would look after me just because I did not want to.
As the psychologist had suggested, I should end every note and journal with something good. This would be:
God will help me and shall never leave me. Never doubt that.
I met the psychologist. For the first time in forever, it felt so-so.
It was kind of good but did not make me feel okay either—that okay that I yearn for.
The meeting was supposed to be at 10 am but then she messaged me that she had some errands to handle, I got upset. It took effort for me to go out, my hands were trembling and the heart was erratic just before I went out. We made it at 1 pm. I wanted to cancel it, making some excuse but perhaps I should end the session nicely. And maybe I could ask a contact for psychiatrist.
I did not to see any psychiatrist because I’m not a nutcase. But I think that I need one since the symptoms were physical now, and they scared me. What if I would never find a way out? It has been months and I have been here all along, in short, I have got nothing to lose to seek for help. In truth, I am just a coward.
I filled a form, a simple bio, what kind of obstacles that I face, what kind of action that had been taken to handle them, and whether there was any progress so far. The woman seemed okay and very patient. I was anticipating that she would reach out to her smartphone instead of listening so I could shout some abuse to her. Alas, lucky me, it did not happen. She left the phone at the table as I put mine next to me without touching it during the session.
And no, I did not tell her the whole story. In the end I told her that the problems were layered like piece of onion, the mind palace, but I could not bear myself to tell the tale of woe twice. Should I cover it up to the psychiatrist then I would not tell her, I just could not. I would not let myself being killed twice, I mumbled inwardly.
She said that she would try to get me an appointment to a psychiatrist, perhaps next week. Since the new term would began shortly, I would be put as priority. Should the meeting was held during class hour then I would not mind to put it before anything.
Then, she asked me whether I would attend the class this time, it was recommended for me not spend the time by myself, it was encouraged for me to be among the crowd. I said, I don’t know. If the people inside did not ask much, did not pull the trigger, and if they were somebody I do not mind to get along with, I should be fine. So I would check the class on the first day first, and we will see.
Tomorrow is my birthday. I feel like if those people would come to look after me, I shall shout abuse to them so I could inflict my pain to them. I have been here, not moving anywhere, could not lift a finger, barely away, and they did nothing in the first place. And if birthday would even mean anything, only for one single day, they better be get a life. I shall appreciate the prayers, nonetheless, they are words in kindness and grace to God, I should not deny them. I do not think that I should explain of what I feel towards those people, I simply loathe them.
It was a mere negligent; one could barely put an alarm on when they absentmindedly had done so. But it was pain they caused unto me. And it was fair to share this pain, to inflict the pain. A false hope, a shallow promise. I want them to think hard and deep and until they find out about how they wrong me, I feel like to drag them down to hell.
Being neglectful is a sin. I knew that, I could feel that. Perhaps I had one that in the past so for now, I had to learn this. Yet, I had not been so, I am careful because I simply could tell how they feel from their face, change of expression; I want to help, I do not wish anyone to be torn in anguish, it is critical to me, my conscience just would not let me to.
But, why are you?
She suggested me to end every note and journal with positive words, something hopeful, something good. Because that what I yearn thus far, just to be okay.
Is this would be enough?
Allah will help me because he shall never leave. Never doubt that.
I went out today. Yes, it’s Tuesday and I feel like I want to remember this quiet historical day yea
Because I went out—it took a whole of world wide web though—to college, to the secretariat room. I met people, friends. I had an appointment with a certain pal. Months ago she told me that she was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Until today she said that the psychiatrist did never diagnose her that way; she put the label on herself.
I do not want to forget this particular Tuesday because I had made a progress, or so I thought. I immediately went back after having meals together. I was elated, for the first time, since almost like weeks—months.
At first, I was hesitant to see her just because. I knew that I could handle it, everything. I knew I could be strong, God would never leave because I was just too precious for Him; never doubt that He loves. I don’t think that He forgets me, nor banishes or gives me any cold gaze.
Maybe it was I who went away. I feel degraded still more, with great vengeance. Swearing and cursing felt good on my tongue as if it were made so. The prayers almost mechanic even though I knew it very well, in my heart, how to do it right: the takbir to salaam. The reciting of ayat felt empty and hollow, it barely scratched my soul just like happiness would deny me these days. The feelings were crushing me more than I could ever remember, it was far more hurtful when you could distinguish what was right and wrong yet you still condemned yourself the ruin. You did not know why, you just did.
The devil inside of me whispered, at this very moment, maybe it was because if I hurt myself then I could God as well, my parents, my friends, so I could inflict them with my pain, so they would never leave me, so they would reach out on me their hands. I do not want them to escape this. That I do not want to be alone even if physically I do. God is inside the veins, in the very heart of me; yet, here I am.
Right now, I feel the need to capture every feeling and moment of today because it is critical to me. I want to seek the way out of this.
She said that perhaps I should try the psychiatrist since she never went to any therapist before. I do not want the drugs, I should never want to depend my life on them. I’m not such a nut case.
But, I know, maybe, I am.
So I got a contact of this particular psychiatrist from my mentor. I contacted her. She said I should contact her again tomorrow to make an appointment. Now I do not really know what to do: I insist that I am not a nutcase. That was also what my friend had felt, back then, when she went to a doctor when she got sick, physically and mentally.
I feel like I continue on to dwell, keep on saying that I shall put an on this, yet after weeks—months barely did anything nor even lifted a finger, then should not I seek another help? Maybe God had intended this way of life—had written this on the parchment of fate thousands years ago. Please, make me strong. I know that I am. If I am not, then this record would be a permanent mark on my path, a perpetual excuse for every single problem I have.
To the people who keep on complaining, mentioning, that they are enduring a depression: dude, you do not know. You do not freaking know. I am breaking into pieces, emotionally, inwardly, mentally. I preserve to keep my physical health on dwelling to rigorous training: run, jog, healthy food. Because I know, I have seen it—her, my friend, she was torn. As I was never weak but fatigue does break the strongest. I was elated a few moments ago, but now when I am alone, the laughter was only knocking on my door.
We had chat, my friend and I. We laughed. I feel better than okay. I did not tell her everything, it would kill me. And I would not take myself getting killed TWICE since I had to see the psychiatrist if we ever made the deal. I thought it was only our way of coping, the self-defense mechanism to survive, was it not? I had forgotten moments and strings of memories so I could stay alive and snatch the life away, but when I had to remember, when the data leaked, I was torn again. To put it simple, I do not want to remember.
My oversleep came back again, it has been two days. I do not know, I am still afraid of getting to bed; on the other hand I still have to make the motivational letter on that youth camp. I cannot comprehend why I made the deal, was it a mistake? Whatever, I thought that maybe it could be some kind of refreshment.
I told my friend that I despise those people that I used to be happy to hang around with.
Because they did not look up for me. I was kind of sure, that, perhaps, at least, one of them knew, if not exactly, of what happened to me. They read my journal, they knew I had been missing for weeks, from our social circles. Was it because it was holiday and people just needed a freaking moment to take breath so they decided to look away? I told her that since I could not make myself to reach at them, I wrote this, I posted stuff on my social media, so they would know. On the other side, I was adamant to show the world that I am okay, with capital O; I put my lipstick on, I updated my Path and Twitter on my daily/weekly activity, so just I would seem normal. Is not that what any other young girls do, the normal ones?
I guess I do not really know what I want. If I want the world to turn away on me, to see that I am okay, why would I strive for their attention? Pray, God knows better.
Maybe they just do not have the essentials: care, thoughts. Perhaps what we had shared, in words (simple chatter, posting on social media, of course) and laughter did not mean as much to them as to I. That dandy matter of ‘my dear friend, I ask of you, to seek out for me if thou doth not see me in heaven’. That I could not comprehend. Utter bullshit. At this very moment I could care deeply of others just because I do not want anyone to feel of what I feel. Because it is horrible, terrible. There is a profound dysfunction in my life, a disorder. Even feeling okay would mean half of the world.
I was pretty astonished at first. There were seven billions of human beings in this planet called Earth and I found one person, out of the others, who were like me; we had been dancing the similar damn shoes. No, I do not know exactly what she had been through, what kind of shit she had to endure, but I am able to understand. There are more than a thousand students in our faculty, from our batch, and I found her, who had come to me, told me a tale that seemed like a gory story, a bedtime stories gone awry; it was because you do not want to get any piece of this shit.
You would not believe the number of OUR friends who had this condition, the worse case. No, maybe I am just like a piece of cake, a cup of tea. Not the whole cake, nor the teapot and boiling water.
And from a thousand, there were none who came for our rescue. It was a freaking irony, a mere tragedy. What would we do if the sick did not find each other? Should we build up a league of nut case, the alliance of mentally unstable? It is damn hilarious in a sad sad way. But I pity that people, scorn, yes, perhaps, slightly, for a while, I hope.
Do not you dare to put on any words like: “OH! I’m on a goddamn depression, can’t you see it? I’m suffering!” “I’m going crazy, what should I do?” “I feel like to die, I’m depressed!”. Stop exaggerating if you do not know a piece of this shit.
And you know what? In my case, any reasonable and logic sentences would not work on me. So there would not be any use should you ask me to come to you and tell. If I have been behaving strangely, like a real pain in the arse, all silent and bursting in full wrath or vengeance all of a sudden, please do forgive me. That is one of the reason why I manage to avoid people when I do not feel like it; I feel like a ticking bomb waiting to be detonated and dropped. And secondly, I dislike any questions when I do not desire it so that kind of set me off too. Thirdly, I do not feel like seeing anyone that would cause me any pain, you know, the trigger.
Yes, I am on top of selfishness at the time. Also, keep in mind, I still can be a wonderful buddy to chat with, share things, talk about stuff, goofing around, well when I feel like it. The problem is, you and I just cannot point out when. Usually I can, sometimes.
I am not a nutcase. Sometimes, I am. I do not want to put any labels on, do I?