Yesterday I went to see the psychiatrist.
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.