I Don't Have A Problem

I was in Psychiatry posting when I saw a shadow of myself in my textbook. ICD-10 criterias flooded my brain as I struggled to comprehend that what I was experiencing was something people go to the doctor for.

But I don't have a problem.

These symptoms, they're just coincidence. They're severe. Mine's just...mild. Doesn't even fit criteria, strictly speaking. Panic attacks? Nah; those are terrible, like heart attacks and you stop functioning. I function just well. I passed my exams, with honors, didn't I? Worry, fear, muscle tension, irritable, sleeping problems; well, I'm in medschool, darling; exams are like water here. Fast heartbeat, dizziness, shaking hands; well, I'm slightly anemic, aren't I?

So, nah. I don't have a problem.

I don't.





It's just...

Sometimes I can't breathe. Not being able to breathe, your heart in your throat, throbbing, pounding, like it's trying to escape from your mouth, wanting to throw up but nothing's coming up except for fresh burning acid, hands shaking so bad I can't comb my hair I can't tie it up can't even pick up a piece of freaking paper goddamn it and all I could do is to curl up and try to breathe, frightened to the ends of my hair, wanting to cry but my eyes are too preoccupied with being scared and my breath too short to do anything but gasp.

Sometimes I have a to-do list longer than I am tall and I crane my neck so hard to reach the first item on the list but realise that I cannot see the items, and time is running out and I try to move on to the next item but all they do is run around and making me chase after them, and occasionally I get a hold of one of them long enough to complete half the task before it frees itself and I'm left exhausted and terrified and anxious at the end of the day wondering why nothing ever gets done even though I've gone at it every single second of the day.




Sometimes it's like having a recorder on replay constantly inside my brain, reminding me of deadlines and things that need to be done, and what would happen if you did not complete them and you need to finish reading up on appendicitis dammit and class is at 8am it's already 7.30am and you're still at home why did you wake up so late what if you can't find parking what if everybody's already there waiting for you; and don't forget to get meat and vegetables or you'll have to eat outside and god knows how many calories are in those fried food damn it all to hell what a failure you incompetent useless milksop worthy of nothing can't even go to the grocery store and buy freaking milk you'll just end up with osteoporosis and break all your bones when you're old then what are you even good for then

Sometimes I feel like I pay too much attention to myself the way I move the way I speak and each sentence and each laugh and each smile is carefully calculated for the best effect, tailored for the audience, just like drama class where you're given an emotion and you do your best to go into the right mindset for it and you twist your face and body to fit the profile and I've always been good at it, so why am I second-guessing my acting skills now, it used to be as easy as breathing but now everything just feels so fake and stiff and made up and I need to make it more natural I need to make other people believe this is how I feel while inside I'm shrivelling up in hate for having to be such a faker but I can't help it it's too instinctual to don this acting like an armour what does it even mean to 'be yourself' I haven't been 'myself' in ages, can't even remember how it felt to not be acting

Sometimes I have an inner camera going on playing back, in real time,  every single thing I say every single move I make every laugh I fake every smile I paste, and wondering if anybody is seeing through this mask what they are thinking, because what if I'm too quiet and they think I'm being difficult or worse, ungrateful, what if they're having too much difficulty trying to talk to me what if they decide that it's not worth that much effort and what if I'm left all alone with only myself for company but that's not too bad to be honest because then I won't have to worry about being accepted being good enough but seriously why do I care so much?

Sometimes it's making plans to meet friends because if I don't keep contact I'll lose them and then where would I be, but regretting making plans because I don't want to do this to put on a layer of something and to measure responses and to think of conversation topics and it's so tiring I hope someone cancels or something emergency comes up and I have an excuse to not go, and hating myself for thinking that because you ungrateful little shit.  And going out and actually enjoying myself even though sometimes smiles and laughs felt a little forced but  dammit at least be grateful you had a few good near-genuine ones, did you think you'll get these good moments alone in your room at least now you're relatively back in the loop you selfish little shit, and the time spent together was so much better than I expected, and reaching home and suddenly feeling drained as if feeling happy was a concept my body doesn't understand and has to work to get there.

Sometimes it's avoiding everything avoiding work avoiding people and all I want to do all I can do is curl up in my nest of blankets and Tommy and I wish to never wake up so that I don't have to face all these; just wanting to indulge in a lazy Sunday, even though I know that any minute now the guilt will hit the sense of utter incompetence will hit and you lazy useless thing can't even make it through one single chapter everybody will know you're a failure nobody will want you you can't even make it out of your bed won't even make the effort to keep contact to meet people to stop this isolation why would anybody still want to be your friend all you do is use and use and use others while you laze around like a floppy invertebrate but you lay around waiting for it anyway because all you want is a single quiet moment to yourself.

Sometimes I stay up all night because I can't sleep, and the brain refuses to shut up refuses to shut down refuses to stop refuses to pause and just replays each and every single mistake every single word every single sentence I've said and analyse it to death wondering what could have been done better scheduled better what I could have said what I shouldn't have said what I could have done otherwise why can't I freaking sleep it's 3am and I need to be up by 6am for a shower don't want to smell don't want to look like a vagabond and need to be punctual for class but I'm always late anyway don't even know why I try

Sometimes I just stay in the car alone wondering if everyone else goes through this too and how do they make it look so easy going through all this how do they smile and laugh all the time and feel it and mean it, when all I could feel is a shadow of it, or have I been acting so long that it all feels faked even when it's real and I can't tell what's real and what's not, or am I just paying too much attention to this, and what's my purpose in life anyway if nothing can make me truly happy (but that's not true; I'm happy when I read fanfiction the characters speak to me and when they are happy I'm happy but I'm also jealous and resentful at the same time, because why can they have it but I can't; you idiot they are all made up characters, fictional, and a product of imagination and dreams; and what do you write about if not things you cannot have) why am I even here if all I achieve everyday is a big fat nothing just one step after another where is the bloody destination

There are days when all I want to do is curl up and cry, until my tears run dry and my throat is burning from the spasms of muffled sobs and throbbing of a displaced heart.

There are days when all I want is to stay asleep and never wake up so that I don't need to feel all these.

There are days when all I want is for deadlines to disappear, to have no tasks, to not have it all hanging, to be simply incompetent and unproductive and be okay with it.

There are days when all I want is to not feel so alone and for someone to hug me so tight it hurts like hell to remind me that I'm still here and for pain to be physical instead of something abstract so at least I can fight it I can make it stop.

And then there are better days when they don't hit as frequently, and those surprise moments where you actually feel the smile or the laughter that bubbles up accidentally, and your hands don't shake your heart doesn't pound your head is clear your breaths come deep and easy and you're so relieved and you go off into dreamland the minute your head touches the pillow.

Better days when you're okay with not achieving anything because you're no superwoman and allowed off days, when you could eat without worrying about the weighing scale or the layer of belly fat around my waist because eff it you can hide the belly fat and  freaking cheat days, when you just give up on trying to portray yourself as little miss perfect and eff it all nobody is perfect and you're finally free.

Days when Tommy doesn't even seem inviting, and going out with friends aren't a chore or a constant strain on your acting gene, and you feel like you could 'be yourself' whatever that means, and you don't even care what 'be yourself' means because you're comfortable for once and feel like you belong, finally.

But a tiny little trigger and it all comes tumbling back, like a house of cards in a hurricane.

A single comment. One little word. Narrowed eyes. A frown.

Just a tiny single breath would set it off.



It doesn't let go. It doesn't go away. I don't think it ever does. Even now, when I'm much more content in my own skin, much better at coping, so much better at being less insecure, it lurks underneath the surface like a shark, waiting for a scent. It lies in hiding, lurking, waiting for your most vulnerable spot to reveal itself.

And it pounces.

It never goes away. I don't know what sets it off. I don't know when it comes. I don't know how it comes. I don't know how to avoid it.

All I can do is learn to cope better.

There's good in this though. I learnt to be grateful. To appreciate every single breath which doesn't require effort. Every single heartbeat which doesn't make itself known. Every night when my body and brain is on the same page with exhaustion and sleep comes easy. Every single moment when I felt comfortable in my own skin. Every single task I complete. Every quiet alone moment which doesn't feel lonely or suffocating. Every friend I feel comfortable with, that I don't need to walk on eggshells around. Every moment that I don't need to tiptoe around. Every moment that I don't have to be on high alert.

So. Yeah.

I don't have a problem. 

I just have some insecurities, just stressed out, and need to work on being not lazy, and need to be more competent study more work harder be less lazy, to learn to not be so dramatic--life ain't a drama. . I just need to learn to cope with stress. I just need to learn to be okay alone. 

Just need to do some growing up. 

Blind

He was young, frail,
      in need of protection
Mother Earth, in her grace and gentleness
      allowed him Her kindness
sang him to sleep with the soft humming from her belly
   fed him to satiety with tears of happiness
      rocked him to peaceful with the gentle shifting of her legs

Slowly and surely he grew strong, sure-footed, mighty
Stretching his roots, rustling his leaves
Raised with tears and sweat and blood
He was Her pride, Her joy, Her love
Her child.

But he grew
his roots slowly sinking deeper and deeper
digging, stabbing, spearing Her fleshy womb
leeching off Her tears of pain and hurt
proudly rustling his branches as She writhed
She bleeds in the dead of night, a slow trickle, as Her child slowly reached for the skies.

and still She gives.
and still She loves.

For what is Love if not blind?

To Love

Try as I may, I cannot forget
The pull of your skin against my skin
As it scrapes across
Inside my wrist
Tiny kisses that linger
Long after your sheets turned cold

I want
So much to love
To crawl inside your arms and never leave
Rest my cheek against the planes of warmth
        thump thump thump 
        The angry drive of want

Try as I may, I cannot forget
Our fights
As well as our kisses
Vicious, two animals fighting
For ground
A ground we wanted together, but could not share

I long
For your touch;
Rough, heavy, punishing; bordering on possessive
As we lick our wounds
          To want so much that I lose control
          To be wanted so much that you lose control

Try, as I may, I cannot love
Not the way I wanted to love you;
Gently, the wings of a dragonfly on still water, barely rippling the surface
Softly, a mother's kiss on her newborn's brow, barely denting the skin
Tenderly, a girl's hand in her man's, intertwined, bared for all to see.

I want to love you so much

But all we do is tear, crash and destruct

And build walls around what's left of ourselves. 

Midnight : Ramblings

Sometimes I wonder if I overthink things. Some things are meant to be simple. I think.

But I can't help it when my mind goes into overdrive. Is the silence awkward? Should I fill the silence? What should I fill it with? Would they be offended if I just sat there and not talk because I don't feel like talking? Would they feel uncomfortable if I ask them out but proceed to sit quietly instead of engaging verbally?

Because I know I would. I would be uncomfortable if the silences grow long and awkward. I would be offended if they ask me out just to look at them stare at their phones.

But that's what I feel like doing sometimes. To just sit silently in each other's presence, basking in the ease of silence. Sometimes I just want to sit quietly and watch people talk. And when things start to get awkward, my phone becomes a shield.

So how can I fault others when I do the same?

Or do other people don't care this much, and I'm just overthinking stuff and being an idiot, as usual?

Most hurts, I've come to realise, stem from me thinking too far in advance, too much in advance. Preparing for something that hasn't even been confirmed. Planning too far ahead for people who probably didn't even intend on that much itinerary. Caring too much for people who just don't really feel you're important enough. It all only ends in disappointment; the dull throbbing emptiness and hurt.

I've always had trouble in maintaining relationships. I ... lose contact. I become too lazy to keep in touch. I'm bad with communicating what I really want. And when finally the opportunity presents itself for a reconnection, I find that we've become too different, too far. And my laziness and fear and anxiety takes over, and there goes the relationship.

I analyze and morph and analyze and morph again, trying to appease everybody. It's so instinctual and I hate it but I have to constantly remind myself to not overdo it and everything becomes even more complicated and not at all natural. Where is the line, what's overdoing it, what's being an indelicate arsehole, what's being a stage player in his own show, what's caring too much, what'll risk me ending up as a foolish idiot who overestimated  her importance.

And so, sometimes, I lose contact because I can't find the naturalness anymore. That's is why certain conversations are precious to me; for they require near zero effort and I can be free.

I suppose my self imposed solitude had negative effects; I'd become too lax in the government of my emotions. I'd swing between the extremes of putting on a show and hiding all my emotions and true needs behind a mask, and laying it all splayed out for the world to see regardless of anybody else's feelings about it.

I'm an actor, born and bred. I suppose it's a side effect of being an overachiever. We act, and show others what they want to see, and hide away all the gory parts in the dark corners of our cupboards.

And so, I act, whether I like it or not. And recently, my acting antennae is malfunxtioning. I can't judge which mask to put on, which role to play, which disguise to wear anymore. It may possibly be the results of prolonged solitude, of me being rid of the need to act for too long. Good thing, or bad? I can't tell.

All I can tell you is, few people are precious to me, because our conversations are natural, effortless ( though I must confess, that I fend much better behind the shield of written words, for if I'm exposed to facial expressions, it's instinctual to read and adapt -- my actor side escapes.).

But fewer still, of these people, who I can feel comfortably silent with; whom I can feel safe with. Safe from abandonment. Safe from awkward silences. Safe from unequal sense of importance. Safe.


So how would I ever find that special someone?


I don't want to be the single friend who third wheels everyone. I don't want to be the only one cuddling a pillow when watching romcoms. I don't want to be holding my own hands while everybody around me clings to each other.

But j don't want to be rushing. I don't want to be in a special relationship just for he sake of it. I don't want to force myself through awkwardness and general unease. I don't want it to be uncomfortable.

I don't... I don't know what I want.

Maybe it doesn't have to be complicated. Maybe it's not about matching interests. Maybe it's not about conversational topics. Maybe it's of clicking and the je ne sais quoi. Maybe it's of feeling comfortable and on edge.

Maybe it's just about throwing caution to the wind and taking a step.

But I'm not ready for that.