Darkness Has A Name

The worst feeling is coming out of denial into reality, and realizing that all these while, you've lost yourself. Have you ever take a double take on your values, your moral standings, words and actions, and think to yourself, "Hmm, maybe because I've been conditioned that way all my life"? Growing up, I've taken everything on face value, place a veil over my eyes and refuse point blank to remove it and see the world as it is. It's denial at best, but I felt safe, built a haven from the chaos, bloodshed and mess from the world. I don't want to grow up and have responsibilities. I want to be protected forever, loved and babyed. I guess when you wake up from all these, the epiphany hits you squarely in the face and the pain envelops you, overwhelms, lull you into surrender.

Sitting there, it was dark and quiet, but still, the lights outside casted a silhouette, my silhouette. However, the darkness inside me, is thick and overbearing. Quiet but threatening. Something scared me  and it was not the darkness. It was the fact that I was not scared of what was out there in the dark, I didn't care what would happen to me. I didn't care. It was as if I had became one with the darkness. Thick and overbearing, lost in the throes of my despair, the inner grottos of my thoughts; gloomy and morbid.

Even then, there was a light, so small you would have missed it if you weren't searching for it. Flickering, yet fighting valiantly to shine bright. And I think to myself, the times during a horror movie and the heroine's torch goes out. And no matter how many times she hits it, it won't turn back on. I wonder why was it so different for that small light I see. Why does it struggle when it is going to go off anyways? What for fight the darkness? I mean, if you can't beat it, join it right.

Then I lost my emotional footing and stumbled back into the past. I saw a little girl, traumatised by the beheading of a hostage by the Taliban. She slept with her parents that night, and while having nightmares she sleep talked. "Mom, you need to give brother money." And the mother, curious, asked her, "For what, darling?" "You need to give brother money to buy the head." And then the image dissolved into a scene inside a bus. This time, two teenage girls sitting side by side, decked in school uniforms. The first girl pulled down her collar and pointed at red marks that looked like rashes. "What's that man?" The second girl asked. The first girl replied, "Hickeys. He gave me hickeys that day dude. I've been wearing collar shirts and scarves to avoid my mom's questions." The other girl sighed and looked out of the window, wondering how was she going to stop her best friend from getting her and let her down easy. It wasn't the first time she became an emotional wreck. She replied, "What the hell. What were you thinking? But you know, if he makes you happy, I support you two." It ended with the first girl choosing the boyfriend that abuses her over her best friend. The friendship ended with a shouting match.

The next scene was a slightly older girl curled up in a sofa sobbing silently into her shirt, a phone in her hand. "She wants to talk to you" The receiver whispered. "Its been 4 years." She whispered back, "Why now?"

Why now? As I flip the memories over in my mind, I see a girl, despite being hurt over and over again, despite being scared from an inch of her life, she wanted to help. Why now? Why when I want to give up and give in to depression the damn light just won't go out? It flickers, letting me glance at my smiling memories briefly before it goes back into darkness. It flickers again, letting me see the smiles I've placed on people's faces before going dim. It flickers yet one more time, showing me the fractured pieces of my life.

Okay

I don't know why I come back to the blog. It's obvious that I have conditioned it poorly and only come to it when I need to rant or prove that my English is still up to par. No one reads it I think. If you're reading it, well, I don't know how you stumble across this poor excuse of a blog, but welcome anyways.

Life has been tumultuous. To some people, it probably is a good thing. But to me, it's hell. I like to laze around and I really value sleep. It's crazy running up and then, rushing work, worrying about internship and the never ending interviews. It's like a myriad of people and things nudging me off my sanity string. I just want to lull myself into a state of catatonia, I'm becoming neurotic and anxious. And I don't do well with stress.

I'm telling you, if you're having insomnia, the best narcotic is work.

Words I Never Said

Have you ever had that particular day when nothing seems to be right? Well, mine just happen to be my favourite holiday ever - Christmas. I can't even find comfort in the crook of words, the warmth of writing, or even the satisfaction of piecing words to form a sentence. Its like I've lost it. A few setbacks have dampened my passion for words, a feral hunger to communicate a story. I want to throw my hands in abject surrender and utter the taboo words, "I give up." But this small portly imp inside me is determined to milk my dark moments. I can't say those words.

No one believes in my writing anymore. Not even myself. Then why I can't give it up? Maybe it's because I held on for so long. That even through the "I don't know if your english is just that bad or you didn't see that obvious grammatical mistake" and that one real writing job, and they never got back, I held on.

But it feels like a warzone in me. Messing up my education. My relationships. It seems to be an in thing for me, a season, or a lifetime, maybe. To be in front of a battle, nothing but the clothes on my back, chin up, bravely standing there refusing to dodge. Perhaps I knew it all along. Mayhaps I was asking for it. But I can't back down. Not with my pride on the line. Not when the people who shot the first few arrows were my friends or teachers.

It's stupid. You might say. It's useless, choobs, just give it up. Why fight when you know you are only gonna get hurt? You might ask.

Why do I bother when I have God on my side?

I might have lost all motivation to do well. But motivation can be revved up again. Till then, God be my vindication and my sword.

Delirious

Delirious. Usually associated to joy, laughter, excitement, positive factors in life. But my definition of delirious is in a trance, a dazed state from the chaos and pain outside the shell I call my life.

I'm in a state of delirium. I see things, see through them, I don't really see. Went through the whole day with such heavy thoughts, weighed me down like an iron. But I hide behind the laughter and the smiles. I feel much safer then. Much less vulnerable. Many times my eyes glazed over, I realized then, how good of an actress I've became. I keep thinking to myself. Inside my room, alone, I could break down and cry myself a good time.

That kept me going for awhile. Then I learnt to compartmentalize the pain, the questions. I would deal with it later when I'm alone. Not in front of these people I call friends. Some time in the whole episode, someone came up to me and confided. The one person I was not ready to lose, but I had to let go. She was crying. That was pushing my breaking point, I wanted to cry along with her. I wanted to, so badly.

But I had to suck it up. Always operate from a position of strength. I couldn't cry in front of her. I was her leader, her mentor. What does it make me? In that moment of weakness, I found strength. And I just  stared at her unseeing, nodding empathically.

Snippets of the compartmentalize pain got through the wall I built through the day. But I managed all the same. It's ironic, I wanted, no needed someone to talk to. But funnily enough, I had no one. Or believed it so. Maybe I wanted myself to believe I had no one. It's not because I don't have, but because I just wanted to be alone.

Came home, bracing myself for a floodgates of emotions to hit me like a brickwall and the waterworks to start. It didn't come. It never did. It diminished into something called apathy. I decided to put down all I felt in words. However, whatever I felt, no matter how manipulative I am with words, couldn't explain.

This is my best explanation. Of the words I couldn't say. Relationships. Friendships. Leadership. Bullshit. Cop out bullshit. No fairytale ending for all of them.

Too proud to admit that I need help. Been lashed to this freight train all my life, too stubborn to untie myself. Too stubborn.

Linear

Many things run through my mind. Morbid thoughts, thoughts banished to the furthest corners of the world, never hoping to see light again. Moved from the clubbing song phase to the Norah Jones phase. Need some jazzy feminine feel instead of pumping nigga music to quiet my mind.

I asked myself why I refuse to let go of the grief, and slowly straining the grief through when feeling downright miserable and helpless. I'm like a small amount butter being spread across the loaves of bread. I see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I just turn back to the darkness because there I find comfort. I'm running scared and I know it. Because there in the darkness I can still feel hurt, grief, loss and pain. It's not that I don't want to move on, it's that I'm timorous that I won't miss you again, that without some emotional distress, I can't feel you.

I sound like a nutcase. Trust me, if I read this through I would think myself as one. So I'm not gonna read it through. Norah Jones, here I come again.

The world will still be here tomorrow.

In life, be it cheering or jeering you, there'll always be people calling out your name. You either tune those voices to be the one that motivate or get crush by the might of the audience.

"What do they know?"

I hear myself repeating that question.

What do I know?

As much as I say I'll be there, the whole load of bullshit even sounded weak to my ears. When I see my friends, hell, close friends crying, my first knee jerk reflex is to walk away. Out of all the times I walked away, I never came back. It's not right, I know. As if squashing the ant wasn't enough, I had to squish it harder, decapitating the body further.

I never understood my coping mechanism. The sense of escapism when aware of danger. Isn't it a survival instinct? Except that the crisis wasn't one of danger, but of a hurting friend in need of comfort. I can't give that. I don't admonish myself because I tried. Till then, if I find a way to cope with my rather unconventional coping mechanism, I'll let you know.

Ambivalent

I don't know how or what should I feel. I think it is the state of ambivalence and sometimes words are just not enough to explain it all. Many people tell you to follow and chase your dream down with a hunting knife and a good pair of converse shoes. Chase them down, they said, it would be worth it, they said. I wonder, sometimes, all those big celebrities like Johnny Cash, or Marilyn Monroe, or Charlie Chaplain, I wonder what was it like to be giving their all for the dream, and to wait. What is it like for them to wait?

Mayhaps they sit at the post office, waiting day in and out for an acceptance letter. Funny how ink and paper can make your spirit soar or crush it within a matter of minutes. Oh the irony. Or perhaps they would hound the postman then, or if it was modern day in year 2012, it would be in a constant checking of the email.

I tell myself, no news is good news. But having no news is like feeding the wolves whom I have known to be fear. Each and everyday I start questioning my dream, my capabilities, my worth. It's not that I'm insecure, I'm just scared of underachieving, of letting them down, of letting myself down. It's a never ending competition. The survival of the fittest. The hunger damn-ing games. And God help me, I'm so tired of coming in second.

It's so loud in my head. Everything is looking up, but why do I feel so down?

I messed it up. My spiritual life, my friendships, my relationships. I don't bother anymore. It's not giving up. It's I just, I don't know.