Ouch
Ouch. Don’t know why, don’t know what. But ouch.
It is at times like these when I wonder what is so wrong about hurting myself when I’m going to hurt anyway whether it is emotionally or physically.
Why is it that people don’t understand that it is so much easier to bear the physical pain than the emotional?
Because people never understand.
People never understand how on one hand I am trying not to hurt myself, on the other, I’m trying every single way to hurt myself in order to get the most release.
People never understand how hurting oneself is a cry for help but it’s a cry I never want anyone to hear.
It is difficult to understand the conflict within me.
How I want to do this but I end up doing the exact opposite.
Like how I want to change the world but I end up curling up in my room like a hermit.
Like how I want to stop hurting myself, but I carry my penknife all around anyway.
Like how I want to love God, but end up scourging Him and crucifying Him.
I was never meant to be made perfect, was I? He made everybody else perfect, every day every second of their lives He marked out on a calendar. Every feature, every personality, He made perfect. But me.
Ouch. Yes ouch, it hurts. It hurts when I think about my studies. It hurts when I think about how I’ve failed at it. It hurts when I think about work. It hurts when I think how I’m failing at it. It hurts when I think about my family. It hurts when I think of how I failed them. It hurts when I think about my church ministry. It hurts when I think about how I am failing them. It hurts. It bloody hurts. And nobody understands why. Not even me.
Insanity much?
I get that feeling again, that feeling that nobody takes me seriously because I am not serious.
I told my psych that I cut myself. Which is half the truth. And yes, I did play it down ever so slightly. He didn’t think much of it, as far as I can judge by his reaction anyway.
At some point of our session, he asked if there was anything else I wanted to say or ask. So I shook my head and then I could totally see Yun skinning me alive. Then we talked for a bit then he asked that again, he always asks it. So I was quiet for like a whole minute and looked out the window and looked at him and looked out the window, the whole time my mind already able to hear yun scolding me. I debated whether I should take out my notebook, where I had written down the list of things I wanted to tell him. To which I chickened out, because that list has more than just my self-injury, and told him that I’ve started hurting myself.
He asked the expected questions: How, where, if he could see, why.
I told him that I cut, on my palm, that it was more a scratch than a cut so there was nothing to see and I didn’t know why.
I didn’t tell him that I also hit my head, bite my fingers and tongue, scratch with my fingernails and cut other parts of me.
But the thing is that I told him ok? It was hard but I did it so please don’t scold me too much…
I have to say though, I feel like a failure. I can’t even hurt myself properly.
He also asked me to write down a list of the options I have for next year and bring it the next month. I looked at a propectus which I found on my chair (belongs to my friend) which made me feel like jumping in front of a speeding bus. So… yeah. Whatever, right?
So… Just back from Malaysia.
Didn’t call anyone, just moped about, ate char kuay teow, watched Astro, bought ridiculous amounts of clothes…
My sister bloody stole my room and I’m not exaggerating! She shifted my bed out of my room and into hers and shifted her crap into what used to be my room. And she uses my bed, which is now in her room, as some sort of cupboard where she dumps all her clothes! See, if she had told me about it, I would probably be ok with it but she didn’t and that is what irks me the most. I love her, I do, but I hate the way people do things to my stuff without consulting me first. Why is it that nobody seems to have any respect for me?
Whatever.
Mass at SFX was good. LOVE Fr O.C., LOVE.
Went to the Cemeteries to pray for the souls of my grandfather and great-grandmother. It’s strange the way I love the grandfather I never met.
Watched a movie which I cannot remember the title anymore but it made me want to lunge into the screen and bloody murder (or at least castrate) the man. One of those stepfather raped stepdaughter shows. I hate the way this type of sexual abuse just effs up a child’s perception of sexuality. *swings cleaver around*
I’m thinking of writing a Halloween special for the youth. All Hallow’s Eve. It’s a Catholic celebration that the Americans butchered, so fine, I don’t know if it’s really the Americans who did it but I’m going to blame them anyway because I’m shallow like that.
I’m suicidal. Shh…
I have a retreat to go to later. One year has passed since the last Confirmation in my parish and I’m facilitating a group for this year’s Confirmation Camp. I’m not entirely certain how I got myself into this one.
I’ve been hurting myself.
I wrote down a list of things I want to tell my psychiatrist and if I can’t bring myself to say it on my own tomorrow when I see him, I will give him the list. I hope.
I’ve been putting on weight.
I haven’t packed for the retreat I’m due to leave for in half an hour. I haven’t bathed either.
I feel like having a child. I probably won’t, due to a lack of sperm, but I feel like I want one. Walked in the baby toiletries section yesterday and it smelled so good… sigh…
I feel like dying.
Have I mentioned that I’m thinking of spiritual direction? I probably have. I just don’t know how to go about it. And I’m scared. As I always am.
I should pack.
I want to poo. I just pooed actually, I just don’t feel satisfied.
I didn’t get the eat chicken rice balls because we didn’t stop over in Melaka.
I spell Melaka this way instead of the other because I don’t know how to spell the other.
I wish I was still in the garden of Eden, then I can walk around naked.
whatever
Even more about work
Hehe…
I’ve got a few bitchings and a few nice things to talk about work.
Bitchings would be that my colleagues are so… unloving. They keep complaining about customers. I don’t know, maybe I’m not the one working at the bar making drinks so I don’t know what the customers are like with their drinks but hey, I get my fair share of shitty customers too but I don’t call them things like arseholes and bastards.
We got a customer today who seemed like some homeless guy, he even smelt a little. He asked how much our coffee is and then asked if we had tea and asked how much that was and then asked for tea. He didn’t speak very clearly so it was rather difficult to hear him and it wasn’t very pleasant to lean closer to hear him better because of the smell. Yes, I know it is automatic for us human beings to look down on other human beings. That is so very sad. After we sold him the tea, he took it and stood somewhere to drink it. Then he asked me what time the store closes, granted, I’ve never gotten that question before because most people don’t care what time the store closes, so it was a bit strange, but I told him anyway. Nothing wrong with that. Then I walked past my colleague and he asks me what that guy wanted so I told my colleague and my colleague said something to the effect of weird arsehole. Even the customer in line behind the guy made faces of disgust and stood a bit away from him.
Yes, I won’t deny, the body odour wasn’t fun to smell. But I don’t understand why my colleagues had to treat him like he was unworthy of a cup of SB tea. He wasn’t even asking for free tea, he was paying for it! The questions he asked were questions that we, as SB employees, are more than capable and ready to answer. So fine, you don’t like the way he looks, you don’t like the way he smells, but do you have to judge him?
I couldn’t help but think to the scene in Beauty and the Beast when the prince (who later became the Beast) refused to help an ugly old lady who came to his house and then she turned him into a beast.
I couldn’t help but think of Jesus, who, after walking miles to the next town to minister to the people, would probably smell rather bad and look rather bad. All Jesus wanted was a cup of tea, did you have to call him an arsehole?
But alas, I am in no position to judge my colleagues. I have my own difficulties in seeing the presence of Jesus. The presence of Jesus in others and the presence of Jesus in me.
Also. I learned that kohkoh cute is single. XD XD XD XD!!!!!
There seemed to be some school trip or something there so he was commenting that there were so many kids. So we talked about it being the last day of school today. He didn’t know that. And, out of a desire to know if he was married, asked him as if it was small-talk, “do you have any kids?” to which he replied, “none that I acknowledge” lol. We joked a bit about kids he didn’t want to acknowledge and then he said, “I’m not even married yet,” and I smiled like a freak at that statement so I hid below the counter pretending to do something with the credit card machine. He said something to the effect of nobody wants him and I retorted, “Don’t worry, someday you’ll find somebody stupid enough.”
It was difficult, very difficult, to not squeal out at that point, “MARRY ME!” LOL
So, today was pretty funny. And there are aspects of my work which I quite like. =)
It has been a complex day.
In my prayer life, I don’t know what He’s trying to do. A part of me is saying, “whatever lah,” the other part of me is saying, “What theeeee?”
He puts all sorts of people in my life and, it’s cliche but, I cannot see the meaning in one piece when I cannot see the big picture yet. So I am left to wonder, “what’s up with the weirdos Dude?”
But I do find immense peace when I remember that I am in His presence, all the time, His omniscience awes me and comforts me at the same time. The Paraclete. The Counselor. The Father. The Friend.
I can see His hand crafting and molding some of the people in my life and it pleases me. I am so grateful that He is there, that He is here. But then again, I never doubted that He would come.
Gift of Faith.
Gift of Prophecy.
I had this urge to say out, in the Adoration Chapel today, “I love you! Is this prove enough for you that I am here?” I didn’t, of course. I never do. I’m cowardly like that. So I bargained, as I always do.
I told Him I’d write it down on a piece of paper and give it to a person. That wasn’t the end of the bargain. The condition was that, as I didn’t want to tear paper out of my notebook, I would stick my hand into my bag and if I can find a paper, like a slip of receipt or something, I’d write on that. By the amount of receipts in my bag, it technically isn’t impossible but my bag is big and it has a lot of things inside so while I am certain that there are receipts and scraps of paper in there, I’m never certain that I can find anything in there. So I stuck my hand into the bag and literally with no exaggeration pull out the first thing my fingers curl around, a receipt from McD’s. Having bargained myself into a corner with nothing left to bargain, I relented, dug up His courage and wrote on the paper, “I LOVE YOU” and put the paper down as I asked Him to whom I should give the paper to. I then added, “Is this prove enough? From : GOD through His servant” I then cowardly ran away again because I didn’t want to give the paper to anyone in the room. So I decided to leave the room. I got up and said the “Our Father” aka “The Lord’s Prayer” which goes: “Our Father in Heaven. Holy be Your name. Your kingdom come, Your will be done on earth as it is in Heaven…” and I got stuck there. Because there I was with my lips saying “Your will be done” but there my actions were to stuff the paper back into my bag and leave the room without living up to my end of the bargain. I tried to shrug it off, ended the prayer without ending it and made the sign of the cross. I touch my forehead, which can signify that I give my thoughts to Him; I touch my chest, which an signify that I give my emotions to Him; and then I touch my shoulders, which can signify that I give my actions to Him. I realise then that, yet again, my actions do not really reflect what I think I should be doing.
I ran out of the room, put on my shoes. Hesitated. And then left the little slip of paper on the shoe rack with the words facing up.
It looked kinda like litter at first glance but I hope it touched somebody.
On a note completely unrelated to pain or joy.
Went out for a late dinner with mum and uncle G and this other guy who is also a lector yesterday. They ganged up against me! I know he means well. Uncle G kept telling me to study. He said it in a variety of different ways but it was pretty much the same message. STUDY!!!!! Lol.
At some point, I passionately and eloquently stated my stand against the Singaporean education system. That is, I spoke in proper English and rather quickly (passionate). I can’t remember exactly what I said but it was something like, “The entire Singaporean education system is a system that is flawed.” To which he replied, “Wah, si beh cheem leh, (in hokkien) what you say? can say one more time? (end hokkien)”
LOL!
Also, another bit that’s unrelated.
When I flag a taxi off the road, I actually choose taxis sometimes. I know this sounds insane, especially to the non-Christians (and probably to the Christians as well) but I usually don’t flag the first taxi I see. I wait for one that “calls out” to me. Because I believe that God has a purpose for each of my taxi rides (and the rest of my life of course).
So today I flagged a taxi and it stopped and I went in but he was changing shift so I got back out because I wasn’t on the way. Then I flagged the next taxi and got in and told him where to go and so we went. It was fairly quiet at first. Until he took the wrong road, the longer way. I had SGD17 in my wallet so I told God, “This taxi ride is for you. If I have to give you my last 17 dollars then fine but it would be nice if you didn’t take it all cos I kinda sorta want to eat tomorrow.” After he turned off the wrong road, I asked him where we were and that was when the ride stopped being quiet. We talked. It was pretty fun. It wasn’t like, “REPENT! REPENT AND THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN WILL BE YOURS!!” (lol). We were just chatting, about customers. He talked about how he disliked fetching Indian people because they were generally difficult customers, “not all but many”, that’s what he said. He said that even Indian taxi drivers disliked fetching Indian people. And he said that the Malays were the most chinchai and makes the best customers. And he, too, told me to study. That studying is the best time, that once I come out to work, everything will be so hard.
It was fun. lol.
So I enjoyed my taxi ride home.
=)
I’m left with SGD2 in my wallet but I don’t mind.
He actually wanted to charge me SGD14 instead of 14.70 but I only had a ten dollar note and a five dollar note (and a two dollar note but that’s irrelevant here) so I told him “coins no need” not because I didn’t want three dollars instead of two for tomorrows lunch but… I don’t know why actually. I just like doing acts of random kindness.
Because I’ve always said, when you believe in a God, you can’t believe in Random. 
Just rambles about my days and the stuff I’ve been up to. =)
With love,
YAY!
There is finally talk of C getting discharged. YAY!
Praying very hard. Not just that she will get discharged soon but that the Lord will make her ready for the world out here.
The Son
This post is stolen from Doc, whose blog you can find in my blogroll (right on top too )
It blew me over, over enough for the girl, who sends hatemail to people who send her forwarded mails, to post this on her precious blog. :
A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.
When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.
About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.
He said, ‘Sir, you don’t know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.’ The young man held out this package. ‘I know this isn’t much. I’m not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.’
The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. ‘Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It’s a gift.’
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.
The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.
On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. ‘We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?’
There was silence.
Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, ‘We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.’
But the auctioneer persisted.. ‘Will somebody bid for this painting. Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?’
Another voice angrily. ‘We didn’t come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!’
But still the auctioneer continued. ‘The son! The son! Who’ll take the son?’
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. ‘I’ll give $10 for the painting.’ Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.
‘We have $10, who will bid $20?’
Give it to him for $10. Let’s see the masters.’
$10 is the bid, won’t someone bid $20?’
The crowd was becoming angry.. They didn’t want the picture of the son.
They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel. ‘Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!’
A man sitting on the second row shouted, ‘Now let’s get on with the collection!’
The auctioneer laid down his gavel. ‘I’m sorry, the auction is over.’
What about the paintings?’
‘I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.
The man who took the son gets everything!’
God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: ‘The son, the son, who’ll take the son?’
Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.
Highs and lows
See, yesterday, I was on a high.
Today, I’m back to normal, or, at least, what is normal to me.
A low.
But alas, don’t let me depress you.
I did have a pretty good day yesterday.
His plans starting to get a little bit clearer. It isn’t completely clear of course, but a little bit clearer. Which feels nice.
I don’t know. Whatever.
