Daydreams of yesterday,
are not allowed,
to become realities of today,
realities of curse.
One vice per term,
One sin per Friday,
No more, not again,
I’ve heard that said.
I will attain,
perfection, like You,
In darkness the world,
New Light has come.
So Saviour dear,
have mercy on us,
So Father sweet,
forgive us.
I have so much fluoxetine that I think I’ll choke before I can overdose on it.
read an interesting article on OCD which was very insightful.
wanting to attempt suicide but don’t really want to succeed. Too afraid of the other side. yet, I want to go Home anyway.
Acts of Random Kindness
We give because it as been said that it feels good to give. Feels even better than receiving, so it is said.
I hate saying goodbye but after having said goodbye to my mother at the airport today, I left for home in the MRT. It was a long journey and I was sleepy. After, I kid you not, falling asleep standing, I finally got a seat and while under ordinary circumstances I would not have sat down because I would have wanted to give that seat to another person, I sat down today and fell asleep almost immediately.
The east-west line is such that jurong east interchange is towards the end of the route with only three other stations before the train terminates so most people would get off a jurong east.
So there I was, fast asleep with my mouth gaping open when we arrived at jurong east interchange. And then this girl wakes me up and tells me, “We are at jurong east already.”
I look at her blurly and go, “uh…” and look out the train where there are people waiting at the platform.
I am not certain if she is smiling but in the eyes of my mind, she is. And then she walks out to the platform to continue her journey to wherever it was that she was going to go.
It takes about two whole seconds for this to settle in, but when it does, I am so touched by the girl’s kindness.
I have become so used to giving that I have, sadly, forgotten what receiving feels like. Having someone be nice to me today reminds me, on a human level, why I am nice to other people. Because it feels so good when someone is nice to you.
To this stranger girl who woke me up, thank you. You really made my day. On the day that my mother was leaving and I was going home to an empty house, I didn’t think I would write such a positive, happy, post. Yet, here I sit writing a really happy post because I am so touched by your act of kindness to me.
Thank you.
I was quite content with having truly forgotten what I was supposed to do.
Write down a list of options for next year. Which… sucks.
My mother reminded me yesterday and I screamed and covered my face with a pillow. I have to say, pillow against nose is so much easier to face than next year.
But there is no avoiding it and at that, you are right. I cannot stop time any more than I have already tried.
So… what are my options?
Off the top of my head would be:
1. ODing
2. Continue working for a year (not in Sb) before deciding.
3. Do private As in Sg.
4. Shooting self.
5. Going back to KL to do private pre-u.
6. Becoming a bum.
7. Becoming a mistress.
8. Going to Sg Petani to do foundation in Medicine in Aimst.
9. Jumping off HDB flat.
10. Slitting wrist.
11. Going to polytechnic in Sg.
12. Slitting neck.
13. Hanging self.
See, I do have options. Lots of options. But it’s so hard to choose…
Half past insane
cannot believe i was that stupid, cannot believe i was that week. what was i thinking? was i thinking at all?
once and then again, that describes the immense stupidity of my actions. and it hurts. it hurts on the inside when it cannot hurt on the outside.
maybe, just maybe, this is why. this is why.
sometimes, i wish it was different. i wish it was easier.
sometimes, i wish it was different. i wish it was harder.
Woke up at 3 a.m. this morning for no apparent reason and couldn’t go back to sleep. Which is weird because I had a fairly tiring day and I slept at 11.30 pm. which is no longer early for me. Tossed and turned and tossed some more. Got irritated, scratched self, tossed and turned, still couldn’t sleep, got irritated-er, got up, went to pee, went to drink water, see knife on kitchen counter, hoho you so know where this is going, refuse to cut self with knife that is used to cut dead chicken, took pretty blade out, cut self (lightly), bled, like blood, ran under cold water, stupid way of stopping bleeding, wanted to take ice out and squeeze (for more pain) but cute wittle bear bear magnet on freezer door stopped me.
It was strange, I saw the bear and I kind of heard God bargaining with me. “You wanted to cut, I let you cut, that’s enough la.” So fine, enough it shall be and I kissed the little bear on the nose (it’s a gingerbread bear I bought from SB)
So I pressed a white tissue against my little cut. Have I mentioned before that I love the way red stands out against white? Especially red blood against white skin but red blood against white tissue is pretty cool anyway.
And then I went back to sleep.
Now I’m trying to figure out how to hide a bright red cut on the palm of my hand from my mother.
I know I shouldn’t have and blah blah blah. But it’s just so much easier. It’s just so much easier to hurt myself than to deal with the everything that is in my life. Although what exactly is “everything”, that I am still uncertain of.
But hey, I did my part, I told the psych, and that’s that right? I am willing to work on this, but only if there is an alternative that isn’t jumping off a bridge.
Baby journalist part II
I went for lunch in Velocity after the Mass/lunch on Sunday. I didn’t eat during the reception there because it was difficult to juggle notebook, pen, plate, fork, spoon and cup. And it’s not very nice to say, “Hi there, I’m anastasia, a volunteer for Catholic News,” with bits of chewed food spewing out of my mouth.
Lunch was at Mingles, a brightly coloured cafe (I’m sorry but bright colours irk me when I’m emoing, which is why I noticed) with pretty good food. I spent 15% of my paycheque there (I’m still bitchy about my meagre pay) but it was otherwise good. Ordered a set lunch, soup, choice of dessert (which you see in the pic is a brownie and ice-cream), drink (rootbeer for me but they’ve got other choices) and, well, food. I ordered some dory thing with dill and lemon butter or something to that effect. It was nice. The mashed potatoes that came with it was really nice. The waitress who served me was nice, polite and smiley. The fish was nice. The warm chocolate brownie against my tongue with the cold ice-cream was… mmm…
As you can tell, I’m a person who enjoys my dessert. Which is why I ate the entire meal with only one hand as I wrote in my notebook all the things that happened, significant and otherwise, so that I wouldn’t forget, but put everything away when I began to eat my dessert.
The picture’s just to show you how much I enjoy this work. =)
I also find the line, “I’m a volunteer for Catholic News,” a really good way to dig inspirational stories out of seemingly ordinary people.
So, ok, I’m regaining a bit of faith in humanity after all. Only a bit, because I still think human beings as a race still suck big time.
New York Minute
I don’t know if it’s me or if it’s really the movies but there seem to be no good movies anymore…
New York Minute, at best, was partially humorous. In reality, it sucked.
For most parts, it wasn’t real, at all. I would dare say it sucked even more than Sliding Doors did.
Then events that happened were so far from far-fetched that I do not know a word to describe it.
See, with movies like Enchanted, the events were far-fetched but everyone watching expected it to be. (Fairytale princess coming to real life, seriously, who would’ve thought that movie to be remotely real?)
But with New York Minute, it tried to bring the two, real and imaginary, together, and failed to make a good movie out of it.
Take for example Jane Ryan bumping into Jim three times. It’s cliche to bump into him once. If played well enough, it may just come off as “fate” if they bump into each other twice. But three times? That just pushes it off the cliff.
I don’t know, maybe I’m just too old for such movies.
