On a happier note because I shall pretend to be happy and not psycho lazy ass crap,
I bought a new wallet. It’s baby blue and it’s big and fat and can fit a whole lot of crap inside. Just the way I like it. ^^
It could probably fit my Samsung 8.4 inside too but that’ll be if and when I buy a new phone so I can use the samsung for my malaysia line.
I was thinking of getting Nokia E71. But I’ve yet to check if it’s got touch screen. I like touch screen. My mum needs a new phone too and nothing seems good enough after her Treo860, naturally.
Ok, it doesn’t have touchscreen. The E71 that is. But I’m still quite partial to it. I like qwerty. And it’s slim. And it’s available in white. And it’s only SGD138 with plan (I think).
I don’t feel like moving. I don’t feel like breathing. I don’t feel like doing my work. I don’t feel like living.
I’m just so tired. So damn tired.
Hell
I know now, if I ever land myself in hell, it’s not because of suicide.
The definition of a mortal sin is that i must be a grave matter, done with full consent and full knowledge.
Example, if you shoot at a person with a gun you think is empty but turns out to be not, you are one heck of an idiot but technically have not committed mortal sin.
If you are a kleptomaniac and steal something, it may not be a mortal sin as a person “addicted” to stealing isn’t really giving full consent to his action but rather, is bound by his addiction/illness.
In the Catechism of the Catholic Church, this great big book of everything Catholic, it states that a person who kills him or herself may not be in a state of mortal sin after the act because the person may be truly feeling so depressed that he/she sees no way out. There is no full knowledge as the person is blinded by the illness. The Catholic Church does not teach that a person who commits suicide goes straight into hell, we believe that it is up to God’s mercy to judge.
So if you think about it, why would anyone who proclaims to love God want to commit mortal sin? If it’s a grave matter, you know it’s wrong and you know you shouldn’t do it, why the heck would you still do it?
Why would you knowingly with full consent hurt the God whom you claim to love?
It’s quite akin to looking at God, hollering “I love You God!” and then throwing a rotten tomato at him only in the case of the Passion of Christ, we don’t throw rotten tomatoes, we throw whips with barbs and crowns of thorns.
In my opinion, cutting myself when I feel like I’m about to explode is comparable to when someone whips me lightly to force me to whip my Lover with a barbed whip. I can choose not to whip my Lover and endure the much lighter whips on my back, or I can give in to my selfishness and whip my Lover so that I don’t have to endure the whips on my back.
Mortal sin, however, is like whipping the one you Love with a barbed whip for no reason whatsoever other than to watch Him bleed and hurt.
In more human terms, that’s like going up to your mother whom you love and punching her in the face “just for fun”. Or kicking you precious baby sister because you were bored.
Why would anyone do that?
No sane person would do that.
Then,
Why would anyone commit mortal sin?
No sane person would do that.
But sane people do it. Sane people punch their loved ones repeatedly, crown their God over and over and over again with thorns.
Daddy, I’m sorry. I really am.
emoing much?
This festive season does not bring joy to me.
It brings but dread and lethargy.
I don’t want to go visit relatives. I don’t want to go out to see the world. I don’t want. I simply do not want.
What is so difficult to comprehend about that?
But no. Social norms still dictate that I much go out. That I must put on a smile. That I must pretend to be somebody I am not. Somebody who enjoys small talk and answering to questions which answers get forgotten in mere seconds if it is not gossip worthy for the rest of the family to hear.
I don’t get it. You don’t care about me, I don’t care about you, so why do we pretend?
For what it’s worth, the pineapple cookies make it a little easier to bear.
But it hasn’t been a good week for me.
I’ve been sleeping most of the time. I’m picking up a sorethroat. For times when I am not asleep, I am nauseous for reasons I do not know. I’ve been really down, pretending to be happy only for my sister who was and now isn’t here. Not cutting only because I’m running out of long sleeved clothes.
There were nice times. Like when I walked my cousin’s golden retriever, that was fun. And… yeah, that’s about all the nice times I had. I guess that banana smoothie wasn’t too bad either. But that’s about it.
I couldn’t go swimming like my sister was bugging me to because I can’t wear a swimsuit lest she sees my cuts.
It would’ve been nice, to play in the pool with her just like when we were little.
Would have gone to Orchard Rd with her if I hadn’t been sleeping so much.
Haven’t gotten any of my homework done and I only have three days left to complete a report, do boring math and solve chemistry problems.
The nose is running and blocked at the same time. The eyes are watery. The throat is hurting. The heart is hurting. The mind is spinning. The body, the body wants to cease to be.
Some things replayed in my mind over the last few days of idleness, things my psych and I were talking about. And then it hit me, I want to die because I’m too lazy to live.
Like I said, lethargy.
hurt
hurts. hurts like hell. how can it be. how can it hurt. this much.
hurts. hurts. hurts.
Robbed in JB
Mum got robbed in JB. at a petrol station. She was pumping petrol and then two people on a motorbike went to the passenger door, opened it and grabbed her bag and rode off. Took along with them her passport, driving license, Msian IC, Sg IC…
She had come to visit me that night and was on her way back to Sg. So she couldn’t go back to Sg.
She called me about two seconds before I fell asleep and told me she was robbed.
I quite honestly didn’t know what to do. I said I’d go to the petrol station to get her by taxi because her car key was in her handbag and she couldn’t start her car engine. But we figured it would be dangerous.
So I went to the hall of the house I live in and asked the few random people who were seated there if they knew anyone who had a car, with or without a driver, which could help me. So a girl, whom I thought was my housemate but isn’t, called her friend and he came.
And my mother got a lift from a random stranger from the petrol station to my house.
Then my friend’s friend’s friend brought us to the police station to make a report, back to the petrol station to tow the car away and finally back to the house for the night.
It kinda gives me back some faith in humanity. Kind souls out there, despite the robbers.
I also think that robbers should have a designated dumping ground for handbags they snatch so that they can take all the money they want but leave us with our identification.
The next day, my father came down to JB as scheduled before. And my sister took emergency leave to come to JB as well. I skipped classes the whole day except for a bio test I had in the afternoon.
We tried to make a new IC but the system was down. The officer said it was down in the whole of Malaysia. So my mother couldn’t get any form of identification. It was down the whole of the day.
Then the next day, it was still down. The sign they had up still read “di seluruh negara”. But somehow, someway, people called people and they found out that the system in Kulai was working. So my sis drove my mum to Kulai even though they both had barely any idea where that is. Got lost a bit but finally managed to make a temporary IC.
My sister had also gone into Sg the day before (when the system was down and there was nothing we could do) to get my mother’s birthcert (which looks so delicate…)
So my mother got an emergency passport but she can only leave Malaysia twice with it. Which means for the next month, she cannot pop in and out of JB so spend time with me. She has to wait at least 3 weeks for her passport.
I don’t know what good any of this is doing to us.
I’m just really pissed off. At a lot of things, not just this but all the other things that this leads to.
It’s not so much the money as it is the inconvenience.
I’m pissed off because under the advice of my psychiatrist, they discourage me from coming back to Sg on weekdays (because it tires me which is valid in all logical honesty). But now that my mother can’t come to JB, what the eff is left of me? I know I’m too attached to my mother but I DON”T BLOODY CARE! Fuck it. I hate the world.
Despite all my linguistic ability, I feel like expressing myself by kicking the wall right now. Kicking it until my leg breaks. and subsequently punching it till my hand breaks and then hitting my head against it until my skull fucking breaks. yearhghghghgthg.
And the worse part is that in the moment of panic when I heard my mum got robbed, I told God I’d abstain from cutting myself until Sunday. I should have offered corporeal mortification.
ASUFSHUFSVC NSVISJFNDSFOEWTI AIC OIWQEIWQURCIJDIFJIJFIEWTOIWGFHOIEW*R#Q)*&(*#y%#rjkfj*#@qh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
fear
just because i’m too scared to kill myself doesn’t mean i want to live
helplessness
a helplessness that sink,
sink to the very core.
A helplessness that is,
is entirely based on trust.
How can I,
give you the rights?
rights I’ve always wanted,
but never had.
How can I break,
when I’ve never been whole?
How can I cry,
when I’ve never been happy?
Waiting for the dust to settle,
waiting for a clearer picture,
waiting to see the greater good,
until I wait no longer.
How can I hurt,
when I cannot feel?
How can I die,
when I’m not alive?
Distant.
The happiness.
The sunshine.
The flowers.
The butterflies.
Are distant.
How can I forget,
when I’ve never remembered?
How can I trust,
when I’ve never trusted myself?
Take me home,
blood and cuts.
Take me home,
my broken heart.
Take me home,
hold me close.
Take me home,
to be with You.
I wish I could tell you,
What this feeling is like,
I wish I could share with you,
This experience.
But I’m alone in this,
I don’t wish this on you,
I’m alone in this,
until the end.
I’ve seen the videos,
I’ve read the books,
But they don’t convince me,
So here I stand,
Blood,
Running from my hands,
because,
I.
Am.
Perfect.
