I have one of the best psychiatrists in Singapore and I’m effing googling and trying to make my own diagnosis and treatment plan.
Why. Why do I always find it so bloody hard to just let one other person know that I am not perfect?
Honestly, if psych and I had an online anonymous relationship, he’d probably be able to treat me a lot better.
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nope, not feeling better. but doesn’t matter.
looking so hard for someone. Someone like me. Someone who knows. Someone who understands.
I know that someone will never come. Never appear in my lifetime to me. But wishing keeps me alive anyway.
Maybe, maybe, you’re out there somewhere and we can share about how the world misunderstands us.
That’s why God created Eve.
Going to go back to Sg tonight, my mother is in KL.
What if I OD? What if I cut too deep? What if I jumped out my 2nd floor balcony? Will anyone come find me? Will anyone realise before I start to decompose?
Or maybe,
they’ll try to revive me, though I do not want to be alive.
And they’ll make me live again, in pain, against my will.
Pretending to understand. Pretending to comprehend. Pretending to empathise.
Doing what they think is best, even when what they are doing is killing me slowly by keeping me alive.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It never was.
Where did it go wrong?
I did my best and now I’m done, but I’m not allowed to quit. Not allowed to leave until I achieve the unachievable. Perfection, love, happiness.
I have to suffer, but must I suffer alone?
I have to suffer, but must I suffer with people who do not understand?
Where, how, what. now?
adolescence
when I am not depressed, I don’t know who I am.
When I am depressed, I wish I was somebody else.
The Concerta gave me energy, something that was rather foreign to me. And when I had energy, I had no idea who I am.
The Concerta slimmed me down, and I have no idea who this slim girl in the mirror is.
I know adolescence is probably what I am going through. That phase of trying to find out who I am.
But who am I?
I don’t even know if the real me is fat or thin, how should I know if the real me is happy or depressed, inattentive or focused?
I’m scoring in the seventies for many of my exams, something that has not happened since primary school. I used to fail bio for goodness sake.
I looked good in the strapless dress I tried on yesterday, along with all the other clothes I tried on because the fat protruding tummy that used to be there has now lessened (not disappeared, but lessened all the same).
I go out and have fun with people and then come back home wanting to cry because I went out and had fun and fun was a feeling so foreign.
I want to dig out my radial artery with my bare fingers and slice my forearm open until I can see the bone. At the same time, I want to scream and cry and eat ice cream like how “normal” sad people do. And I can do neither.
I don’t know why, I don’t know how. I’m just this bundle of knotted up, nameless emotions, swirling and ruining everything. All thought, all emotion and all relationships. Did that make sense? No, no it did not make sense, because nothing makes sense anymore.
Sometimes, I’m scared that nothing will ever make sense.
Sometimes, I’m scared that things will start making sense, and then I can see what utter rubbish I have become.
Somebody, anybody, please help me. I don’t care what you do, just do something. I cannot be like this, I don’t want to be like this. Hire a murderer and have me murdered, euthanised. Have me committed in IMH for life. Push me off the rooftop. I don’t care, I really don’t. Just help me. Please. help me. please
no time for deep post, again
how is it that I never have time for posts that I want to write?
Anyway. Uhm. I’m proud to say that I completed the Moral assignment, pulling an all nighter, without Concerta. Cheer for me, it’s not everyday that I do that.
And. Uhm. You know that love I have for all people, the non-discriminatory love where I an capable of loving the noisiest, the idiotest, the most annoying of people? I’m starting to lose that. My physics tutor is really really getting on my nerves. And my maths tutor is really getting on my nerves too. I love my bio tutor and intend to play favouritism and get her something really nice for teachers’ day (I’m thinking like a spa package type thing since she’s always complaining that our marks give her hypertension).
School’s been pretty interesting. It’s a pretty good social experiment to put male and females of the same species together in one environment. My classmate is interested in my room mate. I’m not sure if they are officially a couple because he says they are and she says they’re not. Not my problem, I’m just going to watch the movie. And this is but one of the many many cases of bgrelationships that are happening around me. It’s kinda cute.
I know it’s not nice of me to wonder if they really have the maturity for this because I often prejudge them not to have the maturity but… I try to think of a person that I “like” in that teenage definition of the word. I honestly don’t “like” anyone, I treat everyone as friends. And I like and love them all as just friends. I don’t have that feeling of “like” because to me, it’s friends first and if you really click then start dating with marriage as a prospect and having one another’s kids. I’m only twenty and I’m thinking of settling down already. But it’s true… I cannot see myself having a relationship with no possibility of marriage whereas these people around me, I don’t think marriage is anywhere on their little minds.
And I’m blabbering perhaps because for English, we have to do an assignment related to coming of age. I’m partnered with the other twenty year old in my course, for both of us, it’s been a long time since we were seventeen. Which is a good thing because at least we can see things from the same perspective.
I can’t quite remember what it was like at seventeen anymore.
And the coming of age events that cloud my memory are suicide, parents separation and… suicide. My coming of age involved emotionally babysitting my mother who was sad because her husband left her (twice). Yeah, sure, it’s a valid coming of age story but it’s not one I’m willing to share.
In the eyes of society, it makes my mum look like such a lousy mother because she wasn’t mothering me when she was “supposed” to, but really, I don’t think it was bad of her at all. And while I do attribute some of my screwed up ness to my parents separation, I’m really glad I had the opportunity to really love my mother because the relationship we have now is so close and so beautiful. It really is. I really really love her, she’s my world.
Sappy eh? I know… mothers’ day’s round the corner, guess I should start being sappy.
I scored 98% for the first add maths test I ever sat for.
Full marks for Mensa IQ test.
Straight As for UPSR and PMR.
I dropped out of college.
Worked in Starbucks and lasted only three months.
I am now twenty and completing my final year of highschool.
short updates, second post of the day
So I figured out why my mobile broadband has been being such an idiot lately.
I didn’t pay my bills. Lol.
My dad does these things for me and he was in Sg last week and they sent the bill late really so they shouldn’t have cut off my line so fast but anyway, my dad will pay it tomorrow and hopefully then, all will be fine.
Right now, I’m using my roommate’s modem. I’m supposed to be studying and researching for Moral with it but as you can see, I’m doing a little more than just research. Her modem’s called blue cube, for reasons I cannot understand. It is neither blue nor a cube. Seriously. And the shortcut icon of it on the computer is a blue sphere. But she got the 7.2 Mb line though, so it’s faster than the one I have by a little bit. And she’s busy studying so she doesn’t need the internet for now which is why I don’t feel guilty hogging it with blogposts and… oh, right, I’m not supposed to be blogging, I’m supposed to be researching on abortion and how to stop it.
How’s my assignment going? It’s pretty good, about halfway through. Right at that part where I’m explaining why all boys should be sterilised when they reach puberty and have their sperm frozen so as to eradicate “unwanted” pregnancies. They can have their sperm unfrozen and fertilised upon request when they and their other half want to have children.
I’ve got a small philosophical, theological debate in my head about this one but due to a lack of time, I shall spare you until another time.
So I’ll leave the blabbering at here for now. Love me, miss me. (yes, I’m bimbotic like that, live with it)
so much to write, so little time.
celcom broadband has not been good to me.
Moral assignment report on abortion is due tomorrow, have not started. Have started the thinking process but have gotten no further than that. will have to stay up all night again tonight to write it. i kinw you think serves me right, andi think so too, but i dont bloody care.
had appt with psych on saturday which sufficiently screwed me up.i just hope i dont kil myself before i see him next month.
somethiing about how i always answer “i don’t know” to questions and he asked me if those i dont knows mean that my mind is blank and i dont know the answer or those i dont knows mean that my mind is so full of stuff that i am confused and do not know the answer. i told him i dont know which it was. not to annoy him but i really didn’t. It’s not my bloody fault that I don’t know what I don’t know.
So I got home, and thought about it for a significant while. I’ve come to the hypothesis that it is because my mind is blank. And my mind is blank because I refuse to think anymore after all the years of thinking and getting nowhere. thinking round and round in circles.
At some point during our brief meeting, he said something to the extent of, is it because i don’t trust him. In the sense that. i don’t think certain things are his business to know and therefore tell him “i don’t know”.
Amazing, my psychiatrist thinks I don’t trust him. What is even more amazing is how he is so right and so wrong on so many accounts. Yes, I don’t trust him in the sense that I don’t open up to him and am very inhibited. But he should bloody know that I am inhibited as a person and wouldn’t open up to anything or anyone. I wouldn’t even tell a dog my problems and all my thoughts. Perhaps, simply because I’m not a very good talker.
Again, I’m thinking of writing to him. Give him a twenty page essay on everything there is to know about me and my thoughts. not just an autobiography but a bloody written report on anastasia. It’s kinda weird in the sense that… I would love to be open with him and be able to tell him the everything there is. On the other hand, there’s this second-guessing me who’s always asking, “does he really need to know that?” “does he really want to know that?” “he’s a psychiatrist, not my personal friend.” I guess that I don’t really know where the line is. The relationship is professional, but me, being me, never know where the lines are and I don’t want to make the mistake of getting too close, getting too emotional, only to realise, painfully, after that that I was never suppose to bring my emotions into this and it was supposed to be all professional, as I originally thought it was supposed to be but somehow crossed the line anyway because where is the bloody line?
See, it’s times like this that make me believe that I am autistic.
So,… anyway… that’s my life. Well, it isn’t my life life, it’s just part of my life. But it’s part of my life all the same.
finding my place
I think I’m starting to find a little niche in this great big world where I don’t belong.
Postsecret is really amazing.
Just read some stuff there, cannot help but think how fortunate I was that I saw my school cousellor last year because I only just realised that we clicked on quite well. It’s a pity we’re not in touch anymore.
There have been so many great people in my life throughout my insanity, which is still going on. I’ve got friends like you psychos reading this who don’t bloody understand why I do some of the things that I do but love me anyway. I’ve got my mum who is so supportive not just financially (lets be honest, no way on earth I could afford this without her) but also emotionally (lets be honest, no way on earth I can still be alive without her). Sometimes, there are little things about my mum that irk me but those things are so tiny, for most part I just love her and have no idea why I love her but I just know I do. She’s my world.
I know I do a lot of thinking of things and I’ve recently been thinking of starting some sort of ministry or support group for psycho Catholics in Singapore. Y’know, the type who’ve tried to kill themselves, the type who wear long sleeves to Mass because of reasons other than it is cold, the type who have lost so much weight or put on so much weight that they get stared at… people who are, in some ways and only some, like me.
Community support is so important and it is really sad that so many of us cannot find support within the Church because it sometimes comes off as so judgemental.
The Church, as a whole, their teachings and everything, do not judge. Really. But some of the people who make up the Church have superiority complexes. It kinda pisses me off.
So fine, lots of stuff piss me off.
I don’t know where I’m headed to in life, this is just another one of my blabbery posts. I just know that there is somewhere I belong, and I’m going to look for that place.
baby in church
there was a baby in church today. it was the cutestes most adorablest baby in the whole wide world. It was uber cute, sleeping in his father’s arms. His name’s Alan. I know his parents by face because they are in the choir but I don’t know them personally. That did not stop me from touching the baby though, it takes physical restrains to keep me from touching something that adorable.
At some point, Fr M came out and carried the baby and Alan just looked so contented on his shoulder. Lol, there’s something about Fr M’s shoulder and comfort isn’t there? (Not that I reach Fr M’s shoulder when he hugs me)
Alan’s frown went away and he peeped his eyes open a little bit and smiled a little bit and closed back his eyes with that contented look on his face. It was just so cute, I don’t know how to describe how cute he was.
Later, Alan smiled at me and I saw his toothless mouth, so cute. so cute. sigh…
It’s at times like this when you look at the baby, conceived through sex, a sex filled with love, that I wonder. How can anyone degrade sex to just pleasure? Life is so much more than just pleasure, it’s about love. Love.
