‘Letting Ana Go’

I actually had a post I drafted in the earlier part of the hospitalization period. A title and three short lines that say it all. I never posted it.

I’m done reading the e-book. At the end of it, I looked at the table of contents yet again. I keep wondering, why. It’s probably not what you think I’m asking, dear Reader.

I don’t know how far from fiction that story deviates but I think I know my answer.

Win

Audrey:

Idk everything makes me think of what happened. I feel rly bad I keep starving and binging every few days

It’s definitely incomparable to everything I’ve been feeling but my heart still broke a little when I read that this afternoon. I hope she keeps trying to get out of it. I hardly know her. I only just briefly talked to her for a little while in the hospital. Pretty girl. She told me she only lives just across the street from me. We’re of the same age. She got discharged. We kept in touch. Please don’t get another illness while waiting to have one treated. Please, I hope she gets out of it.

I thought I stopped caring for other people, except him because… it’s him. I thought I was heartless but I worry about her, Audrey.

Before, I was combing my hair out and I thought of T. The day she hurt me, I said to myself that I hated her. But I found myself worrying already. I thought I hate her for what she did despite knowing that for some reason I was in the hospital for a bit. Anger is easier to deal with than the pain I felt, but anger wasn’t really what I felt. I used past tense for all of it but I’m still feeling everything. I know something had to be terribly wrong for her to do what she did, so suddenly. All through summer it seemed like something wasn’t right with her. I asked about it a few times. She always brushed it off. Now, she’s made herself someone I can’t help. Even if I had the ability to, I can’t. She’s meticulous this time in making sure of that.

I didn’t want to care anymore in general, after what she did, because it felt like the trauma was happening again — and to think it was from her. It was devastating. Not the worst I’ve felt these weeks but it was like sticking a fist into a gaping wound and twisting the visible flesh. I didn’t want to care because I care too much when I do. I invest too much; I invest everything. I’m still trying to recall how to stay in between.

More daunting though, is trying to balance every problem of my own. Because of how they overlap and entangle, the stakes are high and I live day-to-day, carefully trying to get through each week safe. If I fail, I have to pick myself up quick. The point of balance always shifts a little because I am not static. It’s not easy but it’s either I succeed and give myself the chance to be able — able for other people — or I fail, and… I have to win everyday and I can’t, I find a way to make up for it, so at least I still win the week. I just have to keep winning. At the moment I just have to. Win. For the other people. I can’t be bothered with myself otherwise but at the moment, for other people, the stakes are high.

I Don’t Just Miss You

I miss you when I blink back into this world with waking eyes. I look at my numbers and count and re-count them through the day. I wonder how you are doing. I miss you when I go online. When I post replies I think of how I’ve told you about the same thing I write. I miss you when I’m doing nothing because it is so hard to work like this. I miss you when I work and I have to stop because I cannot go on. I miss you when I’m in the bus and I wonder if bus rides are helping you. I miss being with you for you. I miss you when I walk through a place I had with you. I miss you when I am where we said we could be. I miss you before I sleep. I miss you in my dreams when I sleep. I miss you even in between all of these. I miss you when there’s nothing to trigger me to think or feel. I miss you as I type this.

I don’t just miss you. I don’t know what this feeling is. My vocabulary for feelings is always frustratingly limited.

But I Am (Not) A Rock

Sometimes
Something catches
Something I see
Or something I think
Or sometimes nothing at all
And I cannot breathe deep
And my eyes wince
Something rushes up to my skull
Then an overwhelming need
An urgency to cry
I become anxious trying not to
I rock my body
But sometimes I cannot will it away
The tears squeeze out
Dollops hit paper or pants

There’s the Living, the Dead, the Undead and the Living Dead

There’s the Living, the Dead, the Undead and the Living Dead. The Undead are like my father. They are people who would’ve have otherwise died if not for technology. The Living Dead are… breathing bodies.

Everyday continues to hurt to be honest. I just keep distracting myself.

I hate school but it’s a distraction. School’s cold; the lessons are too hard, too pointless or expect too much independent learning with too little guides; there are long hours between essential lessons because I don’t attend recorded lectures. But school is necessary and that’s the only reason why it distracts me. Sometimes it doesn’t and I have hours of work to clock in for a new assignment and I simply, do not begin.

I distract myself in other ways. Food. Forums. What else…? I ordered a creepy fictional anatomical book and (fuck this aircon fuck the cold air) also that ‘I Hate You Don’t Leave Me’ book, and downloaded ‘Letting Ana Go’ which I was reading until a… friend(?) who knows only a side of me took the seat beside me in the library.

I came outside. My butt hurts from sitting all afternoon waiting for my evening Jap tutorial and I can’t read that while she’s beside me. But it’s cold here too — and gloomy — because it’s about to rain, yet again today. I’ll empty my bottle later and fill it with hot water again. I don’t get it. It’s not me because the school is cold but how do these students stay in here in their shorts and tees while I’m freezing in long pants and a jacket? It’s probably been a half hour already and my sneakers still feel like they are air conditioners, making cold air of their own. I wish I could dunk my body in a hot tub now. I remember waiting for the nurses to push out the clothes and toiletries on the metal trolleys in the morning so I could rush in for a scalding hot shower.

I distract myself with the medication. But it’s not reliable. Sometimes it doesn’t work. I wonder if my body’s also become quite adjusted since yesterday. The insomnia was quite bad last night but I’m not tired and I woke easily for school today, despite the drug. Less than two hours asleep and it was only with the help of the morning quetiapine dose. Well, if it keeps up at least I’ll have more time I can spend avoiding homework when I really can’t bring myself to do.

School’s becomes secondary to me after this entire summer break — and naturally, thus are grades. The need to score is still nagging at me of course but it just doesn’t matter as much. Perfectionism waning with depression? It’s alright as long as it’s a decent A or B — no, I’m rereading this bit and thinking, not too many Bs or it’ll give me anxiety. School’s only a bit of my life and something to occupy myself with. Astronomy, languages, story boarding, producing 3Ds… Just things that I have to plough through because it’s school and therefore a necessary occupation of my time. Good and bad love and hate strike that. Like and hate maybe.

I can’t bring myself to do much else for some reason. Everyday is dreary. I keep hiding from the pain. If nothing changes, I won’t have to either and I’ll keep running away. Like I did the last time two Decembers back. I’ve run from lots of things since. I don’t want this pain. But even this isn’t as important to me as getting him out of that place. I wouldn’t mind having this pain if it helped him. And for a while I had thought it was. If he was blaming and hating me and wishing me dead… that’s okay as long as he could feel better about everyone and everything else and thus, eventually be okay. For now… everyday’s just another day until the time comes that something ignites in him and lets oxygen help him breathe for real again.

I don’t want to step back into the cold building. It’s cold enough outside. School sucks even with all the freedom in Uni and even the Normal People dread it.

Restart

My scars have been fading quickly. It’s something everyone tends to comment on when they saw me in the hospital — my parents, nurses, patients, friends. I wear long pants to school now while I continue to apply my balms and lotions so they’ll continue to rapidly lighten. 

Screen Shot 2014-09-04 at 8.02.45 pm

Mummy thinks I’m getting better with this medication. I’ll finally completed one cycle of a school week at the end of this evening. I think I’ve mostly figured out at which times I should take my medication. I haven’t felt more normal than I have this morning than in a while.

I’m depending a lot on my parents for stability now. For a peaceful night and to get through the daylight if and when they tough because I’m still figuring out this medication as well as waiting for therapy to begin. Maybe this time — them and I — we’ll get it right. They weren’t there when I was little. Now they want to be as best they can. In a way I am at a restart point. They weren’t there for me when the bpd began. Now they’re hereand they’ll shoulder everything until I can again. It seems like with each crisis I meet since coming clean about my ED in January, they are more understanding and willing to learn. I guess this is also the best time too because a lot of my anxieties since all the wrong medication got swallowed into my system trace back to childhood.

Maybe this time. 

Alone

I think right now is the first time I’m truly all by myself ever since I was discharged. My mother has gone out with my Dad for a hair cut. I didn’t know what it was at first — this need to wail and cry. I didn’t know what it was for at first. I looked at the time for my medicinal dose but it’s not chemical. I know I can’t escape it this time with sleep or schoolwork. I’m too focused on it and I can’t concentrate on any of the heaps of work I have to do. I swallowed some supplements that I routinely take but nope, not my eating disorder.

Nothing stills it. I can’t escape it.

The only thing that’s different is that I’m all by myself. And I know what it is now. It hurts. 

I hate myself so much.