It’s so painful. Everything.
This was not what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about school and people. What is this?
Is it visible from my body? Everyone says I’m already doing so well from when they saw me in the hospital. I always asked, what did I feel in the hospital? They all say the same thing every time. That it looked like everything was gone. Lost. That I couldn’t even hold back any emotion anymore. The look on my face, I was gone away with the loss and sadness and everything else. A few days after discharge, my mother had told me that when I was in the shower one evening in the ward, one of them cried. I could never have been able to tell. My mother said he just couldn’t help himself and he cried saying, he didn’t know things were that bad. That’s what they all said too. Even my parents. That no one knew. That even when it felt like something was wrong since last year, it seemed like I was coping. I don’t know.
Blank. Loss and lack of hope. And too much life inside because I’m crying. Why do I have to have feelings? What are they for? I just wish they would die. I wish they would stop interrupting my work but that’s only because I focus so much on work to block it all out. I don’t like work. But I have to like it because it is the only thing that can be the only thing. Just don’t think about feelings. What I like, what I don’t like. Just do, kill the hours. The day passes by. There isn’t even time for sleep.
And if only it were that mind-numbingly straightforward. It would be if I don’t have feelings. At least I think so.
I’m functional now, though barely sometimes and always with much struggling, much blocking. Why is it all coming out now, the moment I type? I didn’t want to write about this but it’s all that flows out. I never did very much want to live after it. I never said I did live from that day on. I didn’t realise how much I had started to work towards life until it all vanished. I am alive now only because I’m not dead. There’s no point dividing what living is from being alive because if it’s understood, this is understood. I just would rather strive for the next few years I had planned for myself last year. I don’t think I ever wrote about it or talked about it to anyone.
I was going to write about my prof, my best and not my perfection, the people around me, my work. I was going to journal and record now that all’s a little quieter. I can’t. All that comes out are these tears and pain. I hate this. I hate this.
There was an afternoon when all the connections died. Tried hard as I did but the connections repelled like like poles of a magnet. I don’t know how that could happen. It shouldn’t have.
I’m crying. But there is no time to. There is work to do.