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. 

The Nightmares

I can’t take them anymore. I keep waking up night after night after a different nightmare and trying to soothe myself and slip away, pulling the covers over my head before I go. I can’t push them away anymore. I’m too afraid. I hate this one. I hate all of them. They’re not just dreams are they?

Help me someone please make them stop.

I can’t convince myself otherwise anymore and I’m too terrified of sleep. I can’t… It’s too frightening I can only cry. Please, stop, stop… They’re not even real so why… It’s not like I haven’t settled them in my mind… Why do they keep happening. Go away…

There’s no one awake… and no one with me. 

Just different nightmares, again and again. I hate this.

Borderline Control

I finally have some semblance of control and I remember a little of how it used to be. I smile with a little hope.

It began terribly. There was much I didn’t expect. When I was discharged, I didn’t expect us to exit through the same path I took as I spiralled out of control for the final time before inpatient. I didn’t expect the memories to be so vivid and traumatic. I didn’t expect the anxiety I thus had towards having to return to the hospital for my follow-ups. I didn’t expect that the fright would resurface when I reached home after settling some administrative matters for the school. I didn’t think I would feel so dirty, and that no amount of sanitisation could’ve helped, because it was the experience that I wanted to scrub clean off me. I didn’t realise how traumatic the whole affair was for me — from the bits before hospitalisation, to getting how I got warded, to the tumultuous stay-in and the stress building up towards the end of the week.

I also didn’t expect that they had wanted to keep me for another week. I talked to my parents just now. I agree with the plan team had drafted for it is sound. The first week they observed me and identified my biggest problem as my borderline, to which I also believe. It is the cause of everything, down to my stresses, anxieties and eating disorder. They wanted another week to adjust my pill dosage and engage me in inpatient psychotherapy so I’d be stable enough to discharge and return to the stresses of reality. The second week is the crucial week and that treatment could take up to a month. Ideally, I agree that it is completely sound and necessary. Except, I’ve missed too much of school and I can’t be in that hospital environment any longer. I hated the environment so much I couldn’t eat or work. 

I completely agree how crucial the second week is in stabilising me. I have never had such a massive loss of control that grew bigger and more lethal with the wrong medication. And this second week is extremely tough. The struggle to not jump has never been more difficult or real. Before hospitalisation, when I balanced on the window ledge, there was no reason. Now that I’m out, it’s different. Maybe it’s the added depression. Last night, I didn’t even get down to work because there was no need for it. Not even the shortest goodbye and sorry message I had thought out mattered enough to be written — 8 words. I spent the night trying and trying and trying to just keep this body breathing… Do you know how hard that is when I know that I can’t even protect the ones I care most about? Worse, I hurt them… I gave her a sickness and I hadn’t the presence of self and identity to be strong enough for him. I made terrible choices time and again from the moment I took Zoloft and I hate my borderline. I hate my borderline. Where is everyone…? Gone… Everyone’s gone. I never truly helped anyone. I thought I would get better to help but no. I’m stupid. I hate what I am… I’m sorry to everybody I’m so sorry… I’m sorry… I’m trying to regain control please, I wish somebody would see how difficult it is… and it hurts so much.

I didn’t expect myself to feel threatened even by the friends who cared enough to keep coming back. I was scared of them. I was scared they would put me back in the hospital. I was afraid they would hurt me in some way and make me cry. They said there’s no need to ever fear them. I saw the smile in my friend’s eyes when he saw me back in school and the worry in another’s when he bade me goodbye. But I didn’t care, I was afraid and anxious. I didn’t realise how far behind I was lagging in school. I’m not exaggerating when I say if I stayed another day in the hospital, I can quit school for the year because I won’t be able to balance the stress of catching up with grades. I tried to console myself and put my rising anxieties to rest by telling myself, I don’t even care about good grades anymore and I just need a pass/fail. I stopped caring about shame and so I can shamelessly bug my friends to help me with the new software I’m supposed to use for homework. But nothing was truly working. 

And then it was evening and I was stressed after my only lesson for the day and I took a pill since it was time. High low high low it was scary the way I swung inside. I felt I could take on all the work without rest and I felt like I was struggling to stay alive. I tried to concentrate, wondering if it was just the work of my own mind because it was barely a half hour since I swallowed the pill, but then I just turned drowsy again. The medicine makes me fogged up enough to not think sharply and sometimes, even puts me to slumber as I dream consecutive dreams. 

I tried my best with my final shot. I talked to my parents again and and sorted out my stresses. Talking helps. Communication helps. I just can’t with deal anymore, with the work. My life’s made up of blotches of messes and the blotch from school’s killing me with the familiar feeling of the dread of primary school and high school assignments. I want to quit but at the same time I can’t. I steered my mind away from life and death and thought only about how quitting school was not an option. I sat down and talked it through with my folks. Together, I began remembering how I used to deal with mountains of paperwork from high school. I sorted through all the things I have to do and how much time I have for each. And I’m better. At least I know what I’m to do. 

I’m scared. Really truly frightened… of this borderline self. I know only the hospital psychologist will be able to help me now. I have to pull through till I see her for therapy. I wonder how different things would have been if I stayed warded because the team had an inpatient therapist due to see me that evening. I just… I hate this struggle. I hate how I’m always somehow struggling… I wish I wasn’t so hard on myself so at least I wouldn’t have so much anxiety. I hate a lot of things. But it’s all my own doing. My own stupid stupid mind. I’ll have to work through this muck all over again and fix myself again. I have to. I just have to. 

I’m just glad I have a little bit more control tonight and it’s because I kept trying. I have to keep trying. I have to relearn everything that I’ve forgotten. The medicine can only do so much to cushion the mood. I have to recall how to live and I have to keep shamelessly reaching out for the help I can get, before I am beaten down and weak again. 

Just please.

Save A Life

I swing I swing 
and think and think;
I just need a bit more time.

The periods of stability lengthen 
with each passing day.
Out of instabilities, I climb. 

The medicine sedates me
enough for me to return
to my mind and reclaim my life 

Time Time, Mind Mind,
please help me so I can help others.
It’s the only thing that might keep me alive.


Everything is dirty and no amount of sanitization cleanses it. I can’t take these mind games anymore. I can’t do this. I tried and I thought I was getting there but I wasn’t. I know how to make it go away but it’s not an option. I’m not allowed. I’m crying at everything and I give in. I give in and I give up.




Black and fucking white. This is one of my all or fucking nothing cases. I didn’t know it but I know now. You screwed up. You and your ENTIRE FUCKING PROFESSIONAL TEAM SCREWED UP. Fuck you. FUCK YOU WITH FLAMING ASSES.

An Open Letter To You

Dearest Jang, 

I love you. I still love you dearly. I’m crying now from where I sit in the visiting area in the ward because I saw your status updates on MPA from last night. What’s happening to you? I have never shut you out. I don’t contact you because your family has made it harshly clear to my family not to contact you so that you may maintain the stability you found while inpatient. I write to you here so that I will know that it is your choice to read my letter to you and that I am not forcing myself on you. What I understand from the whole episode is that they believe I affect your emotional stability too much and that you are able to deal with yourself and recover on your own. 

What I interpret from your actions appear to confirm what I understand from you family. I saw that you removed me as a friend from all social media platforms. I also saw your newest Facebook profile picture of your in rubber gloves. I assume you’ve shut me out and literally want to clean the memories and me out of your life like a fat germ. When you decided to break up with me when I was inpatient, I assume that you did it with a clear mind that you got from being away from me, in the upstairs ward. I thought the fact that you never contacted me while inpatient confirms that you had clarity. It seemed to be further confirmed the night you parents said they would come to take back the blue jacket. Also, the fact that you decided to end our relationship at that point in my life makes it seem that you really feel that you had to because it’s in your absolute best interest.

I love you and care for you more than you think. However, what I seem to gather is that you have directed all your negativity and blame towards me so that you may be able to handle your life and the people in it. Thus, I don’t wish to aggravate you in any way if this is what you really feel towards me. I am willing to to let you direct all the blame for your problems unto me if it is your first stepping stone to recovery, as warped as it may be in the beginning of recovery. I am so afraid of aggravating you, I am even afraid that addressing you as Jang in this open letter will upset you, as you’ve said only certain people can call you that. I worry I tarnish the significance of this address for you. 

I am truly sorry if I have misinterpreted your drunken words and think that you actually want to work at it again. I don’t know if you will give me a response in however a way you choose. 




Mum told me as gently as she could that my hair is losing it’s shine. She said, try to eat something even if it’s hard. I said, okay, maybe. I make a mental note to start on my Biotin again when I get home. It makes me so ill I have to take them right before I sleep.

I hate time. It eludes me. It seeps through my fingers and I cant still the good times, can’t speed forward the bad. It makes me grow and thus, have people go. I want to sleep an indefinitely long slumber and never wake up so time will disappear and fade. The familiar feeling of wanting is clear – I want to disappear and crumble into grain in my sleep, to be carried away by the wind. Hopefully then, I’ll be reunited with my identity, whatever that may be.

Make me go away before I start to cry again. 

I can’t recall which night I started to wish my parents would leave before the nurses chased. I’d ask once or twice, “Do you want to leave earlier today?” They would say, “No, no, we’ll stay till they ask us to go”. I really just want to rest. I can only lie down inside the ward on their hospital bed. I think, I want my bed, I want to go home. But I know it’s not a place of rest. There is no place of rest. It’s a familiar feeling of having no place to go. I hate this tiresome world. I hate this tiring world.