Deep Blue Sea

Treading, treading, treading...

I kick out at the knees in a rhythmic fashion, taking care to sync my kicking my with breathing. And not just normal breathing, but the kind of breathing one uses while swimming - sucking in air and blowing out through my mouth instead of through the nose.

One has to get into the rhythm of it, because there's no telling when one can get out of the water onto dry land, land that allows for limbs to run and jump and to somersault and to wave and swing and punch, effortlessly. Here, in the water, time, with motion, seems to move at a retarded space, and everything else with it - breathing, movements, pulse.

Soon, I realise I can take it even easier, with languid kicks and a mere fluttering of the wrists. I sink a little lower with the decreased effort, but with my nose still peeking out of the water. I feel relaxed, even drowsy

in the still coolness that surrounds almost the whole of my body. I feel the washing in of cooler sea water with every swish and flutter of my limbs, as new water comes in to replace the old that I'm waving away. It's as if the sea is constantly caressing me, stroking me, brushing away the tiredness, the confusion, the hurt, with all of it being carried away with the flow of the currents. I can hear the the quiet murmurings of comfort with my hears, as well as the gentle massage of my ears, my ear lobes, my ear drums.

At least, the parts of myself that I've immersed in its great mysterious depths.

I can feel the top of my head and the apples of my cheeks turning red and hot with the heat of the sun. Such a thin line of sea foam separating the cool from the heat. I start to imagine what it'll feel like to have the cool currents sweep across the top of my head and my hair, with my hair swept into disarray by the churning of the waters. Such a delicious feeling, to be away from the heat. Why stay in the glaring uncomfortable heat of the sun when it's so easy to slip into the refreshing coolness of the water, to float away into oblivion.

Why am I treading water? Why not just let the currents take me where I want to go? Why do I want to be above water with the heat, the glare, the noise, the confusion when beneath the surface is calm and quiet and peaceful coolness?

The sea will keep me cool. The sea will keep me quiet.

I can smile again

For a while I thought I'll never smile again. It seemed impossible to ever look in wonder at the blue of a freshly-rained sky and the smell of fresh rain. I never thought I'll ever hold somebody close to my heart again, much less see them as lovely albeit flawed beings. It was hard to imagine that there's still some hope left inside of me, that jokes will become funny.

Let hope arise.

Not quite dead yet

I was originally planning to shut down the blog.

In fact, it was already done. Done and dusted. Over and done with. RIP.

No special reason why I'd shut it down. But then again, there was no real reason to keep it up anyway. I'll just be taking up virtual space, akin to being on virtual life support; a shell, lifeless, soulless, wth no reason for its existence.

In maintenance mode, that's what it'll be in. Without the inspiration and the energy to give birth to that little something something, the blog is lacking the sparkle and the punch that makes it worthwhile to keep it "live". I'm not sure at which point did the energy dissipate and the fire lose its warmth, and now it's just bland and dull and spiritless. Where did all the spunk from before go?

I don't know. And it was too much energy to try to find out, and even more energy to try to resurrect something that has died quite thoroughly. The next best thing to do is to give it a decent burial, covered six feet under and topped with funereal flowers, for a touch of dignity.

Funny thing about life. Just when you think it's over and there's nothing left to do, something inevitably, something always, happens.

Oh you know what I mean; you see it on TV all the time.

The flat-lining of a patient on the surgery table suddenly coming beeping again.
The one who almost drowned suddenly spewing out water and starting to breathe again.
The monster whom was supposedly killed coming alive and grabbing the hero's leg.

The point is, things happen when we least expect it. And expected, it creates an unexpected outcome to the story.

Just like real life.

Just when you think the blog's done, something, someone asks for it to come back, and then just like that, it has become, if it's even possible, less dead than it was previously.

I'm not sure how the spiritless, soulless, purposeless shell will turn out, whether it will eventually revive its spirit, refill its soul and discover its purpose. In other words, I'm not sure whether the blog will re-die again eventually, or whether there'll even be anything worth reading in future. For now, it's not dead, and for now, that's enough of an accomplishment for me.

Dedicated to the one single person who wants this blog back.

What if?

What if it doesn't work?

What if I come back the same person and I never find out what's wrong with me?

What if I can never find the way out of this rut that I'm in?

It's too tough. I need a Manual to tell me how to go about doing it.

The Struggle to Wake Up Every Morning

It's such a struggle waking up every morning. Even though it's waking up from restless and disturbing dreams and unrested sleep, the moment of waking is always a struggle, as if my soul is resisting facing reality.

Even awake, the next struggle is to find enough energy to get out of bed and to to start the routine of facing the workday. It is so tempting to burrow my head underneath the bed clothes, but there're so many things that need my attention.

Even worse, is that, having woken up, there's nothing to look forward to - for that day, for the week, for my life.

The Plan

The plan is to hide away somewhere without anybody else to disturb me and to exorcise all my ghosts, and anything else that is making me act crazy.

I keep wavering over this decision, wondering whether it's a good idea to shut myself away in a place without, well, anything. No TV, no Internet. Well I can get Internet if I want, but it may just very well defeat the purpose of my "rustication". After all, the point is to 1) take a break, that is assuming that I'm burnt out, or 2) shut myself away and write down all my bottled up feelings, assuming that I have demons to exorcise.

Will it work? Will I really come back from the break a whole new person with a fresh new perspective, with all my demons exorcised and all my bad habits changed and all my irritability gone? Or I may just come back  the same person that went there, just minus the eye bags?

Will there be any point to this whole exercise?

What should I blog about?

My friend tells me journalling will help me feel better. Ok, so what the hell am I suppose to blog about?

I was looking through my blog and I realised that I've been in this state for a long time now, and counting.

I'm not sure whether it's good that I'm getting worse, so I can get better; or really bad that it's spiraling way down and way out of control. It's come to a point that I'm becoming out of control.

I don't know what to do with myself.

I don't know what to say, to think, to feel, to respond, to initiate. I'm second guessing myself every time as to why I'm doing what I'm doing, and whether I should be doing what I'm doing, and even wondering what I'm doing.

What's happening to me?

What's wrong with me?

I thought it was just bad temper and that I need help with anger management.

But when an acquaintance was diagnosed for depression just because she gets insomnia and tears often, I realised I'm over-qualified for depression. (And hell so does half the world all over qualify!) Unfortunately though, I seem to have the type of depression that results in weight gain instead of weight loss!

And then, while reading a book about Aspergers, I'm wondering how come I sound like I have Aspergers - egocentric, unable to see things from others' perspectives, can't manage their own emotions.

I think if someone tells me I'm acting the way I do because I'm the devil incarnate, I'll actually believe him, I'm so desperately trying to find out what's wrong with me.

As of up till now, I don't know what to do with myself, and from whom to get the help I feel I so desperately need. I think my friends have suffered enough drama from me to have to endure helping me get back on my feet, and I'm obviously no help to myself, at the rate I'm crashing and burning.

Plus, I'm a real pain right now. I'm sensitive and emotional and intolerant and irritable and so really fun to be around. Seriously I'm so bad I don't even want to be near me.

Don't go drinking first

I am finding life difficult nowadays.So difficult that every day, every step, every thought becomes a physical or a mental or an emotional ordeal. Every moment is fraught with the potential to be inflicted with physical, mental or emotional pain or discomfort; every moment the wait for salvation intensifies. But nothing gets through to me; nothing helps, nothing works. Every comfort seems cold, every hopefulness a mirage, every helpfulness a liability. I am steeped in the nightmare-like world I have created for myself, which is only alleviated by make-believe distractions, while working as a temporary tranquilizer, only serves to intensify the paranoid feelings of loss, disappointment, and occasionally, panic.


But something did come through the cloud that engulfed me the other day. It was a story that was told. This is the story....


There's an old "Kingston Trio" song about a gold prospector named "Desert Pete." The story goes that he had sunk a well, in the middle of a desert. He had hooked up an old water pump to it, but, realizing it would be out in the heat all day, it's "leather" suction fitting would dry out. So, he put a jug of water under a rock nearby. He tied a small can to the handle, and in the can he placed a note. 

The note said, "You've got to 'Prime the Pump', you must have faith, and believe! You've got to give of yourself, before you're worthy to receive!" The note told the reader where to find the jug of water, but, it cautioned him "Don't go drinking it first" but, to "give it up", to commit it to Priming the Pump, to "pour it in, then pump like mad, and buddy you'll quench your thirst!" 

The reader of the note needed to follow the instructions, to not drink the water first, but to pour the water into the pump, to wet the leather, and to Prime the Pump, then there would be plenty of water, so they could "Drink all the water you can hold, wash your face to your feet, leave the bottle full for others,.. thank ya kindly, Desert Pete!" 

However, if the next guy only thought of himself, and his immediate need, and drank the water from the jug, he would leave the jug empty, the message would be meaning less, there would be no water for the next fellow, no "pumping like mad", no one else could drink their fill, no bottle would be left full for those who followed him! Just one guy coming along who DIDN'T obey the instructions, would mess the whole thing up, and everyone else coming along after him would only find a dry pump!


And somehow, the story became a lifeline in this swirling mess of a world that is mine. "Don't go drinking first". No matter how parched I am, trapped in a desert environment, I can't drink the water. I need to save it so I can work the pump, so I can quench my thirst and sustain my life, now and afterwards. If I drink it now, I will surely die, maybe not now, but definitely later. So, even if I'm already dying of dehydration, don't drink the water. DON'T GO DRINKING FIRST!


And whenever I feel like I can't go on another step, I say that aloud to myself, " Don't go drinking first". And I say it again and again and again, until I feel that my mind has absorbed the message, my body has stopped resisting, and my emotions have calmed down and is prepared for the next however many weeks, or days, or hours, or sometimes, even minutes, until I feel I have to do that exercise all over again.


Salvation hasn't come. Not by a long shot. I can't even think about the next person, or about pumping the pump yet. I only have one thing, and one thing in mind only, " don't go drinking first ".

No more

This trying to be a better person thing is tough.

On days like this, it feels as it the effort is not worth it anymore, that no matter how much you try, it's never enough; and that whoever you try for, they're too wrapped up in their own selfish agenda to care about trying to return the favour, that is, assuming that they even have a spot of affection for you, that they're even picking up on your existence on their radar.

On days like these, when disappointment abounds, I'm ready to just pack up and leave the rest of the world to their existence, and retreat to mine. No more trying to be nice, no more trying to help, no more trying to make a difference. After all, all one gets in return for one's efforts is a crock of shit anyway.

When I get to that point, my anger and disappointment switches to the other extreme; I feel guilt for everything that is happening. It's my fault that I'm not a nice/patient/polite/tolerant/smiley/tactful/soft-spoken etc etc etc person. This happened before I screwed up on the other thing, that happened because I wasn't tactful enough. Everything happened, well, because I'm not good enough a person basically.

I try not to, but I blame my lower middle class upbringing, my brought up - everything that is the opposite of privileged. I just grew up, just short of being 'dragged up'. I was never 'brought up' properly. That's when I also think people should take exams to see whether they're worthy to be parents.

Am I being unfair? Am I being unreasonable and childish? Maybe I am, but that's why I feel right now. Am I being ungrateful for what I've been blessed with? Am I complaining too much? Am I being naive in thinking that privileged people don't have their own problems and sufferings. Maybe I am. And no I don't think that other people don't have their own problems, but I'll like to at least like to start suffering something different from what has plagued me my entire life.

At rock bottom, when I think I'm scum, I get angry again and feel the injustice of having to look out for others when others don't look out for me. I always come back to the same questions."Why do I have to be the one giving in to somebody else's demands?". "Why do I have to think for the benefit of somebody else? Who is thinking for mine benefit?". "Why do I have to make the first move?". "Why do I have to apologise first?". "Why do I have to seek reconciliation?". "Why do I have to do the harder work while somebody else can sit back and relax?" Why why why? It feels terribly unfair, and I bristle at the unfairness of it all. Why do I give a damn about these people anyway? I don't need them. And I will make sure that I never want or need anybody, ever again.

Seriously, never again. The problem is not people, but the problem is my liking people, trusting them, trying to help them. But not only do they not appreciate it, I have to suffer for my attempt to help.

I am angry. I am disappointed. I am feeling hurt and vulnerable and like a fool. I want to hurt the people who  hurt me. I want them to feel the sense of loss that I feel. I want them to go all out 100% for something that bites them back. I want them to feel like a fool, a colossal fool, a hundred times over.

I want to be allowed to be vindictive, vengeful, cruel, manipulative, wicked. I want to be allowed to give full reign to my anger. I want to amoral and conscienceless.

I want to not care anymore.

I don't want to play anymore

It is very hard to make an effort for somebody who doesn't appreciate the gesture or return the affection.

It is very hard to keep working at something to which there is no rewards to reap.