i am sorry i haven’t written in the longest time. it has been a trying time, but i guess for very different reasons.
i just spent my 28th birthday a few days ago. in the state i am in right now, it was reminiscent of my 2lst birthday (when i had to spend it going through those awful currents).
with every single day that i am living and breathing, i wish that i am better in my journey to recovery. and more and more, with each day, i hope i get closer to living a full life. in my journey to recovery, i understand that it is really just a journey. but living a fuller life, i have achieved nothing.
it is usually on hindsight that i find out that things i have been doing (or seeking) to cope are just my frantic efforts to fill the bottomless void in me. and it’s always just as i start to feel that perhaps i am starting to cope, that i realise it’s all so futile.
like right now, i am writing at a psychology conference. it’s always been my dream to have my paper (it’s my honours dissertation in this case) presented at an academic conference. and today i finally did so. i was even privileged to chair a session. yet at the end of it, i still felt empty. i questioned myself why i even bothered doing this. it’ll look good on my CV, but so what? in the end I still feel like a blank, bottomless void.
i spent the past 6 months working a job which i do not enjoy. i’ve had 3 crises and thus 3 emergency room visits and 30 odd stitches in all. i’ve been frenetically trying to avoid triggers and anxiety. i am still trying to cope with chronic pain. and i have never ceased to wonder if i would be better off someplace else than this earth.
i feel like i am drowning on dry land, and no one can see nor hear me. i feel like this effort to just exist is draining. and funny thing is, everyone gets fooled just because i put on a face of make up and a bold lip. somehow a groomed appearance confers the notion of wellness, even to my mental health team.
it’s been 8 years. i have loved, but i’ve lost much more. and i feel like i never really did recover anything in these 8 years. i am pretty convinced that all i have been doing, is grasping at straws.
and i don’t want to do this anymore.
(the photo is of my newest tattoo which i got for my birthday. it is an ode to Clover, our doggie who passed away last July. she is the one on the left, while Poppy our 8 year old toy poodle is on the right. i miss Clover so fucking much.)