Tuesdays with Maury

It’s 3.36am on Tuesday 19 June and somehow I always seem to start writing just before bed when I get all sad and contemplative. I usually know it’s bedtime when I can’t muster up the mental strength to avoid sentimentality and shut off the parts of my brain I try to not hear even though they are constantly screaming at me

Without getting into lurid detail, today was a weird day. I had a job interview in the morning which I was on time for and in general I felt like I kind of had my shit together for the first morning in a Long time. I even jogged before that so yeah. 

Then, it started raining and I got cold and wet and I was nauseous and feeling weak: a testament to my theory that I’m actually an elderly woman trapped in this body. Met someone for lunch and it was great. It made me realise how much of a sucker I am for surprises (why, media, why must you trick me into falling into such stereotypes???) 

For the first time in a Long time, I was in the city in the daytime with a Friend. We’re pretty similar so we aimlessly walked around Bugis/nicoll highway, chasing after a bottle of Vietnamese Chilli sauce and 2 fat pugs. Oh, and a cow cat.

I went home and slept because I was tired, and woke up to a series of events which left me vulnerable and confused. Not gonna get into it but essentially reinforced my beliefs in most of the things I tell myself about people and how different they are from me. I see patterns and people always think they can exit the rule and be an exception but they’re always wrong. Always. And I always make the mistake of hoping.  And then I end up broken again with the scotch tape I used to patch myself up falling away to the wayside. Again. Always. 

I don’t understand what love is/isn’t and why I crave it so much. I don’t understand why people have to make shit so damn complicated. I don’t understand why society has so many rules. Yes, yes, “ the truth resists simplicity” and all that but truthfully, I’m tired of feeling. I think part of the reason I crave death so much is that I’m just... so... tired of being alive. I read a quote today from a friend’s Instagram story that said “ crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are alive” I think I stopped wanting to live when I stopped being able to cry regularly, and I think I started wanting to die when I realised that being alive is a choice, not an obligation.

I have this absurd theory that, because my Mother considered aborting me, and I was “saved” by my sister, a large part of me has never truly belonged or found its place in the world of the living. I wake up every day feeling like... something is wrong. I shouldn’t be here. I should be up in the Sky or in some bizarre cycle of samsara or something. I think I was so (unhealthily) obsessed with vampiric culture in my formative tween years because they were everything I wanted to be: dead, but with the privileges of being alive. Some people have this mental thing where they feel like their limbs aren’t theirs and they don’t belong on their bodies. It’s kind of like a reverse phantom-limb situation (apparently it’s called body integrity identity disorder). And honestly, for the past few days, I’ve really identified with this, but in that I don’t feel like my body is mine or that I should be alive. 

Every time I catch a glimpse of a funeral, I salute the dead, because in a way I feel like they’re my brethren. Every time I hear that someone has passed away, especially if it’s someone a little closer, the only thing I can think of to say is “if it makes you feel any better, I’d trade places with them if I could” 

I do have a personality that makes me extremely prone to addiction and escapism in unhealthy qualities. Although the mediums through which I express both of these have varied in my short life, they’ve never been absent. I think part of this need to escape my mind and the real world stems from the fact that, I’m metaphorical terms, I never really learned how to get up properly after I fall down. Every time something bad hits me, i just take it all in, with no possible form of catharsis, and carry on semi wounded. I never learned to heal myself properly. And frankly at this point, I’m not even sure if I wanna recover anymore. My depression has become such a big part of my life and personality that I don’t know who I’d be without it. Its kind of like a tumour that I’m too lazy to remove because I’ve already spent my whole life adjusting to it and as I’ve frequently mentioned, “I’m here for a good time, not a Long time”. I can’t remember if I wrote about this in the last post but my suicidal thoughts got worse when things stopped feeling good. Food stopped tasting good, I lost interest in all my hobbies and the people I loved kept leaving me. And despite my constant reminders to myself not to give my heart to anyone, despite my history of falling too deep too fast and watching someone accidentally step onto the broken shards of my usually ice-cold heart, the hope of love pulled me back in like a praying mantis does to her mate right before she rips his head off. 

I’m tired of being human. I’m so tired of believing in love despite my constant efforts to convince myself otherwise. I’m so angry at all the lies I was told as a child in the hopes that I would become a model citizen who could contribute to society in a meaningful way. I’m so upset at some of the ways society is progressing, but most of all, I hate myself for staying in this liminal space. I HATE that I don’t have the balls to either live or die. I’m frustrated that I wasn’t successful that night at Orchard rooftop because I was too afraid of the unknown. I’m still struggling to see whether “afraid to die” is a good enough reason to keep living, when I’m really just hanging on by the skin of my teeth.

Sigh. Right now, it’s 4.21am and I thank god for the people who are awake at this ungodly hour to make me feel a little less alone. But, I’m stuck in the dark, and I still can’t see the light. There is so much more I want to say but as of now, I don’t want to feel this pain anymore, and I’m getting that familiar tight feeling in my chest again. I wish my body would let me cry but there’s no place for that right now. I need to find a quick way to escape the labyrinth that is my twisted mind, SHOVE the EMOTIONS BACK into their CAGE where they BELONG, and deal with the fallout tomorrow.

Conceal, don’t feel. 

Fake it till you make it.

I don’t want to do this anymore.