A-maze!

I feel like my life is a maze and I've been trying to navigate it in the dark. I used to feel my way around anxiously with my eyes wide but unseeing; sometimes I panicked and broke into a run. What good is it to run mindlessly?
So I've started to use my ears and my internal bearings instead. Just relax, close my eyes and take it all in. Now I'm so close to solving it I can almost visualize what's beyond... but there comes this feeling of apprehension. Should I even leave the maze? It's dark and boring but oh so familiar and safe!
There's no doubt though, I'll walk out of it.

The Cigarette Lesson

As I grew up in a fairly conservative family, I was brought up with teachings like drinking is bad, gambling is bad, smoking is bad and so on. I agree gambling is bad. Drinking, not so much. (But we do add alcohol to our dishes so my family is not that boring. Besides, daddy loves beer.) Smoking. Smoking is bad indeed.

I was not that convinced of course, I see things with an curious eye.

So at 28, I tried smoking. Ha! So old it's like a joke. But you should have seen the look on that old lady's face when I asked for a pack of cigarettes at her counter. That gives you an idea of how I looked - the typical goody-two-shoes.

The reason I wanted to try was because I was depressed, and I thought it's like chronic suicide to get hooked to smoking. Only I couldn't!

Every time I smoked, I felt sick. The first two times were fine, probably because I didn't keep the smoke in my lungs much. Then I started getting giddy as I got the hang of it. I thought the giddiness amplified by its interaction with my antidepressants. Whatever it is, it made me vomit.

So each time that happened, I said, 'I'll not try it again.'

I wasn't hooked, I wanted to be, but I couldn't. I was inclined towards self-destruction you see. So a few weeks after vomiting from one cigarette, I tried again. And puked again.

Another few weeks later, which was earlier tonight, I tried again. Oh god I clung on to the toilet bowl sicking up my dinner. After that, I climbed into bed, unwilling to move because it made me giddy.

I got wiser this time though, after sleeping off the worse of it. I was holding on to a packet of American Spirits, purchased a year ago when I visited the States. As you know American Spirits are 'Class A Cigarettes' containing only the real stuff, mine was the light green one so it contained tobacco and mint. Anyway I tore the cigarette paper and got all the good stuff out - tobacco and mint leaves - into an up-cycled glass jar. It smelled so good.

The reason I kept the herbs is because tobacco can be used to sooth bites, stings and small wounds, and stop bleeding from small wounds. It also acts as a tinder. Sounds like a good thing to have in a first aid kit if you asked me.

So, that marked the end of my relationship with cigarettes. I think my cigarettes are happy now. They've been liberated from their white cells and fiery death to live the dignified life they were intended for, albeit in a dried form.

I was happy about the whole incident though I puked and am still reeling from nausea, because I learnt that herbs are beautiful. Tobacco has analgesic properties, and probably wasn't meant to be smoked. Humans misused it. Now it's widely seen as a bad plant.

Which leads me to think about cannabis. Cannabis is an interesting plant with even more healing properties than tobacco - reducing seizures, treating PTSD, alleviating chronic pain etc. Mostly, it just makes people happy and hungry. In spite of that, humans all over the world, especially in Asia, has slapped cannabis with such a bad reputation it's cruel. I can't wait for the day stupid humans finally frees it.

In truth, plants should never have been manipulated by human beings. I hate that they're being seen in a bad light because of how humans used it. It's time to wake up!

Stupid Cupid.

I fell in love, and I fell out of love.

Right from the beginning, we knew things might not work, but we thought it's worth a shot. Like Kiss sang, "it's got what it takes!" I thought I guard my heart well, so I would be okay if it didn't work, because Julie always expects the worse.

And damn, Julie was right.

Like so many relationships in the world, it didn't work. In the weeks that followed, I found myself alternating between letting go of the memories and grabbing them tight. Am I really okay giving up? Should I try to salvage it? Then again, do I have a choice? It's a two-way thing after all. I went back to our conversations to see what was so special about him. I wanted to realize that there was nothing and I imagined our potential.

But it was there - alive in our conversations, ebbing and flowing like the tide, pulled by a spiritual connection. It kept me going, but it has since been reduced to a feeling captured in words and spaces between the lines; a feeling waiting to be forgotten.

These few days, I have been overcome by a sense of loneliness. Loneliness has always been tied to insecurity for me, never from the end of relationships. I've felt hurt, relief, loss, guilt, but never loneliness. Mostly, I don't need people. In fact, the break up before this one made me feel liberated; I could have popped the champagne. But this one brought me to my knees. Out of a sudden, sappy love songs started to make sense to me, and I torture myself by listening to them. (Very randomly, I will get a mental picture of myself driving and crying the words out like Adam Sandler did steering his yacht as he cruised away from Drew Barrymore in 50 First Dates. It's amusing because I can't drive.)

I thought about the difference between my previous relationships and this one. After all, this is my shortest relationship, and we spent so little time together I'm amazed it even mattered to me. Anyway, I realized I entered the previous ones wondering if it will work, I entered this one wanting it to work. I guess it made all the difference.

As if missing him wasn't enough, I found myself longing to be loved - an ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING realization. I hate it and it has been difficult to acknowledge that feeling because it is desperate and clingy and I'm the opposite of needy. I don't need people, remember? I adore my own company. But I started to wish I could spend nights cuddling with that favourite person. Or receive a text from that favourite person saying sweet nothings. Doesn't matter if life is hard, I just want that favourite person in my life.

I guess I'll have to hunt for another favourite person? *shudders at the idea - too much effort, and IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO WORK THAT WAY!*

At this point, the only thing I want to do is to pry my fingers open and talk myself out of feeling not-good-enough-for-love. I thought I'm a decent person? No? Well, I know it's not me, but when life presents me with a beautiful bubble and pops it with an evil laugh, it's hard not to question my worth.

Fuck you cupid, and your stinking arrow.

Nostalgic Music

Once in a while, you hear a song that sends a pang into your heart. California Dreamin' is such a song. Strange enough, the first time I heard it, I felt certain I've heard it before, and it created such a tremendous sense of nostalgia.

It isn't surprising, considering it is a very good song. Except I was born in Singapore in the year 1986 to a very Chinese family. Could I have heard it before? Probably, from a movie or something.

Could I have heard it in a previous life?

I don't know.

It's extremely unscientific to think that way, but the feelings some old songs evoke in me are so strong, I can't help but suspect that. Songs like California Dreamin, Touch Me, Wouldn't it be nice, Summer of 69, Gimme Shelter, Have you ever seen the rain?, Me and Bobby McGee etc... They're before my time, yet so close to my heart.

What are the elements in these songs that stir my heartstring? They make me emotional in ways Mandarin old songs never could.

If you have an idea, do let me know.

People

'The world could use a lot less people,' I said to Jo, looking at the passengers on the train.

He stared at me and went, 'what? Aren't you cruel to say that?'

'Well it's true, we're practically parasitic; and really, I don't much care about human beings.' I said with a shrug.

'You know, human race can be a parasitic one, but there are people out there who really deserve to live.'

'I know, I just feel that it's not such a big deal for people to die.' A passenger beside me moved away.

'People who have overcome war; overcome abuse in life; overcome serious injuries... They try so hard to live. Do you think they should have someone make such a comment about them?'

'Hmm.. when I said it's not such a big deal if some people dies, I'm really thinking about us as mere mammals, no different from the zebras in the Sahara, stray dogs on the street. As long as it's a natural death, I think it's okay.'

Jo rolled his eyes.

I laughed, and added, 'look, I'm not cruel. I know there are bloody strong folks out there and I admire them. I know what you are getting at. You are right about something.'

'About what?'

'Your point of view. It occurred to me after you mentioned those worthy homo-sapiens that I am too cynical about people. Or perhaps in general, instead of looking at the people who deserve life, I kept thinking about those who are simply existing and consuming.'

'Good, you got it.' He flashed a huge grin at me.

'I still don't care much about people though. We're too selfish and cruel most of the time, and ignorant too. You'd think more people would admire people who fought fiercely for life, but there are more people admiring apple products and Hermes bags.

'Well... that's too close to the truth. Ouch. Sometimes I feel we're too evolved for this society,' Jo said as we got off the train.

Antidepressant withdrawal

If, there is anyone reading this, I apologize for the messiness of the posts. I have somehow mixed my reality and imagination up. Today, I would like to write about something very real.

I have dysthymia and episodes of major depression. Over the course of a year, my prescription went from 1 to 6 types of medication - Wellbutrin, Sertraline, Quetiapine and Lithium are the staples; Clonazepam and Lyrica are as needed. I don't know if I need this many drugs, but I took them anyway.

A month ago, I decided to get myself 'clean'. Prior to this decision, I had two episodes in a span of 2 months, even though I took the medication religiously.

I weaned myself carefully, taking a month to half my dosage of Wellbutrin, Sertraline and Lithium. I need Quetiapine to sleep.

I had nausea first. On trains, in cars, even when I walk. Then my normally strong stomach weakened and became sensitive to food. When that eased off, I began to feel very lethargic. So much so I fear the mornings, because I will have to lug myself to work, struggle to keep myself awake, and at the end of the day, drag myself home.

I am still lethargic, but brain zaps had joined the party. My brain zaps feel like electrical impulse zipping through my brain. It makes me feel lightheaded and a little nauseated. The part of me that likes to torture myself found it interesting.

It will take some time for me to get off the medication, but I'm not about to give up. They cost money, and they cause side effects.

To anyone who happens to read this, I started taking the medication out of desperation; I was suicidal. But I also started to take the medication thinking it might cause me harm. Yeah, I was self-harming. The irony.

To those considering psychiatric medication, they work for 70% of the population (if I am not wrong), so they might work for you. But if you feel psychotherapy might work for you, do go for that first.
Also, don't believe everything the psychiatrist prescribes you. Do your own research. The psychiatrist means no harm, but they do overlook some issues with some meds.

To give an example, I was prescribed 300mg of wellbutrin every morning, and the psychiatrist added 150mg more in the afternoon. In two weeks I had so many neurological side effects I thought I had multiple sclerosis.
A research told me he was not supposed to prescribe more than 150mg in a single dose, and 450mg is the daily maximum. To make things worse, I have always been sensitive to side effect and my body weight is low (94lbs).
When I told him about my side effects, he didn't think it was the wellbutrin. Well, the MS-like symptoms went away after I reduce the dosage.

So, listen to their advice, but question them too.
If you suffer from psychiatric disorder, my heart goes out to you, and I wish you well.

Love
Julie

pills

She took a sip of her peppermint tea, it had gone cold. She doesn't realize it.
The curtains are drawn, she doesn't notice.

She fell back in bed, her brain in a soft and sleepy fog. She had taken two anxiolytic pills, 4 times the prescribed dosage, but still a small dose.

Madellin never thought she would find pleasure in the drugs prescribed to her by a doctor. But she did, and she's glad. They made her feel relaxed and sleepy, like alcohol without the hangover. There isn't a buzz, but there is a soft fluffy fog that envelopes her brain. Her eyes, half opened, stared at the ceiling. She smiled. Nothing really matters, she thought.

The pill for muscle tension was even more potent. The first time she took it, she thought she was high. Her hands and legs were so light and flighty and her mood so mellow she laughed too much and dreamt too hard.

Those are the so called medication the psychiatrist gave her for her condition. Her depression. She thought the doctors should try them themselves. If they did, she wonder, will they still regard the pills as medication?

To Madellin, they're more like recreational drugs.

Laying in bed, she wondered if she should take a couple more and get properly high.

The two voices.

'You want to what?', Yvonne questioned.

'Become a writer. I want to write.' Georgia said.

'You know, that takes a lot of skill. Your grammar isn't great, and you don't even have a degree in English or something.'

Georgia bit her lip, and said after a while, 'I do know that I am not qualified. I also know that I don't have ideas.'

'Good that you know,' Yvonne said, she tilted her head and looked at Georgia.

'I still want to try.'

'Do you have enough saved up? What are you going to do as you write?'

'I'll think about that. I'll get by.'

Yvonne rolled her eyes and said, 'suit yourself. Don't come crying to me when you fail.'

'Eve, why do you have to be so discouraging? It's my dream for God's sake!'

'Well, why don't you grow up? I'm trying to help you here! Would you let your friend swim in the sea if she isn't a good swimmer?'

Georgia looked away, she felt stung. 'What can I say?' she thought to herself, 'maybe Yvonne is right.'

At that thought, her heart went cold.


~


More than a short scenario, I think this reflects many people's internal struggle. I think many people gave up on their dreams as they think about the practical aspects of life. Yvonne may be fictitious, but some variation of her exists in all of us. Henry David Thoreau saw this almost 2 centuries ago - “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”

Why is it that after 200 years, so many are still trapped in their lives of quiet desperation?

To anyone reading this, I hope you'll sing your song. Sing it with faith in yourself. Sing it loudly. Sing it proudly. Sing it so other dreamers can chime in.

Love
Julie

Commuting thoughts

It takes me an hour to get to work. An hour to get back. Two hours a day, 60 hours a month, 720 hours a year. Each journey consists of two train rides and a short walk.

I stood in the crowded train clutching my book, reading through the fog that envelops my brain every morning. The commuter seated before me snoozed as music leaked from his earphones. I could almost make out the words. The one to his left played a game filled with candies of different shape and colors on her phone. The one to his right slept with her head lolling around, her sleeping hands guarding a Michael Kors purse half-heartedly. When I got a seat 4 stations before mine, I closed my eyes and quickly fell into a snooze too.

Commuters are a tired bunch.

'Outram Park Station,' the speakers declared. I stood up reluctantly and pushed myself to walk. Up the stairs, to my left, go straight, to my right, go straight, up another stairs... I listened to the clip-clopping of shoes of different type and material, an ensemble of monotony broken up by occasional chatters. I struggled to keep going while I people watched.

Every time I observed commuters' expressions, which ranged from bored to miserable, I wonder if they are happy with their lives.

I hope they are, because I absolutely hate work commitments. I enjoy my work, but I hate having to abide to the 9 to 5 (or in my case, 8.30 to 6) rule. I think it is a violation of my freedom to use my own time. Then again, I can't say anything. I sold my time for a salary at the end of each month.

To criticise commuters' lack of courage to really live would be hypocritical. I am one of them after all. Like them, I've been conditioned to fear the unknown; to be afraid to fail; to prefer stability; to hold on to money rather than dreams, because dreams do not always feed you.

I guess that is why I ended up with depression. I am an idealist by nature, but I've been brought up to be practical. This resulted in a constant struggle between idealism and practicality - my heart screams for idealism, my head reasons for practicality.

The struggle is ending soon though, because I am close to making a decision. All I need now, is courage to make the leap.

Or maybe a push.

Little Rock

Memories, they will fade with time. I lay in bed turning the little rock over and over, watching flakes of it coming off, sparkling like stardust. The rock was in your hand.

The rock was in your hand.
I was in your heart.

Ego and will

There are two forces in my head. They are ego and willpower.
Ego makes me weak.
Willpower makes me strong.
As a dysthymic, my brain is often not on my side. When things happen, my brain clouds over and willpower becomes ever so weak. I worry and fret and get mad over issues.

However, weak as it is. Willpower never gives up. I hear its voice whispering words of reason; words that prevent me from toppling over the edge.

Growing up, I've always been awfully self-conscious and judgmental of myself. That is a result of ego, I've learnt. I don't like to fail; I don't like to feel rejected; I don't like to fall. It's embarrassing and ego-damaging. It took learning to cast ego aside and not to take things personally that allowed me to become a little wiser with every struggle I overcame.

Today, my visa application got denied because my reason to visit was, to them, unusual and I didn't have all the documents I needed. Rather than seeing it as an administrative issue, I saw it as a personal failure. I thought about how others applied for reasons more legit and abilities better than mine. They are capable folks going there to work, intelligent folks going there to further their education, hardworking kids accepted by good schools there.

And me?

I am just an ordinary girl trying to find myself; trying to get away from this city to catch my breath and work on my passion. In their eyes, I am a potential illegal immigrant. I was crestfallen.

It really isn't a big deal, but I spent most of today trying to talk myself out of this ditch. I can't help but feel that I am not good enough. Questions arose, like maybe what I'm trying to do is wrong? Has a death sentence been given to my dreams? Maybe I should give up before I screw up more?

Thankfully, behind all these questions stood willpower with its quiet voice. I could barely hear it, but it is there. It is firm.

'Don't be stupid,' it scolded, 'it's not about you. It is a standard operating procedure.'

I need to take 'me' out of the equation.

They weren't judging me, and I need to stop judging myself.

It.

The urge to self destruct crept into her veins, or so it felt. She had a good few weeks. Three, to be precise. But when she was filling up her pill case earlier that night, she imagined swallowing her handful of blue pills. She imagined how easy that would be.

She lays in bed now, waiting to fall asleep, and her mind went to her wrist.

The cuts are fading away. She wish she could add new ones. Watching blood seep out of the shallow cuts always makes her feel better. It makes her marvel at her body. How there are blood flowing in her, sustaining her.

And the angry red lines on her pale skin always comforts her.

'If only I could hide the cuts,' she thought sadly.

She knows these are signals that her depression is creeping back. So she braced herself, and waited.

Death

Janis took a long drag on the cigarette, let it saturate her lungs, and exhaled, watching the stream of white smoke dissipate.

Her baby died. Two months shy of a year old.

Lorraine's arrival had completed Janis and filled her entire existence with profound love. But what is left now is a hole in her heart and a sadness so sharp it jabs at her chest.

It started with a fever, and the doctor told Janis it was probably part of the teething process. When the fever didn't go down the next day, Janis brought Lorraine to the emergency room. It was a Thursday night. The bacteria, still unknown, took little Lorraine's life 5 days later.

Janis had held on to the limp little body for an hour. Stroking the tiny hands she so loved to kiss.

It's been a month since, and all that's left of Lorraine are ashes in an urn. Janis sat by the water with the cigarette in her trembling fingers. She wish she was dead too.

Overreacting

I feel like I stepped over a cliff.
Free-falling.
I was close to deciding on flying away.
But now I need to plan harder.
Maybe the universe is trying to test me.
Maybe I was wrong. The universe doesn't conspire. Not for me.

It's a Heartache

Bonnie Tyler's "It's a Heartache" was playing on the jukebox. Lilly stared at the colourful machine, tracing her index finger around the lip of her wine glass. She told Helena, 'he said he isn't sure if he wants to be with someone.'

Helena looked at her old friend and said, 'why did he say that? What did you say to him then?'

'I said I would leave him alone if he prefers that. I don't know why. Am I such a lousy catch?'

'Honey, if I had a brother I would make him marry you,' Helena placed her hand over Lilly's, 'he has his reasons, right?'

'Right, but it fucking hurts. Len, every time I put my heart into a relationship, this happens,' Lilly said, her brows creased and her lips quivered. She drew her hand back and covered her face. 'I want this to work, but I don't want him to feel pressured,' Lilly said, her voice muffled and shaky.

Helena moved closer to Lilly and put her arms around her, 'I can tell he likes you a lot, you guys should talk things out.'

'I don't know how. I hate to appear needy. Dammit, he can leave me if he wants. I'm sick of this stupid dating shit.'

'Come on, I'm sure there's a solution.'

Lilly removed her hands and said quietly, 'Shouldn't love be able to conquer all? Or is that bullshit?'

Helena replied with a grin, 'yes that is.' Lilly smiled despite herself.

'I'm so confused,' Lilly sighed and finished her wine.

'If he isn't a decent guy, I would say forget about him, but he is. Besides, you guys are happy together,' Helena said gently, 'give yourselves time to think things over, okay?'

'We are doing that, ' Lilly replied, 'maybe I'm a pessimist, I think he's just not that into me,' and finished Helena's martini too.

Self-doubt

I found myself plagued by a bad bout of self-doubt. A voice in me kept saying, 'come on, you're not good enough. Just give it up already!'

But I barely started!

I really need to shut that voice out. To those of you out there experiencing the same issues; wanting to do something but feeling like you're not good or special enough, that your dream is really wishful thinking, I hope you can shut that voice out too.

No one knows what will happen in the future. Only one thing is certain, if we don't try, we don't have a chance at succeeding in the pursuit of our heart's desires.

I'd rather live a life doing things I like than one working at a stable job I don't like. We don't know where each path ends at, so take the one you like better!

Soulmate

I brood, on the journey. Indulging on the chance to idle. My body has been trying to catch up with my brain, and my brain has been trying to keep up with living. And all the while, my soul zipped back and forth. I'm barely holding up, and tears threatened.

I told him how I seemed to be moving in sludge.
'You're in a timewarp,' he told me.

'Why is my body so heavy?'

'Because you've been trying to lift your spirits.'

'You understand.'

'Yes I do.'

'They said you're not gonna be much help, that you're going to drag me down,' I whispered to him, 'I don't agree. All I know is, if I'm going down, no one can help me. But you, you will be there, holding me in the dark, because you understand.'

He reached out in the dark, reached out in his mind. I strained my eyes to see. It's still pitch dark, but I am no longer alone.