Can’t Keep Up

I call it progress,

they call it failure;

failure to pass

what’s due

on time

I call it baby steps,

They call it a waste

of their time, not mine;

so could I please

hurry the hell up

I call it my best,

they call it mediocrity;

a below average

attempt at surviving

so why do I even try

I call it getting by,

they call it giving up

without seeing things

from where I stand

so I guess

I really cannot keep up

at all.

-CL

Oct21’15

A Sense of Purpose, Perhaps?

I’m in the mood to write. Haha. Not that I’m feeling better (or maybe I am) now, but I guess writing what I’m currently feeling wouldn’t hurt.

Nevermind the fact that I have tons of paperwork needing to be done, currently piled up on my bed.

Anyway.

School started sooner than I would have liked. But I never wanted to go to school in the first place, so there’s that.

I’m still wide awake, even though it’s already half past two in the morning where I’m at. Like I said, I still have a lot of technical writing to do, and planning; and here I am just writing about it.

I feel quite glad that for once, I’m doing something productive. Okay, I have yet to be really productive, but at least for now I’m doing something important; for the others, that is.

Not that schooling is not important for me. It’s just that, if I were to study, I would pick a subject better suited for me.

But regret won’t get me anywhere now, would it?

I just hope that whatever it is I’m feeling right now, this quite good feeling, would last enough for me to survive this internship.

I’ll have to do my best until, probably, February of next year. I hope I graduate this academic year.

Oh well. I better get back to what I need to be doing.

-K

Aug16’15

Of Guilt and Last Chances

“Do understand that this would be your last chance. I’m giving you a year; if you don’t finish it by then, you’re on your own.”

Instead of a sweet good night; tonight, these were the words my father dropped on me. Such a nice way to end my day.

I couldn’t help but cry. With my parents watching their eldest daughter break down before their eyes. It was the last thing I wanted for them to see, but I can’t help myself. My inability to stay collected while having a serious discussion with my parents, and this time gravity (I really tried hard to blink back my tears, but it was in vain), worked against me.

I cried not because of what my father said. He has all the right to say such words. After all, it was he who provides for all my (and my family’s) needs and wants. He single-handedly kept five human beings alive. I, being one of them.

We are by no means rich. But still, he was able to send me to a good school. He sent me to a university without complaining about the cost. He had just one condition: to study hard and make use of our education, and be an independent individual. “Because,” he always says, “we (my parents) won’t be here forever to support you. You have to learn to stand on your own. Education is the only thing I can give you.” As (almost) always, he was right. However I think he’s wrong about that last part. He may deny it, but he has given us so much more than just education. I don’t like his humility sometimes. But, I digress.

Let it be known that I am not an only child. I have three other siblings, all of whom still depend on him. One is about to start college, one’s still in high school, and the eldest is currently taking up medicine.

And then there’s me: who’s still an undergrad college student; who, despite being in a four-year major, is still unfinished with her studies and is currently in her sixth year; who is currently on her third try of being an intern; who, instead of helping her father in the finance department (or in any aspect, really), is still being a burden to her family.

Yep, that female young adult is me.

Needless to say, my father is getting impatient with me. He’s getting fed up by my inability to just wing my studies like my other college friends did.

I don’t blame him. I am solely putting all the blame on myself. And well, on my demons depression and anxiety.

It comes down to it, now that I think about it. I struggled on my first try with internship because of my (social) anxiety. Having depression as well certainly didn’t help. My parents still don’t know about this; but there were times, on school nights, where I’d wish that I don’t wake up the next day. On some school mornings, I’d get up and stare into nothingness, wishing I was dead rather than having to go to school/rotation site. I’d pump my veins with various chemicals to get by; to forget reality even just for a while.

I can only shrug whenever my parents (especially my father) ask me why I couldn’t “just do it.”

Tonight, my father dropped the bomb. It didn’t surprise me, as I already knew his stand on my issue. He’s right; I can’t depend on him forever, and I’m certainly not the only one he’s sending to school. With the way the economy is going, it won’t take long before he’ll lose his job, and we would have to find other ways to get by. We may not be living luxuriously, but simple living still is expensive. We were lucky we could still eat three or four or five meals a day, and we could still afford some of our wants. Where education is a right to other countries, in a third-world country like the one I live in, it has (disappointingly) become a privilege only a few could afford. I consider myself lucky.

My luck however, as luck would have it, won’t stay with me forever. My father is getting old, and I do understand his concerns. He wants me to be independent as soon as possible. That sentiment I share with him. Only I couldn’t do it as fast as he would have liked. Curse depression and anxiety.

But I’m trying, I really am. I guess it just doesn’t show because tonight my father gave me an ultimatum: I’ll have a year to complete my requirements and to finally get out of college. Easier said than done. Any longer than that and I’ll be on my own, at least in this aspect of my life. After a year, he will no longer fund my education, should I need/want to continue my studies/internship.

In retrospect, I had seen it coming, him imposing sort of a deadline. It didn’t surprise me at all.

What took me by surprise, however, was the guilt that suddenly overwhelmed me as my father was explaining his decision.

I suddenly realized that I was being selfish for not graduating sooner, whether or not it was my fault. I’m past the blame game with depression and anxiety; but I couldn’t help but think that it was because I’m letting depression and anxiety ruin my life that now, even my family is suffering and it was because of me.

The wave of immense guilt made its way out of my eyes; and without a warning, tears flowed freely, wetting my cheeks.

I wasn’t able to hide the tears and hiccups from my father. Even if he did notice it, he did not say anything about it.

I’m guilty for dragging my family into my personal mess; and I guess it’s only right that my father dubbed this academic year my “last chance”. I was lucky I was even given one. He asked me what I would do differently to make sure that I’ll complete my studies, to make sure my last chance wouldn’t go to waste, but I could only shrug in response. My mind was still reeling with thoughts of guilt and ways to somehow hurt myself because I felt like I deserved it. My eyes were still blurry, and I wouldn’t be able to answer verbally anyway because of my lungs refusing to breathe air in and my throat closing in. Stupid noisy hiccups. (In a stupid attempt to somehow stifle the anxiety boiling over and to somehow calm myself down enough to stop my hands from shaking, I hastily popped 250mg of anti-depressant and 100mg of anti-psychotic pills. It’s only now, as I’m writing this, that I’m starting to feel the effects from od’ing on said medication. Eheh.)

I’m guilty of depression and anxiety; I’m guilty of being a good-for-nothing student; and now, I’m guilty of being a burden to my family.

I don’t know what this last chance would bring me, and what I would have to bring to the table myself. I don’t want to waste it, though. So I guess, that’s a good thought to start with. Kind of.

Jul20’15

-K

Empty.

It’s been so long since I last posted on my blog and now I don’t even know what to write about anymore.

I’m pretty certain a lot has happened since my last blog post, but at the same time I feel like nothing happened at all. It’s weird.

So I guess, first off, I would like to apologize for not being able to post anything these past few months. More importantly, I am sorry for making some of you worry. I know that you worry about me not really being stable, and for that, I am really really sorry.

So, how about this? I promise not to do stupid, life-threatening things. I know it’s not much, but I like to keep my promises. I guess it’s one of the only few things I’m good at. Hah.

With that aside, I now would like to talk about why I haven’t posted in a while.

I have nothing to write about, I have no reason to write, it seemed.

Actually, that’s not true. I have a few things I like to talk about, to write about, to think about.

But that’s the thing, I can’t get them out of my mind.

Every time I try to write them down, they just turn into one big jumbled mess.

Either there were too many thoughts going through my head at a time, or there are too little. Either way, I couldn’t focus on a single topic long enough to put them into words. I’d write about one idea, and then I’d suddenly think of another one.

Whenever I manage to write one thought down, all the others vanish in thin air. I forget about all the rest. Which was frustrating.

What made it worse was the fact that I’m the type of writer that likes to put many details on my writings. Too many details, in my opinion. I want to write down even the useless things connected to a certain thought or idea.

I think that was also one of the reasons why I was never quite able to document my everyday life. I’d write down every event that happened on a certain day, down to how long (down to minutes) I had to do what. What I wore that day. What everyone wore that day. What the weather was. How many times someone did what.

Couple my love for details with my hate for re-writing/re-reading things, and you get a very frustrated Kat.

And then, sometimes, in the middle of writing, I suddenly get lost. Like, all my thoughts, like bubbles, disappear.

For instance, I no longer know what the point of this particular point is. I’m fairly certain it has something to do with me feeling empty. Or maybe that was just me feeling everything all at once and I just couldn’t see through the haze of my thoughts.

Oh, gosh. I think this particular writing is turning into just random words hastily put together by a troubled soul. I imagined this one to be a sort of an apology, a story to fill you in with my life, a list of plans. However, I don’t know what this turned out to be.

I’m going to end this right here. I will not re-write this one tonight (maybe next time). So, sorry for all the errors and typos I have made in this piece.

Until the next time,

Kat

P.S. What do you suggest I do, for me to get back at writing once again? Having nothing to do but think (and think… and think..) is slowly driving me insane; and I’m already messed up as I am. So, any tips?

How to fall back on square one in just five days: a guide by me and my demon

I want to be alone right now.
And yes, for the past five days I’ve been alone for most of the time. But, hell. It was not the kind of alone time I was hoping for.

I have done nothing but waste my time and life (or my lack thereof) away.
I binged on watching this web series Carmilla. I would like to recommend it to you people, especially if you like strong female characters. And lesbians. Gay strong female characters. Vampires. Sarcasm. And well, lesbians. You know the best part? It ruined my life. So, let me tell you, watch at your own risk.

I think I have told you guys before about this problem I have where I pretty much spend my life day dreaming and not really participating in what they call “real life.” So you know, I try hard to not think about things and feel things and just not let myself be lost in my own world. I should have known that watching and obssessing over a show pretty much seals my coffin down.

So, that was my five days in summary.

Also, I have been neglecting human duties: duties as a student clinician; duties as a good daughter and a sibling; duties as a friend, team mate, and aquiantance; duties as a good citizen of my country; and most importantly, my duties as the primary caregiver and pilot of this ship I call my ugly body.

I can’t remember the last time I took a bath. Or the last time I brushed my teeth. Yes, feel free to be disgusted. I am, too.

I can’t remember the last time I took my meds. I just took one a while ago, after forgetting about it for 5 days or so.

I can’t remember the last decent meal I had (KFC and McDonald’s are lifesavers, literally; albeit unhealthy). Also I couldn’t much of what I ordered (thank Heavens for the internet and fast food chains that deliver food to your doorstep), because every time I put something in my mouth I feel like throwing up. Warghurgh.

It’s just I can’t bring myself to look after my well-being; partly because I just can’t, partly because I don’t want to. I think it’s one of my self-destructive behaviors.

Right now the only thing I could do about it is watch my body rot slowly and feel the pain (a growling stomach for my waking alarm was quite nice).

So, to summarize this summary:
1. I really should not allow myself to feel any sort of emotion if I want to survive thia world.
2. But maybe, I don’t want to survive.
3. I’m feeding the monster inside me and it definitely doesn’t help.
4. Also, headaches.
5. I want to be alone.

-KP
Dec15’14

How time flies and minds change

Okay. Am I really supposed to change my mind this fast? One moment I badly want things to end already; then another all I can see are rainbows and unicorns.

This is confusing and… confusing.

I don’t know where and when to settle. I thought this was better, than those moments when I couldn’t see the light no matter how hard I tried (I’m talking about those times when I couldn’t seem to have a break from being so down).

In retrospect, however, maybe this really is better. At least when I feel (relatively) elated, I am able to do the things humans ought to do. Like taking a bath, for example. And getting out of bed. And attending jobs, and school. And talking to other people. And eating.

It just… I don’t know, sucks? It sucks when you’re on that happy mood and then you just feel the sadness, the despair, from just around the corner, coming for your soul. You could feel that brief happiness being slowly and painfully sucked away from you. You know what I mean? And the worst part is, no matter how hard you try to at least save some of the happiness for you to survive the ‘long winter,’ so to speak, you feel it slipping from your hands, like sand.

I just read the whole thing again and I can’t help but laugh. Somehow I managed to forget the point of this post. Silly me.

Maybe all I want to say is that, life really is hard. It’s true for me, certainly. But because right now I’m seeing a murky light from under the water where I am stuck, I’m going to say that there is still hope for me; there’s still hope for us all.

Just hang on a little bit longer to your floaters.

-KP
Dec06’14