Why? Why do people still trust me to do things for them? Final papers. Term papers. Earning money. Saving the family business. Listening to a friend’s catharsis.

Why? Can’t they see my inner self curl up in fear, immobilized by my own self-doubts? How do I go on? How can I serve you, sirs and madams? I am not me but nothing now.

A most haunting truth confronts me : I cannot return to law school in this state. If I do, I would be embittered and depressed again. I have this need to understand myself so much. My flaws. My fears. My impulses. That is why I return to journal writing in order to psychoanalyze myself.

I am a scientist with regard  to my own condition. Like a hawk, I observe my self from a distant with a sharp vision. I watch the intricate webbings of my sexuality and I am exhausted  by the persistent stemming out of effects, manifestations, and sub-causes. I hope to uncover the root of all my neuroses. Each time I immerse myself into my being,I feel a sense of self-alienation. Self-awareness or the process of it is the perfect marble statue of self-alienation.In the analysis of myself, it is wise to start from the facts which I have discovered about myself for the past few years.

I have noticed my growing attraction towards men who are almost like fathers to me. Perhaps that is why I am not with someone right now because ideally I want a being who is strong enough to conquer me and at the same time, soft enough to care for me. Self-disgust floods within me and I am disgusted with my disgust.


The Faces of Depression


Three years of ups and downs. The cycle of I’m okay-No I’m not okay continues. Some days I’m a fully-functioning human being, some days I’m a ghoulish looking catatonic lying on my bed contemplating about death. Just this morning, I sat there in the airconditioned room of my law school, pre-midterm exam on property law, a pen in my hand, the void in my head, my eyes mirroring nothing as it stares at my bluebook. Anhedonia. Nothingness. I had to feel for my pulse to remember that I am still alive. what a pity i have come to this: where i cant even muster enough enthusiasm, no not even a spark of it, to goad myself to thinking and analyzing the legal problems presented before me. but all i felt was nothing. Maybe it was the ANTIDEPRESSANTS, maybe it was my daily medication of mood stabilizers? maybe. Perhaps.

Maybes and perhapses – thats how ive been living my life for the past two years. I leave my will by the door and let fate drag my bones nearer to my deathbed when god knows i dont need to be dragged to death because I am already dead. Each night i dive deeper and deeper into my unconscious until Reality has become a distant echo, a bleak and obscure memory of sorts. Its like i live in this world, i walk the streets at night and see the lamp posts but the truth is i am not really here. i live in this world and at the same time i dont- does that make sense? of course it doesnt make sense, life doesnt make sense, my choices dont make sense.

Today was the breaking point, for the first time in my life, I took an exam without caring if I failed, not even a residue of fear or self-pride. i was nothing back there in the testing room: no thoughts, no cares . i was a robot filling some spaces with incoherent words because i cant commit suicide inside the classroom, no not exactly. when i went home, i cried on my bed , fell asleep. and when i woke up i thought about all the people i’ve hurt due to my depression and i think about how much of a foul trash of a person i am; Death, seemed to be the only way.


Right there on my bed, the sun fading to dull yellow peeking through my windows, I held a knife in my hand  and watched the skin on my wrist give way at the slight push of the knife; “Just a little bit more force”, i thought to myself, and everything is going to be okay. The fucking shits inside my head would stop and by dying I would cease to Be. Dying would be bliss. Dying was a sweet thought, but just like all the other times I wanted to slash my wrist , I stopped when I saw a little blood.

I dont know why I stopped, i just knew that maybe just maybe this is not yet my time and that somehow there is still hope for me; i could still find enough reason to live, i could still redefine my life, repair my self-identity and heal my damaged relationships.  I know that if i dont do somthing about my depression, i will never get better. I do have a psychiatrist though, i have seen her only for a few times.It might sound selfish and somewhat childish, but what i wish for right now is to defer my law studies and dedicate this one year of my life for recovery..


Recovery. I want to recover emotionally, psychologically and physically. I want to deal with my abnormal hormones and ovarian cysts which is causing me really harsh abdominal pain and migraine. I want to eat healthy, exercise, have a routine, write on my journal or write poetry, read books, paint,sketch, learn the piano. But most of all, I want to recover from my depression by regularly seeing my psychiatrist and hopefully i wont need to take antidepressants and mood stabilizers anymore.

But that’s just a wish because I  know my family won’t understand like “what the fuck is depression go pray to god” , my parents would say. Well, fuck off. Fuck life. Life’s full of shit.

Amen to that.

If this be fire

If this be fire.
Then let its scorching flames
lick my flesh till it consumes the Soul that is me.
let this ball of fire,
combusted haze of scarlet and tangerine
and grow
like wildfire in the forest
let it spread its impassioned wings of life.
Yes , let the Fire that was
… be Who that is
me and the fire
become one