Riding on the long tail of depression, anxiety rode atop, its tendrils entangled within the black fur of the dog. The harder you shake, the tighter it constricts upon the flesh, blood vessels squeezed up against one another. In contrast, tufts of hair growing further apart, ultimately breaking free to mingle in a haze of grey in the air.

In the fog, it is hard to decide what is real. Within the chamber of shadows, harsh words, criticisms, lies, hatred echo, bouncing off, amplifying one another. Yet every inhalation results in hairballs, futile grasps at the outlines of precipices to pull myself out of the pits.

I can’t decide which is better, depression or anxiety.



I think I might have just survived my first relapse.


With Depression, the fog presents a risk of pressing the “Game Over” button against my will, of feeling nothing at all and hence playing suicidal thoughts like a toy. That is always my greatest fear because once the game is over, there’s no chance at all to fix broken bridges, let alone see the sunshine behind the parting of the clouds, opportunity to photosynthesis and grow.

Depression goes out in waves, the ebbing and flowing of anxiety attacks but hey at least, my fingers aren’t hovering over the eject button anymore.

I can dream again. I can see beauty again. I am so thankful to be feeling like this again.


Show me truth

Some days I can’t tell

if it’s my depression with

it’s blocked neurotransmitters,

the rolling fog.

Or if it’s my privilege

comfort bred constant dissatisfaction,

mind bred wars.

Or if it’s the stars and signs

the universe needs me to heed,

to metamorphosize




My Happy Place


This great shot by Diana ❤

The MacRitchie Reservoir trail is one refuge from the hustle and bustle of the Singapore city life I enjoy escaping to. It’s also where I go on walks with friends to talk, to enjoy their company in the depths of nature. Extremely therapeutic I must say.

The whole trail (up and down) takes about 3 hours.


What a fucking bad morning it had been.

I have made a total of 3 trips to the toilet to bawl my fucking eyes out.

It’s 1pm.

At least, I feel functional now.

Thank goodness.