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,
[Edit: It’s all of the above.]
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. I feel functional now.
Why you gotta revisit my ass when I’m working and trying to set my life up for bigger things?
At times like this I wished I can be like any other normal human beings, like those in my close proximity, who fall ill with flu or fever, take a sick day, pop some pills and then be back in full gear, working, grinding.
Because, I can’t take a sick day because I’m feeling like “utter piss in my brain” or “wanting to kill someone with myself on the top of the list”. Neither do I want to go back to the Prozacs, the Xanaxs which will work but leave me bedridden for 2 weeks, a non-functioning blob under the blankets.
Yesterday, I felt a lift in my mood for the first time in a long month and that was when the burst of productivity came, goals set, plans planned. But today, I’m back in the ditches again, confused, helpless, playing victim, being everything I hate about myself.
But new chapter. This is the part of the narrative when I live through the relapse, beat the shit out of it and gain an arsenal to prepare myself for the next one.
Though I will have to say I don’t need to know my enemies since I don’t have any.