Is this just biochemistry?

I woke up today feeling quite low. I suppose this is one of the things I can't help. It's biochemistry in my brain. Sometimes I accept it as so. Some days I feel helpless. Then I go out, and watch people, stare at the stars, find beauty in the smallest of things and places. Sometimes, even the darkest alleys speak out to you.

The capacity and capability to love has always landed me in places that hurt me. But when I think about it, it's probably time. It's probably a sign. If no stars appear in my horizon, it's time to make a move. It's time to care for myself. It's finally time.

It's finally time to do what I want to do, without having to think of someone else.

I have no qualms thinking of someone else every step of the way, if the other person thinks of me too. But like I wrote a while back, if I spend time thinking about other people and they don't think about me, I end up hurting, and they end up happy. And life's not fair, but that's it. So I should better be going on life, moving on.

It's probably time to move on. From everything. And everyone. Of course, there are those I hold dear. I wish they knew how much they mean to me, and I really hope I mean to them as much as they mean to me. But loving someone doesn't make someone love you.

So move on.

It's going to take me some time. Some struggling and grappling with reality, and these waves of uncertainty. But I think soon enough I will be on my way to something better.

I said I don't ever want to be jaded. But maybe, just maybe, love doesn't heal. Time doesn't heal. The only thing that heals is picking up the pieces and moving on.

Or maybe we're all just broken puppets.

Overwhelmed

Why does the world overwhelm me so? I feel like I can't exist here. It gets too much sometimes. I'm not sure if anyone sees me for who I am, or who I can be. But what can you do when your good isn't good enough?

I told a friend that I feel it should be a balance, that we should sometimes overwhelm the world with our existence. In a good way, I hope. And earlier today, I was saying that I've made a lot of mistakes, but I've had a lot of fun, and if I keep hitting walls I'll just keep hitting them until I break down the wall or find an opening.

The truth is, I've found a lot of pain too. But every now and then, you wonder if anyone around you looks at you and thinks "this one's a fighter". Because I don't know if anyone knows how much of a fight I have to put up to simply exist in this world, sometimes.

And if you want an update on my love life, I just want to say these three words: What's going on?

But then again, I'm not sure. I mean, I thought to myself a few days ago. The fact that I know how to hurt and how to feel pain may not necessarily mean it's a bad thing. The ability to feel makes us human. It also means I am not jaded. Which I am glad for. I can still feel. I can still love.

And that's the thing about love. I get tired of giving, not knowing if my love means anything to the people I give it to. But maybe no one loses when it comes to love. Because, as a friend puts it, I know what love is. I actually know what it feels like. I actually know what it can do to you - the good and the bad. And not a lot of people know that. Or not a lot of people care to acknowledge that.

But the truth is, it's 6am and I'm too tired. I think this conversation needs a better time friend. Like 4am. Because 4am knows all my secrets.

More than sticks and stones

Sometimes I just want to know if there's anyone out there who feels the way I do. I know it's normal to face ups and downs, but why do I feel like flinging myself out the open window almost every day? Why do I have this innate need to imagine ending my life in one way or another, and I struggle and battle with it almost every day?

Sometimes that innate need gets so strong I literally harm myself. Although I have been able to restrain myself from doing much harm to myself in a while. In a long while. Which hasn't been easy.

Sometimes I wonder if I just allow myself to take away this self-harming ban I imposed on myself, would it make it easier to go on? Maybe the pain would distract me somehow from the pain I feel inside.

But that's just living a lie.

I'm tired of this struggle. I'm tired of waking up alone and lonely, and knowing that if I disappeared, no one would really care, and that I'd probably have done something better for the world. Sounds like a bout of self-pity, perhaps. But it's just so true. Why do I have to exist to bring negativity around this world? "You always bring people down," an ex used to say angrily. I can't help but hear those words ringing every time I feel down.

So I do what I do best. I stay away from people. And when I do interact with anyone, I throw all my worries away, pack them neatly in a box, and open them again when I am alone. For the truth is, I am a loner. Nobody knows who I am really, and nobody can accept me for who I really am.

I actually wish that there were more people who know me, who loves me, who wants me around. But it's not about quantity, they say, it's about quality. It's true, I have people around me, and I am deeply appreciative of that. I just wish people knew how much they meant to me, and I wish I was as important to them as they were to me. Because it's just as easy leaving me hanging, than to actually take the time to bother.

I shouldn't be surprised. People who claimed to love me more than anything in the world couldn't handle me. Rather than comforting me, they'd rather watch me climb over balconies as I battle internally about whether to jump. When all I need is just to hear you say "Don't." Apparently I don't mean enough to anyone for someone to say "Don't jump. I love you."

Instead, it was easier for them to just walk away, and scoff angrily and say "Do whatever you want to do." What was that? Child treatment? Someone with a mental illness is like a child? So use reverse psychology?

DOES NO ONE REALISE THE LONG TERM DAMAGE IT HAS ON THAT PERSON?

SO TITANIC IS ONE BIG BULLSHIT OF A MOVIE. "You jump, I jump." That is just creation of fiction to make people believe in this thing called love when in reality it doesn't exist.

Love doesn't exist. Maybe it does, for other people. I just don't deserve love.

I think back of all the stupid things I've done for love and I can't help but wonder why I cared. WHY. Men love bitches, they say. They even wrote a book about it. I just need to learn my lesson.

Or not.

I don't know.

All I know right now is that some days, I don't want to belong to the world. I just want to belong to someone. I want to spend rainy days just holding hands, and laughing in bed. I want to love someone with all my heart and for once, have that person love me back with all his heart.

I give up.

Maybe I'm just upset because I realised I was never really loved. By anyone. They say words can't harm you, but you have no idea.

"I'm always so proud of you, but why are you never proud of me?"
"Why should I be proud of you? You've done nothing."

I've been told I was nothing. I was worth nothing.

Now tell me, how do I go on? Where do I find strength and somehow forget these words, and be okay?

The Kitten Rescue Attempt

The public service is a unit that often receives criticism. Almost everyone has a story about corruption, bribery and inefficiency of the public service. I guess in our daily lives, we tend to forget that there are good encounters with the public service as well.

This is my story.

On an early morning in 2005/06 (when I say early morning, I mean about 4am), I was sitting outside a 7-11 in Ampang with two friends, drinking beer. It was rather late, and I was quite tired, so when I heard a "mew" coming from the top of my head, I thought I was hearing things.

It was a shoplot. And one of my friends noted that just the day before, he heard a kitten and it sounded as though the kitten was trapped upstairs, by a ledge on one of the shoplots, and had no way out. Kittens are mischievous by nature, and it's no surprise that they can sometimes get themselves into trouble.

It was a Saturday night, or rather, an early Sunday morning. I looked up and tried searching for the kitten. We went to 7-11 and borrowed a torchlight and located the kitten. It was trapped and had no way of getting down.

There was a water cooler nearby, and its sibling, I assume, was hiding under it, mewing in fear. Fear for its own self, and for the other kitten, I assume. I tried coaxing it into my arms, and it slowly nestled itself into my arms, in search for some comfort, I believe. After it had calmed down a little, we decided we should try rescuing the other kitten.

We tried to get the trapped kitten to jump down; my friend carried me and I was high enough, almost reaching the kitten but with a distance of possibly almost a metre. I wanted it to jump to my arms, to safety. But it was too afraid.

So I took the other kitten, and tried to coax both of them down, thinking that perhaps they could find a way to find strength in each other again, and then the trapped kitten would jump to my arms, to be with the other kitten.

But it didn't.

So the next best thing to do, we thought, was to call the fire department. Yes, it was 4am, we were drunk, and we decided to call the fire department. Both my friends thought it was a better idea if I made the call, considering it might have been incredibly ridiculous if a drunken man made a call to the fire department at 4am on a Sunday morning reporting about a trapped kitten.

And so I did. It wasn't an easy phone call, because I had trouble describing the whole situation.

But what happened next was something we completely did not expect: The fire department arrived within 10 minutes in a fire truck.

What ensued next was a rescue mission that lasted two hours or more. It was daytime by the time it ended. Unfortunately, we didn't manage to rescue the kitten. Not even with the fire truck, because the ladder could not be angled at a position to not hit the billboard.

I must honestly say that I left with mixed feelings. I was upset, yes, by the fact that we didn't manage to rescue the kitten. But what made me feel better that fateful day was the fact that people cared. It may have seemed like a trivial matter, but they took the time to try. It took them two hours or more, climbing up the ladder, angling it this way and that way, and it wasn't easy because the kitten kept running away, into the building.

So it was actually quite heartening.

So I believe there are people out there in the public service who care about serving the public, and even in the tiniest of concerns, they see the significance of the issue. They saw how distressed I was, and I was begging them again and again, asking them not to give up. And they didn't.

Not for those two hours in the wee hours of the morning.

We left hopeful, not dejected.

And if you're wondering what happened to the kitten, on Monday, when my friend went to work, he stopped by at the shophouse, and went upstairs and managed to rescue the poor little thing. It was hungry and soaking wet, from the rain or other elements like pipewater and such, but the good thing is that it was rescued, after all.

So there ARE people who care.

Let's not trick ourselves into thinking that there aren't.

"I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart."
- Anne Frank

If you're reading this...

Great! I want you to know that you might be wondering if anyone out there feels the way you do. Well, the answer is yes. It may be hard to fathom sometimes, but people do go through what you're going through. It may be in a different condition, situation, under different circumstances. But someone else feels the way you do.

Don't worry if you're feeling alone. I feel the same way too. A lot. Almost all the time. But I find comfort in knowing that, once in a while, someone cares. It happens at the most random of moments. When you need it most. A stranger would walk up to you and say he loves your smile. A child would hold on to your fingers for more than three seconds and smile. Someone would write you a long note, telling you that they were listening when you thought no one was. A friend would hold you close and let you cry on his shoulders, with snot running down your nose.

Hang on. There will be an answer. Wait for it.

In the meantime, smile. You never know when someone notices your smile. It might just brighten up their day. They might be walking for an audition and you might have just thrown them such a beautiful smile that makes them forget for a split second how nervous they were. Or you could have calmed their nerves down a little.

Continue living life. You might think the ordinary things you do are just too ordinary - taking a shower, putting on clothes, stepping out of the house. But what you may not realise is that someone might have noticed the way your hair falls in your face and how beautiful it looks. You may not know that they notice the shirts you wear and what they say. And how much they can relate. Or how it makes them smile.

Maybe the pain will never really go away completely. But living in the moment, savouring every sensation, every touch, every embrace, every colour of the spectrum (and oh what a broad spectrum life is!) can lead you to so many things - so many chances, so many instances, so many coincidences.

And sometimes, maybe once in a while, a coincidence can lead you to the best thing in your life.

New balance

There's no pattern to this, so it's hard for me to know when I'd be hit with a downswing. Or a manic attack. There were a few triggers that led me to feel down for a while.

I somehow feel like I can't be saved.

I know the facts, and that doesn't hinder me from living life. It's incurable, and I know it. But people live with it, and some people live very productive lives. Some 90% of marriages or relationships with a bipolar person end in divorce or separation. So it's easy to point blame. We're the crazy ones. We're the ones who are unstable, not of sound of mind, unable to make decisions.

The existence of the World Wide Web is making me feel like I don't belong even more. I look at tweets and status updates, and I look at latest news and research developments, and I wonder where my place is in this world. I feel like if I dropped out, if I checked out, it would actually be alright. Nothing would feel wrong. Balance would probably be restored. And that's even giving myself some credit. What makes me think I even matter? I don't. So let's just say that nothing would happen if I were gone.

And that comforts me a little.

It's pretty easy to brush it off, sometimes. It's not like I'm not genuine in feeling these feelings. I am. Completely. I just don't know how to deal with things, with people, with myself. There's great paranoia that accompanies this illness. You are afraid of everything - and then you brush your fears aside and you don't know what's right.

I'm so tired. I don't like the feeling of feeling victimised. I am not a victim. I just happen to have been blessed or cursed with this, depending on how you view it. And those words keep ringing in your ears, making you feel inadequate. Making you feel strange and all those words that do not describe a normal, loveable woman.

For I am not a loveable woman. I don't turn heads. I don't make hearts race. I don't give them sweaty palms.

All I do is make them more confused about life, because I can't figure out what the meaning of life is. No wonder my past lovers were so eager and keen to let me go. They craved normalcy. One even said that, affirmed that. Out loud. To me. To my ears.

They bled.

Sure, people hate negativity. Who doesn't? Don't bring me down, they sang. I listened. So what can I do but to pretend? That every time a tear comes so near, I lie through gritted teeth and make believe. I create my own world, and I go into it every time things turn ugly. I make believe that I could be happy. That I belong. That it is possible for someone like me to be appreciated. To be loved.

And I try my best to ignore that inner voice that whispers "bullshit".

I just didn't think that I would fall into a depressed mood so early in the year. It's funny, though, really. You see the beauty of everything when you're high in the clouds, and you see the beauty of everything when you're down, right down in your dungeon of pain. It's like the raindrops suddenly hurt you, and yet you want them to. Because feeling something, is better than feeling nothing.

Maybe, medically speaking, logically speaking, I just need a medication adjustment.

Happiness, hit her like a train on a track

To be honest, it was difficult coming up with a blog dedicated to my lack of a love life. Not that I have one right now, but maybe because that's not all that builds me. I don't know, I guess every now and then I'm allowed to deviate from this, despite the big title up above, you know.

But in keeping with the theme, I do have something to say. It's been quiet lately in this department, but I am having the time of my life. A thought came to me yesterday. I thought that I was at the peak of my youth. And then I disputed myself, because I realised I felt this same way at a point in 2008. And both times there was a similarity - I was single.

And then I traced my memory back to 2004. A complicated time. Single? No? I didn't care.

Maybe it was the not caring that made me happy. Because I am used to being so organic in my thinking; that every single thought that crosses my mind needed deep analysis or else it would be a waste and that would, in return, bother me to the deepest, greatest level. So every once in a while, when I let go and just be, I can find myself being dragged into this open space where nothing but good juju vibes float with you.

Of course, there is also the possibility that I could be hypomanic. But if I had to track down every single emotion and pin it down as an episode, then I might as well pull out a big chart to draw out the mood swings of my life.

So let's keep it as a completely non-medical situation. At least for now. At least until I get pulled higher into this uncontrollable energetic burst of either high agitation or eagerness, or when racing thoughts come speeding through my mind at the speed of a bullet train, or when I start believing in Santa again. So, at least for now, I am logical. I am sane.

And happy.

It's funny how I think my days are numbered when I'm happy. It's like I feel as if I should be punished for feeling this way. It's self-destructive. So I let go. I think I'm not letting go of love. I don't think I will ever be able to let go of love. I am one who knows that no matter how many times or how deeply I get hurt, I always find the capacity to love. And you find love in the strangest places. In the quirkiest of bookstores. In the dingiest of motels. That, too, is a debatable question. But I truly believe love exists everywhere. So I will never let go of love.

What I'm letting go of, is the notion that I might meet someone. It's difficult meeting someone who will accept me for all that I am. People don't find me attractive, but that's okay. I'll live.

It's just that, once in a while, I wish I had strong arms to envelop me. I wish I had beautiful eyes to stare at. I wish I had, well, love. In that way.

Yeah.