him...

sometimes, it makes me wonder... is it really therapy? does he really focus on the psychological part of my problems or is he really the type where he is more into prescribing meds to help with the symptoms. I am not really sure which is which... it's always about meds... it's always like that... it's not that I hate seeing him, it's not that I dread the sessions.... it's not that at all... in fact, I kinda enjoy talking to him, I've learnt a lot that I wouldn't have otherwise, learnt alot about what my text books couldn't teach, learnt a lot about life and living in itself....

yet, time and again, I question... I really do hate this part of me that questions everything that comes in sight.... I keep wondering and seeking answers in areas that perhaps is better left unknown, untouched.... I keep wanting to know more about things that perhaps is just not the right time for me yet... yet, I keep wanting to... I lack the patience that I truly need so badly... I need the wisdom of being able to look at different situations and act accordingly.... I am just too self centred....

we talk about Freud, about his other patients, about so many other things, but never really directly about me... I know well though that no matter how far fetch it all seemed, somehow it's all related to me in one way or another... but it's just that it's always turning around in circles... beating around the bush... it's never directly, simply about me.

perhaps he's doing it for my good, perhaps he is being cautious, not wanting to make me think more that I should, worry more than I already am... perhaps, it's more of wanting me to use my head for once and not just simply rely on everyone else and direct information for answers... perhaps, it's to encourage me... to let me know that I am not alone...

on one hand, I really wished that he would talk to me directly about the issue at hand and not about other things... on the other, I am somewhat greatful that he's not interrogrative.... and doesn't rush me.... where he isn't like Rabin who made it straight to the point, with my file on his desk, wide open and all... and with me selecting my words so that it doesn't end up being scribbled in his file of mine something to show that I've gone insane...

with him, this was never the case.... I can say what I want, when I want, however much I want.... there really is no limit, there really is no rules... it's like talking to a friend who is really well read and patient... it's like I am being given a time space of an hour a month to either be spent venting, or simply listening to stories and reflecting on them....

it is nice in a way....
yea...

I guess, I shouldn't really be thinking so much... in the main thing is still that I don't collapse, that I don't break down... that I will remain sane even when life is trying to convince me to take the other path down insanity....

Madness defined....

what is madness anyway? is it used simply to describe someone who is mentally ill? what then constitutes to the whole definition of it when it simply only takes in one-sided stories of people who are mad? is it so that just because these people, these presumably "mad" people would and shall have no say in this due to the fact that "autonomy" don't play a valid role in their lives in the eyes of others?

so then, is madness simply a term coined up and is socially defined?

or can madness be a form of introspective speculation of oneself? a sort of perception that people who are "mad" come about themselves? perhaps then, they wouldn't be really "mad", would they, perhaps then they might actually turn out to be more clear cut in their perception and senses of this world, more rational as they are able to see from a perspective that most of us would never dream of seeing, not to say, rather, not wanting to see....

the world through the eyes of the presumably mentally ill might in fact be much much more real than the presumably real world that we are told we live in today... perhaps those living in a state of hallucinations and delusions are actually those who are really aware of what life is... not so much of us being those who are aware...

madness...

just because someone goes and kill himself, is that madness?
just because someone's ideas are different from the norm, is that madness?

what is there is a legitimate reason behind all these that we just wouldn't accept?
would it be then that we are really the ones who are mad?

寝たくない！

今日、寝たくない・・・
目を閉じたら、悪い記憶が憶えているから。
痛いよ、不幸な幼年時代の記憶を憶える時。
忘れたい！全部で忘れたい！
新しいの人生が活きたいから・・・
でも、この事ができる？
力がないの私・・・大嫌い！

精神医学者に会って、薬を飲んで
毎日自分の気分を守ってみる・・・
私、良い子成った。
もう一年間だった・・・
如何してまだ病気なの？
何時か元気になるかしら？

怖いよ・・・
厭だよ！

it's only disconnection that I feel

I feel disconnected from my life, this world... it's as if I am living in a dream... where everything is surreal.... it's like i live moment to moment discontinueingly... there is not link between yesterday, today, tommorow... everyday is different and yet everyday is the same... there is no progression, no regression... just mundane life with it's ups and downs that are all so familiar to me now....

it doesn't make sense... this emptiness that i feel... tha ti've fought hard against... it's intimidating... for I jsut can't surpass it's powerful stance that renders me motionless... that paralyses my soul.... taking away my will, my life... along with hopes and dreams that once seemed so real.... as reality fades and insanity invades....

I know not about who I am or what I am here for... everything is in a midst.... everything is starting to make less and less sense to me as time goes on... I really should be feeling awful and depressed... perhaps then will this feelings make sense to my nonsensical life.... but then, now as I am able to perceive the glass as half full, I am in but utter dismay to find myself at wits end to enderstand my very own existance on this planet called Earth....

it's all not making sense....

nothing is wrong... in fact, everything is going great... the only problem is that I am not emotionally present in this life that I've wished for for so long... this life where I have a role to play... this me that I have yearned to become have since then appeared to me a shell... containing no soul.... my soul has set sail on a voyage to an unknown land... hoping to find this thing called "feeling''....

I am but a lone ranger on my journey in search of myself....
knowing well that I will never ever find me again....
once shattered a vase will never be made whole..... together may the pieces be put... yet forever the cracks my past shall be reminded....

I am not making any sense.... I will be considered lucky even if one small portion of this is viewed as coherent.... cos I don't feel much coherence now... I feel separated... I feel disorganised.... a being alive yet not living... oh how familiar this phrase sounds... as if it's songs to my ears with the flowing past of years and sands of time.... a song of melancholy and sadness, peacefullness turned emptiness.... the song of an empty shell of a person....

yes... living yet not a live...
alive yet not living....

like a broken record.... with screeching sounds of a song that will never again be complete.... never again will it play that once melodious tune as it gives in to the darkness that is all consuming....

my mind is killing me

i don't want to go on.... it's hard... so hard...
yet I don't want to leave everything unfinished....
don't want to just give up....

I want to stand strong and brave the mighty winds of change....
but fear, oh all consuming and powerful...
I have sadly succumbed to thee....