c*devotchka

having my Cake, eating it – and not counting every last calorie

hold my balance when i can’t look down July 27, 2008

Filed under: depression — c*devotchka @ 12:05 am
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it’s been a long time.

and i’m sorry.

and the only way to start again, is simply, to start.

the following post, my heart’s pinned on my sleeve. beware, sappy post.

__

it’s been quite the year.

started work and school in the same week. it was a psychotic zero-to-hero moment of madness.

i started with zest.

but exhausted. this word, it doesn’t cut it.

administrative mistakes made by the local school has its price, always, the students. my friends dropped out. i ended up taking 7 modules in 3 months and was denied a break before the next trimester commenced. i turned into an automaton.

exhausted, this word, it holds no meaning for me.

school, work, personal problems (my marriage is fine, in case you’re wondering) i’ve been dragged screaming into, getting kicked out of our house when ravi was overseas for 5 weeks.

but okay, this is life.

it’s life.

you jump through hoops, over hurdles, you get on with it.

finally, we moved into our new place. finally, i think, we’re gonna be okay. it’s gonna be okay. i can start attending classes again. i can attend to (their) personal problems with one less headache.

i was fine. then i woke up one saturday to go to class. and ended up sitting at the edge of my bed, sobbing in my underwear, freshly applied mascara painstakingly applied in perfect strokes now streaking down my face. i buried my face in my hands, trying to swallow my sobs. but no, i don’t want to hide it from ravi.

i needed a hug.

i woke him up.

“i want to go to class. but i can’t. it hurts. it hurts all over. please get me the deep heating rub, i don’t know which box it’s in.”

-grunt-

“please, sayang, i want to go to class. i need to go to class.”

-grunt- “what’s wrong with you! i’m trying to sleep.”

going to class, to me, that meant things were getting back on track.

what flashed across my mind was the exact same visual i got 5 years ago when i was semi-drunk and depressed, and saw myself sitting on the window ledge, then pushing off, and seeing only the stars in the sky, and then nothing. seeing the midnight stars and then nothing. somehow, that was attractive.

but i’m different now. somewhat.

that flash doesn’t compel me to move to the window.

“ravi, please, i need the deep heating rub, i don’t know where it is, it hurts all over, i want to go to class, i cannot walk.”

-grunt-

sobbing uncontrollably with my tube of mascara still tightly clasped in my right hand, i laid down on my side. ravi’s immovable when he sleeps. and i understand, because i am impossible when asleep.

i buried my ashen face into my pillow. worried a bit about staining my pillows with mascara. ridiculous.

i smsed a classmate that i couldn’t go to class, i just couldn’t.

somehow, i fell asleep.

and when i came to, i realised.

this.

this was my nervous breakdown

i felt weak.

to admit.

that i couldn’t do it.

i still do.

a psychology student should be the last person to do this to herself. aren’t we our harshest critics.

now i think, better the body than the mind.

i called the school, “nicole, i need to defer this trimester.”

she made me understand that i’d suffer academic penalties – a Withdrawal and Failure, even if i’d passed previous assignments with flying colours. not to mention the financial losses.

“i understand.”

that was 3 weeks ago

ravi’s overseas again for a month, our wedding anniversary’s this Tuesday.

i’ve been getting migraines, acne (something i’d been blessed not to have all my life), IBS symptoms and now, eczema.

i am not healthy.

not in any sense of the word.

i came home tonight, at 2130.

dropped my bags on the floor, unpacked my backpack of groceries, sat on the sofa and switched on the tv.

and suddenly, i burst into tears.

i’m going crazy.

i’m losing something.

i get up to do various chores.

i keep crying.

i read the papers, i stop crying.

the opening credits of Troy come on.

i burst into tears again.

then i get involved, but i don’t drool over Eric Bana. usually, i do.

and again, sporadically over the span of the entire movie, i’d burst into tears at inappropriate moments.

it’s living at home with my parents all over again, crying most of the time, trying not to let anyone know.

it’s been 8 weeks now.

and it’s 0400am.

and i’ve been crying for four hours.

i want this to stop.

i know i can make it stop.

i just need to make it stop faster.

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