Look at me! Only talking about my new year resolutions towards the end of January.
I haven’t had much time to myself, really. I blame it on myself being too much of a bloody workaholic and choosing to work instead of rest. Unfortunately life is still as it is since September, with me still working part time and keeping it from majority of my friends. It was only untill recently when my church friends dropped in for dessert at the restaurant and asked me when I had planned for my new year that got me thinking.
And I’ve been thinking about it during my little breaks over at my long table with no Internet connection and on the bus where I count the MRT stations go by till I finally reach my destination.
And honestly, I have absolutely nothing planned for this year.
A general direction, yes. Basically I aim to not fuck up too badly within the year. I try not to ruin lives and/or relapse into another lengthy depressive phase. More secondary to that, I try to be happy. To do things I want to do if I allow myself to. From the littlest things like changing the music on my player and buying nanoblocks, to travelling overseas and sleeping on comfy queen sized beds to the pitter patter of rain outside.
2015 had been another whirlwind of monotony with sharp dibs into pitfuls of trigger-traumatic dreams. I who had dedicated most of her life to being a wallflower had somehow been pulled into drama at work and online. I who had spent most of her conscious life not feeling jack shit was forced to give a fuck.
These situations that the year had put me in had opened my eyes to how truly broken I always have been, so much that it has become glaring to my ownself. Never had I ever blanked out so many times, waiting for an emotion to help me rationalise things in a more humane way, only to have nothing come up.
Constantly I argued with myself that this was the consequences of fatigue and forcefully taking myself out of my comfort zone and that I had to press on to get stronger. But this is exactly why I am never at peace with myself. Because I can feel my body giving way but I refuse to stop because I have so many expections for myseld. I suspect that I have been lying to myself so often to get the results I want, so much so that I do not know where the grey line between being okay and suicidal is anymore.
Often, I find myself crumbling inside. Amongst pointless routine greetings and empty conversations. Maybe I’m finally breaking, or I’ve started tearing myself apart inside unconsciously as my longing for the hospital bed and thick hollowed needles build over the time I spend in my loneliness.
So there 2015 is in a nutshell. Pretty depressing in my opinion. But at least I have learnt a few things about myself. Like how rest is really important and that I am not a machine and even I am I were, I can still break down as well.
This 2016 I’ve decided not to plan anything, it never goes my way anyway. I just hope that I will be able to find the strength to remind myself that it’s okay not to always be happy but I shouldn’t always be okay not being okay.
It seems like my rest year is up though, and 2016 is going t be another challenging year for my family and I. Nonetheless, I hope we push through another in one piece
or at least just a few.
Cheers to a new year.