I’ve felt a lot of things, numb has to be the worst of them all.

I’ve felt a lot of things, numb has to be the worst of them all.

I had a dream the other night, I was assisting death – not in the way that it sounds though. I was experiencing the impending death of another through myself – but also, it was my own death. I woke up to what felt like a continuation of the nightmare, my eyes stayed shut, all bodily movement had left me. I could not scream, even though it felt like my soul was leaving through my mouth, it too remained shut. I don’t know how long I remained that way, physically paralysed by my worst, most currently awaited fear.

It may sound odd, it does to me too, but I feel like I’m anticipating the reality of this death. I do not take pleasure in pain, but I sure do like the world to revolve around me sometimes and right now, this sense of numbness and dread that weighs down upon me has become too much, I don’t think I can handle much more – I guess if my fear manifests itself soon enough, I may be relieved somewhat because then I can grieve and I can feel, now I’m numb, tired and in over my head – this is far worse, I think, I wouldn’t know.

What makes me feel far less selfish, is sitting in that hospital room, listening to pleas for God to take her back. Maybe my acceptance of her impending death is only to let her go and finally be free. Do not get me wrong, I don’t want her gone, I really don’t – I love her with everything in me but to see her suffer breaks me. I can’t bear to close my eyes because all I see is the reality of the bleak future that might be.

I guess I am weak because I don’t know how to carry on anymore, it is just too much.

Sometimes we have to say goodbye.

Have you ever found yourself at a point in your life where you truly believed that death was the best option whether it was for you or for someone else? 

I’ve been suicidal before, but I don’t think I ever truly thought that death was the best option even during those trying times but now I’m reconsidering it.

Two years ago, my mum’s mum suffered a severe stroke – it came as a shock to most of our family, the matriarch of our family was no more, well not in the sense that we viewed her as. 

Today, she’s suffering, no longer the woman that she was, but a mere shadow of her former self. I think I said goodbye to her on that very day she suffered her stroke, but now seeing her everyday, praying to God in repetitive slurs for comfort – I hope she receives it. It’s more than difficult for me to hear these childlike pleas for God to ease her pain – both physical and mental, sometimes I feel like we’re holding her captive, my mum’s family needs her, she’s our cornerstone – but sometimes I wonder if our need for her presence in our lives is only prolonging her suffering.

Scared + Stuck

This post was first written in ink. 

So maybe it’s time to write, it really does feel like ages since the last time I picked up a pen and saw the contents of my head come to life, in a neat checkerboard of black and white. 

It feels amazing, I know I haven’t said a word, well strictly speaking, written a word about the troubles that walk within my mind. But there’s a sense of satisfaction to the clean cut nature of writing, an almost opposing image to the chaos in my head.

I thought this, university, was a new beginning. But I’m still the same as I was a few months ago – ridden with insecurities about not being normal enough, sociable enough, there enough – really it’s just a fear and perhaps a knowledge that I’m not enough. Physically I’d say I’m okay, but that’s where it stops, I’ve never quite mastered the art of acting perfectly confident, jovial and all round normal despite hours of quietly observing friends around me. Fake it till you make it, they all said – I’m just not quite sure when it is that I’ll make it. 

My expectations for now, this period of my life, that I’ve always viewed as the impending yet unattainable future we’re so grand – they didn’t involve old habits, there was no not initiating plans, no pining after things that don’t want to be caught. They involved rather, adventure – well really anything that isn’t this routine mundanity I’ve allowed myself to settle into. 

I used to view myself as somewhat of a leader, but for the life of me I want someone else to grab the reigns – to create my own adventure for me – so that all I have to do is experience in accordance with my expectations. 

However, I think I’m not warranted to feel this way, given my lack of drive to resolve my current state of emotional dystopia. I’m scared though, I’m not sure of what, but I’m so scared it’s paralysing – I really don’t know what to do. I’m scared and stuck. 


I don’t know what to call it – anxiety, depression, chronic sadness – regardless, there’s a psych term for it, I’m just not quite sure which. 

I’ve had self diagnosed anxiety ever since I can remember – my family tends to wear our anxiety as a badge of honour – and recently, in the last few years it’s been properly diagnosed, I think. 

But hey, with the suicidal thoughts, self harm and complete crazy over the years I’m pretty sure it’s real.

I’m feeling this incredible sense of loss of control – this is usually when I need something concrete – generally the completely identifiable pain of a blade slicing shallowly through the surface of my skin. That’s sensation – it may hurt like a mother, but it’s anything but insipid. 

And right now, I’m drowning in a sea of insipidness. It’s so insipid I’m actually listening to the lyrics of songs I’m playlist, I don’t have the energy, to work, to cry, to feel but it should pass – I guess.

Only right now I’m in a never ending tunnel, of murky unsurety – I don’t know what the future holds, but I don’t like the present and I hope the future doesn’t mirror it. 

Insufficiency is key

Right now I’m not even sure if my writing is decent – I haven’t had enough time to think or process, but everything I’m saying is real and raw. 

I never thought I’d find myself in a scenario where I’d be facing unrequited love – it hurts, horribly.

I guess the idea that i’d met someone that got me, that was funny, and that was easy to talk to was perhaps a little too good to be true.

Lately I’ve been waking around with a heavy sense of insufficiency. God, I really feel like I’m not good enough and don’t worry I’ve tried to rectify that – more substance into my usual conversations, more gloss on my usually chapped lips – it’s weird, when I’m finally trying to make an effort, in the hopes of seeming like a viable option I’m anything one. 

What’s worse is that I’ve become the walking talking heart broken cliche – I may not be overindulging in sugary treats but my mind is pre occupied in what could’ve been, in what should’ve been if only I’d been more sufficient, I feel a gaping sense of emptiness with everything that I do – trying my best to fathom a smile, trying my best to forget and maybe my facade – the one that I’ve painted so perfectly – will hopefully become a reality.

I’ve never experienced this, it’s horrible, it’s gut wrenching – I hope it ends, I hope that I find myself sufficient. 

It’s all an empty pit of nothingness 

I’ve always considered myself a dreamer – ever since I can remember I’ve dreamt bigger than big, but now I’ve let myself down. I dreamt of obtaining a degree at the best of universities, I dreamt of being swept off my feet in a fairytale romance. 

I started my first year at university a few weeks ago, after much dismay about not getting accepted into medicine at the university of my downsized dreams, I celebrated my acceptance at the best veterinary school in the continent – the first week had me incredibly chuffed that I had been chosen for a career tailor made for me. 

At about the same time I caught feelings for a very good friend, unrequited feelings that is – or so I think. The insecurities have never been so bad, I’m obviously not sufficient enough for a relationship, this brand of crazy that I’ve got going on can get a little old at times, and whose to say I’m even attractive – sure, I may think so but do other people? 

Now, I’ve been waking up every night reaching for something that isn’t there – I have regrets about not opening certain doors when the doors never existed in the first place. 

I wish I could have dreamt big enough to have gone to an Ivy League as I dreamt of every single time my dad reminisced over his days at Harvard. I wish I could’ve valued myself more to not catch feelings and consequently lower my moral preferences to try and corner said subject of my affection. 

Really, I don’t know what it is – I’ve been feeling this incredible emptiness, a gaping hole of nothing, deep within my gut that had me try to grasp thin air in an effort to fill that hole regardless of the measures necessary to fill it – but as I try and fill that hole it only increases in size, the feeling of emptiness growing exponentially.
I can’t call out for help, because I’m afraid that others might share my self disappointment too. 

Consent – what does it really mean?

Consent is a funny story – really, I went through school with the notion that no meant no and nothing less or more, and with not much time, free from the wrought iron gates of my all-girls private school, I up until recently carried with me, the naivety that other students were getting taught the same. Perhaps they were, and just don’t care about anything that doesn’t involve self-gain.

I’m writing this two months after the incident – that I perhaps overreacted about but nevertheless, it affected me deeply.

I was on a date, and what I thought would be a normal dinner and a movie turned out not to be quite as expected. Dinner as we had agreed on earlier, just didn’t seem to be on the cards for me – my date said that he wasn’t hungry, something which I thought was an excuse to get out of paying for dinner and so I offered to pay for myself after having skipped lunch – that too didn’t satisfy him and he insisted we watch a movie, he did, however, suggest that I could have dinner on my own while he found something better to do.

Now, all these weeks later I wish I’d agreed and let him be on his merry way. I may consider myself strong, but really I’ve got a myriad of insecurities – and being insufficient is one of them. You see, going to just watch a movie meant that all I was good enough for was a makeout session, to put it bluntly. Anyway, in an effort to make it seem like I was that strong woman that I try so hard to be – I agreed to watch a movie, and hopelessly tried to convince myself that it was my choice and I really wasn’t in the mood for those tempura sushi rolls that I had been craving all day.

Back to the movies, you see over the last couple of months, the cinema had been the place where we made out, hooked up if you may – I was that person, the person that I laughed at and looked down upon, but it was in those horrifically awkward fumbling moments that I discovered something about myself – I didn’t want to be that girl because each time I left the theatre I felt a compounded sense of self-loathing that quickly turned to indifference. I felt absolutely nothing but what’s worse is that I never once spoke up until that day.

I may have agreed to not having dinner, but I took a stand and perhaps it was too little too late. I told him we were watching the movie, with a deliberate emphasis on the word watching, however, my wishes were quickly dismissed with a single look. He asked for an explanation and refuted it by saying he would only listen if there was logic to what I was saying and that I enjoyed making out with him (which was true, but I value myself far more) – what affected me was that regardless of whether or not I made logical sense my choices are my own and shouldn’t warrant me having to explain myself. We watched the movie that night, but on his terms.

I don’t think I have ever felt more self-doubt as I did that day, my personality and presence were insufficient, they weren’t good enough, I was just a warm body and soft lips – I allowed myself to become that and I will regret that everyday.