15 June 2013
Most times,
my mind is buzzing and hazy. Unhappiness
changes people. My downgrade from cloud 9 was unprecedented. I have gone
unannounced and to unknown depths is where I am now.
At most
times I am impatient with myself for having to zonk out. My brain must be super tired. It refuses to
think, to analyze, to listen. What it wanted was to be by itself, placidly
entering the plaza of nothing, being attended to and demanding gratification.
It was on a shut-down day off for system maintenance against my will. Was that
physiological or psychological? I was actively thinking, I would do this and I
would go there. The muted brain countered: “Do so at your own risk. You know
very well that I am running on minimal power, you’ll end up messing things up
and tiring me more from your anxiety, incapacity and feelings of assimilated
rejection. I will shut you down so you
wouldn’t resist.” It invariably puts itself, and me to sleep. I end up dozing off
in the most unexpected moments in the office and at home. My mind was saying, “Please
let me off from thinking that matter, I’d rather sleep.” And so it happens,
beyond my assent and contrary to my will.
It can’t
recuperate quickly with real life changes that were happening. For example, Sam
has to repeat statements about twice before I get to answer her. Or, I forget
something I just said or something I just did. It is frustrating especially
when I’m in my competitive mode and the rest of me do not cooperate. These
self-glitches heap up on each other; I was almost always expecting myself to be
wrong regardless of what I did.
That hazy
time-out mindset came upon me while I was typing this, I had to sleep. Only got
back now to completing this entry.
Baclaran is
a spiritual fortress. The traffic-extended jeepney commute, the lengthy
discussion where I poured out all that I had to say that was bothering me for
five months now, the amusement in the driver’s eyes as he was overhearing our
conversation though he misdirected us by sentencing us to walk on the one pm
sun-scorched path to Baclaran church while he knew very well that he was
leading his jeepney to where a shaded path to the church, the magnificent
calming presence in Baclaran church, the lit candles on the praying section; I
would go on and on in enumerating. A hand was leading me I felt what I was
going through was orchestrated by someone more powerful than all that there is,
not an accident I had to pass through in drudgery where the days piled on each
other unremarkably next to the overwhelming pain of self-annihilation and
crushing alienation.
My mood
dipped down after I thought I was cheated. I perceived that everyone was
intending to cheat on me after Sam and I purchased her two pairs of black
school slacks and the lie only a fool would fall for about the selling price of
the mold spiced sapsap tuyo. My
extreme supposition then: it really was tiring to live; people have the
intention of cheating each other.
I was on my
fastidious bacteria mood as Micai called it. I wouldn’t grow in environments
that were unresponsive to my needs. I was refusing to adapt. It was tiring to
live without understanding anything and where trying to understand meant sorrow.
God was
letting me be cheated or feel cheated to test my faith. I lacked faith. I no
longer believed in anything other than the truth that God exists though to me,
all light was extinguished. Living was tedium because it was hard for me to
believe in myself and others other than my direct workplace superiors.
They somehow
had a terrorizing effect on me. I am but a civilian, a casualty was what I
became. I am conscious I am on the brink of being insane if I push on with
being my beloved and much admired convenor’s research assistant. I placed
myself too much under their authority, all of me was stifled and my poor soul
bore the brunt of crushing castigation and self-reproach. The insides of me
were being demolished, much to my dismay and to my disservice to self, with the
legal arrangements signed, consented and led by me.
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