I miss you dearly, dear. To comfort and with the best intentions, they say that I miss the idea of you, the romance, the replaceable and ambiguous lover figure that so happened to be you. But I think to myself, I truly miss you. You. You, as your own person, one I felt the safest with, who I could assuredly confide in, one who spoke to me with humanity and warmth. You let me selfishly store my sorrows in your heart, you even cherished them.
I’ll not dwell on the romance. I’ll try not to even dwell on you.
Certainly, the idea of you and the romance is malleable. But the you that I long for is not an idea but a person. The absence of you has left me vulnerable and ill.
Truly, I miss you dearly.
I’m just so afraid that it won’t work.
Long and arduous hours,
ugly and insufferable trial.
Just succeed, please.
You can’t be sad for too long. Of course, you’re allowed to be sad, but tolerance is always limited. She has kind people around her; they are caring, patient, willing, but even the most selfless person can be all these for only a while. So the sad one who has been sad for far too long is no longer pitied, but she becomes redundant, tiring, pathetic. How much longer is she going to be sad for? What else does she want but unrequited attention? Over time, her unrelenting sadness depletes the patience of others, it persists beyond their limited provision. Her misfortune is trivialized, but she can’t blame them; she, too, doesn’t have the capacity to help another as helpless as her.
So these kind people wait from afar until she heals, or they leave entirely, bored. Nevertheless, she is left alone and silent.
I cannot sleep, for
I cannot stop remembering
It feels like I’m hiding in fear. In fearful anticipation.
For the months that I began to feel better, mornings after bad nights felt merely like hangovers. After a night of intoxicating sadness or anxiety, I’d wake up feeling weak and tired. But this would fade as the day went on.
After a bad last night, I still feel it. I feel exhausted more than tired, my digging nails leave purple dents in my white palms. I pull out all the manuals in my backpack: go out in the sun, be where people are– don’t be alone, focus on work if you can, stay hydrated, do breathing exercises, tense and release. But after crossing all these off, after sitting at a Starbucks with progress on my laptop and a refreshing lemonade beside me, I can’t help but endure a constant, throbbing pain. It makes my ears ring. My eyes well. Makes every potentially fatal action inviting.
But it’ll pass. Just wait it out. I’ll wait. Wait in fearful anticipation.
Lately I’ve just been feeling so sad.
I just feel so fearful and small all the time. I absolutely dread the upcoming week. I need to calm down and just take one day at a time. I need to. But I just can’t and I feel so pathetic. I’m so sad and I’m so scared. I feel helpless. I’m driven into anxiety attacks, fits of terror, when my mind wanders even a little. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how to express a sadness that bullies me into silence.
So I’m supposed to be giving an oral presentation today about propaganda to the beloved Doctor Ian Hill and his subordinates (the rest of the class), but I woke up to a whirlwind of snow and Vancouver’s Transit incompetence. So now, I’m sipping some coffee at cafe Artigiano, and I don’t really know what to do with myself.
I really want to give my presentation today. I absolutely dreaded it the entire week, (hell, even the first day I signed up), but now that I’ve mentally prepared myself for a full month and the oral isn’t happening, I feel like I’m a Wacky Inflatable Tube Man that lost willpower and is now just a Wacky (wo)man with no inflation.
I emailed my professor and told him that I’m immobile in 1 inch of snow and knee-deep in disappointment, and that I won’t make it. He responded in 000.2 milliseconds with a very kind “Understood. Good luck”.
I told my friend to Skype me in class and blow my face up on the projector so I can do my oral presentation. I don’t care– I stayed up all night, shaking in fear and muttering the first 3 lines of my presentation over and over again to imprint it in my mind. I will– absolutely must– deliver my oral.
Of course, it’s not gonna happen. But in the off chance that it does, the students and homie Doctor Ian Hill will probably just hear the cranking of coffee machines and other miserable people in the background.
I was lining up for the bus for maybe 40 minutes. A dozen other people stood out there with me, pale faced, in solidarity. A hoard of people then appeared from behind the hill and told us, “Bus ain’t coming. Stuck on the hill somewhere near Fraser”. And so, some people rolled their eyes, some marched on to catch another bus, and there was me and some other dude that looked at each other and said “I’m not walking to UBC”. And here I am now.
I look outside the window and see the few old Chinese ladies that waited with me for 40 minutes at the bus stop. All the others have left, but there they are: stout and eager, holding bags of groceries under their pretty umbrellas. I feel pride and warmth in me when I see them. It’s just a feel-good sight.
Anyway, I’m just gonna chill here for the while.
Thanks for reading, if you did. I just wanted to rant about the funny things in life.