a belated guide on making new year resolutions

this guide has come three years and two months late. during this time i have learnt to hate myself.

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i. stop making it about other people

2016’s resolution was to get over the guy who held the universe in his eyes. his eyes were like black holes, deep and dark but also so potent. i forgot that space is an infinite abyss of silent hell. when he dropped my heart, the world blinked, and then it moved on. it hasn’t ever been the same then. i tripped over my memories of him.

2017’s resolution was to exercise that self love. go for a jog when the weight of responsibilities and toxicity crashes down on my shoulders. my feet pounding against concrete and blood rushing through my veins are all that i need to feel dead. i keeled over and threw up.

2018’s resolution was to clear the clutter in my life. sweep away the negativity. wash off the stench of rumors and hatred sent my way. trash the memories of what was possibly the worst year of my life, and focus on the good. i am (supposed to be) better than that mess of negativity on the table.  i left the pile of rubbish in a corner of my heart. i’ve been hoarding the negative energy ever since.

ii. understand that the new year’s positivity lasts only a day

i start every year a little more jaded and cynical than the last, but i am a romantic who believes in the power of change. this year’s planner: washi tape? check. cute? double check. it has hipster monstera leaf vectors on it. cute calligraphy? done. my two years experience was made for this moment. motivational quotes? dusted and sprinkled liberally with icing powder.

two weeks into january, and card captor sakura: clear card hen is the only thing keeping me from spiralling into anxiety induced meltdowns and self hatred. 2018’s resolution is intact and safe, baby.

(just ignore those days spent pressed up against the door of bathroom stalls, legs trembling and mind chanting: it’s ok it’s ok it’s ok it’s ok. it’s not ok and i try to muffle my sobs because i can hear them chattering on the other side of the door.)

iii. aim for the moon and if you miss, your body will smash against solid concrete

resolutions are named as such because they are an ideal. ideals however, are simply not practical, nor realistic. ceteris paribus is a lie. no energy loss is a theory. my happiness is a myth. perfect specialization has never been further from the truth.

how many stabs in the back does it take to kill? my body is a battleground: every bombshell of scorn etched into my skin, the razor sharp anger digging trenches into my flesh and the army of self confidence soldiers dying bloody deaths. i am familiar with the metallic tang of resignation and helplessness.

i hear the whispers like screams in my mind and i fall inwards on myself. tuck my shoulders in a little more. stop wearing my pink jacket even if i am freezing and my fingers are numb. stop fidgeting even if my legs are falling asleep. bowing my head more. speak a little softer. speak a little less.

it’s never enough.

iv. don’t make them 

there is always a high. then comes the crash. the world burns.

you have my silence. just as you wished.

___

an ideal: keala settle is the baddest bitch 

i’ve learnt to slam on the brakes: before i even turned the key

i climb, till the entire sun shines on my face: and suddenly i feel the branch give way

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a/n: my anxiety is off the charts but it got super bad today. this piece takes on a rlly different tone, but yay to my growth as a writer i guess. lol. school hasnt been too hot and hopefully break will be good. shop me my wishlist: unlimited warm hugs, instant death and a shoulder to cry on. thanks! but in all honesty, i’m grateful for all the love here at pointilisms :__)

 

 

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i think i am depressed, i whisper, as if speaking louder will make it come t r u e. i don’t want to be depressed, not when it means that i have the urge to cry over everything or if it means that i worry a hole in my lip even when i am too apathetic to do anything on most days.

they say that depression is a war. if the soviet union could make a comeback against the winning blitzkrieg tactics of germany, who is to say that my soul will never be free of depression? winning the war is of no use. some 70 years ago, my people were free from the shackles of colonialism. today i am still haunted by colonialism, and i watch the way colonialism still bounds this great continent to the rock bottom and it hurts to see my people struggle. we need no chains to make slaves of people.

victory is only ever sweet once. the bitter aftertaste never really leaves.

have you really won?

 

exotic creature

THIS, they whisper, is Exhibit A:

  1. my eyes are glossy from staring at the 50k word document on my laptop, my homework shoved aside but not forgotten. how could i ever forget what killed me? everything that kills me makes me wish i was dead.
  2. a tear slips out of my eyes as i cook my own dinner. there aren’t any onions on the chop board, just my determination. the microwave timer has never turned slower.
  3. i am breathing so fucking hard even as my mum is screaming for me to wash the dishes and my hand is a fucking aspen leaf as it trembles but why can’t i die?
  4. i sleep till twelve on saturdays. i reply 7am messages on whatsapp with a sflr. then i fall back to bed, my eyes shut. the ceiling is still as plain as it was when i was eleven.
  5. i don’t fuck with racism or ableism the way my classmates do. the teachers smile at them more anyway.
  6. maybe we should wait till we graduate. so we can focus on our studies. your message flashes through my mind and laughter is bitter on my tongue when i realize that you’re better off without me. sometimes i wish i could hold your hand, but i remember you have your eyes on a girl who isn’t me. am i selfish for wanting you to myself even when we agreed to see how it worked out?
  7. i was never worth it.
  8. every romantic encounter was always met with silence. it still kills me to think that i longed for a break up over whatsapp. maybe this is what commitment issues look like.
  9. i open the fridge every day when i come back home, even if i know mum hasn’t done the grocery shopping.
  10. i haven’t felt happy in two and a half years.

newton’s first law

newton’s first law states that an object will remain at rest or in uniform motion in a straight line unless acted upon by an external force. it may be seen as a statement about inertia, that objects will remain in their state of motion unless a force acts to change the motion.

maybe this was what newton meant:

  1. depression keeps me gutted and motionless. some days i wait for mother to rip the covers off my body but it never happens, because i am a Big Girl who has to wake up on her own. instead i lay still and stop breathing. maybe if i pretend i’m dead long enough i might not have to face the world: too big too loud too much.                   it never works.
  2.  somehow my fingers stay stuck on the twitter tab, no matter if four tests six deadlines seven thousand fucking expectations  are looming over my head. nineteen doggos in and my will to die has not decreased.
  3. swallowing becomes so fucking hard when my skirt becomes tighter every day.
  4. no one understands when i say i am too depressed to eat/sleep/do my homework/continue to be a slave to the government. the glances sent my way are pitying and suddenly death seems to be a viable option.
  5. why does everyone make depression the subject of their mental health awareness project when they don’t give a fuck? i am not your token character to fill up a diversity quota. fuck off.
  6. how much force is is required to overcome the inertia of this body?
  7. i don’t know. i dropped physics.

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