WILL YOU GRANT MY DYING WISH?

of all the things i have lost i miss my fucking sanity the most.

this fever is lawless the way it siezes my brain hostage, shoving degree celsius after degree celsius at me and i am screaming screaming screaming limbs too weak to flail and the words that fall out of my parched lips are tearful prayers to gods i do not believe in. this is what desperation tastes like: the way my sweat ransom is not enough to set me fucking free, the way my body crumples and falls to ground when the cool water i used to frolick in bites against my skin, no longer gentle kisses running away the magma mount in my head. desperation is the way i wear my thickest jacket in singapore’s fucking weather ot the way i force myself to sweat till i am blind or the way i force myself to cry. women earn 79 cents to every dollar a man earns, my vision is barbercue hazed while my stomach sloshes, a sick sound that threatens to let itself be heard and i wish i was dead. they say everyone is afraid of death and i want to laugh because i crave death the way you crave life.

why dont you kill yourself then? they whisper and i am buzzed.

i fear pain. i would rather be dead than writhing in bed, ghostly images telling me that have me thrashing in bed like the wild animal i am.

AND THE SEA WILL SWALLOW YOU WHOLE

my heart is as heavy as my schoolbag and the guilt from yet-to-be-forged test papers. these days slipping into my depression is as easy as sleeping into my problems. look on the bright side they say, so i do. my australian friend sleeps six hours on a regular basis but here in singapore i sleep four hours. (three in the morning and one in lectures because my eyes are weighed down by the weariness bore from days of juggling a test every other day. my stomach churns like the sea deranged, slosh slosh slosh and i have to press my lips together lest oceans pour out of my eyes and rivers up my parched throat.) dreaming is a foreign concept but when i do i see quiet, hear the way the sky is blue and the grass, green, and i can feel the sweetness in the air and taste the joy in my heart.

when i come to, my pillow is damp.

i plunge headfirst into schoolwork.

WHAT I LEARNT FROM SCHOOL

I AM BEING EXECUTED for letting my frittered, frantic brain take a break when there are two tests next week. when there is no homework you must assign more for yourself because here in college you are an adult who has only one a choice to work to the bone hard or prioritise your mental health be lazy.

MAY IS MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS month and the school prattles about trivializing/generalising mental health patients such as myself when they don’t know what it’s like to be us how to help your friend if she’s depressed and anxious! they end it off with a sale of overpriced and unethical cute socks and half assed online stolen beautiful calligraphy notebooks. i’m extremely thrilled to know how i have no place in society heartened that we do so much to help the mentally ill, even if autism is a joke, triggers are h-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s, and r*t*rded is a part of everyone’s lexicon.

more thrilled, that the school play this year is titled triggered and i’m an overly sensitiive social justice warrior/snowflake/feminazi when it screams far right republican ideal!

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the world is ablaze: it scorches my skin

THREE DAYS TO CURE MY PERENNIAL DEPRESSION

it has been scientifically proven that long weekends can produce Happier and Healthier citizens. who knew that the cure to my crippling depression would be to reduce my weekly jail sentence?

three day weekends are glorious beach days under the sun, ice cream cone in hand and fash mags in the other. it ends the way we all know: you fuss over the calories in your ice cream, it drips all over your fash mags (this season craziest trend: rihanna’s jelly slides that my late grandma wore to the market!) and you go home with a sunburn with sand between your toes. in other words, great, because when are beach days not the best days?

three days weekend means more sleep and god knows i need that. not that he ever grants my wishes, so here i am, an atheist molded by easy lies about catching up with work and hanging out with my girlfriends and mental health recovery so i don’t break down in school (which then induces mental breakdowns, and is so kind as to offer me three day weekends, and i am so so so grateful).

three days weekends means that the bitch next to me swallows me whole because this is a dog eat dog world and i am the runt of the litter. waking up at  10 everyday means i lose three hours of revision. multiply that by three days and i’ve had nine hours lesser to get work done. tragically that equates to me scoring straight Ds like the dumb freak i am because that nine hours would really have helped me master the seven chapters i have no clue about.

hey mr prime minister, maybe you’d like to strip me of my A star Asian identity and force me to take an off day, no whatsapp check allowed? after five months you’ll see smarter kids and hea-just kidding, time and tide waits for no small country in the world.

back to the books again. after all, chemistry is effective for mental health days.

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inspo: why the hell do we pay scientists when we don’t bloody listen to them?

answers to my prayers: don’t humans do everything for the Aesthetics?

THE LAWS OF MONDAYS

house so empty, need a centrepiece, so i shove a whole goddamn furniture store down my throat.

  1. mondays are never really over until you’ve hit your daily quota of two anxiety attacks, one in the morning when the bile threatens to burn a hole up your throat, or somewhere at 1922 when one text is all it takes to release the floodgates that have been pounding against your eyes all day.
  2. mondays are never really over until the one minute between 2359 and 0000 steals away in silence.
  3. mondays are the antithesis of the paradise god placed on earth. on the contrary, mondays are wormholes to hell. move aside, teleporters, mondays exist.
  4. mondays are 48 hours long.
  5. mondays are designed to make me feel like the weight of the world lies on my shoulders. there is a gnawing emptiness in my heart, and no amount of whispered encouragement motivational quotes and black coffee can fill it up. who knew that the lack of existence would make me hypersensitive to the presence of unfair teachers unkind countrymen insensitive classmates?

 

monday medicine: press me against the wall and whisper ‘it’ll be fine’s into the shell of my ear