Recently in Personal Category

You say I only hear what I want to.
You say I talk so all the time so.
And I thought what I felt was simple,
and I thought that I don't belong,
and now that I am leaving,
now I know that I did something wrong 'cause I missed you.

You say I only hear what I want to:
I don't listen hard,
don't pay attention to the distance that you're running
to anyone, anywhere,
I don't understand if you really care,
I'm only hearing negative: no, no, no, bad.
 
And I thought I'd live forever, but now I'm not so sure.
You try to tell me that I'm clever,
but that won't take me anyhow, or anywhere with you.

You said that I was naive,
and I thought that I was strong.
I thought, "Hey, I can leave, I can leave."
Oh, but now I know that I was wrong, 'cause I missed you.

You said, "I caught you 'cause I want you and one day I'll let you go."
You try to give away a keeper, or keep me 'cause you know you're just
scared to lose.

And you say, "Stay."

And you say I only hear what I want to.

Go away, away, you demon in my head
You slithering snake like a vice on my heart
Come hungry for pain; Satiated, depart
Nefarious nobody take my shadow instead

Some people don't realize how lonely it is to be a kid. Everyone looks at you but no one really sees YOU, they just see A Kid. And apart from to your parents, you don't really matter.

Sometimes Most times I feel like that kid. An introvert in an extrovert's world, where you have to play by their rules or you're shy/weird/aloof/cold/ misunderstood/bitchy/strange. Where being yourself isn't an option.

I don't mind going to a club, but can I have juice and stand in the middle of the dance floor and play mind puzzles on my phone? No. I must dance and get drunk and make out with strangers and be loud.

In a room full of people, can I sit at the south-west diagonal corner and watch the interactions and make a story and write the relationships down and leave without arousing suspicion?

Can I call someone because I just wanted to remember how they sound, then hang up without saying goodbye, without that person wondering what's wrong?

Can I just NOT smile, laugh, shake hands, have a wonderful evening, be doing something amazing in my life, good to meet you, how lovely, can't wait to see you again soon, haha you're so funny, oh I do admire you - simply because I really don't want to? And it's not you - don't be silly, how narcississtic of you! It never is about anyone in particular - really, it's me.

They call it being anti-social. That's actually a disorder. Treatable with a healthy dose of psychotherapy and medication.

That's why being an introvert is like being a kid. You know you have to be a certain way, but you don't know why. You do as you're told - how else can you survive in the world where being the loudest and most gregarious and most humourous is the name of the game? Slowly you learn that you must eat with the fork and the spoon, sit up straight, keep quiet when others talk and laugh when a joke is told, when really all you want to do is be naked and run in the rain and push other kids and eat melted chocolate off your hands. And being an introvert, you never really understand - how could you? You're living in a world that sees everything different from you.

Someone asked before, People who don't socialise: At the end of their life, do they look back and wish they had made more friends?

Someone answered, People who don't socialise have no reason to 'look back' at the end of their life.

An introvert, to someone of this world, therefore has neither cognizance nor a life of meaning.

So, like I said, it's really a lot like being a kid.

If no one knows who you really are, and you can't be yourself anyway, no one really sees you. So apart from to your parents, You, the real you, I mean... You kind of don't really matter.

Its not that I don't want you to be you, its just that I want to be me. And it makes me wonder sometimes if you as you, and me as me... don't quite make a 'we'.

It gets better, so they say.
May I politely disagree

Because with each passing second, you slap me in the face
Saying everything reflected in the tears in my eyes
Saying (to me):
You're not good enough
You don't matter enough
For me to want to
I have my reasons
So take it or leave it
Because this is me
And I really don't care

About your snivelling little contrived feelings
No matter how hurt you tell me you are
Or how it means something to you
I won't
Because I can
And I know you'll stay
I don't know the reason
But why should I care
And I'll get anyone I want

But sweetie
Thanks for being the flavour of the week.

Living with it is a constant struggle. Everyday you tell yourself, hey, I'm okay. But you know you're not. And you're not even being pessimistic. You know it in your heart. You know it in your GUT. It wrenches at you and you push it away, telling yourself, look, I'll take it one day at a time. Then one day comes and you get hit. You know its coming because you recognise the calm before the storm. The calm where everything's happy, everything's perfect. You know the calm so well that you don't bother celebrating the possibility that its really just got better. That its not your imagination. That you have finally conquered it.

 

You look in the mirror and you are unsure if you feel like laughing or crying. Totally fucking confused about whether to be happy that you're aware, or sad that you're so aware that you know what's coming next. You pull yourself out of the funk and say STAY HAPPY! THINK POSITIVE! Okay, its GOOD to be aware. Then I can solve it. But that's what you said last time. And you broke your door and the guitar and the computer. That's what you said last time, when you threw out the furniture and tore the curtains and cut yourself 67 times across both arms to beg for the attention you knew you'd be too ashamed to get by showing the blood. So you cover it up, like the coward you are. But now I know, you tell yourself. I won't act out. It will be okay.

 

You turn to the TV, computer, whatever. You obsess about something that doesn't matter, the interests you tell people you have but really can't be arsed about, but had to make up because not too many people you meet can sit for 5 hours staring at nothing and really entertain their own thoughts. You think up new business ideas, send 200 emails in a day, pack your stuff, make phone calls, maintain friendships, try something new, "build character", because you are a High Functioning BPD. That's what they called you.  You are able to work and maintain social relationships perfectly fine, maybe even better than others. Its what you do, who you are, little Miss Perfect. So fucking perfect.

 

You look for a problem all the time, and people think you're just trouble. You're difficult. No, you want to say, I'm not trying to cause a problem, see I'm trying to fix the problems, I mean you can only fix them when you know what they are, right? But they look at you and you know they judge you. You know they are thinking that you're no fun, you're a wet blanket. And you scream in your head, I'm just fixing all the small problems because it lets me focus. It lets me do some good. So let me with my little details. Leave me alone to fix this. Instead of focusing of the huge problem that is the disease eating at me every single day.

 

Then one day you've fixed them. You're done. Suddenly the problems aren't there. And you think, great, its going to be the new year, everything will get better and I will live life normally just like everyone else. I won't have to fight this anymore because there is nothing to fight. But its all bullshit. You know it is. You've been telling yourself the same shit day in, day out. You know that you never fought it before, you know 8 years of therapy only helped you seem alright, seem okay to the outside world. You're a master of yourself, a master of situations, all that cognitive behavioural therapy, hell you're so good could give a class. And your friends think you're so put together. Inside you want to yell, No I'm not, I'm just this good at acting. You are the brilliant actor on stage, adored by everyone, known by no one, least of all yourself. You're so afraid to get off the stage because then what? Who are you? A blank slate. So you find parts to play, loving friend, disgruntled daughter, active volunteer, social butterfly. And with every problem you're solving, the curtain stays open, only today you've solved it all, and the curtains start closing.

 

But you've been here before. You're a high-functioning BPD. You know that you have total control over yourself. Yes, you tell yourself, I will be absolutely normal and not act out and read a book to sleep. You find yourself glancing at the table for the pills you took for 8 years. Pills that wiped your memory clean, left you with barely anything. You know so many people, yet you've forgotten how you met them, what you did with them, what you did TO them. No, you tell yourself, I don't need those stupid pills, they made me even more ill. They prevented me from living my life. You're so fucking aware of yourself, when you were better (when you had a problem to fix), you pre-empted yourself by throwing every single remaining pill away. Because you knew this day would come. And you would not be strong enough to face yourself. Then you shift to positive thinking. COME ON! THINK POSITIVE! This is my opportunity to really get better. You encourage yourself, its been 6 months since the last pill, I've done fine, I'll continue being fine without them, thank you very much.

 

But then you see, its New Year's Eve, you're supposed to look forward to it, but all you can think of is that you are empty. You only know that if you don't act out, don't write a brilliant piece of work for people to praise you, don't create income.. If you just leave the feeling be, its not about acting anymore, its about reacting. And you should stop it. So you stop it. But you're shaking, you get so scared, you know what's next. You know what happens when you don't do something  to distract from the emptiness, the pointlessness. You know its a matter of time before you crack. You've already thought of a few different ways to end it, you know there will be no note because there's nothing left to say, you know even though you say no one will miss you, people will, but you also know they will miss the great actor, not you, because no one knows who you are anyway, not that it matters. And the fact you're scared shitless makes you feel alive, makes you realise you don't actually want to die. You tell yourself, I'll get through this, its just been a tough year, but I should be proud of myself, I did so much, I was brave, I became independent of the drugs and this is all a learning process. That's what you said last time. And you're so aware of yourself, so conscious, its painful. You take a deep breath and say for the hundredth time that everything is fine, you are being melodramatic, just shut it off and tomorrow will be better.

 

There is a tomorrow, but there is no better. Everything is fine, but nothing is ever really fine. And you have gotten so good at repeating the mantras of highly effective people and how to be zen and at peace and all that good stuff, you don't even have to talk to anybody. If only you believed it. So you end up writing a diatribe of what you feel, you want to share with the world how debilitating BPD is. You know you should hide it because its stigmatised and painful and it will make everyone think you're weird and society will use this as dirty laundry against you when the time is right. But you do it anyway because in your gut, you know you want to. And you don't care what happens after. This is supposed to be healthy. I am healthy. 2010 is going to be perfect.

 

-

 

You know people will say, Yes it will be! Stay positive! You're fine! Its all good. And you know you'll say, Thanks for the encouragement, you're such a great friend, what would I do without you. And they'll go away happy, thinking they did good, and you will roll your eyes and feel even worse, completely having reinforced the idea that you are, no matter how many people care, still fucking alone. Oh wait, there are two of you. You and you and you and you and you.. and that wretched, wretched disease.

What am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up and you're still okay

When I was a kid, I remember playing a little game. It was like all children's games - somewhat pointless, rather repetitive and completely incomprehensible to adults. I would be in the backseat of a car, sometimes with my cousins. I said, Hey, let's wave at the other cars and see if they wave back! So I knelt on the seat, face pressed against the window hoping hard for a red light so we could stop and see into other cars.

At first it was questionable. Would they wave back? What would they think of me? Doubts entered my mind, even at that young age - I was self-conscious; a cynic before my time. When my cousin got tired of playing the game, I would urge her on; I suppose she felt conscious, too.

The first challenge was to get people to notice me in the first place. So often we sit in our cars, completely caved in by our own surplus, the world just an inch away but really so very distant. I would make exaggerated, childish movements to get their attention. They would look at me in curiosity and puzzlement - do I know her? But I would smile and mouth a big H-E-L-L-O, and wave enthusiastically. Soon people started smiling and waving back. I'd see them talking to each other and waving to us till the light went green. What a feeling.

I took the game to a different level. I made signs that said "wave back". Today I laugh at how ridiculous I must have seemed at that point, but on hindsight, from a young age it was evident of what kind of person I was - idealistic and unaffected. I brought the signs on my school bus and for 45 minutes every day, I would kneel at the back of the bus and wave to every vehicle behind us. My bus mates joined in and soon we were counting how many wave-backs each of us got.

The feeling of being acknowledged in a positive way by an absolute stranger, with no motive other than to receive a smile or a wave is absolutely underrated. These days, we'd be hard pressed to even get a courteous Hello, or Good Morning. And when someone does take that huge leap forward to greet, we are taken aback - suspicious, even - and don't always catch ourselves in time to say Hello back.

I find myself feeling lonelier and lonelier these days. Every person mills about earning money, and even though some are contributing to the world - I wonder, to what end? Some say it's not about the end. I still think it is, but a shift in perspective of what the "end" is helps. The end is a year from now and the number of people I've helped. The end is a month from now and the number of lives I've touched. The end is tonight before I sleep - how many days I've brightened with a simple hello.

Now is a focused time with focused people. Our service industry barely gets acknowledged as people. How many names do you know, of people who have no corporate or personal value to you? The guy who makes you your morning latte? The girl who serves you dinner? We are all guilty of seeing right past people and forgetting that's exactly who they are - people just like ourselves.

And so many people know me as cutthroat. Dry, witty, sharp, spear-headed. All great qualities to thrive in today's global space. But let me introduce you to the other me, the child in me, the child very much still alive in me. A friend of mine, Lotay Yang, said once during breakfast that he has a four-strike rule. People may have a bad day - you can never know what they've just gone through and you just can't judge them based on a single, or three encounters. I agree, and feel ashamed I never thought about it that way.

But I'm an idealist - I want to be happier, I want people around me to be happier. I try my best, but I could try harder. We all could. And with all our blackberries and iphones, emails and conferences, jet-setting and skyping... maybe we could re-learn a lesson from a kid and say to the next stranger, a person just like you and I, Hey, we're just all trying to survive, I know you have challenges just like me. But I don't want to walk past you like you don't exist, because really, we all need each other in this world, and you're important to someone somewhere, too;

So, dear stranger, Hello.

The most bittersweet of emotions is to miss something/one. You have that great memory, that wistfulness. But really, that's all you have.

Sometimes its more important in life not to feel strong, but to just be strong.