Tunnel vision, Part two

September 14, 2010

It’s hard to think of other solutions, conclusions and suggestions. Whenever I look at someone, they seem to shrink into a tunnel vision like I’m experiencing a panic attack. Dyspnea, nausea and sore muscles – thinking about everybody, although I’d rather have everyone gone.

Sometimes I wonder why show so much generosity, effort and love, even though I know what I’d rather spread instead. I don’t feel good after treating someone nicely, and neither do I feel good after mistreating someone. It’s all about my stupid philosophy: Treat people the way they deserve to be treated. Though, very often, I’m kind, although I shouldn’t be. It’s out of control. The problem is I don’t know how to deal with the following:

I always keep my word.

It’s not that I ever want to make a promise. Still, those promises pop out of my mouth by accident. Often because I don’t know what else to say or do. I hate awkward silence at the end of a conversation, and this is where I would reluctantly say, “Let’s have some Chinese before I head off,” or “Maybe we can have another coffee before I go…,” And I don’t want to.

Why would I make promises if I knew it’d be hard on me? Panic attack because I’m on the verge of going crazy and because I can’t hold my breath any longer. I get terribly impatient to show my irrationality and abstractness.

Why is it that we never know each other perfectly? There’s a straightforward answer to this. People think what they are and what they feel is worthless and not worth talking about. And self-pity is a different story. If they keep everything to themselves, they think it will make them more mysterious, but it won’t if you never open up.

I don’t always keep my word, but I preview the person’s aura before determining their veracity and truthfulness. Some don’t care but pretend they do.

September 28, 2010, Part II – Emptying bowel

It’s been five days now, and that uncomfortable feeling in my stomach has finally gone. As I said, I had no expectations. Once you have experienced your ups and downs, it’s difficult to feel excited about certain life changes. Most importantly, you know you need these changes to move on with your life. So if you enter a new world with no expectations and no proper excitement, you end up feeling scared and insecure about what awaits you.

I felt nauseated and had tunnel vision again, decreased eyesight and perception; my entire body strength had gone.

To check my circulation, I spread my fingers to see whether they’re shaking. The nasty iron fist of disillusionment had been trying to knock me out again.

Two weeks ago, I was wondering where I was and what the hell I was doing. I had no idea who those people around me were or whether I really knew them. Is this really my mind and body? If so, why do I continuously see a different girl in the mirror staring back at me?

How much I hate to admit, the past three years felt like I’ve been comatose, and I’ve only just opened my eyes again.

During that coma, I collected pieces from the past; my own rubbish had polluted my perception. I recycled them, hoping that they would stink a little less. The only things I couldn’t recycle were my anger and self-loathing.

The moment I opened my eyes, I knew: self-awareness, wakefulness and polluted perception. The woman in the mirror is a 26-year-old student whose job is to clean up the mess, but she has no damn clue how.

Now that I have my own room and space, I hope to be who I am. But I’ve always been me.

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