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[cherylstiredthoughts]

NHS Surcharge

Today, as an immigrant in the UK, I paid my NHS surcharge, I think dying is more affordable.

[cherylstiredthoughts]

Relapse

It's been a while since I felt like death is an option. But today is one of those days and I have no one to talk to about it. So Im writing here. I dont know why I am writing here but I needed to write it down somewhere so it doesnt steep in my mind.

I will watch lots of tv to distract myself and then go to bed and I will be okay. But today feels like one of those days and I am a little mad at myself for relapsing.

[cherylstiredthoughts]

Breathe.

I take a deep breath, sigh, and ready myself to smile like a performer waiting with bated breath in the wings of the stage. I exit the wings of the stage and approach the peering eyes and dazzling lights with a bright smile. A song and dance. You used to tell me I am not such a good actor because you read me well. Truth is, I know I can be a good actor if I willed to be. My prior history and forays into theatre and acting might have been abandoned by the career paths I have since taken but I know what I am capable of. I just did not feel the need or ability to put up a show around you. But these days, it seems I am able to again and you cant tell.

Am I a little sad you cant tell anymore? Perhaps. But sometimes, I wonder if it actually helps me to pretend all is fine. Afterall, sometimes after telling myself all is fine repeatedly helps me actually believe all is fine. I know your needs just as you know mine. And sometimes, I think I need to just breathe and believe in the act I am putting up to make the false sense of happiness a reality so that I can be there for your needs.

[cherylstiredthoughts]

死了就算了

不知道我能撑多久。

不想再用英文写。至少，我不想让他有的办法读我的心里话。但，我和谁开玩笑，他永远也不会找到这里来看看我的见世。最近我又觉得不开心了。开心的时后也少了。

开心。这两个字好有意思。如果我能把心放开，把自已的不愉快，放松，放走，可能我的心不会感到那么沉重。最近，我又在胡思乱想了。如果我想把所有的不愉快檫掉，我应该也把自已檫掉吧。为什么我心里就那么难找到平静和快乐呢？为什么我脑袋就是那么的破坏，有事没事都找失去烦恼，伤心，和难过？

心里话都乱死我了。累死我了。但我又睡不着。真是烦死我了。

[cherylstiredthoughts]

Getting Used to Loneliness

alive but not really

In a way, I have given up on dying. These days, it feels like some closest to me take a gander at twisting the knife and carving bits of me everyday even though they don’t realise it. Sometimes, it feels like I am living not for myself because how can a shell live? Sometimes, I feel like I am living so people don’t have to deal with the discomfort of my disappearance. Well, I’m not okay, but whatever, it has been this way for years anyways, I can get used to it again.  Everyone is there for somebody, but recently, it has felt extremely lonely. It has felt as though no one prioritises me and it is better I fade quietly into the background. No one checks in on me. Not even my person. Not even when I call at strange hours. There is always something else, someone else more pressing than I each time. And I just wish someone would prioritise me the way I would them. But it’s lonely up here on the moon and maybe I should start getting used to it. 

[cherylstiredthoughts]

Ups and Downs

I started taking anti-depressants again

In the last few days, under the encouragement of my partner, I started taking anti-depressants again. But today, they mentioned something that was triggering for me and I feel like pulling the trigger again. 

The anti-depressants have mostly helped. I don’t feel immensely depressed, suicidal, and sad for the most part and I can get through work without trying to wipe my tears off every other minute. 

But today was a bit of a downward spiral. They mentioned something triggering and difficult (not on purpose) and now I am left to try pick up the pieces on my own because they had to run off to a meeting for work. I just wish it was not so difficult. I just wish these pills make me happy and block out all difficult and triggering words. Alas, the pills don’t do that. 

I know they don’t do that. I asked my psychiatrist before he prescribed them if it meant I would never be unhappy ever again and he told me unfortunately that’s not how it works. So, I guess today I am unhappy again. I need comfort, cuddles, and soothing words, but I can’t seem to get them from the person I need it most from.  I just wish I have time to feel my feelings but I don’t so I guess I’m gonna try make some lunch, get some work done, and hopefully hear from them soon to get some reassurances and comfort. 

[cherylstiredthoughts]

Hiding how I feel

I have been writing so much here.

This feels odd. I tend to have phases with journals, blogs, and diaries alike. I start out eagerly writing in them regularly, carefully planning out the things I intend to say, then eventually have it devolve into a forgotten ruin. Then someday, when I need an outlet to share my feelings without having my loved ones know about them, I write in these journals, diaries, blogs, that I never seem to keep for long. 

But here we are, reviving this ruined blog into where I store my inner thoughts and pains, letting myself have somewhere to share them because I cannot seem to adequately share them with those in my life. Not even the person closest to me because my pain hurts them too. 

I just wish, I just wish I could be happy despite situations that bring me pain. I just wish I could be happy so they could pursue their enjoyment of activities that currently hurt me without worrying about it hurting me. Till today, certain words of memories trigger me deeply. When so many words fall into spaces that cripple me into ideations of suicide, will there eventually be nothing left we could share or talk about? 

[cherylstiredthoughts]

When living and dying and both difficult to face, what do you do? What happens when you know someone’s happiness is contingent on your suffering? Sometimes I just want to exit but I know that would be too difficult for the people around me. Should I cut my ties, have everyone resent me and be truly alone? Doesn’t seem like a nice way to go either. But neither is trying so hard to be alive.  Trying so hard today to get started on work but it’s been six hours into the work day and all I could muster is looking at one research video and mapping out some ideas that should only take me less than an hour to do.  Today’s research engagement talks about how we are constantly implicated in and implicating a process of becoming (Delueze) in and with people/ the world around us. My departure will be a process of becoming for everyone in my life and I am not sure they can bear that weight. But I also wonder if I am placing too much burden on them. 

Suicide attempts are traumatic

I don't hear anyone talking about this. But attempting to take your own life is traumatic.

The moments before the attempt are the most heartbreaking. The planning of it. Writing the suicide notes. You imagine all the pain will stop, but you wake up in the morning in your bed/floor/hospital bed/after a coma. Still alive. The ambulance rides. Your friends/family yelling/crying/asking questions. Trying to find the words to doctors why you did it. All you wanted was for it all to stop, but it was the most heartbreaking, painful both mentally and physically, draining thing you went through. Maybe you woke up with regret, maybe with relief.

But after you get back out in the real world, you have to act like nothing happened. You have to keep living surviving after something so traumatic. You still think about that event over and over. What would it be like if it worked? Why didn't it work? The way you did it, triggers you every time you see that thing/place. You get flashbacks. Ambulances make you re-remember everything all over again.

If you've survived, I'm proud you're still here. You're a survivor. Life might not look like it's worth it sometimes, but your future holds something amazing for you, I promise it does get better. Little by little. Don't give up just yet.

[cherylstiredthoughts]

The Good Life Fantasy

‘‘Berlant proposes the concept of cruel optimism (2011) to argue that individuals organize their ways of belonging to the world through attachments to fantasie s of good life that do not hold up. These fantasies revolve around desires for upward mobility, political representation, romantic love and others. Good life fantasies are attached to different objects that organize such desires. These could be an education degree, a technological device, a new drug or many others. Berlant argues that attachments are optimistic. Optimism is what gets subjects to bind with worlds, and the attachment to an object of desire is a way to feel closer to a good life fantasy. However, Berlant sees optimism as having a double bind. On the one hand, fantasies of good life are built around the continuity of the networks of resource supply that organized the welfare state of the post-war societies. However, in current times this network (quality jobs, public education, public health, expansion of university access, etc.) is affected by disruption and systemic failures. Consequently, the distribution of resources is not ensured, thus putting in danger our sense of good life. On the other hand, the abandonment of such fantasies of good life feels unbearable. Without them subjects lose their attachment to lifeworlds and their sense of belonging.’’ p,31

Extracted from:  Trafi-Prats. L., and Fendler, R. (2020) Postproductive Methods: Researching Modes of Relationality and Affect Worlds through Participatory Video with Youth. In: Thomas, M. K. E., and Bellingham, R. (eds.) Post-Qualitative  Research and Innovative Methodologies, pp. 29-41. This is an extract from one of the books I am reading today about post-qualitative methodologies and it made me think about my recent disillusionment with life. What exactly is the ‘’good life’’ for me? What exactly am I trying to fantasise about? 

Honestly, what I desire feels simple yet extremely unattainable. Or perhaps I am too impatient. I just want a simple life with my partner and our many future kids and pets. I want to spend my mornings running around the house rounding up the kids for breakfast and help them into their little shoes to start a day of exploration. I want to go to a job that I get to leave at the desk at the end of the day, earning just enough to enjoy time with our kids. I want to spend my nights hearing about everyone’s day, cuddling and watching tv, reading books, or playing board games together and then returning to bed in the arms of my love and start the day again. Until then, everything in life seems like a hellscape, a sisyphus task of trying to get through each day and hoping someday, someone will take the rock away from me and tell me I can finally relax and just enjoy the fantasy of a life I have imagined. The only reason I even try to get through this day and the next, is truly for the fantasy of eventually having the good life. But will it ever be enough? Will I not still be sad then? We shall see. 

[cherylstiredthoughts]

Masks

I can’t seem to tell the ones I love I need help

Because so do they. They do not need to see me hurting and sad.  And I am not sure they can help me. 

I used to be unable to mask my thoughts and feelings around some of those closest to me because they read me so well. But recently, I seem to be able to do it much better. Either that, or they have come to ignore it. I would like to think it is the former because the latter is just sad. 

I am afraid of how my thoughts and feelings affect those closest to me and the ones I love. Would they have wanted to hear them? This blog is not that difficult to find. I wonder if they would bother to read about my pain and loneliness or would it be just another chore. I honestly doubt they will shell out time to read this so I boldly share my thoughts here, knowing no one in my life might find this and read it. Increasingly, this blog has lost its initial purpose and transformed into my personal sad journal. For that,  I am sorry (not sure to whom - my imaginary, invisible audience, or myself). In many ways, it reflects a lot of my work’s trajectory lately. My pain has bled into my disdain for all the words and works I used to like writing and sharing. The cynicism towards any joie de vivre has stained many pages in ink. As the scribe of my thoughts, I suppose I cannot really expect myself to compose decent academic works if the large part of my thoughts are coloured in agony. Or perhaps I can, masking them as ‘’critical discussions’’ of society. How apt all the philosophers of society I relate to had messy relationships with their mental health. Do I truly want to still philosophise myself into a gruesome death? 

Well, it is another work day with a mountain of tasks and readings to get through. I suppose at least my commitments are keeping me going today so I should probably tend to them and ramble my half-baked thoughts elsewhere. 

[cherylstiredthoughts]

Happy Children

I wonder what it might be like to be ridiculously happy again.

It’s not been such a productive work day for me. I have one policy document and three articles to get through today, but somehow, the first 30 pages of my tasks have already been taking me over eight hours to mine through. It really is not that difficult either. I am not the fastest reader around for sure, but I normally get through four to five readings a day no problem, twenty even if I really put myself to it. But there is something about today. 

It might be the fact that my heater has not really been going and my body is simply tired trying to keep myself warm. It could be that I have been just having bad mental health days. It could be that I am just a little jaded from trying so hard to be the best at everything I do (even though I know I am not). Or maybe I am just in an easily distracted state of mind today.  Scrolling through the many stories of Instagram, I come across so many of my friends’ children from back home. Videos and pictures of them playing, swimming, laughing, eating, reading, etc. It seems as though everything they do is filled with joyous curiosity and excitement. Sure, it might be curated. I don’t really think they are always cheery and happy. However, all these videos reminded me that I was once a rather happy child. I had some rough moments in my childhood for sure. I am not simply looking back at it with rose-tinted lenses. Maybe just a hint less tinted. But there was truly a time I was happy. Not just as a child. Even as a teenager. 

I have had apple phones since 2013 and all my photos have been saved on the same app and I can trace memories of me travelling alone and happily. I can trace and look back at images and videos laughing so hard my sides hurt with my friends. I look back at all the silly things I did as a teenager with so much laughter and joy and I feel extremely jealous of that person. I truly have no idea what happened to them. Somewhere along the way, their immense joy and happiness have been stripped and then they became me. I don’t even remember being that happy anymore, but I remember I was.  It would be an immense lie to say that I was always happy. Perhaps a lot of it was a mask because I remembered keeping sad journals even back then. I remembered painting about suicide. But somehow, amongst all that, I still found joy and happiness a lot of the time. Sometimes, my partner and I do this little exercise we learned from therapy. We would tell each other about our day, leaving out all the bad and sad bits and only talk about happy bits. It does help me feel a little bit better. I think that’s why I was happier then. I developed a reputation of being ‘’the happy one’’ (to the point where people joked that I was crazy for being happy all the time) and maybe in trying to keep up with that reputation, sometimes, the lie becomes a reality and I feel happy. But these days, when I try the exercise and try to be happy, I am instead made starkly aware that I am not and that I have few things I am happy about. On days that I do a lot of nice things like swimming and foraging, the exercise seems really easy. But on days where I am sat at the desk all day trying so hard to find the motivation to just get through my readings, I find it difficult to find things to be happy about.  I wish I could remember being happier more. I don’t even take that many pictures anymore. It doesn’t feel like there are many memories worth making an account of. 

[cherylstiredthoughts]

Last Session

- 

I have one last therapy session left.  I have one more left that my insurance has paid for and it has been on hold for a few months now. 

I should go.  I have been needing to go.  ...  I think I cant.

What if? What if I need it for another time?  What if this is not as bad as it gets? 

I am still fine, I think.  I am still here aren’t I?  I am still getting what needs to get done, done.  I shouldn’t go. I shouldn’t waste it.  I should wait ... right?  I’m just going to sleep.  When the weather is better,  I might be better again.  Who knows, maybe I’m saving it for a rainier day. 

[cherylstiredthoughts]

21+6

Maybe that’s enough,  It’s my birthday today. Unlike a lot of people, my birthday is not one of celebrations, parties, and fun. My birthday reminds me of how long I have lived past the age I thought I would. A long time ago, (well, six years ago), I told myself I would not live past 21. I have, and sometimes I am not sure if it has been the right decision. Sometimes, I think I have outstayed my welcome in this world and I can feel it. Surely I shouldn't be struggling this hard to just even want to be alive. Surely the lives of others around me would be better, if not, at least normal without me.  My partner is currently sleeping next to me as I write this. A large part of me wanting to cuddle up to them and savour their presence as much as I can. Another part of me wants to just put on some clothes, go for a long walk, and sit on the tram tracks.  I love them so much and I want so badly for us to have a lovely happy home together in the future, but the present always feel so difficult and I am trying. But what if the future is only but a dream and I shouldn’t even be here? Would the world simply be normal if I simply leave? I am just so tired.  Well, happy birthday to me. Let’s see if I manage to scrape by another year, taped together with anti-depressants. 

[cherylstiredthoughts]

A Stomach Full of Fear

Sometimes, I am not sure why or how I ended up here, a career in academia. 

Today marks the fourth day I am putting off the writing that I need to do. Making a career out of reading and writing seemed fun at first, and at times, I really enjoy it. Of course, academia is much more than just the actions of reading and writing, but ultimately all the thinking and researching, culminates into these two main actions (if you don’t include replying to a whole chunk of e-mails daily).  Unfortunately, this week is not one of those weeks. 

The thing about academia is that there is often a sense of being and doing ‘’not enough’’. Whatever ‘’enough’’ means. Everything I have ever written, no matter how well written or good it is, it is still criticised. I know that is part and parcel of academic writing, research, and the peer review process. Even if it is fantastically written, there is something worth critiquing. They don’t call a viva a ‘’defense’’ for nothing. I joked with my supervisor recently that the viva sounded a lot like a battle, and they stoically looked at me and nodded, saying, ‘’It really is.’’ 

Some days, I look at posts of the ‘’academic aesthetic’’ and I wish so much that my life was literally old beautiful libraries, leather-bound books, vintage lamps, and checkered skirts. But let’s be honest, it is more anti-depressants, terribly scanned pdfs of books, and piling deadlines. The only thing ‘’dark’’ about my academic aesthetic is the illegible scribbles in my notebooks and my mental health. 

So today, I looked at my writing notes, and decided that it is a reading day. It is much easier to dissect someone else’s writing than it is to dissect my own even before I start scribing the first words on the page. Hopefully, I would soon find the words to fill the page in the coming days.

[cherylstiredthoughts]

The First Step of a Very Long Journey.

Thoughts on the repealing of Penal Code 377A in Singapore. 

After many years of activism, demonstration, education, and court appeals, the parliament of Singapore finally decided to consider the repeal of 377A earlier this year. Today, the members of parliament, after long debates, have voted on the repealing of 377A. 93 for AYE, 3 for NAY, 0 Abstain. 

At first glance, this seems to call for celebrations, but before we cover the streets with rainbow flags, it is important to consider how this is only but a small tokenistic step in the right direction. I could go into analysing the parliamentary debates, the colonial history of 377A, the case study of the (deeply failing and flawed) democracy of Singapore, but emotionally and mentally, I do not think I have the space for such analyses and debates. I may be an academic in my day to day life, but the repeal of 377A and the possibilities and limitations it presents affects me as a person and I want to utilise this space to unpack my personal thoughts on the matter, divorcing my current thoughts from the abstractly theoretical. 

Earlier in this blog, I wrote about 377A and how parliamentary debates and mainstream discourse in Singapore in favour of keeping the penal code has always cited ‘’family values’’ as a key reason. This discourse was not spared from the discussion of repealing 377A. While it seems like there might be cause for celebration with the repeal of 377A, the repeal was also met with commitments from many parliament members to ‘’strengthen the family unit’’. Sure, sex between gay men are no longer illegal but is sexual freedom the only human right they think we are after? If they do think so, they are ridiculously misguided. While the repeal of 377A could potentially battle some previous homophobic stigma of ‘’criminality’’, the notion of ‘’strengthening the family unit’’ implies the queer communities are excluded from ‘’family’’. Back to the discourse on ‘’family values’’, it implies we can’t form and sustain good, loving familial bonds. Even worse, queer people in this discourse are positioned as an opposition against families, as though loving bonds and belonging aren’t also deeply important to us. Surely there should be space to question and challenge the harmful heteronormative norms surrounding the notion of ‘’family’’. 

While all the other issues surrounding queer rights are important to me (i.e., quality education, gender affirming care, access to housing, etc.), the issue and exclusion of queer people in Singapore from the notion of ‘’family’’ brings me much sadness for personal reasons. Despite being in a straight-presenting relationship, my partner and I are ultimately in a very queer relationship. In consideration of where to live out our lives together and raise our families, places we do consider to some extent ‘’home’’ have often been cards laid out on the table. Of these places, Singapore was amongst the deck. However, with how unfortunately cruel and institutionally homophobic is, it is very difficult to truly consider a life in Singapore where we will be happy. Furthermore, we are very clear on our desire for children in our lives and I cannot bear to subject my children to an education system that will try to box them in skirts and pants, pink and blue, and teach them harmful lessons about sex. I cannot bear to subject my children to a space where queer people are only accepted in writing but forced to hide away from the public for being ‘’too public’’. I cannot bear to have my children raised in a space that will continuously question the legitimacy of their parents’ relationship and their family-hood. So what does all these mean for the future of me and my family?  I could go on but I suppose I shall another time when I feel less tired from my many messy thoughts about the situation. Until then, PinkDot SG and Heckin Unicorn (I only hyperlinked part 1 of Heckin’ Unicorn’s analyses but parts 2-5 should be easily accessible through the first one) have put up really good analyses and statements about the situation that strongly reflect my views. So perhaps check them out. 

[cherylstiredthoughts]

One day I asked my love,

- 

‘‘Do you love me?’‘

‘‘Deeper than the oceans,  Wider than the skies,  Timeless as time itself’’

‘‘How can this be possible?’‘

‘‘Well, do you love you?’‘

‘‘...       no’’

‘‘Then you will never know           how great,                   how wonderful,                            how joyful,                                        it is to simply have you in my life.’’

[cherylstiredthoughts]

Lonely Thoughts of an International Student

In search of stability and belonging.

I doors ding open and I walk in, scanning for a seat. A window seat, by the corner, as I tend to like, was available. I sat down, pulled my phone out from my pocket and peeled off my coat. Every morning during my thirty minute commute to the campus, I listen to music and scroll through Instagram. It has only been three months since I last saw my family in Singapore but that feels like a lifetime away. I swipe through the endless Insta-stories of my family members, friends I have long lost contact with, and the many others in between. Every day, the same routine. Every day the longing to learn more about their lives beyond the glimpses of fifteen-second videos. 

Over the last five years living abroad, I have missed many births, dinners, laughs, movie nights, weddings, and concerts with the people I love. There is something very lonely about being an international student. In a constant state of transition and liminality, no personal connection or relationship ever feels concrete or permanent. I do have my lifelong friends, close family members, and my partner dear to my heart but the constant state of transition is something I find I don’t share, can’t share with many dear to me.

I swipe, and swipe, and swipe.  There, I saw the familiar silhouette of this girl I used to share a flat with in my first year living abroad. She’s dyed her hair and looks a little different, dressed a little differently, posed with her new boyfriend, sharing about their little vacation. I haven’t talked to her in years now. I think back to how close we used to feel to each other. Having most of our lunches, dinners, and party attendances together. Now she is nothing but a distant memory. I cannot tell you more than that she’s a lawyer and she has a new boyfriend. She looks happy though, and that’s nice to know. 

I continue swiping through more faces of people that have briefly encountered my life but permanently remained in the periphery of my mind, showing up every time I swipe through social media. 

A little video of my niece laughing and running down the mall’s corridor into her father’s arms shows up. The next video shows her having food and practicing using a fork. At least that’s what my cousin’s captions said. A wave of sadness and love comes over me. I have so much love for these people. Yet, they only exist in clips of videos. I have met her once. The last time I went back to Singapore at a family party. What even entitles me to say I love her? I miss my family. I hate that I watch them grow up online and learn about their likes and dislikes through captions curated by their parents. I have only ever seen them through the lens and perceptions of someone else as though I am looking at them through a piece of glass. Well, I mean, it’s not that far off.

A message notification pops up. It’s my partner telling me something about their day. 

They are flying over to Manchester to see me in a few days and I miss them all the time. I know they are proud of me but sometimes I wish they had told me to stay. To not pursue an academic career through a prestigious, well-funded doctoral program. But alas, they are a good partner and naturally they encouraged me to pursue what’s best for me and our future, even if it means we live apart for four years, shuttling between borders on cramped airplanes and excruciating lines at airport security. During the two years I lived in Vienna, I found a home in and with them. Even then, it felt temporal. Not the relationship. The feeling of stability in a locality. It constantly felt like I was in a state of movement. I found somewhere I felt comfortable to call home, with someone I called family, and again, I moved. We have talked about settling in together after I finish my doctorate programme, but a part of me cant shake the feeling of insecurity in not knowing where that meant and how long it might be before I have to move again.  Sure, I am very privileged that my constant state of liminality and transition is one of high prestige and comes with much economic and cultural capital benefit. But this sense of intense loneliness and disconnectedness I feel from the people I love can sometimes be very isolating. Sometimes, I fear making new friends, or deeper connections for the temporality of it all. Perhaps some might enjoy this temporality but in me, it induces deep feelings of loneliness. Some people see my life as ‘’glamourous’’ or ‘’admirable’’ but I don’t think I see it that way. At least not anymore.