krayena

[krayena]

13/?

I was planning on dying today.

For the past week, after my rejection, it set off a chain of reactions to everything else in my life--reminders of the worst of the past and the worst kind of possible future.

And so I began to imagine ways to die.

It has to be contained. Nothing incredibly public. No jumping, too much time to change my mind. Cut? Maybe. Something like a jab into the stomach, the leg--being in the bathroom is too dramatic and might traumatize someone, and so I considered calling an uber before too much blood started coming out to take me somewhere isolated.

That ensures it, right? I'm tired. I'm exhausted. My brain, my body, everything; I can't handle it anymore. I'm done.

[krayena]

12/?

The only thing I can think right now is I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here. 

Getting that job would have just been a way to keep up pretenses that everything was great, everything was good, according to plan, and on my own terms. 

But it’s not. It won’t be, until I can decide for myself what to be--who to be. And it’s splitting me in five different directions from the inside, because I just can’t figure it out. 

--

And I’m scared because he’s the only thing keeping me sane; and he is the only thing that makes me feel safe, he is the only person that feels like home. 

I just don’t know what to do. 

[krayena]

11/?

He left today feeling like he had to vomit. And me, of course, I started to prepare for the worst. What if he does vomit? What if it’s when he’s asleep? What if he doesn’t realize it, and chokes? And then what if he’s just gone, forever, just like that?

The fear and hopelessness and “how do I deal with this” has already started settling in. How I would deal with it outwardly, what to say to everyone else. How it would actually manifest, within me. What I would think, say, do.

I can’t do this without you. 

And, for the most part, it’s one of the truest things I’ve said. I’ve gotten this far because he has been there, for every step of the way. If he was gone forever I don’t know if I could take it. It would be the last thread.

Or maybe I would pull myself together in time. Keep going. Keep carrying on, alone. Am I that kind of person?

Is it selfish to die when I know what he would have wanted is for me to keep going, as best I could? 

And, all of this, when it’s fifteen steps into a graph of possibilities. 

I don’t know how to stop spiraling. I’m getting better, though. Delayed reaction. Maybe I was just putting it off. Who knows. I don’t. 

I’m just going to sleep. 

[krayena]

10/?

I just read something and I started thinking--yeah, you know what, I worked hard for this anger. I worked hard to get here. I went through my own hell and am clawing my way out of it, fiery breath and all. 

My anger makes me cry and scream and want to throw a toaster out a window; it makes me want to just break something and rip my sketchbooks in half. 

But when else--how else--do I acknowledge how I feel and that the past is a real thing that happened? 

Fuck forgiveness. Maybe I can try and get there, but if history is an indication, it’s only caused me more grief than relief. 

Of course I’m fucking angry. I’m allowed to be. I. am. allowed. to. be.

[krayena]

I have genuinely absorbed so much information in the past 5 hours that I can feel my brain exploding and I don’t really know how to deal with this I want to SLEEP but I need to FINISH I can DO THIS I can DO IT I CAN DO IT, SAY IT WITH ME (me @ me)

[krayena]

8/?

I’ve really been listening to freakonomics radio podcast for 3 hours now and I feel like maybe my life can change but also it’s unclear to me exactly how beyond taking a leap of faith into a place that I don’t know if I can push myself through.

What if, like certain college decisions, it also turns out to be a mistake? 

I guess I should do some research. For once in my life, I should prepare. 

I HAVE to pretend, at the very least, that life will go on, and that I will be alive when I’m 25, 30, 40, 50--and so on. I have plan for the best, even if I keep assuming the worst. I have to.

[krayena]

7/?

I’m having a panic attack. I think part of it is the coffee. Well, probably a lot of it. But it’s going to be a late night again.

Time passes so fast. There isn’t time for anything. I feel like I didn’t do anything today. I’m so tired but also so scared. 

My dad called earlier today and I was very annoyed and angry about it. He wasn’t malicious but he wasn’t kind. He was being irritating. Insensitive, but also I guess I’m too sensitive.

But so much of it is the triggers. They’re all triggers. 

I need to breathe. I feel like I can’t breathe. 

[krayena]

6/?

There’s one very specific moment that is a constant source of anxiety for me, which I remembered again just now--and I don’t even think it’s necessarily just that one thing, but rather the fact that it represents everything I am afraid of at once. 

A couple of years ago, I want to say maybe three at most--more? Actually, I think it was in high school. Definitely high school. Summer after 11th grade. We were at Universal Studios (in Orlando) with my aunt and cousin. (We meaning my mom, brother, and myself.)

It was towards the end of the night, we were passing a gift shop. My brother had already gotten something, I can’t remember what--it was mildly expensive? My mom only had so much money on her, i.e. what my dad had given her to spend for (that day? week? month? unclear.)

(Aside: the way money circulates in my family is because of my mom’s, er, situation, and the fact that she’s stay at home/does volunteer work (well, now she has a kind of job, but it’s part time and doesn’t pay very well. But I digress.) means my dad is the only source of income. When she goes out, he gives her money. Or he gives her what is more or less an “allowance” that isn’t a set number or anything, for some period of time. She generally manages to spend it all, and my dad has always called her out on it.

I also complain about how much random money she spend. But here’s the thing: okay, actually, this point is relevant to what I am eventually rounding about to, so I’ll just discuss it later. This is all the necessary context for now.)

So since it’s the last day of our trip and the last gift shop, I’m browsing. Normally--and I guess I’m biased--I’m pretty good about being financially reasonable. And to that point, I think, I had been. (I’m referring to my life experiences in general, not specific to just the park.)

I saw this chibi spider man plush. Mini sized. Just like the one from the Spiderman Loves Mary Jane comic run. And it is cute. It is sitting in my ‘bookshelf’ as I type this. I looked a the price tag. Circled the store several times. Almost walked away. And then asked my mom about it. (I wasn’t carrying any money on me.)

She made a face and she disapprovingly tried to discourage me out of it. And the thing is, there was no real reason--aside from the fact that I’d seen it in the comic and had wanted my own for a while--to get it. I insisted. She conceded. (The exchange wasn’t loud or anything, just tense? Stressful?) 

She put down what I think was her last twenty on the cashier’s table. We got $2 back. 

And that moment--that moment still haunts me to this day. It’s been over four years now. But she had the most pained look. Which I recognized back then but did not process. 

It’s the same look of conflicted-ness she has about most things. Her methods certainly require work, but even in spite of what I would classify as selfishness, she has wanted the ‘best’ for the rest of us. I’m not going to get into impact vs intent, because that’s a different conversation entirely. 

She masks her pain with confusion. She resorts confusion as an acceptable social standard for a middle aged immigrant woman, who grew up in poverty and without the privilege of the education most of her peers have. 

Sure, there are a lot of things that I think she needs to work on--fuck, I’m crying, because I’m sad this time, but also angry--but the pain exists nonetheless. I’m still trying to figure out what I think my parents “owed” me as a kid, and reconciling that with the fact that they, too, are just people.

And the thing with my mom--we never really had much of a proper relationship, the way I see it. I guess other people might call it “toxic” or “weak” or even just “distant,” but for me, I just...I can’t really explain it. 

Of course I’m angry with her for so many different things, both in the past and now, but I’m still afraid for her. I still know that she has been hurting and is hurting.

And the money? My dad and her have not once had a productive conversation about her spending habits. She insists on being able to spend like we rake in cash because of her own past and growing up with more or less nothing, because why should her children have to ‘squat?’ Rather than dealing with this, my dad is just passive aggressive about it (to be honest, they both are), and while this is another thing that makes me physically angry, it makes me even sadder. 

They have been partners for 25 years (and a month now, actually). 

My mom has tried. She really has. My dad isn’t even close to the Typical Indian Dad when it comes to conservatism, but he couldn’t read an emotion if it was in bold face print across someone’s forehead. 

I didn’t notice it until the later years, but my mom was constantly looking for things for my dad for holidays, anniversaries, ceremonies. My dad? Not so much. Occasionally I’d pester him about it, but he wouldn’t do much. He didn’t even get her flowers for their 25th until she “joked” about it. She’s tired. 

She’s sad. She’s hurt. It was an arranged marriage, of course, and she really tried to stick out a limb to the extent that she could. 

I’m also kind of shitty to her about these things. (Oh, and her struggles with English. Let’s not even get into how horrible our entire family was about that for so long, and TBH still kind of are.)

I’ve gotten better since I noticed my behavior, but progress is slow. 

Anyway, so that spider man toy--for her to be semi angry at first and then give in--that was her way of fighting both sides. And it breaks my heart that this must be what happens, constantly. 

Never mind my feelings about my family’s ‘financial security,’ which I’m never really sure about. That’s also something to unbox later. (Yikes)

My boyfriend said something the other day about the fact that they don’t (they = my parents) ‘deserve it.’ It meaning my affection, caring, success, etc, etc, etc. Because I do struggle with this, and a lot of shit.

But the thing is...it’s never been about deserve. All this time I’ve been trying to justify that, when it has never been about that. That’s not how I function. As hurt as I am, as angry as I am, as furious I am, as determined as I am to be independent, I can’t just drop it all. It’s not even something I would qualify as love. Part of it is my hyper empathy.

And I can’t believe I’m quoting the wonder woman movie, but it’s like she says--

“It’s not about deserve. It’s about what you believe.”

Obviously that courtesy does not extend to, say, nazis, but I can’t separate my trauma from the fact that my parents are obviously very much in their own cycles of pain. 

I want them to get better as much as i want myself to. I want them to not hurt anymore, and partly because that would mean I wouldn’t hurt anymore. 

I’m tired. My head aches. My back aches. I’m still behind on my school work. I finished crying, though, so there’s that. 

There’s just too much. It’s all too much. 

[krayena]

5/?

It’ll stop feeling like there isn’t a future beyond wanting to die eventually, right? One day I’ll go through a day assuming the future will happen? One day I’ll stop being prepared to die every minute of the day? 

....right?

[krayena]

4/?

It makes me genuinely physically angry where to the point where I need to put away what I’m looking at or reading to take a breath and stop when I see the Supportive Parent Trope.

And granted, part of that is inherent to immigrant and asian culture, but so much of it is also my general anger.

I think, and I may not be thinking this with an entirely clear head, but it is a thought nonetheless--the overwhelming emotion that all of it boils down to anger. 

I thought I could let it sift through, dissolve, go away--turn into something else more productive, maybe. But I have never been completely successful.

There are few things that anger me to the point of needing to literally punch a wall. One of those is my parents bullshitting their way through our lives, and then expecting things of me that I a) either don’t trust them to follow through on or b) I simply am not capable of.

Which, you know, is another one of those things. It’s okay to ‘not be good enough’ at something. You don’t have to play to win. And I know this about myself, that I don’t feel like I need to play to win--but it’s still a struggle. Everyone defines winning differently. Everyone sees the road there differently. 

And I still feel like I’m stuck rotating in circles until I choose the “right” way. F

And--AND for the longest time I thought being angry was “wrong.” But it’s not. It’s reasonable. It’s an appropriate reaction, especially after not having dealt with it--and not having been able to--and still not being able to--so I’m trying to make my peace with my anger.

Which likely sounds counterintuitive. But it’s a start. It’s a start. 

It. Is. Okay. To. Be. Angry.

[krayena]

3/?

I’m nervous again. There’s that dread, the overwhelming sense of dying would be best. 

And to fight that feeling--and try to put energy into other work at the same time--it’s more exhausting than I give myself credit for, most days. It’s taken me hours to make minimal progress on this project. But progress is progress, nonetheless. (I guess)

In keeping with my attempts to use positive language, I will (instead of what I usually say) remind myself that I will finish. Good things will happen. I just have to focus on those, instead. Focus on the good. Focus on the good. Focus on the good.

I’m already so behind. I won’t be sleeping tonight. 

[krayena]

[krayena]

2/?

Honestly? My depression has been at an all time high for the past couple of weeks, which is really shitty. I’ve messed up several great opportunities, and in general it’s just the whole “wow the universe is conspiring against me” but more of “I know I probably deserve all the shit that’s happening, but it still sucks so maybe let me just die? Thanks.” 

It doesn’t help that graduation is slowly closing in, and now more than ever I have to choose between my sanity, mental health, and I guess...career? Grades? Just everything that falls into that other category. And it sucks, okay? It sucks. 

I should go sleep it off and just wake up and deal with my shit. Spring break is almost over and I’m nowhere closer to the checkpoint I was supposed to be at. 

On top of it all, I’m bitter about certain opportunities my friends have been getting because I keep messing mine up--not because they’re getting them, but because I know they won’t screw it up.

WHATEVER. WHATEVER. WHATEVER. 

Let’s just go to sleep. 

[krayena]

(this is a test post. just to see what the formatting will turn out like.) 

[krayena]

1/?

I think I’ve been angry about this for a long time but I just haven’t been able to put it down into words: there is so much that could have been. 

And I know--I know I shouldn’t be caught up on things that aren’t happening right now. The smart thing, the best thing, the SANE thing to do is to push through the circumstances you’re in, succeed, and then do whatever the hell you want. 

But. But.

And this is going to sound stupid and defeatist, mainly because it is, but the only thing echoing over and over again is “I can’t” followed by a play through of every possible way I could fail. And there are a lot of those. 

God, I haven’t been writing because I knew this was going to happen. In part, anyway. Writing in my journal has been difficult enough. 

I physically haven’t been able to bring myself to type words that aren’t in an email or chat message or for homework (you might think I’m exaggerating, but I truly am not). Also to tag things on tumblr. But that’s more or less it. 

I can’t bring myself to write my “““““““feelings”””””” much less write fiction, and it’s been this way for at least 2 (3?) years now. Even 90% of the stuff I wrote for that creative writing seminar was recycled work. 

I figure if I can start again, maybe even sort of, things will change. They will get better. (Oh, I have a therapist now. Lisa. She’s mostly helpful. I can get into that at a later time.) 

I don’t know. ANYWAY. It’s 3 am. 2:55 am. Whatever. I’m incredibly behind on...well a lot. Also a discussion for another time. For now, this is a start. This is good. These are words that aren’t on pen and paper. 

...also I will have to vent at a later time about the subject I’d meant to write about in the first place, but whatever. LATER TIME. Later.