November 20, 2012

“My left breast has a growth that needs operation. I hope I die. Please! If I survive, fuck it! “

My Diary 2006


Journal from sometime in October 2012.

I am back home and rummaging through the case that keeps my books. I stumble upon my diary from ’06. I thought I had burnt it together with the other one! The first thought that hits me is the horror “Someone might have read it!” The second thought is a calm, “I don’t care”.

Reminiscing. I love reminiscing. Perhaps that is why I keep all my journals from high school.

So I go past pages and pages of my diary. I never dated the entries, but from the context, I know it is towards the end of form 1 until form 2. I seem to have been very religious! So much so I could swear it was someone else talking. However, I know it is I. I got here because I passed through there.

So I am reading- and unconsciously trying to find a reason or clue to my depression beginnings. On the very last pages, I find a list I made of things I liked and those I hated.

I realize that I was being kept from many things that I really loved:  football and writing especially. I also realize that I had few people to talk to and my friends had the same problems I did. So I guess I was stuck with writing in my diary and crying in my sleep.

One thing comes across as true. I did not like myself much. I did not find myself pretty, worthy, or useful. I had to quit football after the operation and there really wasn’t much I looked forward to in school or in life. Moreover, the stress at home, coupled with the pressure at school made me just want to die! I HATED life. I even once wished I were a chicken that lived for a few months then dies.

I wanted to die.

I could not tell anyone that I wanted to kill myself. What I heard from my mother and other people commenting on suicidal cases reported on TV made me sure that no one understood or wanted to understand. If someone had committed suicide, they were either weak, stupid, cowardly or they just plain attention seekers. I never wanted attention. In fact, I was happiest alone writing stories or drawing. I was never the singer in church or the best actress in school. I liked being under.

Though I thought a lot about suicide, I never attempted it.

However, a year or so later, after transferring to another school, I has another bout of severe depression. I had worked at my self-esteem and I was back to playing football! Then I met with some great pals and theater and life became so much better! My heaven was however short lived as a disciplinary case had two of my best pals expelled and my judgment pending.  I stayed at home during the suspension, waiting.

My mother was not helping. She constantly threatened to take me back to form one to a school that I felt was far below the grades I had worked so hard for in primary school. I could not stand that possibility. I was already frustrated with school and many times, had thoughts of running away- but where to?

Suicidal thoughts that never went away came back with full force.

I remember a day, when I was still at home awaiting my “trial” my ma was out and so was the maid. I sat with a knife at the back door of our house and felt its tip against my tummy. I was scared and kept thinking, it will be a painless death since I will probably pass out from losing blood, but then again, I might not die. They might find me unconscious but alive. I did not want an “attempted suicide” case.

Therefore, I did not stab myself.

Then I started thinking of goodbye letters I should write to friends and of the novel, I had begun writing. I kept feeling sad that I would not finish the story.

Then when I stumbled upon two packs of rat poison, I knew I had struck gold. The next day 5th April 2008 was the day of my hearing. I promised myself that if I had to be transferred and thus bend to mum’s rules to go back a few unbearable classes, I will not put up with it.

I hid the two packs behind my suitcase in case mum came snooping inside my case.

Mum and I went for my hearing and in a twist of fate, I was given a second chance at the same school-I only had to go back one class.

I took the bargain, went home and threw the packs of poison away. Then I made a vow to myself that I will never have suicidal thoughts again. I will live on my own terms, and if life becomes a bitch I would take off, seek an alternative lifestyle, do whatever I can to live on my own terms but I would never think of killing myself.

Since then I have healed- slowly by slowly and gotten further away from my depression. Books helped me a lot. If I were not a reader, I would have been a goner! That is why whatever I do today, whatever I say, whomever I stay with and wherever I want to go, is my own decision.  I do what I want because I want. I have had people talk to me of duty. I do not do duty. I only stay true to myself.

It’s like I am living the life I would never have had. If someone asks me why I do what I do- shamelessly with no care for my reputation, I will say, I could have been dead anyway. And it wouldn’t have mattered.

Now that I am alive, I might as well live my own life how I see fit- not how “society” thinks I should.

Perhaps that is also another reason why I always identify with the so-called “villains”- the people society spits upon, judges, and discriminates against without a thought- because nobody cared to understand me. They preferred to brand me troublesome, or indisciplined and never cared to ask, “What is the matter?”


Made of Sand
Not Dura, but Alaminadura

    Leave a Reply

    This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.