The glorious and triumphant return of now-19 year old Blogger, the revival of a once-grand and dare I say influential webspace that produced daily content, and the crippling anxiety of a young woman who no longer has any time or motivation to write, and feels like any ability she had acquired in the past through repetition and sheer will alone is now slowly slipping out of her grasp. Brief history of the Blog and Blogger can be found here.

Here be personal journal entries, observations, slices of life, questions and conclusions, as well as exploration of social and political topics seen through the lens of a Malaysian Muslim, feminist, lesbian, Marxist, and horse enthusiast.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

fucked up and puked up in dismay

When I got depressed at the stupid freaking age of 10, I didn't think much of it. I mean, sure, I got my period super fucking early and everyone thought I was a psycho and I practically finished puberty the minute others started theirs but to be fair, I wasn't the type of girl to worry about those kind of things. I was more or less the type of girl who didn't want anything to do with the world and preferred to lock herself in bed or hide in closets. And when everything culminated into the shithole that was Year 6, that was really when I thought, hm, maybe there's something fucking wrong with me.

And you know, Form 1 and 2 was nice and all. There was that 2 week period in Form 1 when I got like three anxiety attacks in a row and locked myself in my room for a whole week, but other than that, nothing much. And for Form 2, despite the fact that my life was hellish and it was a bother to get up everyday but I still managed it somewhat. I had my own share of problems that came and went and it wasn't like I didn't cry myself to sleep once in a while but it never got on to full blown depression (and I only had four or five panic attacks last year and no depressive episodes at all so I call that progress. Not to mention I toned down on the pill popping, and didn't take any of my mother's sleeping pills anymore because I didn't need them so last year was really, really good).

Hooray for being surrounded by adults all my life! Hooray for being the youngest in a family of twenty-something year olds! Hooray for being granted early maturity! God knows I deserve it!

When my aunt got a freaky case of depression, I don't think anyone in the family was quite that willing to help her. Heck, I wasn't either because she just kept staring at nothing and if you happen to be in the way of nothing, well fuck that, she'll stare at you as well. Fucking everyone's mentality towards mental instability is that no problem can't be fixed. That's fucking ridiculous. How am I supposed to fix who I am if I don't even consider myself to be a problem? What am I supposed to do now so that I won't go to hell? Can I just waltz around, praying and being a generally good Muslim, while still maintaining who I am?

I know that's stupid, I know this is all stupid, I know I'm stupid, I know life's stupid.

So see you all in hell!

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