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.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Identity


Is she tangible? Is she touchable? On bad days like this, I kind of wonder if she's real at all. And that's the problem, actually, the fact that sometimes it's hard to differentiate between what's a dream and what's real. I guess most of it can be blamed on my completely jacked up sleep schedule; up at the crack of dawn, sleep from 2 until 7, eyes taped open until one in the morning when I'm too scared to go downstairs to make myself a mug of coffee. And my eating habits are going downhill as well. I used to eat so much, I used to pile my plate but now I look at food and it's all so unappetizing. 

So it's days like today and yesterday and basically the entire week that makes me question whether what's going on in my life is real, what went on in my life is real because memories can be altered, and little miss somebody's not helping me in that matter at all. Everything's so jumbled up in here and I wonder why but I can't seem to accept the fact that certain events actually happened the way that they did. 

School today and it was uncommonly great. Maybe it was because I didn't sit kind of all by my lonesome at the back, maybe it was because I got that 39 for the mock BM test paper. Either way you roll it, it didn't leave me empty and depressed like most school days. And Maze and Helena and James helped after school. 

That reminds me. I wanted to write about James last time around. I had a post in mind. But then I went ahead and had that nervous breakdown last Saturday and all plans for any coherent blog posts flew out the window. So maybe I'll do it next time or maybe I'll do it on my private blog. It doesn't matter anyways. I only know a handful of people who still keep up with my recent posts (people that I know in real life, anyways) and none of them would give a hoot about who Helena's dating right now. 

Can't believe it was only last Saturday. Things feel so different now. Bleak wouldn't really be the first word I'd use to express my emotions, neither would hopeless, because I know that those things are overly clich├ęd forms of depression. I'd rather call it a lack of feeling towards emotions, as in I don't really feel anything about my feelings. 

Sometimes I just want to know where I stand with people. Who am I even to you? It saddens me that after all the effort that I've put in to relegate this issue to the bottom of my list, I still feel this way. It's like, useless, everything that I've done. I don't know. Whatever. Nadiah didn't come today. If she had, I would be writing about something else entirely. As it stands, you get this post.

I think we're out of coffee? 

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