I haven't given up on life; I've only stopped living

 

 

And we don't know how,
How we got into this mad situation,
Only doing things out of frustration
Trying to make it work
but man these times are hard.

- The Script, "For the First Time"

 

Regardless whether I can decently sing or not, music moves my soul. Once in a while, the iPhone would play a song that resonates with my state of mind at that particular moment. Earlier this morning, while having breakfast, the iPhone played Boyce Avenue's cover of "For the First Time" by The Script. I instantly tapped 'loop', and I'm still listening to this song over and over again.

I've been at war with myself since I was small. I've always been the 'good boy', the 'obedient son', the one whose only fear was letting others down. Inside, however, I began to resent this because the imposed hopes accumulated, pushing me harder, always pushing me harder. At times I just wanted to let go, to just let things be, but that particular fear never failed to choke me into submission. So I smiled to the world, projected the image it wanted to see, all the while seething and boiling inside.

The only time I found solace, when I felt absolute freedom, was when I drew, when I wrote stories. These were the only things I did for myself, with no expectations, no imposing pressure. I rarely drew for others; I don't think I've ever written a story for someone in particular. I'm talking in past tense because I've lost even this one thing I've had for myself.

Reading back my posts the previous year, I realize that they are my last confessions, something people may dissect and ponder upon after my death. I've mentioned earlier that I won't take my own life, but that does not mean I'll fight for survival if something tragic happens. I've given up on living, even before I enrolled in this Master's Degree course. When the accident happened, when my car spun for a single moment that stretched forever, I had let go. I had let go of everything, I was ready to meet God even though I had no right to do so, but my body clung to life.

Now, as I'm slowly admitting it to myself, I resent myself for surviving, for escaping the harrowing experience with relatively minor injuries compared to what the other family is now facing. I resent my body for healing; I resent it even more for the lingering pain, for the vivid memories of that horrible day. Strangely, I still cling to those terrifying hours, to the memories of the subsequent pain. I kept returning to a particular moment: when I let go of life.

I know I should be thankful to God for keeping me safe. A part of me is desperate to believe that God has plans for me, that there's something big I'm supposed to do before I die. To be honest, however, I'm running on autopilot right now. I feed my body when I absolutely have to, I go to work because of my obligations, I'm going to sit for my exams because I still have that illogical fear of letting others down; I don't want to disappoint Mama and my boss back in HKL, the two people I respect the most. I'm no longer living. I spend mindless hours watching Kdramas to pass the time instead of studying. I stare at the computer, reading Twitter and Facebook feeds instead of preparing for my presentations. I keep my fingers trained on the keyboard, my eyes fixed on the blank screen, my mind equally blank. Stories no longer come to me. My stories mostly have a common theme: hope. How can I write about hope when I have none? I doodle once in a while, but I cannot bring myself to draw something complicated. I smile and try to overcome my limp, but the only thing I want to do is crawl to a dark corner and make myself disappear.

I think, all things taken into consideration, I fractured my soul immediately after the accident. The best parts of me, the ones that truly enjoyed life, had broken off, and I don't know if the fracture is beyond mending or not. I really don't know, because I believe that a part of me had died that day.

My brother-in-law, Ayis, had a long chat with me, and his words ring true even now: I can have a truckload of people supporting me, but it all amounts to nothing if I refuse to see the light, to heal. And I don't think I'm ready to heal. I don't know when I will, or if I ever will. Intuition tells me to seek God's help; no matter how tainted my soul is, I know God is not vindictive, that God is ever patiently waiting for me to ask for help.

 

Oh these times are hard,
Yeah they're making us crazy
Don't give up on me baby

 

When I hear the song, these words resonate the most. I can just take the easy way out; I can just decide to quit the course, pay the penalty, and either continue working as I had earlier, or request for a transfer because standing, walking and sitting for extended periods make the pain barely bearable. I can just quit learning and maybe find my voice again. After all, I decided to take up this Master's Degree for two reasons only: not to disappoint Mama and my boss, and to gain more knowledge so I can operate better, so I can save more lives. The points are now moot, because I barely care about my body and health, and I no longer have the strength to fulfil the hopes of others. And what's the point of saving so many lives when the opposite happened, even though it was out of my control, it wasn't really my fault?

I think there's a reason I'm writing this, there's a reason I wrote all those posts the previous year. Maybe I'm hoping that the people I need the most will end up reading this, that they'll reach out no matter how screwed up I am. Maybe a small part of me is telling myself to not give up no matter hard the times are.

Right now I'm making a deal with myself: to at least try and sit for the Professional I exam this coming May and not intentionally tank it. If I do fail, at least I've tried, and I can quit then with a clearer conscience. You see, that fear of not letting others down is so ingrained in my subconscious self. I'm not doing this for me; I have honestly stopped living. At the very least, I can cling to the part of me that lives for others; this is the only piece of flotsam that I can hang on to after the ship of my life has sunken.

I'm lost at sea, plagued by storms and turbulent waves. I have no sense of direction, and I'm barely breathing. Maybe I'm not ready to be found. Still, I'm not ready to release my grip on the flotsam. Maybe, by writing this, I'm finally lifting my head to seek rescue ships.

Maybe, I'm doing this as a last effort before I let go and let myself drown.

Comments

[Kude]

When we were kids, I had always hated you for setting up such a high standard at school; all the teachers will always compare me to all of your achievements and I was afraid to be stuck in your shadows forever. Growing up, I hated the fact that I could not be as good as you.

But at home, mama never forced me or Kak lisha to study as hard as she would forced onto you because she knows better.

Mama always has.

She knows that both of us could not handle the academic pressure as you could. She knows that you're the only hope in the family out of all her 3 children.

Now that we're all grown up, I realized that being your brother is like a privilege everyday. Watching you saving lives, support the family, living out mama's wishes , and still pursuing your dream as a writer and being published for that matter. I know that most people will kill themselves to be in your shoes; I for one.

The thing I admire most about you is that you are able to stay calm and carry on even after you tell other families that you could not save your patience's life. They know you have tried your best. You always have, and you always will. Let's not give up just yet.

I don't remember the title but there is this scene in a movie which that I'd like to quote;

"The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It's a very mean and nasty place and I don't care how tough you are; it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't about how hard you hit, it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward, how much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winner is done"

I know you're better than that.

[Fadzlishah Johanabas]

I think I may have cried a little inside when I read your comment.

I believe I was already at the point of breaking; I was the spring coiled so tight it was a matter of time before I snapped. And when I finally did, it was me who ultimately broke myself.

It's easier to pick myself up when someone else did the pushing, as I've learned all my life. But now that I can only blame myself, I don't know where to go from here.

Whatever it is, regardless my mind and soul will mend or not, thank you, kiddo.