Why can't my eyes rain
like the clouds do.
When all I feel is turmoil
when there is a storm.
Dark clouds and musty skies
bring out the light in me.
They say misery loves company
but without company is there really misery?
Tell me how to tame pain
I give up before I try
I don't want to suffer
left to dry.
Pray tell me how to recover
otherwise in fright I'd like to cower.
This is actually the first song I ever wrote. It's incomplete, because this was all I was feeling in the moment. I like it like this. It tells me I can derive hope from it being unfinished.
Darkness raging through my soul
Overwhelming even a black hole.
There’s no light to arrest
Art of expression being what I’d like to molest.
I’m so sick of being possessed
By this strange desire to remain unconfessed.
Teach me to tell dark it’s an unwelcome guest
So I can settle in eternal rest.
you were the last to come,
the first to go.
there was a terrible flood for 13 days after you left.
“the gods are crying!”, they said.
i always thought it was you. you were angry.
i understand if it was.
the youngest to have to leave first is unfair.
if i was asked to go instead,
i wouldn’t have for a moment hesitated.
for there is no way,
no way in hell,
i could grace this world
like you would have so effortlessly.
Wakes up at 6:30 am and stares at the ceiling till 9:00 am. He is wide awake, but cannot seem to muster the energy to get off bed. He tries with all his might finally to sit up straight, and place his legs on the floor. He succeeds. He pushes off bed and stands upright. He fumbles for balance a few seconds as his mind tricks him into thinking he is back to base 1 – a toddler struggling to learn how to walk. Even though he knows he has learnt balance already, he cannot seem to believe in himself. He wishes he were back to being a child who is not afraid to try and fail repeatedly until succeeding. He realizes he is standing perfectly balanced amidst all these thoughts.
However, he does not make his bed. He leaves knowing he is going to come back feeling the same way he felt in the morning. He wonders what the point of making his bed is if it is all – in Joey’s words – a “moo point”.
He goes back and forth between wanting to call in sick and wondering if he should, knowing full well it is an escape mechanism. He knows he just wants to crawl in bed and stay there the entire day, but if he does that he cannot tell people he tried. Tried to get better.
He gets into his car still wondering if he should drive back. He has the choice. He always does. Nobody can force him to do anything. He desperately wishes somebody would force him into doing something. Taking the decision himself is torment. Although he also does not like being forced and will ultimately do what he wants. Nothing he does will put him at rest. So what does he do? He drives to work anyway. He reaches work, takes out his laptop and places it on the desk. He thinks of a new excuse everyday to leave work early but worries about running out of excuses eventually. For that reason -just that alone- he stays at work till 6 pm. To save and accumulate excuses for worse days. Is that coping? If it is, is it the right way?
At some point during the day, he has a panic attack and is not able to breathe. All this because he could not take a decision. A simple one. He doesn’t hate work, I can vouch for that. It is what he has wanted to do all along. He is in the job of his dreams, and yet wants to go home as soon as he reaches work. Every single day. Does that mean he will never be satisfied with anything he has? Does it only make him want more? Or does it just mean he needs help?