|| Ze Cast || Funniest / Best Blogs on the web || My Writings ||

Best viewed with Mozilla Firefox/Google Chrome

Please don't feel as though you have to follow me in return of my following your blog, I'd rather you only do so out of genuine interest. C:

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

"Ending Unplanned"

I wanna feel alive. More alive than I have ever felt before. So I feel it flooding through my veins.

I wanna feel every touch, every taste, wanna hear every sound more clearly than I ever have before.

I want to love without inhibition. [Everyone, feel free to start singing Natasha Bedingfield now ;)] I want to throw caution to the wind, and cynicism out the door.

I want to live.

And I'm not ashamed of these scars, for they made me who I am.

But they are not “the end”, they are not the “all”. They’re just a part of my story. Just like you. And every moment is a part, and I don’t want to waste them anymore. I am writing my story, and it may not be a best seller. Maybe the main character puts herself through too much needless strife, and finds herself lost time and time again. Maybe she forgets to give her all and maybe she’s not the heroine when she should be. Maybe she makes mistakes, and maybe she’s clumsy (and not in a vapid Bella Swan way) and maybe she runs from reality.

There may not even be a happy ending, but it will be a story nonetheless. My story. And I’m going to live it, and I’m going to tell it. It may not sell, not one copy, but it’s my life, and I promise you, I will make it worth it.


Wednesday, September 16, 2009

I'm not really up to posting full blog posts at the moment, either through lack of time or just general state of mine, so you can find me mainly at http://jasabela.tumblr.com right now, and no, i cannot even be bothered putting in a proper link. I wish I could at least know what to say, even if I can't take other people's problems. And trust me, I would take as many as possible, if i could. But I don't even know what to say. I don't even know what to say.


Monday, September 14, 2009

This doesn't make for entertaining reading.

It's just an update, since I've been word vomiting on here for a while.

Chip called me the other night and I was upset over something else which I'd rather not go into, so I had missed all the signs that he was in pain when we were emailing each other prior. I almost didn't pick up because to be honest I was a little mad at him. We both were frustrated and took it out on each other. But I'm so glad that after about the fifth or sixth call, I did pick up. He was hurting pretty badly, and I didn't know what to do because I wasn't there and I couldn't hold him. I rambled on about stuff. But in the first quarter of an hour, I had to ask him if he could call me back in five minutes. Make that three. I didn't want to spend that long away from him but I couldn't even control my breathing as I listened to his painful, tortured intake of air. So I hung up, bawled for a few minutes, and composed myself before he called back. Got a drink of water, which was my excuse. Carried on as before, trying to act normal, curling my toes and trying to sound calm as I kept myself from further tears. It hurts to see him like this. Hurts more to hear him this way, because I can't help as I can when I'm with him.
The next day, after talking, he promised to see a doctor, and was prescribed strong painkillers and sleeping pills. Last night he took them and managed about four or five hours of sleep. It's scary that that's a good thing. Better than fifteen minutes though. Hopefully we'll get there, although he's really worried about the possibility of suffering mild depression and/or anxiety as a result, which the doctor warned him may occur. I hope not because then he'll stop taking the tablets and will stop sleeping again...

As for other aspects of life, they're doing okay. I know he and his heart are all I've been blogging about, and I'm sorry, but it's kinda been uppermost in my thoughts and that, of course, is what this blog reflects.

Proper post soon.


Thursday, September 10, 2009

i can't take this.

I can't bear to see him in so much pain. He's always been the happy, optimistic one. The focused one, the good kid who never fights with his parents.

I can't stand to see him hurting so bad, and emotionally as well.

I can't write properly.

I can't stand how things are for him, I want to make it all better. I can't.

I just want you to be okay.

It hurts so much to see you like this, to see you going through this. Every time I think of you, I am barely from tears. I love you so much. I need you to be okay. You have to be okay.


Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Through the Looking Glass

Check out this photo shoot.

If Alice were to go to Waterland...


Tuesday, September 8, 2009

i no longer remember what it means to not be tired anymore. i no longer remember what a clear mind feels like. what does success taste like? what is that feeling of accomplishment? i may not be a failure but right now, i am failing at life and school something hardcore.


"Let's Drive Until We Crash This Dead End Life"

I'd like to take a rain check on life. Hit that pause button for me, will you? Maybe when we start spinning this record again I can stop it from skipping. Don't even know how to jump start a car, how the hell do I jump start my life? You might say my mother and the doctors did that for me over seventeen years ago, well then I'm still trying to learn how to drive. Cliché after cliché but then they say it as well as my own words more than half the time anyway. Basically I know I'm fucking up but it's like I'm in a tailspin and can't pull up, could you help me if I had a Mayday Parade? Seems like that's my life these days, incorporating lyrics, book, movie quotes and band names into everyday conversation, lines from advertisements when i "hate watching TV" and speaking like my boyfriend. Spent hours on the phone last night not really listening, picturing blood everywhere instead, smeared on the walls. Pictured cutting all up my body from above my ankles to the base of my neck, as much as possible, and in detail. When I finally stopped, began to talk, because he wouldn't leave - he knew there was something - I tried to explain with words that I missed the exhilaration, and the way that despite ourselves, we become competitive and how his talking about Rachel has got me wanting more more more, why didn't I do more? I couldn't now, not to myself nor to them but some times I wish I could go back to when I could reduce my world to blood and pain and the next cut, to how deep I could go and how much. These days I'd look for the same thing in a bottle, and some days I just wanna get trashed so bad, just so I can forget, for a while. Is it obvious I can't cope? I'm not quite ready to be independent and last night I wondered if I cut myself till I collapsed on the floor, if I was found by morning still alive, when I got out of hospital could mum then let me see her again, the counsellor who was amazing when I was so skeptical although ready for something like that. Don't even know what it means to get by on my own and I know that makes me pathetic. I have such hopes but I can't see them through, I can't put in what I need to and it hurts more than anything to see your disappointment, when we all know I could do so much better. I'm a mess and I can't stand it.


Monday, September 7, 2009

Post title later.

"It could be life threatening."

How do I explain what went through me at those whispered words, sounded so slowly, so carefully?

I didn't panic, I didn't go cold. I didn't quite stop breathing. My chest didn't quite constrict, but rather, it felt like something fell out of place inside me. And thoughts leapt into my mind, but they were merely conscious thoughts of usually subconscious actions. I felt my brain's instructions to breathe, for my heart to pump, to process this information. I remained very still, my face pressed close against his to hear each word. I think there was a small part of me that immediately starting screaming but it was boxed away so tightly, before it even began, that I felt no panic. But it was as though the world had suddenly become dreadfully wrong.

My boyfriend has a serious heart problem. It causes him an incredible uncontrollable amount of pain at times. Thus far the doctors don't know what it is. The results from tests he took on Friday may show what it is. It may be life threatening. And if not, well they still won't know what it is.

I can't describe to you what it is like to see him go through so much pain. To have to hold my face straight and stop those tears. I can't make it more painful for him. Some times at night his mum hears him and goes to comfort him. Some times she cries. I save my tears for myself. It is the least I can do. Not that I blame his mum, having to see her child go through that.

Do you know what scares the shit out of me? Honestly, that the worst I have seen, is nowhere near as bad as it does get. So bad that as I found out on Friday night, he has tried various things to stop it. He has stopped eating for three days straight, he has tried punching himself in the heart when it happens and finally, he began to use a hammer to hit himself in the back of the head, just to distract himself from the pain. I could barely stop the cry that wanted to escape my mouth as he told me this, because I understand why he does it, because the pain is so bad. But it hurts so much to know he is resorting to this. It is the reason for all his headaches lately. He hasn't done it in a while though, thank God. But I don't even know which is worse, him doing that, or trying to deal with such excruciating pain. It tears me apart, all I want is to make it stop. I would take it myself, if I could. I would take it all and I would not regret that for a second.

But I can't

And that only makes it more painful to watch. How do parents, family members go through these things, knowing they would give their lives, they would do anything to prevent their loved one from suffering, but they cannot? That all they can do is wait, and watch, and pray, and hope. Hold, comfort, wipe tears.

Not that I've seen Jimit cry. He wouldn't cry over this. He can't even remember the last time he properly cried. But the last time he shed a tear was over his baby cousin going in for heart surgery. I love that his heart is for others, I love that he would get in a fight with a guy in order to defend his self harming friend who descended into such darkness because of the dickhead messing with her emotions in the most terrible ways. In order to protect another of his friends from falling into his sadistic trap.

I'm glad that I help his pain by being there, holding him through it, holding him as tight as I can even when he tries to push me away because a part of him is scared he will hurt me. I'm glad that in his sleep I can calm it down so it doesn't hurt anymore, and I wish I could do that whilst he is awake.

I love how recently, when he is asleep, a part of him talks to me, and tells me these things, and converses with me, as strange as it is. It's just another part of our relationship, which is already full of random things. And that's why I love 'us'.

I love how he talks to me about my own time of hurting myself, I love how sometimes he kisses my scars as though he is trying to take away all the pain I ever felt, and I am glad that in some way I make his pain less. I just wish I could do it all the time.

And right now, I am so scared.

Any minute now, he will call me. And then I will know if it is life threating or not.

Even if it's not, what do we do?

It's six minutes past 3:30. And a part of me is terrified that he's late calling because it is bad news.



Thursday, September 3, 2009

Sometimes, I suck.


Wednesday, September 2, 2009

In which I attempt to crack the Lameness scale

I have a confession. I kinda hope Chip will end up being the man I marry.

It's ridiculous. I can't imagine ever being married to him. He's Indian! That's not the real reason, of course. That he is Indian provides us with the fact that his family background and thus upbringing is so similar to mine that adds to what we can relate on and brings us closer together. There are things that you can only understand if you are growing up in another culture so different to that whence your parents came.

The small ways in which he doesn't understand me that are of huge significance are a contribution. Considering this, he can read my most subtle face expressions with a scary degree of accuracy, pinpointing exactly what is happening in my mind. A faraway look and combined with his knowledge of my life and the situation and he can work out that I am missing the exbestfriend. There is more, much more, but how can I explain it all?

There are various little things that make me certain I could never spend my whole life with him.

And yet...

He sets a high standard. I can't detail the numerous little things he does that make me realise how much he cares about me; the way he texts me twice daily to remind me to take my vitamins, the way he kisses my scars like he wants to take away all the pain I've ever felt. The way he was so happy at my one year anniversary of ending the self harm. The way he talks to me in depth about it and holds my face in the dark to make sure I'm not crying when I remember the way my parents reacted. How, when I get upset because I'm convinced I am a bad girlfriend, he laughs at the idea like its the most ridiculous thing in the world and proceeds to assure me.

I love that even if he has just picked me up for the night and he is perfectly awake, when he sees that I am exhausted, urges me to sleep and rest, and just holds me as I sleep, for hours. I love that he thinks I am beautiful, with clothes on, and how whenever I get shy or awkward he just laughs and tells me he loves me without any frustration.

I love that he wants to spend as much time with me as he can and that he trusts me, I love his strong stance against cheating and the way he talks about me to randoms when he's not with me. I love the way he calls me when he's drunk, and the way he makes me do my homework.

I love how even when he is in excruciating pain due to an unknown problem with his heart, he is most concerned about accidentally hurting me, and the way that I actually make it stop sooner and usually hurt less, just by being around.

I love that last time I saw him, he talked to me while he was sleeping, and in pain in his sleep, I could make him stop hurting just by whispering soothing words. I love the way he tries to make light of how serious the pain is, but told me in his sleep. And the way that even in his sleep, he kept whispering "I love you so much".

Through all my terrible mood swings of late when I grow incredibly self destructive and almost break up with him for the sake of causing myself pain, when I yell at him and cry and am cranky and upset and terrible to be around, he stays to talk me through it, and will come get me if he can. I love how he makes me feel better and how he's just as happy to spend hours talking as making out.

There are a million and one things he does that continually raise my ability to value myself, not too much, but closer to enough; and reassure me that somehow, I am worthy of being loved. To have someone put up so well with all the crap I put them through, and still love me as much; and for all the important matters on which we think the same, I wonder, can I find something this amazing with someone else that will last the years?

I hope so.


Tuesday, September 1, 2009

The Lost Hours

You know, I have a couple of topics to blog about, simply from this Monday past. It being 2:36AM on the following Tuesday, though, combined with two hours of sleep on Sunday night, all that I can focus on acutely is that heady feeling of being the only person awake right now. Of course, this is not the reality; in fact, many of you are going about in the daytime now, but here and now, in this silence, these electric lights and nighttime cool, it feels as though I've managed to find something no one else has; I have stayed up and hence discovered a secret, a special time that I, singularly, have broken into.

I know I have homework pending but that doesn't seem to matter. My brain passes over various memories, those that would usually be euphoric and intense reduced to a mere glossy fascination. This is a world of casual indifference, an inability to concentrate or process thought properly (thank you, sleep deprivation), but my, does it feel good. In that vague, secretive air this moment holds.

The sounds of a house creaking, occasional passing cars, humming of fridges and the deadness of it all - it all combines to create this deafening cacophony of near silence, which only rises to unbearable heights if focused on, till it feels as though one's ears are suffocating, the target of an immense pressure, not as when lifting off in a plane but frightening for its lack of logic. But then, sense has no place here, in this lost hour.

From under heavy lids refusing to acknowledge or bow, the view is different too. There is a dreaminess about it, perhaps the brain taking longer to recognise what it sees. A surreal aspect attaches itself to every normal sight, however familiar. Everything sunken in false yellow light, deeper pools of shadows than usual, sallow and aged, but not tired. No. More... used, like old books that have seen many a turning of a page.

It is the cold that cuts through, adding a dash of reality. Slicing through everything else, it is the unwelcome visitor to this time, and yet, it provides further that sense of "topsy turvy", a more sober Wonderland, at which Alice never quite arrived. Sending chills through the body in occasional waves, lapping gently but startlingly. And always, that pervading feeling of night, that darkness that persists even with these man made lights.

Nature has a way of penetrating everything. Man-made or otherwise; everywhere. A tendril creeps in, grabs hold, its lurking presence faint but definite. Our light cannot defy the night, not truly and after all, that is the way it should be.

In this, these lost hours, I feel as though being alone is not so close to being lonely. And perhaps that is the best gift of all.