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My Tw|t Garden
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Hello darkness.

It's back.



I hate to admit it but its really back. In fact, it's been a good whole month since I've last seen daylight.



Yeah. The sun still rises, even on 21/12/2012; yet I don't see nor feel it.



A walking zombie I call myself; working on clockwork and default setting.



I'm starting to binge on unhealthy snacks, taken on a couldn't-care-less attitude, even thought about death multiple times a day. Everyday.



I thought it was just a passing phase.



I thought for one whole month.



Didn't even think much of it when I wanted to bring all three of them on a hell ride the other night.



Yeah, my three wonderful little angels.



Today my insomnia returns. Officially.



And I know for sure this would be the beginning of another long battle with the dark knight.



Am I deteriorating, or is he getting chummy with complacency?



I told him I needed him to communicate with me; to let me know what's going on in his mind. To have a conversation with me instead of doing it with himself. Is that wrong?



He retorts by saying that he needs an occasional shut-down from the world; he can't be talking all the time, he says.



No, but just the really necessary small talks maybe?



Yeah, he's sleep-deprived for many unforeseen reasons I couldn't fault him for:

1) housework
2) roster making (work work)
3) child care
4) me-time


Yet none of it justifies the kind of treatment imposed on me. Really.



I gave up trying. And it got worse.



Then I started thinking what a lousy bargain I got for myself. And I began hating my existence. I began hating my inability to walk away from it all despite trying a few awkward times. I began hating starting a legacy I couldn't give up on; our kids.



What was I thinking when I had them? That I could raise kids like normal intelligent adults do?



I feel like a loser.



I'm made to feel like one too.



And I'm reminded that I'm one. Most of the time anyway.



There was so much hope in my old entries.



But now I could only see death and cold.



Perhaps I should start my Prozac again.



Perhaps I should see someone. A professional.



I know I'm getting way out of hand. I know it when it happens. Like how hard I have to fight to keep the wall away from my head. Like how I don't feel like eating a single healthy piece of edible. Like how I holler at the top of my voice at the slightest thing. Like how I shut myself from everyone and become detached. Like how I weep at the most ridiculous moments and how my bowel movement became non existent.



And all he could say to me was: you have to help yourself. You can't rely on me to save you.



As if he had ever saved me.