Protest Against Life

Aug 1/97. Friday.

Dark without the coming of light. Punishment without cause. Waking up to a new dawn blurry eyed and weary. One cup of coffee down, and I'll gladly walk three blocks away to get a second cup. What is this aimless wandering all about? Where does it end?

It has finally occurred to me that I may have lost my highly regarded brother. Almost a week in Boston, and no word from him. All the excitement building up to nothing. Yet, yesterday, a pre-married letter from him, expressing much thought and care. But no phone call. My fault? Probably. Expecting too much? Yes. He has too much to do. Find a home. Find a car. Find wife a job. Get oriented to MIT. Drive to Maine on Tuesday (?). That's the latest bit of news I received via a long distance call from Mom last night. It seems as though everything I hear about him (and probably everything he hears about me) the past couple of months have been through Base Control (Mom). Hello? We're in the same time zone now, how about moving Base Control closer to this part of the world? Gawd...listen to me, whinying over such selfish matters. Me, of all people who have decided to live alone, survive alone, suffer alone. And quietly.

But Maine, god, why? I'm over here. I needed you to come.

Acceptance of loss. Acceptance of what I could never comprehend. Of course, this is your honeymoon. How could I possibly be so ignorant and naive. Yes, I truly know nothing of human relationships. I will try to understand.... somehow. I did not truly believe the pain will go away and the troubles disappear with your presence anyhow. This is as good a reality check as it gets. I will continue to miss you, because you are the only person who would hug the deformed creature which is me. Because you needed me once and said so. Because when I stood at the edge of suicide, the only face I saw was yours. And because I have nobody else.

I will choose not to dwell on this emptiness this weekend. I will either escape this city or I will plunge into a sleep marathon-fest. Or it could be both. My heart cares no more.

Aug 5/97. Tuesday.

Escape. That was what I did. Three days at French River - a glorious get away and a bit of canoeing. It was a wet first night, when it rained for three hours but I slept well to the sound of rain and the gentle crashing of waves on the rocky shores. Woke to a wet and damp morning but it was refreshingly clear. Packed the canoe and moved to a better spot deeper upstream and the tent set up on a clearing, fortunately away from the shrubs where snakes must hide. Unfortunately though, I saw my first snake on a rocky ledge while reading a book. It looked peaceful enough, so I observed it with interest, not running away screaming as I always envisioned myself doing.

Yesterday - packed up and left the access point on French River early enough to allow a brief stop downstream and a hike down a wonderful trail to see the rapids. I walked jogged through the trail and it took 20 minutes each way.

Pleasant enough weekend, and I return with perhaps a clearer head and a better perspective. It is easy to see things slowly distort and return to its usual chaotic outlook. But drag-crawling through the rest of time might perhaps be the step-by-step method to go.

I am still hoping this will not last.

This morning I was still at peace enough to look for safer ways of drag-crawling through this muck. It will never be easy and I must never expect it so. But the vestige of pessimism is a nice difference, and as refreshing as Sunday morning when I woke up to a new world, and a seemingly better one. And losing sight of this pessimism as I go along should not feel so much as a loss (even as it is beginning to strongly feel like one), as it is simply that one moment in time when all seemed alright.

Aug 6/97. Wednesday.

The crash. Plunging down helplessly. Frantically searching for a footing in this whirlpool of emotions. Anger. Hate. Tiredness. Rage. Pain. Tried to run it off. Tried to stay focused. Yet drowning all the same. Drowning and going deeper, and pretty soon, I know I will not see the sun anymore. It will be dark and cold. And I am afraid of the dark.

Where do monsters lurk? Always in the dark. Always hiding till the last moment and when they finally jump out from a corner somewhere, it is too late. Too late to run. Too late to hope.

Aug 7/97. Thursday.

Another 12 hour night sleep after failing to battle my demons. A session with DH where I broke down like a baby and cried. I left early and simply let her cry. She has worn me down and I no longer have the energy to fight it. I let her sleep instead. There's less trouble that way.

The downward slide almost caught me unaware. No, I should say it did. Today perhaps I will pick up the broken pieces and attempt to mend.

There is the hollowness from before, replacing the tears. And pain has taken over the loneliness. Getting through the day will be a challenge. But the lack of choice will force me through it anyhow. There is more than simply the waiting which has broken me down. It is the fear that even if good news come my way, I will remain unhappy. That the happiness will definately be there, but briefly, and it will dissipate like everything else. Again, there is the part that wants nothing but some peace. And I worry, that this life will never see that peace except in death. And death is an endlife.

I stop and hold my breath. Anticipating the screaming to start again. Perhaps it won't. But I never know, and it is better to be prepared than to be startled. That is a painful experience. And not knowing is a helpless one.

I must stop and brace myself.

Aug 8/97. Friday.

This hasn't been such a great week for me. Then again, I can't remember ever really having a good one. But this week, that sudden downward spiral and the lost of control was shocking, even for me. And remaining alone down in those pits where I couldn't see the sun suddenly made me scared when I wasn't before. It used to be somewhat comforting in those zones when the conscious mind shut down.

The truth is, I scared shitless right about now. And I don't know what about exactly. Everything, anything and nothing at all. Last night I dreamt about falling into a kind of death where I could hear and see people and the world around me, but I couldn't participate. The shut down was my body and heart, but my mind had its own eye. I woke and tried to fall into that numbness of my dead weight body, but then my heart kept pounding too hard.

Yesterday, I could barely make my way home. I would have taken the subway if I hadn't forgotten my damn wallet. The 25 minute walk which I usually enjoy, seemed an impossible feat. I made it though. Step by painful step.

Sometimes it feels as though this life, this body, does not really belong to me. I feel as though I owe it to several people. It feels as though those rare favors I ask of others are huge ones and these people never let me forget it. And if I should in turn do a favor for others, it is quickly forgotten or played down. I'm tired. I'm goddamn tired of feeling indebted. Tired of putting in more effort than anybody else because of this feeling of "gratitude". I'm angry, furious, that my share has always been such a small one. And I only ask for a fair share, never more. Why should I be denied of what I have earned? I'm sick to the core of not having any rights and not having choices in what I deem the most important things. Like the right to die. And for this, it seems so easy to blame God, or whatever Forces it is that have brought me back from the brink of death to face this godddamn-shit-fucking life. Why have you brought me back? Not once, not twice, but three times? What do I have to say, how should I curse, that You would finally let me have some peace of mind?

Aug 10/97. Sunday.

1855. A weekend of runnning, quiet reading and movies. The noise of the world pushed away even as I carry on my activities amidst this crowd.

Sunday evening,.... and my mind which is just beginning to relax and enjoy this quiet solitude is drifting back into the black fog of depression. More battles to be fought through the week. More debts to settle. More bills to pay. More blows to deflect. Time will not stand still now but it will crawl when the agony is here. But it'll be alright. Even the worst nightmares must end somehow. Somehow. Even if it ends with an abrupt scream. Or if it melts into nothingness and silence.

Living on one stepping stone to another. Perhaps all lives are like that. We all wait like patient little creatures for disaster to strike and when it does - we pick up the pieces and what's left of ourselves and carry on. And wait some more....

Earthquakes. Tornadoes. Tsunami. Flood. Volcanic eruptions. These happen in my head. The ruins that are left are the same as the ashes, broken buildings, flooded sanctuaries and chaos that occur in the physical world. The shatter-effect is similar.

Aug 11/97. Monday.

Remembering the past is not just painful. The longing to return to that time and relive the events, stupidly thinking that it might result differently is a feeling which no words can describe. The idea itself, which is not too difficult to conceive, would have no meaning in words. And as I draw closer to the first anniversary of that troubled time a year ago, the gaping hole inside of me beckons.

Perhaps talking about this here might quiet the demons which have come back in full force since yesterday. I can only hope. One year ago today, the countdown began. T minus 20 days. God, do I want to go through this again?

I remember eager anticipation,.... partly. Fear was the other part. But I had just returned from Disney World. My mind had gone beyond seeing what I wanted to see. The decision to end this life was one I could not back out of. It was as if I'd sold my soul to Mickey Mouse and the expenses of the trip had exhausted my nest egg. Things were set in motion. I no longer had a choice to take an alternate course. Looking back, I realize now that I didn't want to give myself a choice. I recognize now that I always did have that choice.

Perhaps I was a sore loser. When I knew that I couldn't win this war, I decided to self destruct. There was much relief that came out of this awful course of decisive action. That much, I still remember too. It was the biggest fuck you I could scream at the world, at this government, at this country. It reminded me of a streetkid I met when I was out on the streets several years ago. He always carried with him a card which read "When I die, bury me face down so the whole world can see my ass". He was angry, like me. He wanted revenge (at what, at who, I don't know) - but he had no authority, no power, no money, no place to live, and essentially, no life. And when you have none of those, the only person and lifeforce you could destroy was the one you were born with. He died of a drug overdose three days after I first met him. They found him in a bus shelter. I cried for days. Not because I missed him (I hardly knew him), but because I thought it could have been me, and I wanted it to be me.

Aug 12/97. Tuesday.

I rather not talk about the countdown today. Not feeling quite up to it. There's this pervasive feeling of defeat. No matter where I look, the eyes that stare at me continually taunt me relentlessly. I looked up the net on information on overdoses causing death and according to all of them, I should have been dead at least a year ago, if not even earlier back. My drug of choice is not just lethal, it promises a quick painless exit. Promises. More broken promises. More unfulfilled pacts.

God, why?

Need an answer. Something that would make sense to me. After the attempt last year, I started running, strength training,... to keep myself sane. I haven't stopped running since. But it's becoming clearer to me now that the answers don't lie there. It's nothing more than escape. Not much more than "time passing". Like how movies used to be for me. Only, running's less expensive. I'm running into a dead end here. Obsessions are not focal points and focal points should not be used as crutches. I am not saying that I will give up running. No, I could never do that. It used to define who I was throughout high school, and I am still using it to define myself these days. I am a runner. It's better than being nothing. Perhaps even better than being Carey, or Amy, or Gaik, or whatever the hell names that have been given to me.

My moods have been shifting on me. My attention spread over everywhere and not anywhere. I concentrade on not thinking and before I know it I am in the middle of a realm I'd rather not have ventured into. The punishments when this occurs can sometimes be brutal. Head banging, tears, screams, punishing workouts that leave me dry heaving and close to passing out. And sometimes, sometimes, fortunately, the 12-24 hour marathon sleeps that relive me from the waking-insane-haphazard world.

Aug 13/97. Wednesday.

1602. A day away from the usual waking world. Slept over 15 hours so far. Not as tired physically as I am emotionally now. Broken down to every last bit, there's nothing left inside of me. It hurts. Sometimes, on days like this, I feel as though everyone has abandoned me, left me behind. The world continues, even without me, without noticing I have fallen off along the way. So what's the point of this hurting? Of this clinging on?

I wish you'd give me an answer, God.

I've grown so old and so tired. I've fought as hard as I could. All those times, thinking you'd free me especially when I was so deep in pain. Or just take away this pain and let me live this life as best as I can.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Getting by day after day like this isn't worth it. Something's got to change. I want to do more than simply survive. I cry too much these days. I cry too hard and too much. I am afraid I will never stop crying. It feels like I'm drowning and dying. Please God, anybody, please, help me.

Aug 14/97. Thursday.

A grand total of 29 hours of sleep over the last 36 hour period. Yet, this is not my record breaking episode. Yesterday, after a session with DH, I crawled back into bed, fell asleep crying and woke up later with terrible nightmares. Unconsoled and not comforted at the thought that DH will be away next week. What do I say anyway? Yesterday is a blank. Only cared about the darkness and the numbness of my soul. Not caring so much about the nightmares which awaken me forcefully, and leaves me weeping in fear and frustration. The lesser of two evils,.... isn't that what it is?

Today, a first email from my big brother since he's been in Boston. I'd been angry with him. Angry that he chose to get married and to live his life with someone who will always care about him. He and I had gotten so close over the past few years,.... or at least I had allowed the closeness because I felt he knew what it was like to be alone in this world. I thought he shared a similar pain with me, and I thought he needed me. I refused to see the part of him which always attracts other people to him. His charm, his easy going attitude, his caring, his warmth. He could never be alone. I just wanted to believe that.

Yesterday, I was pretty close to an OD. Closer than I've been in a while. I couldn't care anymore. I wanted not to feel anything at all. But I fell asleep and lacked the energy, perhaps lacked the courage. There were things I had to get done which in the end, didn't get done at all. It has left me with even more guilt. And today,... today, I have to piece the many pieces together, walk straight and attempt to communicate with other fellow beings the normal way.

Aug 15/97. Friday.

0830. Awake and facing the weekend. First, to get through today. The rest will be easier. Perhaps. And Sunday, an obligatory get together with Peter and Gladys at the CNE which opens today. It will be alright,.... as long as I don't cry. As long as I maintain this facade of normalcy, no one will see the beast behind this mask. They would not even suspect....

My mantra for this month (and perhaps may be the same next month),
I will be strong.
I will be strong.
I will be strong. If nothing else.

And if all fails, I swear to banish this soul into the darker regions of this pit with all the little brown pills I have stashed away. Revolutions are frowned upon. Those that betray will be brought to justice swiftly. They will be punished. There will be no mercy shown for the tolerance of the weaker emotion.

Cry, and I will give you something to cry about.

Aug 16/97 Saturday.

0656. Another terrible night and a bad start to the weekend. People expecting so much from me - and me, having given so much, left with nothing else to give. Staring blankly at preposterous proposals, incredulous statements and unreasonable demands. I'm tired. And all I ever wanted was some peace. Some sign of appreciation that I've done all I possibly can.

Last night, all deals and bets were broken when I fell apart under a torrent of tears. Deep-wrecking-body-tearing sobs cut through my body and grief stricken sounds like I haven't heard of in a long time escaped my chest. It hurt. God, it hurt.

And the worst part was, I couldn't stop.

Found myself in a corner, hours later, curled up tightly in a ball, as if I was waiting to melt into the walls of my apartment. As if I could mold myself into three flat sides and fit in like a piece of furniture.

I couldn't stop.

I couldn't stop.

I tried to sleep - but thoughts and memory haunted me in the dark. I ached from shifting back and forth between caring too much and not caring at all.

I couldn't stop.

It was late when I finally fell asleep, but I was wide awake again by 0600. Tired, and with eyes that look like those of a dead fish.

A weekend I've looked forward to all week, and it looks like I'll be fighting this losing battle. Barely holding myself together. And wondering if running harder this morning will hold back the grief.

Sunday. Aug 17/97.

2125. Yesterday - calmed down as the day wore on. But I retreated to bed early. Was exhausted.

This morning, a long run which went pretty well - the streets deserted enough for me to not have to worry about traffic. And this afternoon, met up with Peter and Gladys at the CNE. My seventh year in Toronto and I've never been there (with the exception of when races were routed through the site). So much to do and see. I was only grateful for its distraction.

This evening, the oppressive fog of fear and dread returns. But I'm trying to chew things piece by piece. Little piece by little piece. So many wrong things can happen through a week. I lack the confidence to see myself through these anymore. So hard to trust someone who cries so easily. A dam with such fragile walls.

Not any pride left. Not for someone who has nothing. No rights. No pride. Might as well have no existence. This world owns me, as long as I am alive. The corporate world will own me, as long as they lay food on my table. This life will imprison me, as long as I breathe its air. And my soul will belong to those who have done me favours. I have nothing. I own nothing. I am nothing.

As long as I am alive, peace will not come. Peace is never offered to those who slave.

Aug 18/97. Monday.

A phone conversation with mom last night, after avoiding her call on Saturday. So many more emotions triggered. Sadness being at the root of it all. A deep sadness of a choice made and at the stubbornness to hold onto it. A stubbornness which could lead me to death just so I can see it through. Is it worth it? I cannot see it any other way.

Over the weekend, I thought much about this whole matter. I want not to be trapped anymore. Yet, I find myself becoming more so by the demands of others around me. On Friday, I thought I'd been pushed beyond my limits. Yet I did all I could to get through the weekend and to return to the top of the week, no longer shiny and cheery, but alive. Why? What will it take? Am I waiting for that one more answer to topple me over the edge? The truth is, yes. But how long will they keep me waiting?

Tuesday. Aug 19/97.

Last night, yet another phone call from mom. Does she sense that resignation in my voice? Why do they care now that I no longer do? Time has moved on. I have grown and moved on. Some things I have vowed not to allow me distraction. Would I return to the cause of this turmoil? Would I want to return to the point of origin and attempt to heal a wound which has festered through the years and infected other parts of me?

Soft. I have grown soft. I have allowed myself the temptation of returning to another hell after finding this one too dark and too scary. But it's still a hell. Why do I keep forgetting that? Anything at all, just to escape this one.... Without thinking, without rationalization. Reality does not map itself well in my head. I see too much only of what I long to see. Illusions so convincing are created perfectly to fill that emptiness inside. A paradise of sorts in the middle of a desert land. Softness allows that.

And the week crawls by ever so slowly. I must try to make it. Tonight, a 6K race at Ward's Island. I am looking forward to it. Yet, yet.... a small hesitation and reluctance to relive the last time I took that same ferry across with the intention to die. Tainted places.... On the better side of things, training has been going well and even though it was hard to take a day off yesterday, I did, and I'm hoping I'm psyched up enough by the evening to run a PR.

Making it through, slowly, even with DH away....

Aug 20/97. Wednesday.

Mud, sweat and tears. It'd all been worth it. I ran my personal best last night. It was a good race. One in which I felt strong, and able to push even harder. It was a small race, only about 170+ people, and the first one I ever encountered where they did not offer any water at the beginning, middle, or end of the race. I gulped down 4 cans of coke at the finish, and while fidgeting, tossing and turning in bed at 0100, I wondered what could possibly be the cause of my insomnia predicament. Lesson I learnt yesterday : Never drink too much coke before bedtime. So I am a little physically tired today. What else is new? I'm thrilled that I have finally figured out a training schedule which works for me!

Overall, the race itself was a good distraction from the daily grind. It was tough to return to Ward's Island, but it had to be done anyway. Tainted places are best revisited so they would lose their haunting power. I watched the sunset while waiting for the ferry back. It was beautiful. Mental note : watch a sunset by the lake at least once in a while.

Hump day. And to get through it, remembering the mantra :
I will be strong.
I will be strong.
I will be strong.
There will always be pain and nightmares. People who do not know better and who have never lived under tyranny will never know this pain. Let them be tyrants. Let them force themselves on me and infringe on my rights. Let them take away the little bit of security I have greedily harboured. For now. I will retaliate later, when I am in a better position. I will fight and put my life at stake. Unlike them, I do not place too much value on life. That is my advantage. That is my strength. And as long as I have running, I will always go the distance.

Aug 21/97. Thursday.

08:40. Yesterday, I learnt the meaning of SNAFU, and I couldn't stop laughing. Perhaps at the irony of the fact that I must be a walking living SNAFU and haven't known it all these time. This is a cursed world. And I am a part of its dammned creation.

It's raining this morning. I woke up at around 0400 and for a while, I thought I was going to stay up. My mind revolved around much anxiety. Then I fell asleep again and before I knew it, the alarm was going off. It's been a while since it has woken me up. I always seem to catch it before it goes off. As if the sound bothers me so much that my subconscious awakens the body 20 minutes before it's due. It's dark outside. This bothers me a lot. There is enough darkness that surrounds me. The sun is a reassurance to me that sometimes, and some parts of this cursed universe isn't all that dark and wet and cold.

I'm troubled today. I can't quite figure out why. I'm trying to hoard more pills. For no reason, really. No plans. Nothing. Just to have them. A reassurance. I've found myself to be such a great liar. I can tell such wonderfully smooth tales. So convincing. Well, almost.

Situation Normal All Fucked Up.

Aug 22/97. Friday.

0835. Some people measure life by friendships. People place trust and loyalty into a relationship. What happens during betrayal? What does a person do when an illusion is shattered and trust is broken? Why do we gamble with our emotional souls which are so fragile? I thought I had chosen not to.

Imagine a prison where the warden and all the prison guards are truly psychotic in a real sense. Imagine being a prisoner, helpless against the authority that pledges on the outside to help and look after your needs. And then imagine being a prisoner who has done nothing to deserve a jail term.

When I was a kid, whenever I watched movies about life in prison and some such thing, I used to think that I would rather kill myself than be subjected to a life without any rights, without any dignity. Even if there was hope of an eventual release, I always thought that the period of time spent with such torture was not worth the hope of returning to a world which cared for no one anyway. There was simply nothing to look forward to. I don't think my views have changed much since then.

It looks like another dull gray day, but even if I have to run indoors tonight, I feel the urge to run forever from the rut I seem to be stuck within. I'm no longer satisfied with the meager relief I get from my sleep marathons. Speaking of which, I have not had one since last week, and maybe that's a part of this tiredness and sadness. It's been an impossibly long week, with no relief, only anger and pain and sadness and the endless cycle of edging between wanting to live and wanting to die.

Today it seems like I'm down to my last bit of emotional energy. I'll beg, I'll plead, I'll even grovel. Please make the bottomless emptiness disappear, please stop the yearning for peace and death, please save me from myself. I need help. I can't do this on my own. But who do I turn to? It looks like I'm alone. It sounds like no one there.

A poem from a stranger. Thank you, Tad.

Aug 25/97. Monday.

Waking up to Saturday morning two days ago seems like a far off fantasy today. What did I do? I went running, did some strength training and treated myself to a lunch in Chinatown. Then I went hunting for a new book to read, having finished Eric Harry's Society of The Mind. It was a wonderful day. No other human contact other than that cute guy who served me lunch and the check out girl at World's Biggest Bookstore.

Yesterday, woke up early for a long, relaxing and peaceful run. Later, met up with Peter and a bunch of other people for a chinese buffet lunch and did the annual pigging out thing for Peter's 28th birthday. After that, we went bowling at Planet Bowl. It was my first time bowling. Needless to say, I was pretty pathetic. One strike out of twenty frames. And that was a freak accident. Most of the time I simply cleaned out the gutters. Before heading back to Theresa and Craig's we hung out at the arcade to play video games and air hockey. Peter and I were hooked on the air hockey and he was so determined to beat me, he kept sending the puck flying off the table. And back at Theresa's while the others watched a video, Peter and I escaped into the basement to play pool and ended up having a really good conversation. We talked about the near future, about possibilities and options, and about his relationship with Gladys.

Emotionally, I did OK. Except for Saturday night when I felt close to falling apart again after a phone call from mom. I was so wrapped up with my own problems I'd forgotten it was her birthday. (It was already Sunday where she was calling from) So I called her back. But even with that gaping hole between us, I felt bad she was alone. Dad was away at work as usual, yes, even on a Sunday, and my brother had also seemed to have forgotten.

We've grown up and flown away
flown the coup, as you might say

We're all so distant, physically and emotionally. We're all little pieces, aching, each in our own way to form a "whole" we have never known. And in the process, we have drifted apart while I have extracted myself furthest away in distance, convincing myself that it was better, much better this way. That perhaps I might find something else to replace that aching need to be "whole". Has it been better? Probably not. But it wasn't a choice. It was a last ditch attempt to salvage a life I no longer cared about since the age of nine.

Aug 26/97. Tuesday.

0835. Finally, the call and letter I have been waiting for has come through. The waiting is finally over. I was shaking with relief and tears yesterday. It might be over soon after all. And the end is in sight. Thank God, thank God. It's not all completely over, no, not at all, but as the finish line pulls into my line of vision over the horizon after all this waiting, all this agony, the flood of relief is incredible.

My high school coach used to say that the home stretch is the most important part of every race, especially long distance races. It's the part where people will feel the weakest, but it's the part where we have to be strongest. And it all comes down to weeding out the winners from the losers. Whether I win or lose this race, it doesn't matter. I'll accept either end result with as much grace as I can.

Aug 27/97. Wednesday.

So much to chew on lately. And that restless fidgety energy is back. I am afraid I might lash out at someone without meaning to. I am wary of those short bursts of energy which die on me mid-stream and leaves me in the dust. I'd rather be low, flat and down than to be riding these wind tossed waves. It's making me nauseous and depressed in a different sort of way. I probably need Elavil to knock me down and keep me down for a few days. Somewhere to escape to. Doesn't matter where.

An apology from my brother today for not emailing for a while now. Orientation stuff. Busy. Life. Married life. I don't care anymore. I have nothing inside to give. And I don't write anymore either. But a few nights ago I was tempted to call him. Just to speak to him. Someone, at the other end of the line, talking back to me. I feel like I've paddled into sea and all of a sudden I find myself in the middle of no where, without the option to go back from where I came and finding that there might not be anything ahead to move towards. No focus. If there once was one, it has blurred behind this depth of pain. Can't see no more.

Aug 28/97. Thursday.

Fatigue forced me to take a day off from running yesterday. Stress and uncertainty has driven me to overtrain and my body began its solitary protest. But I will be back tonight for a light workout (yeah, right) to prepare for my first cross country race next week.

It was good to see DH again yesterday. What had I thought? That she wouldn't be back? Last week, it seemed like it. As though everyone had left and disappeared off the face of the earth. And this week, perhaps it was my resignation, perhaps it was the hopelessness reflected in my eyes - but people around me have grown supportive. Even my mom. She keeps calling long distance!! Does she remember what happened last year? Does she think I'd do it again? I'm battling my demons every waking minute. But I think I'm doing alright. I'm trying to get focused. On work. On life. On play. But mostly on that cross country next week, and on the bunch of road races throughout September, if I make it through.

Meanwhile, the countdown continues inevitably amidst the haste and noise and distractions I am frantically trying to bury myself beneath.

Aug 29/97. Friday.

Restless night, even after wearing out the body from running further and harder than I had planned. An unreasonable and childish fear of the darkness when night fell. I finally left a light on. Rationally, I knew the darkness couldn't swallow me. I knew it. But the fear was unshakable. The fear of being lost to nothingness.

The final long weekend of the summer is here. Do I sleep it off and indulge in the one thing I want more than anything else, at the risk of jeopardizing the race on Tuesday? Does it really matter? And if I don't wake up, when will they find me? When I am rotting away in my apartment?

The anniversary weekend. And I want no human contact. No emails, no phone calls, no entries (perhaps). I will withdraw and attempt to heal. Otherwise I might just not make it over the next two weeks. There will be silence of the heart and soul. There will be no pressure to socialize or make obligatory visits. There will simply be no concept of time. It seems to have come down to this - heal or die.