I have picked up my journal today. It has been about two years since my last entry. Reflecting on the contents of the 4 volumes that I have produced, it is rather startling.
My journal entries began in 1999 after an argument with my sister. As the entries and years go by I seem to write exclusively upsetting stuff and only at times when I am distressed to the point of wanting a cathartic release with the pen and paper. I’ll have to estimate that at least 90% of my entries are full of woes and anxieties. I could barely find much joy. I also discovered how i came to realise certain things; like how I discovered my homosexuality (there was no point of realisation but gradual debate in my mind) and discovery of my every growing enstrangement with my family, especially my parents.
When I read some of the stuff I wrote these past few years, I could not help by begin to cry. My constant questioning about my existence, the parleying with my will to die, the debate about my personal beliefs and my constant fight to find hope in a sea of despair. It brought it all back to me.
The talk of death and suicide began a few years ago, around 2005/06. With each coming entry, more questions are asked, more thoughts of death are considered. At times I find myself patronising and laughable in my rather pathetic excuses and justifications; at times I just wish what I said were so. Wishes unrealistic, fantasy even. Longing for a someone that would never come. Grasping onto a wish and ambition that will never be realised. I see the decline of hope and the ever increasing despair take hold of me. Wanting to be loved and not being able to obtain it.
The past two years of haitus was mostly due to the relative peace within this household (but there were ups and downs). My minor employments did keep me sane and warded my parents (most of the time) away from calling me useless. Alas, such was not to last and it was after my contract began and ended at the Chinese Society did things start to go back downhill again. For inside the Chinese Society even there was resentment and betrayal. Having your parents know who you work with is a road to disaster in form of back-talking which eventually comes back to you. Upset and anger at such a breach of confidence; at having your colleague talk to your mother then having her shout at you about what she has heard. I almost resigned but tolerated it till the end. And afterwards, even though the contract ended due to no money in the kitty for the project to continue, she (not suprisingly) assumed the worse of me and thought I did not do my job properly. Such a lack of support and belief drains all hope.
Now, I have been threatened by force to do something that I do not wish to do; to go down the route of my father and forever be trapped in another unending cycle of torment for me; to train as a cook, something which I despise. I would rather do waitering as that is a lesser evil (but note that I’d rather not still and this was a compromise in all due respect) yet he will have none of it and would not have faith in me at such difficult ecomonic times when the Job Centres are packed and the ever flowing stream of rejection letters comes through the post. I had hoped to ride out this storm and hope for a better year of improvement next year. However, this hope is now fading.
One could assume that this is all about employment; it is not just for it is about a lack of trust between me and my parents and the family. For even my family has no belief in me, only doubt and constant unhelpful aid that they would in all mean well but fails to take into account me as a individual who yearns for more than a cattle-like mentality of following the same road as the farmer would direct them. I would fight to survive for something I want, not for the sake of prolonging my life (and such a life of agony it would be if I followed such a path dictated by my family). It would lead to an endless circle that contradicts itself; to live and yet want to die at the same time.
There is nothing now, no one, that would bear me into the future. I had hoped to find someone who would love me that would make such an agony bearable; to make me feel wanted, to make me want to live for tomorrow. Alas, such a romantic view has shrouded my thoughts of late. I live in an imaginary world that I would delve into to accompany me, to ease my woes. Yet this episode, this final chapter, I fear is slowly coming to an end as I struggle to find my worth in this world and to grasp a godforsaken destiny that is being plundered and sacked by all those around me in my family. None of my friends may bear this burden for I am made to feel like a parasite, clinging onto the comfort of my own bedroom, waiting to be feed upon by my mother’s nurturing heart and hand and struggling to find a way out that would led to a satisfactory and happy conclusion when my parents and family finally understand what my soul strives for and accepts my uttermost feelings of beauty that they all are still blind to. How I long for my family to actually ‘love’ me; for who I am and what I want to become. But they will never understand for I have tried but failed to make them understand. They just want me to be chained to a destiny of their own thinking, what they think is right for me, what I feel is my doom.
Thus, I contemplate death and what it brings. I debate on what I have to live for and constantly turn towards such an option. My mind struggles with the will to live in hope and the motivation to die in despair. I wrote today how I wish we had a garage, so I could take my sister’s car keys in the dead of night, get a duvet and cover the threshold of the garage door, turn the engine on, open the windows, put on some music and let the fumes take me away. But I would not have such a luxury and I begin to contemplate other methods more painful and/or quick. Blood and mountains. Pills and trains. I think of my funeral and the reaction and aftermath. Would they repent? Would they understand? Would they finally realise that I was trapped by them? Would I be even there to see all this come to pass? Would the pain just stop and there is nothing? Would they finally be relieved of this burden of their’s? Such thoughts scare me.
So now I contemplate admitting myself to an institution; to stop my thoughts going beyond the point of no return; to stop the craving for an end to all this; to stop the urge to spite my family through death. Such a drastic measure may only be a last resort and only when there is something in me that wills me to live on, that has hope for a better future. These dreams I have of late, these thoughts and these fantasies; they are battling in my mind for a way out of a situation. The death knell rings and the night is calling to me. Joy is slowly being prised out and sadness now engulf.
I wish you do not think ill of me, for I wonder when did I become this weak (in the words of Chihiro Onitsuka), for I have been infected with this sorrow and self-pity; a disease of selfish desires and self-doubt. Maybe one day I will fight this or maybe not. The only first solution as many has told me is to remove myself from the path of my parents yet this requires money which I do not have and which drives this whole saga deep into me, creating a gulf that would not heal, a cataract that will not disperse. This clouds all my paths and fuels my families urges. They are not content with me. They do not believe that can transcend this eventually. They want me to be miserable like they are until I follow their way that would led them out of misery for themselves whilst I remain. But forgive me for my resentment for I do wish we lived well. Alas, they would have no otherway except their own way. They placed a heavy burden and responsibility on myself that I do not want. I resent being the eldest. I resent being compared to my other family members. Above all I resent being confined to a cage of their thoughts of what I ought to become and how I live my life. I have flaws but who doesn’t? And I do have positive points; points that they do not seem to give heed or praise. I feel like Faramir, who whatever he does finds no comfort in his father.
But so I still live in hope, however much there is of it left…
To die in one’s sleep is the greatest blessing of all.