[Depression] Day 4: 0045H, 062208. A bottle of jagged little pills*

    I’m a bookworm. Maybe it’s because my rather active imagination allows me to visualize what’s happening with great alacrity. Or because the author’s storytelling is quite good and engaging. But most likely it’s just because books offer me a cheap, reusable, cost-efficient way to escape this world. Books are my drugs, my painkillers, my booze, my sleeping pills. They make me forget about the crap of this world. They distract me from the pain. They help me sleep. They give me focus. They make me laugh. They challenge my mind. They make me happy. They tickle my imagination. They fill voids you never knew was there. They transport me to world I never did know was there. (more…)

[Denial] Day 2: 1111H, 062008. Radio almost killed the errand star*

    This world of ours has a sick sense of humor. I was on this random errand an hour ago - I just have to buy this small bottle of contact cement - nothing tedious, nothing strange, nothing new, just a normal task. Along the way there was this stupid radio that just had to blare this out as i passed by: 

there’s a reason why people
don’t say where they are
because sometimes love just
ain’t enough

    - ‘Sometimes love just ain’t enough’, Patty Smyth

     I screamed ‘fuck you world’ to the shock of the cat drinking water from the gutter. No kidding. And yes, nothing beats the ’something got into my eye while outside’ line when someone asks you if you’ve been crying.

    Now, even my old refuge called ’sleep’ is no longer a welcome place to be. I know I think loudly. But now, I think way too loudly I can’t sleep. And an idle mind tends to ruminate on things it shouldn’t exactly ruminate on at the moment. So there. Back to work. Now if only this world would stop WinAmp from ‘randomly’ playing certain songs…

(A/N: * - Originally ‘Video killed the radio star’, a song by the Buggles. And yes, given the right video, it can also kill the errand star wtih impunity.) 

Evolution of Grief - a primer

    This a sort-of new series - a not-quite-autobiographical story of a Man who just lost the Woman in his life in the form of a series of letters from him to her. No, nothing monumentally tragic like a car accident, this is just about how the man goes through the sudden but not really unforseen demise of a relatively long-lived relationship. Cliche? Yes, maybe. There’s nothing more common in this world of ours than grief. Heck, nowadays, there’s actually a toss-up on which is rarer between common sense or happiness. 

    The Kübler-Ross model describes how humans handle loss, grief and tragedy in five discrete stages - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. Considered as a valid coping mechanism, these stages may not come in the abovementioned order, not everyone will experience all five stages but everyone should experience at least two. This is a front-row seat on a live (well, the Man thinks he’s dead already at the moment, but that doesn’t matter) specimen going through the roller coaster ride called Grief.

    This series originally had the working title ‘Brand New Day’. WTF right? Not really. There’s this current (for now) story arc in Spiderman wherein Aunt May was dying, and the Devil offered Peter Parker and Mary Jane a deal - their marriage for Aunt May’s life. They agreed, and they all woke up in a brand new day. A ‘brand new day’ is something the Man woke up to, that I’m sure of. What kind of ‘new’ day, only time will tell.

    So. Prepare the popcorn, sit back, relax. No, I’m not writing down my experiences, so no, I’m not the Man in the story. Scout’s honor. *deadpan face*

 - author

[Depression] Day 1: 0042H, 062008. The first night is the crappiest*

    This would be the first night. I may never know how you felt during the first few nights after you’ve decided to pull the plug on ‘us’, but i don’t think sleep came easy for you then. Me, I don’t have any illusions that sleep will come easy for me tonight, or for any night soon for that matter. You know how i feel now while trying to sleep? Ria Bautista of Paramita describes this night (and the coming ones) best, in so many ways. (more…)

[The Prince] The Prince under a glass slide, looking back with jade-colored shades

    Once upon a time there was this prince. Well, he wasn’t really a prince by definition; he was neither of royal blood nor someone married to one. I just call him that because its easier to remember. And being called a prince brings about a certain impression - single, unattached, young, although The Prince feels unusually old for his age. So sue me.

    Anyway. This prince of neither royal blood nor marriage is what people would call a wallflower. Or to be precise, a corner wallflower that carries a big-ass sharp bloody kitchen knife. (more…)