Books during tsw

All this free time, limited mobility = read all the books! One huge perk of being sick! The page will be updated as time goes on :D

Speaker for the Dead –Orson Scott Card
Xenocide – Orson Scott Card
Shadow of the Giant – Orson Scott Card
Daughter of Fortune -Isabel Allende
Foundation and Empire – Isaac Asimov
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Galaxy
The Fault in Our Stars – John Green (HIGHLY RECOMMENDED for TSW warriors!)

Advertisements

Heart type things

There is nothing quite like lying awake from 2-8am that makes you feel like a nocturnal creature. A moody nocturnal creature.

This week has already had its share of great highs and lows, and its only Tuesday morning. If the rest of the week proves to be this excellent an emotional roller coaster, magic mountain would be proud, and I’m not sure I’ll get through it without hurling.

When you decide to love someone, in any capacity, you are essentially handing them your heart, trusting that although they can drop it, and shattering it in the process, they won’t. But people do- friends, lovers, family, ourselves even!  -over and over again. Since the heart itself cannot be reinforced to prevent intentional, and unintentional breaking, you put it in a box. Then another, and another, each box increasing in its strength and durability. If you’re not careful, soon your heart will resemble a Russian nesting doll made of excuses and hurt- so much so that your heart can become very hard to relocate, buried underneath all this crap. You do this to guard and protect that fragile thing because whether the broken heart manifested itself in a dull physical ache that you can’t seem to alleviate, or a sleepless night spent making your pillow a tear rag, it hurts. And human beings, well, we are designed to run as far away from pain as possible. So box, upon a box, upon a box. Masking tape, duct tape, writings on the boxes that read, “do not open, remember last time?!!!”

But something compels us. Time passes, memories fade, you meet somebody new and layer by layer, you start opening the boxes. “She seems so genuine, he seems so kind.” Another layer, gone, and so on until you see that heart, finally. Then you hand it to them again, knowing full well, the risks. Or so we think – if we actually remembered all the gory, depressing details of a heart break, who among us would be brave enough to try, and try again? I’d like to think I’ll be brave (or stupid, feel free to use whatever description) but I’m not so sure anymore.

The thing is though, why do we even get so broken in the first place? Is it perhaps we place so much of our hearts in their very human hands? If the center is tightly bound to something that does change, shouldn’t we be able to save ourselves from the most debilitating, must-lock-and-seal-my-heart-away kind of pain because large chunks of the heart was occupied by something other than fickle humans?

So in the depth of sadness may my heart learn to say, “Restore unto me, the joy of thy salvation”

Meaninglessness

I was always the busy one. The one who was taking way too many classes, involved in multiple extracurricular activities, who slept too little (which, let’s be honest, I probably could’ve avoided that majority of the times by becoming more organized with my time), and stressed out too much. And yet I always compared myself to those who were still doing more than me, frequently feeling inadequate. At the same time, however, I relished in the knowledge that I was involved, busy, doing stuff. All the things I was involved with gave me meaning. It gave me a sense of purpose. It shaped my identity.

I loved it when people asked me how I did all the things I was doing. I loved knowing that I was going somewhere in life. If that makes me sound like a dick, then it’s because I was one. Sure, I didn’t let others know how I felt, because it makes me seem like a terrible person, but deep inside, it was how I felt.

Lately, I don’t do much. I’m basically unemployed with very little responsibility. It is really nice, in a way. However, the lack of activities have me feeling lost. I feel like a failure knowing everybody else is moving forward while I am left behind. Life is on survival mode, I live one day at a time. Life is on pause for me.

Today, the boy told me that he was learning to operate on a pig for his research. He is being a rock star scientist and I am so happy and proud of him. Right after the text, I finally figured out how to knit the purl stitch and became ecstatic. It was kind of sad and pathetic. I took my victory, though, because I’ll take whatever I can get! The point is, knitting is really meaningless and kind of pointless. And so I need to learn to find my meaning and identity that is separate from all the stuff I am doing (or not) and how busy I am (or not), lest I am left in a pool of sadness and existential crisis

I am hoping as I continue on this journey, I will learn to be at peace when I feel like an unproductive, incompetent member of society, because all the stuff I do… in the end that’s not what I should derive my meaning from. I mean, be busy, and productive, and all, but I’m hoping I will get distance I need to separate my worth from the busyness of it all when it is time for me to go back to school. Understand I am worthy regardless of how much stuff I am doing or not doing.

Now, It’s back to knitting for me! (Can I just say I got really good at it in the last twenty four hours? Woo go me!)

Six week update

Woo it’s been a month and a half! Yesterday was my first “good” day since I moved back home. I wasn’t super depressed! In fact, I felt motivated to prepare my own food and eat it! It’s a big deal, as sad as it may be. I gotta celebrate any and all victories! And I slept really well yesterday- so not last night, but the night before. I went to sleep before midnight, and never woke up! Last night however, I woke up couple times and was itchy. The saying one step forward, two steps back is really true with tsw. No matter, I will still celebrate because I feel better than two days ago! I had a flare and was the most uncomfortable I had been recently. I couldn’t sleep, spent four hours in the tub, was miserable when I came out, itchy, ooze, stressed and depressed mess. There were tiny vesicles everywhere, and one light scratch was all it took for the top layer to completely break and start oozing. It’s ridiculous – my epithelial layer’s integrity is completely compromised. My face feels like thick sandpaper. A lot of that is starting to flake over though, I’m hoping I will have at least few days of respite before the next flare, but we shall see!