Tuesday, May 30, 2023

Peeling Rusty Layers: Trying To Unveiling the Uncharted Realities Within

I would like to begin by mentioning my credentials as a fellow dissosiate. I have been dissociating for as long as I can remember. I would play with toys to show my parents, but underneath, I would be pretending to live some other life. At first, I felt enigmatic. I felt like I had the magical power to take myself on a journey wherever I could. I was building this labyrinth-like maze around me. I found a refuge deep within the walls of this intricate labyrinth and lost myself in the complicated maze from the chaos and confusion around me. It became my sanctuary, a place where I could retreat and find solace in the midst of overwhelming emotions or external pressures. The more I dissociated, the more elaborate and intricate my labyrinth grew. Each twist and turn represented a coping mechanism, a defence mechanism that shielded me from the harsh realities I struggled to comprehend.

But as I grow older, I realise that my labyrinth, while once a source of comfort, has become a barrier that isolates me from genuine connections and authentic experiences. It was as if I had built an impenetrable fortress around myself, preventing others from truly seeing me and, in turn, impeding my ability to fully engage with the world around me. I touch my knee, and I feel a jolt within myself. Whose is it? I cannot recognise my face in the pictures. Who is she? Every time I wake up for sleep, I feel like I have been teleported into a completely different world. I feel as if I have forgotten my mother tongue. In the labyrinth of my mind, fragments of melodies linger, wisps of forgotten conversations that evoke a longing for a language I can no longer grasp. It is as if a veil has been cast, obscuring the words that once flowed effortlessly from my lips. The food feels foreign in my mouth. The taste of my mother's comforting meals, once a symphony of love and nourishment, now feels like a distant memory slipping through my fingers. The once-beloved dishes now seem distant, their flavours veiled in a thin shroud of unfamiliarity. I chew chilli peppers after chilli peppers and cry my eyes out, yet I feel no spice.

Now, I try to navigate my way out. It is not easy, as every wall and corridor has memories, emotions, and fears carved deep into them that I have tucked away. But, I think, the real hindrance is confronting the underlying causes of my dissociation—the wounds that led me to seek refuge in the labyrinth. It is hurtful. The core reason is hidden somewhere deep. And it is wrapped with layers and layers of woolgathering. It is painful as I try to navigate and unwrap. It feels like I am scraping off the rusty layers of derealized lives to give birth to my reality. Ever pulled out a dry tampon? Yeah, that's what this feels like. So uncomfortable. So difficult. Skin-wrenching. A completely unused life. But the conundrum is that even if I successfully pull it out, I can never reuse it, right? Think about it. I will spend months and years peeling off all these fake identities to embark upon a realisation pilgrimage—a quest to reconnect with the actualities that formed the foundation of my identity—only to find out I have no countable experiences in my real life as a contrast to my fantasies, where I have lived a wide range of characters, lives, and universes in my own metaverse. With each layer shed, I am forced to reckon with the profound absence of tangible experiences, genuine relationships, and a solid sense of self. The time spent lost in my dissociative metaverse has left me with a fragmented timeline, where the milestones of childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood slip through my grasp like sand through clenched fists. While I find out this new fact, I will have lost time as well. With my childhood, teenhood, and half of the twentyhood already eschewed by psycheclipse, I will be left with an infant in an adult body who has lost a chunk of sentience.

I fall back into bed. Tired and wounded. I scrape off the rust and chip away at this oxidised facade, leaving reality in my palms. It looks like a weak, crying baby—red-faced, marked with spots of uncertainty and fragility. And I am a tired mother who is suddenly thrust into this duty to nurture and care for this fragile and broken soul, offering solace and comfort as she navigates the path of self-discovery and healing.

Thursday, May 18, 2023

Random Diary Entry - 18th May 2023

Officially rejected from every uni this year!

Well. Done and dusted. Rejected from every university this cycle. I have no energy, no patience, and no hope left. I'm tired of people around me packing their bags and updating their lives. I hate that I can't be happy for them because all these rejections have filled me up with self- hatred. Every time someone gives me sympathy or a positive message, I feel enraged. Feels like platitudes. Then I feel guilty about feeling enraged because deep down a part of me knows, they mean well. I need to find a job. Job rejections are kicking me when I am already down. Shit hell. I wish I could disappear.

- Oizys.

Sunday, April 23, 2023

Random Diary Entry - 23 April 2023

Successfully completed one month on the waitlist

I waited for three months for an interview. Then I waited a month for a result. Got waitlisted. Today marks the completion of one month on the waitlist. Life in the waiting room is weird. I feel so stuck. As if I cannot move forward. It is like restless patience.
 
- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 23: Echoes of the Abandoned Library

Prompt: Write a poem of your own that has multiple numbered sections. Attempt to have each section be in dialogue with the others, like a song where a different person sings each verse, giving a different point of view. Set the poem in a specific place that you used to spend a lot of time in, but don’t spend time in anymore.

1: Lost Pages

In the Reticence Library, a sanctuary of books,
Where pages whispered with knowledge's looks,
I wandered, lost in the words' embrace,
In a haven of wisdom, a sacred place.

2: Dusty Shelves

But now, the shelves are dusty and bare,
The silence echoes, a poignant affair,
The books once cherished, now forgotten,
Gather dust, their stories begotten.

3: Echoes of Youth

I hear the echoes of my youthful mind,
As I roamed the aisles, curious and kind,
Immersed in stories, in worlds unknown,
The library, my refuge, a place to own.

4: Vanished Librarian

The librarian, with a smile so warm,
Guiding me through each literary norm,
Now a memory, a faint recollection,
Of a time when books were my connection.

5: Treasured Memories

Oh, how I miss those hours spent in awe,
Flipping pages, without a flaw,
The smell of old paper, the touch of ink,
A treasure trove of stories, a gateway to think.

6: Empty Chairs

The chairs and tables, where I used to sit,
Lost in words, bit by bit,
Now lie empty, a nostalgic sight,
A reminder of a time so bright.

7: Legacy of the Library

The library, once my second home,
Now stands abandoned, a memory to roam,
But the lessons learned, the stories told,
Still linger, as my mind unfolds.

8: Guiding Light

The knowledge gained, the dreams inspired,
In that library, where my heart aspired,
A legacy left, a beacon of light,
Guiding me, even in the darkest night.

9: Farewell

So, I bid farewell to that cherished place,
With gratitude, love, and a solemn grace,
For the memories made, the lessons learned,
In that abandoned library, forever yearned.

- Oizys.

Saturday, April 22, 2023

NaPoWriMo Day 22: "A Thought went up my mind today —"

Prompt: Find an Emily Dickinson poem – preferably one you’ve never previously read – and take out all the dashes and line breaks. Make it just one big block of prose. Now, rebreak the lines. Add words where you want. Take out some words. Make your own poem out of it! I have chosen A Thought went up my mind today —.

A Thought went up my mind today –
That I have had before –
But did not finish – some way back –
I could not fix the Year –

Nor where it went – nor why it came
The second time to me –
Nor definitely, what it was –
Have I the Art to say –

But somewhere – in my Soul – I know –
I’ve met the Thing before –
It just reminded me – ‘twas all –
And came my way no more –

c. 1863

Emily Dickinson Poems, Edited by Brenda Hillman
Shambhala Pocket Classics, Shambhala 1995

Big Block of Prose

A Thought went up my mind today That I have had before But did not finish some way back I could not fix the Year Nor where it went nor why it came The second time to me Nor definitely, what it was Have I the Art to say But somewhere in my Soul, I know I've met the Thing before It just reminded me 'twas all And came my way no more.

Rebroken Lines:

A Thought went up my mind today
That I have had before
But did not finish - some way back
I could not fix the Year -
Nor where it went - nor why it came
The second time to me
Nor definitely, what it was
Have I the Art to say -
But somewhere in my Soul, I know
I've met the Thing before
It just reminded me - 'twas all
And came my way no more.

New Poem:
A thought went up my mind today
That I have had before
But did not finish - some way back
I could not fix the year
Nor where it went - nor why it came
The second time to me
Nor definitely, what it was
Have I the art to say

But somewhere in my soul, I know
I've met the thing before
It just reminded me - 'twas all
And came my way no more

- Oizys.

Friday, April 21, 2023

NaPoWriMo Day 21: Anxiety

Prompt: Choose an abstract noun from the list below, and then use that as the title for a poem that contains very short lines, and at least one invented word.

You could never
scare me
with predictions
or prophecies

Of looming darkness
that lurks beyond
in the unknown
deep in the shadowy pond

For I, the goddess of misery
and goddess of anxiety
hold fear by neck, my pet
in a dance so tight
that whispers echo
through the endless night

My blindness
is my own curse
oh so bitter

As worries wrap
around my wrists
like a stubborn creeper
that's hard to unwind

My silence
is my biggest scream
oh so desperate

A plea for solace
in a world so loud
where thoughts collide
and intrusivity enshroud

Sitting here
in my cot
a lonely Goddess
with no worshippers
but victims

Longing for respite
from the endless weight
of my anxious blessings
that never abate

A temple
so unholy
due to its emptiness

Where once was light
now shadows coup
in this temple of worry
anxiety's legion

For, I am
the begger and the giver
both, in this religion
that has wired us

A paradoxical deity
with conflicting creed
bestowing fears and doubts
yet seeking solace in need

For, in this realm of anxiosity
I am both
the tormentor and the solacifier
a divine enigma,
a goddess of worries,
a hopefier's stigma,
a goddess of contradictions
forever shrouded in mysterious fearfur

I continue to
dance with my pet, fear
piercing the deep darkness
whispering wails in the nights
a goddess called Oizys,
misery's own
who cleaves to anxiety,
on her rightful throne.

- Oizys.

Wednesday, April 19, 2023

Random Diary Entry - 20th April 2023

Deep in obsession - Unable to give up

I feel as if I am too deep in obsession with my dream school, and I am unable to give up. unable to accept reality. It's been almost a month I am in waitlist. People who had received offers after I got waitlisted rejected them and got second offers. I am still in waitlist. I feel practically like I don't have a chance. I know that. But I am unable to give up. But I know. That means that even if I get an offer now, there won't be much financial aid. So, I won't be able to attend. I feel deluded that some kind of magic will happen. As if they will suddenly send an amazing offer and ask me to join the programme. I am scared and sad. I feel helpless and hopeless.

How do I give up and recover from this?
 
- Oizys.

NaPoWriMo Day 19: Little Girl and Big Hands

Prompt: Cast your mind back to your own childhood and write a poem about something that scared you – or was used to scare you – and which still haunts you (if only a little bit) today.

As I cast my mind back to my childhood days,
I recall a fear that left me in a daze.
The monster that taunted me in the dark of night,
With grazing hands and grotesque bites.

Under my bedcovers, he would silently lurk,
With sharp pointy teeth and a growling smirk.
I'd freeze under my covers and silently pray,
Hoping he wouldn't break me and carry me away.

My parents would tell me it was all in my head,
That monsters weren't real and I should go back to bed.
But the bed is were the monster waited for me to touch,
And every creak and groan made me jump and clutch.

Now, as an adult, I have deluded they weren't real,
But the fear of the night still makes me feel,
Like a child once again, with a vivid consternation,
Hoping that the monster won't bring me damnation.

So, even now, I keep a light on at night,
Just to keep those hands at bay and in sight.
For the fear may be small, but it still lingers on,
From those childhood nights when the monster had won.

- Oizys.

Tuesday, April 18, 2023

NaPoWriMo Day 18: April Slips Away

Prompt: Write an abecedarian poem – a poem in which the word choice follows the words/order of the alphabet.

April slips away, I weep in the night,
Bereft of hope, consumed by fright,
Crushed by sorrow, drowning in tears,
Despair engulfs, magnifies my fears,
Every day is a burden to bear,
Futile efforts, leading to despair,
Grief and pain, my constant companions,
Heart heavy with anguish, no respite to find,
In the darkness, I wander, lost and blind,
Just a broken soul, trying to mend,
Kept afloat by memories, unable to pretend,
Lingering ache, an unending ache,
My shattered heart, no longer opaque,
Numbness settles, a hollow void,
Overwhelmed by sorrow, I am destroyed,
Painful reminders, haunting my mind,
Questions unanswered, solace hard to find,
Regret seeps in, a venom,
Xeric thoughts, I try to override,
Yearning for peace, a calm to reside,
Zero solace found, nowhere to confide.

- Oizys.

Friday, April 14, 2023

NaPoWriMo Day 14: How Heavy Is the Little Stone

Prompt: Write a parody or satire based on a famous poem. I choose Emily Dickinson's "How Happy Is the Little Stone".

How heavy is the little stone
That sits upon my chest alone,
That crushes me with all its might,
And makes it hard to breathe at night.

It weighs me down with every step,
And fills my heart with deep regret,
For all the things that I have done,
And all the battles I have shun.

Oh little stone, you hold me fast,
And make me feel like I won't last,
But still I carry you around,
And hope that one day you'll be unbound.

For though you weigh me down so much,
You also keep me in touch,
With all the pain that I have known,
And all the seeds of growth that's sown.

So though I wish that you would go,
And let me breathe and let me grow,
I know that you're a part of me,
And that's how it's supposed to be.

- Oizys.