You said you hate it when my mouth tastes like cigarettes, how you can taste the ashes in my mouth as if you’re licking an ashtray. I smoked a pack after you left, and watch our memories fade away in each puff of smoke. You told me to stop back then, when you were still there to nit pick at my bad habits, told me that it’s like watching me waste away at 11 seconds per stick.
I was planning to stop, really, but then you left and I ended up counting down my life at 11 second increments. Nicotine helps calm down the mind you see, at least at the end of this pack I will be calm enough to stop blaming myself. Or maybe, at least in the back of my mind I know I’m pissing you off, a small rebellion of some sort, or maybe I’m wishing you’d be back to stop me.
I thought that I was the storm who’s going to dissipate into thin air, leaving you with a trail of splintered memories and a flood of tears to clean up. I thought I’m the one who’s going to watch you rebuild yourself after I wrecked your peace with my presence.
I was too presumptuous, too arrogant, too confident with my sway over you.
I forgot about the sun. I forgot about the possibility of you chasing after the sun. I denied the possibility that maybe you’re the one who’s going to leave me all splintered and flooded.
Now you’re just a name on my list of storms.
I turned 22 last Tuesday, nothing special. I didn’t even tell anyone at work. I don’t know, for me it’s just a regular day. I did try to be excited about it but nothing.
It’s my 5th month on the job, I’m tolerating it, I guess. I still think nursing is not my thing. The whole soothe your patients, take care of them gig, not really my forte.
Patients die on my shift and I ceased feeling anything, just blank apathy, and relief because it’s one less patient to mind. Maybe because it’s a really common thing our ward that I got used to it. I don’t know.
I just don’t feel anything right now. So much for 22
My sleeping pattern is so fucked up lately; night shift does that to you. Nothing exciting lately, or maybe nothing is exciting me nowadays. I don’t know, I kind of don’t feel anything much at all. I did buy a new stove, that made me a bit happy, I guess?
I do have a crush. I know, I know, it sounds childish and all that but I really fancy someone. I tried chatting him up, and nothing. I’m freakishly awkward when it comes to those things. I am actually questioning my feelings, if I do really like him or I’m just bored and want to feel something.
I’m sorry this post is not making any sense whatsoever. I really just can’t sleep.
You talked about suicide; about jumping, falling, and bashing your head in on the pavement. You tell it as if it’s a page from a fairytale— bright, happy, and with birds circling over your corpse.
You talked about walking into the ocean; pockets full of rocks, and lungs full of saltwater. You told me about it, in a tone that makes it like you’re visiting mermaids at the bottom of the ocean, indefinitely.
When I found you on your bed, still as Aurora, cold as the Ice Queen, with poisoned apples on your bedside table, I thought about kissing you. That is how things are supposed to work right? True love solving everything, bringing light into the darkness, and making birds sing with abandon.
So I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was so blinded by our fairytale that I failed to see your darkness.
I’m supposed to do the pathophysiology for our case presentation (due on the 28th, still far)but here I am, writing an aimless blog post. I don’t really have anything profound to write, just want to share with you folks that I am procrastinating.
I am actually panicking, internally, of course. I usually suck at deliberately starting things (I’m good with impulsive decisions though), I know the first step to do is research, then organize the data, then do the flow chart, and voila! End product. The thing is, I am so focused on producing a good output that the fear of ending up with a mediocre one paralyzes me. I don’t know how to start.
Anyway, I will sleep now. Somnolent detachment is next to procrastination in my list of dysfunctional coping mechanisms. Also, the neighbors are being fucking noisy I can’t concentrate.
Good news! Good news! I will start working on March! Pardon the abuse of the exclamation mark but I am excited. I know I am not a huge fan of this whole clinical, medical nursing gig but I am going to be paid. I’m going to have a decent salary. Finally feel like a fucking adult.
I will miss my colleagues in my current hospital but this is a very good opportunity for me. I mean, I can save money to go abroad and all that. My seniors are also planning to go abroad, so we won’t really stay there for long.
Wish me luck.