14 September, Journal

 We felt really tired. 

Hearing her voice. Having her in my dream.The feeling that still looms over me. The feeling like she is still towering over us in a threatening way.

There's no escape. There is no need to escape. But we need to.

We hear her voice, we listen to the mother. How fun, how exhausting. We got moody, our patience runs low.

I got angry and miserable. Calling us crazy and sick, again. So the anger rose and I kept quiet, only I didn't this time, because.

Nothing makes sense. We slam our door and tear as we think about killing ourselves. Hearing her shouting snide remarks, makes us more angry. The intense pressure to walk out of our house, walk to a block, press for the lift and fall to death.

The image kept replaying over and over. Falling to death.

We took the penknife and cut. Gaining some sense. of relief. or control. Not too deep, but enough to bleed, just a little bit. 

We went out to buy fruits, I bought a fruit that she loves. Anger was mad beyond reasons, hating me.

I pitifully, try to not to do harm anymore, everyone except myself.

Lawrence couldn't make it for a session this week. We got miserable again. We wanted support, but there is no one. I pushed him away, and the social worker away.

We got depressed and slept through the day. Feeling dumb when I finally woke up at night. Nothing interest us, we eat so that we don't upset her further.

Anger wants to hurl us down from the 20th floor. So I cut a little again.

We felt really sad, and wished for many things.

TICKLE TORTURE

 I LAUGHED LOUDLY, THEN I SCREAMED IN MY MIND FOR HER TO STOP.

I cry, in silence as I bubbled up with mirth.

A lady dressed in a long gown, slides her way down the stairs, to the library.

She mindlessly brushed her hand over the books, and deeply smell the rooted earth around her nose.

The huge window panes are drowning with the heavy rain outside. A dark tones of piano melodies plays through her ears, setting just the right dream.

She sits quietly on the ground both arms holding herself, slowly the memories slips in as she spins into madness.

T

 

Can a therapist ever become unprofessional and make things personal when speaking to clients about their lives?

I’ve learned that what clients want from me is a real, genuine human being, who shows up for them, fights for them, gives a s*** about them. And, naturally, who has a useful skill set and knows what they’re doing. Not someone who hides behind a professional wall of detachment as I did when I entered the profession. People see right through it, and when they are drowning in pain, they need a life preserver, not a rule book

SILENCE

We felt someone's kiss, forcefully on our lips

We felt someone's touch, but they were not pleasant

We were trapped between legs, and 2 hands hold our head

We couldn't run, we couldn't hide

This time we were held tight.

Our hearts pounded with fear, loudly in our ears

No one hears our scream

No one brushed our tears

Only hands over our mouth, telling us to stay still.

The clocks tick slower, like everything is not real

We felt like we were falling, falling we kept falling

A Devil laugh

A wicked smile

She whispered to the child

"Do you like it when I do this"

"You felt it, didn't you?"

It felt like she won, and we lost

I left, and abandon us.

We felt a lot of agony, and Anger felt torn

We want to skip and hop through these fog

How could the solution be wrong

We hang a rope, we tried to drown

and even slit our wrist.

But still we didn't die. and Anger frown at me

Our sister looms over us and makes us cry. All the time.

A pending doom  fills the whole room.

Like a shot deer slowing down until the hunters cheer

Is it really wrong to die.

Why couldn’t we leave, why shouldn't we leave?

What is this precarious belief.

How silly could you be?

DUST

 There are many of us, like the many leafs on the tree

They could see the outside, and the sky

The birds that fly free.

We are simply dust swirling around in circles

trap in a glass, unable to break free.

We could see the outside, people living life, so wonderfully happy

we got knocked around a lot, and sometimes dropped, and we rolled into an old creek

Nobody sees us, as we got abandoned, because we were simply dust.

What would I give, if I could live outside of this bottle.

Even for just a moment, before we cease to exist.

Can we ever break free, or will we live on with this precarious belief.

Dust are not precious. How silly can you be.

6 July, 2023

 Yay, finally had a good night rest, even though there's some mishap in the middle of the night.

It's so damn annoying to be flooding when I'm sleeping.

Even though ytd we kinda rewind back, abit, as what dr geoffrey said. It still felt pretty alright to just go for therapy and remind myself that I didn't want to die?

Last week we sank to the bottom of nothing again. Dr geoffrey, does what he does, being warm and caring and being encouraging.

In the middle of it, we really just want to scream at him to stop. his warm and caring attitude towards us feels very unsettling.

Like we are so unsure about it, or what to do with it.

I guess it is good for us, because, well we woke up today feeling a little bit better then last week. Which feels pretty good, because we were able to focus on work and it always feels good to be productive.

I felt quite offended that he would think of us in such a way. Like we would intentionally make our sister think that we killed our selves because of her. of course that was not the intention, but i could understand why it seems that way.

For Anger, she doesn't care. What about when She was violent towards us? numerous time, all the time. Like we are nothing, like dust. Why does dr geoffrey think for her, and not for us? if we died, it would be murder, by them. Anger has a funny idea, to write a note saying she was murdered by her family.

I of course, don't agree with her childish thought. The last thing I would ever want, is to say anything or write any note for anyone in my family. because, there is simply no words for them. everything has always been my fault, i have always been the failure. They would probably even blame me for being selfish to kill myself. Especially my sister, no sadness, no remorse, just anger and blame that i am so selfish to kill myself and hurt our mother. our mother who also abuse us, yet she conveniently forgot about all of it.

sure, its great that she could get out of it it and have her own happy family. she left and we suffered alone, and yet she comes back and criticize us, like having 1 mother to abuse us is not enough.

I think the saddest part, was that we conveniently forgot what she did to us, we still admire her and wanted her. Only to always come to realize that we didn't matter to her at all. 

I think Anger is so emotional and angry because she thinks that I am the one who is still hurting us, in that case better for me to just die. It's like being alive in the family for 1 more day is so un tolerable for all of us.

But we are in therapy now, so we are suppose to heal. Dr geoffrey needs us to know how much we are hurt, and to understand it. But i honestly don't know much about it, like I have left the pain and anger to someone else, and i dont really know what it means.

3 July 2023, Journal

 Feel like there's nothing to talk about. feels like everything is exhausting. Can't even get 3 days break from home. work is also killing me.

The idea of killing myself keeps coming back to us. Sometimes we feel like, maybe we should really do it. or wonder why are we still trying. We imagined our selves falling to death numerous times.

Maybe it's Dr Geoffrey's fault. Maybe not. Doesn't really matter. What actually matters though?

Nothing.

The thing that disturb me most is the killing. The dharma belief that all lives are precious, and human life's are valuable, because it's not easy to be born in the human life.

It is a chance, an opportunity to practice and learn dharma. I just really don't know if it's okay to take my own life.

Even if I'm not practicing anymore, it's still hard to go against my beliefs.