Writing

Back and Here Again

Due to bursts of creative writing energy at the worst possible time (just before bedtime), I have decided to return to blogging. I initially wanted to start a whole new blog (an old habit of mine), but I really have no time to micromanage it. Plus, I want to continue what I have already started here.

Here I am, then, back to my favorite writing exercise (writing about myself. Does the sound conceited or is it socially acceptable since for me it is technically the written equivalent of ‘selfies’?). I am now¬†fortunately in a field that allows me to be verbose, albeit scientifically. I am also now in a field that challenges me to hone all of my communication skills. As a nurse, this is important, but as a psychologist, good communication is what you have to rely on to best help your clients.

I guess the snippets of the missing year (2015) will probably creep into some entries, and I added a whole new category for when I get consumed by dementors and lament about everything (to analyze my thoughts and to have something to show on the next therapy session), although my late night muse is inclined to pitch issues affecting the country today, a huge upgrade from old blog entries where I would write about sometimes flapping my arms and relating it to a favorite character.  I was sixteen. I found humor in everything.

– Nicole xx

 

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Feelings

No More Tears

I watched Miracle on Cell # 7, a wad of tissues and a pillow on either side of me. I was fully expecting to sob, as it is a touching story about a father and his daughter. Stories that heavily feature father-daughter relationships make me sad, because while I know from my childhood memories (the ones I can vividly remember) that my dad loved me very much, I did not get to spend a lot of time with him, thanks to the illness he tried to fight for almost a decade, but eventually claimed him.

This outflow of feelings is making me uncomfortable, so I shall try getting to the point.

Sure enough, I felt the proverbial tugging at the heartstrings, but not enough to bring on the waterworks. Thing is, I know for sure that letting it all out makes me feel better, but years of trying to repress my emotions have rendered me unable to fully show how I really feel. I can only comfortably show my feelings to a certain extent; more than that and I will try veering towards a different subject. Case in point, the sentence above this paragraph.

What I find strange is that, in spite of this, I am touted as sensitive, as in, my feelings get hurt easily. Apparently, it’s all over my face, whatever emotion I may be feeling. Sans the tears. So maybe I’m not as repressed as I think I am. Still, I know for sure that I have a long way to go in getting the hang of this.

I know bursting into tears isn’t an indicator of me getting a hold of my feelings (the irony in that statement), but for me, it is a very, very big step. In the meantime, if you’ve ever seen me cry and tell it to my face, I will probably want to make YOU cry. Sorry, it’s not you, it’s all those years of being forced not to cry so as not to endure a harder punishment.

Wow, I did not mean for that to sound so dark. I had a good childhood, I swear.

– Nicole xx

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Feelings

Greasing Up Those Bets and Betters

Sometimes, whenever I’m in the middle of doing something, I get this nagging feeling that I ought to be doing something else, that I am wasting away precious time doing whatever task I’m doing at that moment. I try not to let it get to me, lest I overthink and be guaranteed to fall (yet again) into the vortex of doldrums. The thing is, I am very, VERY aware of what I am supposed to do. I even have a checklist of goals and objectives for it! But sometimes, things get delayed and you’re at a crossroads as to whether you should continue to pursue it, or erase it and change it to something more feasible to the circumstances you’re in. I am looking at other options, but the thing is, I have so many options to look at, I can’t decide which one would bring me closer to my goal. So I just end up singing the Scissor Sisters’ ‘I Can’t Decide a la John Simm’s The Master (Doctor Who). It does help ease the anxiety that comes with being confused, but it does nothing to put a check on that perfect square checkbox beside one of my objectives.

As I am writing this down, the nagging feeling creeps in again, as if to tell me, “Stop writing and focus on me instead”. I think whatever is nagging me is my impatient side. I am a very impatient person. I detest long queues. Whenever I ask someone to do something for me, I try to hold back on telling them to finish it immediately. Strange thing is, while I am very impatient, I am also a huge procrastinator. To tell you the truth, I practically crammed my way through school, from elementary to university, even until the board exam. And yet, I’ve never had the nagging feeling as strong as the one I keep having.

Maybe I should finally do something about it, to at least give me a peace of mind. It started creeping into my dreams, and I want it to stop, because I am very in touch with any residual feelings from my dreams, good or bad. It’s enough to bother me all day, hell, when I was a teenager, it was enough for me to develop a full-fledged crush!

Yes, I will finally do something about it. Tomorrow. I haven’t really kicked the procrastinating habit yet. It’s on my to-do list, though, which I have yet to do, naturally.

– Nicole xx

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Depression

Hangdog

Contrary to what other people have been constantly telling me, I am not a selfish human being, unable to sacrifice my own happiness for others. I want to tell them how wrong they are, how they’ve barely even touched surface of who I really am, and that I don’t even have much ‘happiness’ to sacrifice in the first place. I also don’t want their words to get to me. Most days it doesn’t, but when I have particularly bad days and the dementors are more eager to feed off of me more than usual, their words sink in and go up, up, up towards my storm clouded mind, and I start to believe what they are saying, overruling what I know in my mind to be true.

I want to tell them how much I’ve suffered from being manipulated, for continuously being dismissed and told off like a child who doesn’t know any better. But I won’t, because I know I will only be told to get my head out of my ass, and that there are people having worse problems. And I know there are. Oh, yes, do I know. And it is unfair that I am being compared to them because I certainly do not hold a candle to what these people are going through. That, however, does not make my feelings irrelevant.

Of course no one really knows this because I’m not someone who readily talks about my feelings. I suppose that’s one of the reasons why they think I’m someone who can easily be pressured to do something because I hardly ever vocalize my displeasure. Entirely my fault, that. I should have expressed myself. Then again, they didn’t even think of asking me how I felt about it. They never asked. Well they did, albeit exasperatedly, as if trying to humor me.

I think I should work on that, on talking about my feelings and opening up to people. I think the only person I’ve fully opened up to was my feelings doctor (yes, that’s a euphemism. Make of that what you will), but I don’t think that counts because I was REQUIRED to tell my feelings. I suppose I can write them down, as per her suggestion (and mine. I think I made her suggest it to me, because I’d give for any excuse to write), and so far, I do feel lighter.

I suck at endings. I’ll leave it here until the next entry, which I hope will be eons happier than this one. You win tonight, dementors.

– Nicole xx

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