ε…­ζœˆεδΊ”

It’s the fifteenth. No wonder the moon is exceptionally round and bright tonight, and the moonbeams slant through the open bedroom windows illuminating the darkened room, casting shadows on the walls.

Layered feelings, both physical and psychological, as once again two opposing sets of thoughts are wrenching me asunder.

I know it’s up to me, by His grace, to lift myself out of this bottomless pit I’ve allowed myself to sink into because being intentional means waking up each day resolving for the day to be good. Then of course there is the other part of me that is lazy and doesn’t want to put in the needed effort to fight the gravitational pull of negativity, because isn’t it easier to just let the tide bring me along?

Yoga. Life. Work. Inconsiderate neighbours. Noisy thoughts. Eating disorders. Anxiety attacks. OCD. Isn’t that too much on an agenda for one?

TBC. Maybe.

It’s the night of the 17th. The bright moon still hangs high in the dark night sky, and a cool breeze is blowing.

For the second time in a week, right in the very home I’ve lived in for more than three years, I had another meltdown. I’ve lost count. I just couldn’t take the daily noises that are contributed by the occupants living in the unit above, grating sounds of furniture being dragged across the thin floors of our flats these days, the sudden whoosh of a flushing toilet that would wake me up mid-slumber, heavy footfalls like elephants stomping across a grassland in a stampede, furniture being knocked over with a sudden unceremonious thud on said same thin floors that jerk my heart out of its place in my chest.

I’ve lived with these for more than three years but have I only began noticing these recently or has each occurrence just gotten worse as my sanity stretches increasingly thin? I just couldn’t take it in anymore but yet the other thing I could muster was cry myself into a sobby mess and implore God to just take me home, and why He is allowing this, letting me go through living hell each day when I return home, devoid of any semblance of peace, not even when I try to sleep.

Is this what my life is supposed to be like? Why did my life turn out this way? Why did depression find its grip on my mind? Why have I become who I am now? Why can’t I choose to be euthanised so that I can put a stop to this pain?