the throat scratches. them eyes twitch. the nose bleeds. them cheeks swell. i can’t be bothered at this point. leave me be.

童话

想着有多久  再没听到你 对我说你和他的故事 我试了很久  我开始慌了 为什么我还把你紧抱着 我哭着对我说  童话里都是骗人的 我不可能是你的王子 也许你不会懂  那夜的告白以后 我的天空  星星不燃了

我愿变成童话里  你爱的那个天使 张开双手  变成翅膀守护你 你要相信  相信我们会像童话故事里 幸福和快乐是结局

我已变成童话里  你需的那个天使 累坏双手  变成翅膀守护你 你还相信  相信我已早忘童话涂的你 等你写没我的结局

can't sleep, scrolling through photos and found an old one. 2018. what's left is a very faded, hardly noticeable scar. i cannot help but love the strokes though. for once i incorporated the element of patience. something i lack 24/7.

do you think it could be depression?

to forward is to look forward

to survive is to do many things. i realised a crucial one of mine is to look forward. to something. anything. as long as there is something i’m genuinely excited for, my breaths count themselves. simple enough, hm? not quite.

if i was writing this a year ago, i would state that my temporary-ness is the root to failure. i find surviving incredibly tough solely because something i was looking forward to days ago would vanish, thanks to my off-wired brain -- my mind would always find a way to kill the excitement. “it’s not going to be as productive as you think”, “you’re going to enjoy it doesn’t mean the others would”, “you should be worrying and not looking forward to it”, “what’s the point when it’s going to be over anyways”- the list never ends. of course, there were a few events my mind cannot quiet such as (fun and professional) theatre plays i’m part of, and vacations. yet there are only so many I could experience being a workaholic.

my temporary-ness still exists, though i’ve managed to tame it a little by being overly conscious of it. now, the problem’s something else, something i myself am confounded of. there is barely anything my heart truly pounds for. promise i’m not exaggerating. 

here’s why: 

the recent theatre productions i was involved in (plus the ongoing ones i still am, except for wolf) are either soulless or just fucking awful (my close ones all know which production this is); 

personal assisting has drained me entirely not because of him, but my own incapacity to constantly empathise, worry and assist someone (who is more of a workaholic than i am) 24/7 since 2017; 

i barely have the time for vacays and when i do, i have to fucking work while it happens and they always, always, lead to panic attacks which i’ll have to hide so i don’t pain the others who are having fun; 

and well, generally working on too many projects right now where i should’ve said no to. projects that disinterest me. projects i said yes to because saying yes would help them. projects i definitely should’ve said no to. contracts.

it sucks. it really does. no ones at fault but me, yet i don’t know how to help myself. sure, there are a few current forwards to look at, such as 10 days to my gender assessment for hrt to happen, and waiting for usw to get back on my application. however, the worry overwhelms the excitement as i’m struggling to fund my transition and the chances of usw offering me a year only is... i don’t even know. the wait makes me nauseous. if only i could know this instance.

possible treatments? a week-long vacay to seoul: time isn’t allowing this and where am i going to steal rm2k from? quitting all projects i should’ve rejected: if i’m looking to destroy my career in the arts, sure. quitting personal assisting: nope, i’ll last till september as discussed. alcohol and puffs: do this and i’ll fail blood tests pre-hrt. cutting/killing myself: hey, i’m actually glad to say that i’ve not went there for two weeks at least. progress. woop woop.

i guess i’ll have to pull through until two possibilities happen -- my first shot and/or a one-year degree. fingers tightly crossed.

triggerwarning-one

tw. it gets to me how people criticise self-harm photos, scars, notions etc, as they don't by any means bother to look from our perspectives. or mine, at least.

i cut because it reminds me that i'm a functional human being -- i feel the sting, i bleed red, i see scars after. doubt this make sense to the sane people out there. good for you if it doesn't. i i wish i had a choice, or rather if only i'd be able to convince myself to trash all my blades.

letters.

drinking as i write this. again. after a week clean. i try. beer tastes like crap yet the complaints are invalid as i’m so broke to the point where i owe a friend rm2k. well to be fair i manage to get my boss an iphone xr for his (early) birthday, with the help of 82 others, i suppose that’s a valid excuse. but wow seriously, i’ve not owe anyone rm2k before. kill me. 

pure mental-health-deterioration-write here. don’t bother asking if i’m okay, clearly i need people to hold me back from the rooftops. i’m simply trying to write this to stop myself from thinking about methods, or to text the people i care for, because no matter what they say i’m still stuck in this deep end and i don’t see how others or myself could save ash from this. fuck it hurts.

have you ever felt this way? solutions? please don’t say time because fuck i’m running out of time. it questions my existence and purpose and how i am a burden to others despite how i’ve been trying endlessly to not weigh anyone else down. i’m sure i am because they worry. they shouldn’t worry, there’s no point worrying for this hopeless kid anymore. please.

all i wish to do is call someone i can whole-heartedly trust and yell, cry, hug, voice. well, screw being a scorpio. no one fits the call description. gulp gulp gulp. three gulps just finished what the cup had left. should i grab a new can? i’m out of the 6.5%’s though. burp burp burp. you know what’d be great? making out with someone right now. i can never understand why drunk-ass me would still be conscious enough to stop me from hooking up on grindr. sure, sober me would regret it so much but hey it might be the one and only solution. no ash no.

if only i had a gun right now. pew. straight through the skull. that’d be lovely. i don’t even have the urge to write them letters. actually, i can write them here and now. yay. who should i begin with?

k, you’ve been quite a lifesaver, i’m sorry for being such a burden, can’t help it, i hope you actually take a real break and ask yourself the real questions: what is work making you run away from and hey, do what you genuinely love. please don’t break the XR. love you.

j, i miss you. a lot. solely because you were vulnerable even when i’m around and it’s extremely difficult to have people be vulnerable around me, you know? okay sure there are people who ‘release’ around me but i can tell it’s the attention they’re looking for. i just wish i could be as vulnerable as you are around you. love you.

w, i don’t care if you were born to naturally not get attached to people, i was attached to you. as a close friend who matters. what i’d advise is increasing the dose of self-awareness and lower the self-doubt. if that makes sense.  

n, sorry. i wish i could’ve been honest with you. i couldn’t because i truly cared for you and i didn’t want to break your heart. we fought so much in the past to a point where i’ve detached myself from the relationship long ago. 2015 say. i’ve always gave in those arguments just to shut you up. i didn’t know how to tell you, which was why you were always the last person to find out of my scars, my eating disorders, my problems, my feelings. don’t blame yourself please. i’m sure it has been a real challenge to have me around.

e, go wing your production. you got this, because if you didn’t you would’ve quit way before this point. i wish we karaoked more often. my box office phone’s at home on my dining desk right now, just in case i do disappear tonight. kelvin knows the password to the newprojects’ email.

m, you still owe me rm50. i don’t think you saw me as a real friend you could lean on, but know that you were to me. keep on shooting films. make taufoopok happen. hahaha. i miss gentings.

alright i’m tired of writing heartfelt shit. i’ll probably still be here when i wake up tomorrow. i don’t have enough pills to swallow anyways. if i do die tonight and you were not mentioned above, know that i’m fucking tired and i do care for you. i’m just really struggling to write at this moment!

goodbyes. see you tomorrows.

spills.

hey. blogging again after what, three years? 

it’s not for good.

all my outlets are not working. all i can think of runs along the verbs of leaving, running, hiding and dying. worse, i’m actually a swamped workaholic now. and younger ash thinks work would be the best ‘distraction’ one could get as humans grow older. fuck off.

my latest panic attack was a killer. it was built up from multiple suppressions, i don’t even know where to start from. i had to make phone calls because i was at the rooftop. i didn’t want to die. i wanted to, but i didn’t too. the calls felt safe, i was breathing again, but the people i was hanging out with were people i didn’t feel safe with. it’s not their fault. i suppressed again. i didn’t want to talk about it despite the urge to fall on the ground and cry, never-endlessly. i didn’t. my friend couldn’t stop with the are-you-okays to the point where i shut her up. i rarely shut people up from the are-you-okays. i had to because, how could you open up to someone you feel unsafe with?

this friend’s the so-called ‘high school bestie’. i now finally say this: the feeling’s never mutual, and i’m exhausted from the relationship. i can see how we seem close to people, it’s simply the years we’ve spent with one another. doesn’t mean we click (as friends even). she’s one of those friends whom i decided not to ‘break their hearts’ if and only i have the capacity to give. i don’t anymore. i’m tired. our quarrels always end with me giving. she starts a debate over mostly everything, wanting to be right about everything, and when she loses i’m then forced to listen to her length ‘explanations’. she over-controls her younger sister to the point where the sister had to break up with her girlfriend. it’s sick. promises are barely kept. the relationship suffocates me. i chose not to break her heart because she’s unusually sentimental. yet at this point, i’d do anything to tell her we’re done. she was simply never the friend i would cry with. i couldn’t even cry in front of her. that makes me miss jackie so much.

now that i’ve officially let a close friend i had for eight years go, the heart’s so much lighter, emptier. i want to sail towards the bare ocean with a real buddy i could trust, lay under the warm sun, let the breeze brush your hair. a place where no one can reach you except for this buddy. i want to let go and cry it all out. i want to cuddle next to a fireplace. i want chill vulnerable movie nights instead of intense competitive game nights where everyone leaves with little grudges. i want to stage theatre plays i truly feel for and not some fucking gender play they all demand for. i don’t want control, but a whole lot of trust. how is trust too much to ask for?

i have to keep my k-indie playlist playing as i write this so my tears stay put. the current song’s really upbeat, makes me feel like the psychopath in movies. i’m clearly trying to distract myself.

all i’m saying is i’m certainly not doing alright. the typical world-falling-apart-crap. feels real though. avoiding rooftops without fences for now. i wish i could convince myself that there are a few friends who i can trust out there, who i need to trust that they are willing to listen and cry with me. this sounds entirely far-fetched to me, you know. it truly is. i’m trying.

funny how i’m turning 21 in five months. dreams.