07/29/2020

07/26/2020

Exhaustion hangs in the air like a dark cloud,
Weighing down on everyone’s happiness,
Spraying a touch of sadness
In the heart of those affected.

Smiles are drawn on their faces,
Yet their eyes betray their thoughts.
Petrification leaves them stoic,
Unable to grasp reality in acceptance.

Their shoulders are slumped,
With eyes trained on the ground,
And never once holding their heads high,
Unlike who they once were.

Buried deep in their tickers
Are longingness for the past,
Where they were as carefree as birds,
Instead of being drowned by worries.

Hidden in their misery
Are their lost dreams and happiness.
Suffocated under the trials of life,
They no longer feel appreciated.

Insanity and stressors.

Am I losing my insanity?

The workload has severely piled up yet I’m barely able to pull my weight, especially when I’m unable to have a proper lunch break. Spend an hour refueling and I blow an extra hour of clearing files. Spend an extra hour of clearing files and I waste the opportunity to refuel my energy levels, rendering me weak and on the verge of losing consciousness. A fainting spell, so to speak.

It doesn’t matter which option I choose - because at the end of the day, work will never be completed. There would be one or two files being abandoned unless I camp in the office until the next morning. Trust me when I say that I’ll be questioned as to why there are incomplete paperwork loitering around. It no longer matters whether I’m going against my better judgment to push my exhausted brain even further, especially when the tank’s running on empty (as insinuated in the previous post). I highly doubt that anyone appreciates it anyway. Maybe the consequences of this would be me collapsing... from carrying the silent weight on my shoulders. I shouldn’t be surprised that the muscles running from my neck to my shoulders are tensed all the time.

Jobs are easily replaced by someone else if the current employee resigns, is fired, or worse, admitted to hospital for a nervous breakdown. So, what’s the point of playing with fire when I’ll be badly burnt?

Cappuccino & Chicago Cheesecake at The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf 

I’m also aware that if I don’t eat much, there will be fainting episodes and I’ll have light sensitivity. It happened last week - I barely had the time to have lunch since I was on the go for most of the day, which resulted in me going off. Even if it means hugging my stomach with one arm, I’ll bite on my lips to silently deal with the hunger and stomach ache. Now that I’m already pulling overtime hours in the office and at home (close to a daily basis), I’m unsure whether it’s worth it to forego an hour’s lunch break to carve an extra sixty minutes for work. We’re all expected to finish everything by the end of business hours, but we’re not octopuses with eight legs or a machine to start with.

As if work stress isn’t enough to drain me, I have continuous stress from my personal life that threatens to leak into my work life. I can’t work like a robot while making daily success a living reality when I’m barely in the zone. I’m being constrained left, right and centre in work and in life but have chosen the route of suppression since, again, I feel that no one will understand the predicament that I’m in. We all have our own stress to settle, so what makes mine more special or worse than the others?

The odd one out of the background

Did I also mention that I’m now susceptible to workplace tears? That’s not to say that I’m a crybaby, but tears are the only form of expression when I’m living in a pressure cooker. There’s no way around it unless people are prepared to see me lash out at the slightest error. The toxic environment is draining my resolve to persist. Something’s not right; it’s more like i want to self-isolate and push everyone away in an attempt to protect them from my emotional outbursts; it’s one thing that i snap but it’s another thing if i accidentally hurt my friends’ hearts.

And it happened twice. Once was when I couldn’t take the onslaught of stress that I screamed at those around me and rushed to the toilet, allowing the tears to silently roll down my cheeks. The other time was during lunch hour when I zoned out, hoping to buy myself some peace at a hectic time. The more I embraced my emotions, the more I wanted to cry on the spot. The dam of tears threatened to break and cause spillage everywhere, which would have been awkward and questioned.

At the rate I’m going, the melancholic gleam swimming in my eyes is enough to betray my truest thoughts, especially to those who are able to read my body language and through my mask.

Should I just keep everyone at an arm’s distance to protect myself?

07/21/2020

Struggling to stay afloat

Maybe my worst fear is being realized.

Maybe I’m losing my mind indeed.

Drowning in workplace exhaustion on top of the stressors in personal life is enough to send anyone closer towards the edge of the cliff. Apathy’s being added into the mixture, rendering me unable to gain satisfaction from my job. What greets me each morning at the workplace is a heavy heart laced with anxiety. My glassy eyes are trained to avoid contact and I’m zoning out with pressured speech.

No one appreciates the mental state that I am in - even if the signs are there because I don’t want to create a scene or pity for myself. I only crave for a tad bit of understanding that I’m incapable of doing two entire departments’ workload with such a limited time.



What I’m receiving in exchange are admonishments and nothing but that - which will be a precursor to other matters in the pressure cooker too. I can’t do a million things concurrently because I’m not an octopus with eight legs when I’m silently dealing with other issues on my mind. Why doesn’t that surprise me? I mean, I’ve holed myself up in the office and cried silent tears, convincing myself to hold it back until I’m safe on my own. Water has been my pal as of late; it’s helped me to mask any traces of red, swollen eyes. My tank’s running on empty yet I’m pushing myself to persist and continue. Hands are out to strangle the life out of me and push me to the brink of a breakdown. This is something that no one is aware of as there’s no point even voicing it out to the relevant parties. Their conduct is enough to persuade me of this.

The symptoms of a burnout are there, I can feel it. Whether it’s obvious to those around me is another question, though. Emotional exhaustion has repeatedly made its presence known with me leaning more towards chronic stress. I no longer gain any form of satisfaction - I just do what is required of me and even that hasn’t gone too well. I’ve been thrown awake from my sleep repeatedly by work-related worries. I’m shaking with fear - safely holding a pen is a challenge. I can’t breathe, as if something’s weighing my heart like a boulder deep in the ocean. My mental health needs some downtime to recuperate from all of the external tortures that I’ve been dealing with on my own.

I’ll be candor on something: it’s still a miracle that I haven’t rocked up to the nearest bar and drank my emotions before hugging the toilet bowl and throwing up with a hangover hours later. Ever since I made that decision, my world was turned upside down. I was forewarned about the effects therefore I shouldn’t be shocked. What I’m horrified about is its pace. It’s too soon for the outcome to endure the repercussions. In less than a decade, the happy-go-lucky me transitioned into someone suspicious of the world ahead of her to a lady who’s suppressing her anguish despite barely holding on. I’m at a stage where I’m apathetic and reticence accompanying me instead. Even the slightest rebuke is enough to incite negative thoughts in me. Even the slightest error in word choice is enough to assure me that everyone dislikes me. And maybe even hates me. There’s no denying that it’ll lead me to isolate myself in a dark abyss where I block anyone from reaching out to me. And this is what my best friend fears. We both know what I’m capable of when this happens . . . and it’d be tardy to resolve it.

Spotted in the Popular Bookstore's IPC branch

Taking the time out during the lunch hour to comfort myself with a bowl of mee sua chicken and a mug of hot green tea did little to soothe my desolation. It only cemented the fact that I might not be as stable as I once thought I was. A part of me’s aware that I need to get away from everything that’s bothering me momentarily to regain momentum, but circumstances aren’t permitting me to do so. I’m caught between polar opposites of what’s best for myself. On one hand, if I tender my resignation at this time, it’ll probably give my mental health a well-deserved break. On the other hand, if I do so, there’ll be financial difficulties on my part - seeing that we’re in shaky economic waters at the moment.

Maybe I’m really losing myself bit by bit.

Maybe it’s an indication that I should follow suit with my plans - even if it'll cause hearts to shatter into million pieces.

Suffocating in ten feet of work

And so it happened. Not only am I losing my best friend emotionally, my own emotions are thrown out of whack. I’m finding myself hiding in the toilet, breaking down out of stress, the constant aura of not being able to blend in, and forgetting things. Even though I’m only one with a pair of hands, I’ve been handed paperwork that can be stretched into six paws. I’ll either need to summon the assistance of an octopus to multitask or neko no te mo karitai. My performance is also declining as a result. Yet no one comprehends the height of stress I silently endure at the workplace. My tongue is sharp and I’m failing more often in biting back my words, being more susceptible to lashing out at those around me. Atama ni kuru. My heart is drained, but I feign normalcy so as to avoid questions or comments that are uncalled for. I’m not surprised; I’m working overtime at least four days in a row and nursing a headache in the office, choosing to ride it out or relying on Panadol to help manage when the pain becomes unbearable.



And so it happened - me harboring the desire to isolate. Me wanting to be left alone, away from everyone. Me barking at the smallest thing. The tension - along with the paperwork - is building up on each other to the point where I’m on the verge of exploding at myself over the slightest mistake (and possibly hurting myself). Nandayo, my memory has taken a beating to the point where I’m a fish struggling to stay afloat and not remembering what I need to do. Trust me, it’ll be a matter of time before I throw in the towel and let myself drown under the workload, triggering a wave of apathy and possibly taking things too far. Ii kagen ni shite.

And so it happened - me longing to have that quiet hour to myself at the nearby cafe. Screw it, even my lunch break is spent on work. I need some sort of normalcy instead of staring at the computer screen for nine straight hours. Breathing the same air for hours on end doesn’t do any benefit; it instead causes more avoidable harm to the psyche and body. I’d love to be selfish on weekends where I can have some me-time at a coffeehouse situated in a neutral area, smelling the comforting aroma of caffeine. I can only dream about this. I’m instead staring at the growing number of uncompleted files or begrudgingly returning to the office, meaning that I’m not having any life whatsoever.



I’m aware that I’m pushing everyone away and adopting the gaze of someone snappy, but I can only do what’s best for myself. And my mental health. I’m sure what I’m experiencing is a symptom of something more sinister, but it’s not like anyone will comprehend it anyway. Everyone is of the impression that I’m a Wonder Woman who magically waves her wand and all of my work is settled as a result.

07/05/2020

Spending more hours on work has officially taken its toll on me. I’m overly sensitive with everything around me and under-rested. Not only am I easily irritable, I take offence at every. single. thing. There’s only so much that I can handle at one go and within the specified time frame - and whoever’s expectant that I can pepper my magic on its speedy completion would be gravely disappointed to know that sorry, no can do. I’m only one with a pair of hands. I’m not an octopus who’s able to multitask with eight legs.

Don’t remind me of my emotions about spending the weekend in the office either - that has the full capacity of making me explode into expletives like an active volcano (and I’d like to avoid that at all costs).

I’m someone who believes that work and life should be separated with clear boundaries around it. With the way things are happening now, the boundaries are blurred to the point where I feel like I have no life whatsoever: spend x number of hours in the workplace and another y number of time completing those unfinished paperwork at home before the begrudging return on the weekends to shake a leg on errands (as if we’re all stoic robots who don’t need some time out to recharge). It’s working, though; it’s shaped me into an emotionless yet frustrated homo sapien who suffers from Sunday blues. Maybe I’ll have to bottle up my feelings towards everything - like I once did - in exchange for the ability to feign ignorance. And maybe that’ll prevent me from snapping at even the littlest thing or breaking down in exhaustion.

Back in those ancient days, trips to the malls and away from the workplace/campus were able to melt the work stress, not only because of the temptation to shop until I drop but more like I’m able to chill with a cup of coffee and zone out. Yet this method no longer works on me. The more time I spend in coffeehouses, the more uptight I feel.

A part of me wishes for a different situation where I’m able to finally grasp some whiff of happiness and relaxation - and possibly in the arms of someone trustworthy where I feel at home and safe. But I’m a practical child. I’m aware that all of these aren’t doable in real life. Things happen for a reason and what that reason is, we won’t know.

We found ourselves off-track somewhere in the middle of the little city centre, trying to search for a way out of the place yet being lost made me comfortable. I could momentarily forget about everything bothering me, like I didn’t want to face the tribulations of the world.

It could be an illustration of how I’ve lost the power to relax.

The Triggers

Buried beneath the multiple layers of protection
Lies a weak, heartbroken soul.
No longer trusting the angelic world ahead of her,
She wears a mask suppressing her sadness.

With each waking moment,
Curved lips are plastered on her face,
Persuading those around her of normalcy
Yet her heart drips blood in its wake.

Her eyes betray her expressionless features.
A pair of optic nerves,
Lost in its own world of worries
And devoid of genuine happiness.

Moving in a state of confusion,
The brunt of her blurriness weigh her shoulders down.
She speaks nothing of it,
But she trembles over the spoken words.

Memories of failure hammer at her persistence,
Draining the little remainders of her.
Her brain fights a battle of the past and present,
Further weakening her pressured state.

She pretends that it no longer affects her,
But it sticks out like a rose among thorns to eagle eyes.
Only those able to see through her facade
Know the fear and melancholy swimming in her veins.