Had one of the worst nights of my life where I got lost repeatedly around the same area, because I was too stubborn, distraught and overwhelmed by all the things in my mind to be conscious of where I was heading. I was basically asking for it. The classic highlight was when this very old chinese man stood in front of me, smiled, pulled his black trousers down, and showed me his very brown, wrinkled penis. It was only after a few seconds of watching him urinate that I suddenly managed to realize what was going on. I don't know why I always attract perverts. As if my childhood wasn't filled with enough... (Urgh. Someone stab me. Can you sense the disgusting self-pity??) And so I walked past this old man while he was still trying to zip up, laughing to myself at how super suay I was, trying to brush the whole thing off, and carried on with the expert job of getting more lost and pissed off with myself.

It's such a horrendous skill, how I can put myself down over the smallest simplest things. I can pick up barely perceptible flaws, the slightest bad situation, take it personally and blow it up beyond your wildest imagination. My choice of words are often brutal and vulgar. The dialogue in my head went something like, "You're so fucking stupid. Bloody fucking loser getting lost like this. No one else gets lost like this! Argh I hate myself! Why am I always like that? Why??? Just walking around like a worthless piece of shit. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What's wrong with you?? You deserve every damn crap you get. It's surprising you didn't die overseas. You totally should have." You get the idea. It's actually quite funny.

Wish someone could have snapped their fingers at me right there and then and say, "Stop self-pitying yourself! Jee. If you're that lost, just take a cab lar!" Haha. Really seriously didn't think of that. Didn't think of asking people for directions as well.

I think when you're so overwhelmed by your emotions, you cripple your rationality. It's like you wrap your whole entire body around your brain, round and round, nice and tight, and you try and squeeze yourself inside that small crammed up mesh of space until the outside world can't reach you any more.

I always hit this certain point in my life where all the brakes come to a halt and I don't remember the reason why I'm alive. I don't know what I'm doing, where I'm going, or what I'm living for and why it even matters. I try to be on guard against this repeated meltdown, but it is hard. I'll feel exhausted all the time and yet become unable to sleep when night falls because I can't get over the emptiness and frustrations. I'll walk around feeling this immensely deep sense of sadness that lingers and burns on and on. I'll feel the urge to hurt myself, to isolate myself and push everyone away. I'll question everything. I'll fantasize the most melodramatic divine ways of dying. I don't understand why every time it seems as though I'm getting better, things take a turn for the worst and the world feels like a harsh hurtful place I have to protect myself from.

I once made the resolution that I would end my life when my parents died. No one else mattered. No one else would feel the pain. Everybody would be fine. They would get by without me and I wouldn't feel guilty for my selfish act. But it's strange how over the years, I discovered that my life doesn't belong to me at all. I am so loved by people, by family and friends, even by strangers. I am so entirely indebted to the trust, concern, support, absolute belief and unfailing love that they have showered upon me that I feel the need to be something more. I owe it to them, after all the heart aches and efforts. I have to fight for myself the way they've been fighting for me. Prove them right, prove me wrong. I have to keep trying. I have to rise above, get my act together, wake up and get out of this fixated over-indulgent self-indulgence.

Even if life is ultimately meaningless, even if there may not be a god, even if there are no answers, at least I know I tried for the ones I love.

I live, for You.

They say if life is too hard, take it one day at a time. But sometimes I find it hard to even last a day, or an hour. It's too long to endure. I think if life is too hard, take it one breath at a time. Still alive? Go on. Go on. You'll be surprised by how strong you really are. You'll be amazed at yourself. You'll find that unexpectedly, you receive guidance, the kindest word, and the gentlest touch, at the very next breath that you take. And then you'll go on the way you never thought you could.

Been reading up on Tennessee Williams, this playwright, and he said, "It is sad and embarrassing and unattractive that those emotions that stir [a person] deeply enough to demand expression, and to charge their expression with some measure of light and power, are nearly all rooted, however changed in their surface, in the particular and sometimes peculiar concerns of the artist himself, that special world, the passions and images of it that each of us weaves about him from birth to death, a web of monstrous complexity, spun forth at a speed that is incalculable to a length beyond measure, from the spider mouth of his own singular perceptions.

It is a lonely idea, a lonely condition, so terrifying to think of that we usually don't. And so we talk to each other, write and wire each other, call each other short and long distance across land and sea, clasp hands with each other at meeting and parting, fight each other and even destroy each other because of this always somewhat thwarted effort to break through walls to each other. As a character in a play once said, 'We're all of us sentenced to solitary confinement inside our own skins.'

...I want to go on talking to you as freely and intimately about what we live and die for as if I knew you better than anyone else whom you know."

Me too.