"When we reach the point where we can see the possible ending to our journey, it is only then that we reflect upon our reasons for undertaking it."

I already wrote something personal with this as the basis, but that was before the accident, before the shaking, before the seizures. Have I reached the point where I can see the possible ending to my journey? No. Have I reached the point where I can see the possible ending to this horrible chapter of my journey? How I wish I could say yes. How I hope that it is the correct answer. But the only answer I can honestly give you, and more importantly, myself, is "maybe."

Maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of the end of my nightmare. The vase in my profile picture is who I was at the start of it all. But that isn't who I am anymore. Now, someone has taken those broken pieces of me, and started gluing them back together. The cracks won't disappear. And somehow, I think that that's a good thing. Those cracks each have their own story to tell. Each tear, shed and unshed, each have their own stories. All those stories are mine. The scars, physical or otherwise, won't ever go away. For the rest of my life, I will remember. Sometimes I go back to the some of the places where I had seizures. And I remember my pain.

The seizures, the tears, the frustration. The hopes, disappointments and trials. I’ve changed, experiencing all this. I have changed much, but I’m not sure it’s for the better. I could tell you of days where I curled up in the bathroom, wanting but unable to cry. I could tell you of nights spent lying on the floor staring at the ceiling, asking questions that will not be answered, not in this lifetime. All of this has left me weaker than ever. But it has also left me stronger than ever. I feel younger than my friends, because everyone seems to have gone on ahead in life. At the same time, I feel infinitely older than most of the people around me because I see how different the way I think is now compared to them, compared to my younger self. I'm colder, angrier, more demanding. I’m less real. And I'm a fair bit more sarcastic, cynical, and probably a little bitter. I'm far less empathetic to the pain other people face. At the same time, I’m more understanding.  I'm less patient than I was before, but I’m also more patient. I care less about what happens to me, around me, I care less about other people, and yet, at the same time, I care more than ever. I’m at the same time more emotional and less emotional. I’m a bag of contradictions – but who isn’t?

Reasons for undertaking this blasted journey? I have none. I do believe God has His reasons for feeding me through the shredder. If I had to guess, maybe I’m a better person shredded. It made me grow up. Fast. If that was His intention, He’s succeeded. I just don’t know I’ve grown up in ways that He wants me to. But that’s probably not something I can judge at this stage.

I am stronger, yes, I am more sure of what I believe in and yes, I am more able to stand up in what I believe in, even when I don’t want to. Especially when I don’t want to.

And I suppose in a way, my faith in Him is stronger. I have no faith in Him that He’ll save me from bitter pain. I have no faith in Him that He’ll keep me from having reasons to cry. But I do have faith that when I’m about to give it all up, life and faith, He’ll be there to catch my hand when I fall. He’ll hold on to me when I don’t want to hold on. And He’ll be there for me to cry on so I can catch my grip again. Despite my faithlessness towards Him, He’ll always be faithful to me. And He has proved it to me, multiple times.

Some may say that my journey over the last two years was difficult. Some others may say that it was a nice easy walk in the park. I don’t care what you say. What I went through was difficult for me. But it was doable because God was there to pull me along. It’s not something I want to have to go through again anytime soon. But if He has another furnace prepared for me, no matter how much I know I’ll kick and scream when I’m getting burned, I’m ready.

The last seven or eight months, what have I been doing? Um... a lot of things, ranging from nothing to nothing. I'm looking forward to another semester of... also nothing. So, here's a public plan of action to kick this lazy butt into gear and hopefully turn that nothing into something.
 

• Study a chapter of the Bible every day. Pastor Simon said the letters starting from Romans was really good to see what Paul says about Christians.
• Thirty situps a day, increase by five every week until I pass out
• For every episode of Best Selling Secrets I watch, I add and learn 3 new characters to my "dictionary"
• Go to the park twice a week, run three laps and swing my heart out just to keep myself sane.
• Finish a chapter of the chinese textbook a week.
• Learn a mando song a month, learn the words and figure out the meaning. (optionalish)
• Write a little something every month so I can look back and see how I've grown, what I've learnt and how I've changed.

My doc told me this story today.

Nobby and Mr Bigears

Nobby was a good little boy. He woke up, lookedo utthe window and said "Good morning Mr Sun. Thank you so much for giving me such nice, bright light today." He said that because he was such a good little boy. Then he made his bed very neatly because he was such a good little boy. Then he said to his bed "Thank you so much Mr Bed, for letting me sleep so well and comfortably in you last night and letting me have such good rest." He said that because he was such a good little boy. Then he got dressed and said to his clothes "Thank you so much for covering me." He said that because he was such a good little boy. Then he got into his car and drove to Mr Bigears. Then he said "Thank you Mr Car for letting me drive to Mr Bigear's home." He said that because he was such a good little boy. Then he went through the gate and said "Thank you Mr Gate for letting me walk through you." He said that because he was such a good little boy. Then he knocked on the door and Mr Bigears opened the door. Nobby said "Good morning Mr Bigears, isn't it such a wonderful day today? Thank you for being my friend."

Mr Bigears said "Oh fuck off why don't you."

And apparently, I'm close to becoming like Nobby. So close he's considering getting me drunk. Or have sex. He's even thought about taking me out to Kings Cross at night and taking me to all the strip clubs to "dirty you up a little" so I'll be "exposed to and experience life" and seeing gay people and transexuals and transvestites making out or maybe even having sex.

The only thing keeping me from screaming in horror was that he then said "These ideas, some of them aren't viable or beneficial - but they'll all definitely change you and your attitude." Orite, so while I may not be physically raped, my eyes will be. Raped that is. Screw this. Dammit all - if I have the right to do all these things I also have the right to choose to not do this stuff. Peer pressure? I'd much rather this were coming from friends. Now I'm actually relying on my friends to keep my grounded and sane facing the pressure I'm getting from parents and doc.

To my friends - I love you guys. So. Much. *hugz* Would prob be dead without you.

Too obedient. Too good. Goody two shoes. Too innocent. Too naive. Sheep. Mindless robot.

Well, TOO BAD. That's who I am thank you very much. I am a sheep. At least I know who my Shepherd is.

So many things that I don't know.

I don't know why I'm so tired. I sleep so much these days it's not funny. I go to bed at 4, wake up at 1 or 2 sometimes unless i have to go see the doc. And I'm still tired.

I don't know what I'm feeling. Other than tired. This is a problem because it's my feelings that are killing me. Apparently I've blocked off my feelings because I'm scared of them. I don't have access to what I'm feeling and as a result, it's coming out this way. And the psych/hypno are trying to reverse what I've done but it's not working because I can't bring those feelings out into the open.

e.g.
Hypno: How do you feel about what you've just told me?
Me: *big big big big pause* I.. don't know....
Hypno: Scared, happy, nervous, how do you feel? What's going on in your head? What are you thinking?
Me: Err... wha... Um... I... wha... what the... crap... here I go again... I don't know... I just don't know. *is unaware of the fact that she's playing with the button on her sleeve while staring off at the wall*
Hypno: Look at what your hands are doing.
Me: Hm? *looks down* Oh. Does that mean I'm nervous?

A while later, hypno said to my dad "She's not lying. She really doesn't know what she's feeling. She's not trying to be difficult. She just is."

It scares me that I can do that to myself. I guess I do know what I'm feeling then. I'm scared that I can block my feelings off like that and it turns into this monster. I'm scared that this monster won't go away. I'm scared that this will go on forever. These fears only come out when I'm typing or writing. I cannot say what I feel. My mind goes blank - I can't speak. I can't express myself. I just don't know what to say. My hands write and type without me realising what's on the page until I read through it again. I just don't know what's going on.

I know through my writing what it is that I'm supposedly scared of. But the thing is - I don't feel scared. I don't feel that I'm afraid. I just don't feel it. I think about it and I just feel... normal I guess. Not happy, not sad, not scared, nothing just blank.

There was this time I had a seizure when I was on the bus. I felt my face go red, I felt tears come to my eyes when I realised everyone was staring at me. But I myself felt empty. I didn't feel embarassed. I knew I should feel embarassed. I knew what I should feel. I just couldn't feel it. There was nothing there, even though I was trying hard to not cry.

I've thought about writing a journal to just get these feelings out, whatever they are. But the thing is, I'm scared. In some way, I can see that I'm scared of my feelings. I just didn't know I was so scared I actually cut them off. I dunno, keeping a journal... in some ways I'm scared to know what's going on in my head. And I'm scared to show the hypno or the psych. I trust them. I don't know why I don't want to show them. But I just don't. If i do write in a journal, I will have to show the hypno and psych. I could always write it and not show them, but I feel crap for doing that. I just can't bring myself to hide it from them. I don't know why. I don't know why I do anything anymore. I don't know why I'm typing this here. I don't know why I want to let you guys see a part of me that I've hidden myself from. I don't know who I expect to read this. I don't know why I feel more comfortable writing this and letting you guys see but why I don't want to let the hypno or psych see this. I trust them both. I trust them a lot. But I don't want to let them know this. I don't know why. I know they won't tell my parents. I know they'll keep it a secret.

I just don't understand why I'm spilling myself so easily on the Internet which is the worst possible place to spill your innermost thoughts, and yet I find the idea of letting the psych or hypno know so scary.

Last Saturday I saw my first friend in three months. Those three months were so long, so painful and so lonely. It looks like I'll be going back into solitary confinement though now. Hopefully, it won't be for another three months. I don't know if I could stand it.

I can't even begin to describe it. Sure, there's the phone, there's the internet. Sure, my family and doctors have been great. But there's something about talking to friends your own age face to face without any barriers. Without being scared of what might happen next. Without being scared of whether you're safe or not. Just being free to laugh, to chat, to joke and tease, catch up on the latest news, find out what's going on in other people's lives, free to hug, free to just be free without worrying about whether you're about to concuss yourself or break your neck.

I miss all my friends, I miss everyone, I miss uni, I miss doing the things I used to. I miss it all so badly. And I'm scared that this will take years to get better because it very well could and I don't know if I could hold out for that long. I just can't face it.

Forget going back to uni. I might end up being forced to drop out of my course. But I don't care about that, not anymore. I just want to have some semblance of a life back, I just want to be able to laugh with my friends again. It really hurts because I don't know when any of this will end, or if it'll even end. 

I read online that there was this woman with the same condition as me and she only started improving 8 years after her first attack. Granted, her situation was a bit more complicated than mine, but I'm terrified that I'll spend the next eight years stuck here playing with plasticine. This is my world. This is my reality. The four walls of my room bind me and they hold everything in my world in the meantime. I don't know how long that meantime will last, I don't know if that meantime will ever end. And if it doesn't, I don't think I could take it.

There's all these fears I have, fears that I'll just lose control permanently. Fears that I'll never regain control. I'm terrified because everyone else is moving on and growing up and I'm being left behind and I just can't keep up because I'm stuck here and there's nothing I can do. My world is falling away from everyone else's worlds ad it's falling apart too. I'm falling and falling and there's nothing to catch me, nothing to hold me up. People trying to help me are unable to help me anymore because I'm just too far gone. I'm gone, I can't come back there's too much of me that's dissappeared and I'm past the point of no return.

Last weekend was a real shocker for me and I can't see how I can recover now because it's all in pieces now and everything I've experienced for the past three months, every bit of progress I've made has been undone. It's all been for nought. How can I go through the whole process again, knowing that it could all be wiped out in an instant?

Alright, so where am I? At home, in front of the computer. Where will I be for the next three months? Oh, probably sitting in this same spot having hardly moved except to go downstairs for food or to go to the doctors. I mean, come on. The computer is my only way of having a life without having a life.

Ok, so I'll probably have finished the 13 yew in three months (well, I'm planning to have them done by Thursday), and done quite a few more models too. But so what? Doesn't help at all if I wonder how I'll sleep tonight. If I'll sleep tonight.

So in a day, I've managed to get myself so fucked up that I'm back to where I was two months ago. The pits, the worst condition I was in. The condition I was in where I had to be under constant parental supervision and treated more like a 5 year old than the 18 year old I am. Why does this keep happening? I thought things were improving.

Of course, why didn't I realise? Things never improve, they only get worse. It's all a nice dream, a fantasy. Mandy, stop dreaming. Learn your lesson already, bitch. It's already been a year and a half thicko. When will you stop hoping?

Screw life. Oh wait, my life is already screwed and nonexistant. Sorry, forgot that.