SOFT SHOCK

"I'm amazed how much the past can hurt us. Even though its unsubstantial and long over, it still hurts."  -Anonymous

from media.tumblr.com

So here I am, lying in my bed, wandering mindlessly over random sites on the net. I already checked on my accounts on various social networking sites but I can't find anything new and interesting. So I just decided to check on my blogger and hope on finding something "new and interesting" but -yep, you guessed it right- there's none. I figured maybe I should write things down. Why not? This is my blog anyway. I say, let's give it a go.

I'm finding it hard to sleep because I'm having this sick feeling in my stomach again. I hate this feeling of emptiness; this feeling inside me- growing and slowly eating me up- that I can't do anything about. It's like having the urge to vomit but there's nothing left in your stomach to purge out. I'm supposed to be asleep 4 hours ago but there's just too many things running in my head (plus I just drank a glass of soda after dinner. Hehe) so I might end up awake for the rest of the night once again. Nothing new there. Besides there's no reason for me to wake up early anyway for I don't have work or class to attend to unlike everyone else who'll be back to school/work tomorrow after the 4-day Halloween weekend. 

Though no longer a non-working holiday, tomorrow is still All Souls' Day. It's the time of the year when we commemorate the passing of our loved ones and pray for the eternal peace of their souls- in my case it's my Dad's and... mine.

My Dad played a big role on why there's so much hate and fear in my life. But in spite of all my loathing for him, as much as I hate to admit it, I still have love left for him in me because he is, still my father. And that love gave me hope that things will change and get better eventually. But all that vanished into thin air when he died. His death was such a huge blow for me. Though I seemed to be stoic on the outside, I felt that a huge part of me died along with him, inside.

His death left me thinking that no matter what you do to make things better, nothing will change and if it does, it won't matter. It left me asking: 

"What's the true meaning of life?"

"Why do I live if there's nothing I can do that will make me satisfied, contented, worthy and happy?"

" Nothing really matters; you're going to end up dead, alone and miserable no matter what you do, so why bother?"

And that people will only appreciate your worth and remember the good things you did once you're gone.

But I want to believe that his death wasn't all bad. It's just that there were so many mistakes he did that hurt us and eventually made good memories we have of him almost fade into oblivion. I vividly remember nearly all hateful things he did but only a few good ones.

Perhaps the fondest memory I have of him was when I was sexually assaulted during my first year in high school. After I told my Mom about it, I felt like she thought it wasn't that much of a big deal and that it was my fault that it happened to me. My Dad didn't say anything but instead he accompanied me to school the next day and a few days after. He literally held my hand all through out until I felt safe again.

 I miss holding his hand. I miss that feeling of safety. I'm afraid this emptiness inside of me will live on for the part of me that's missing is... him.

THE ODD AND THE RITE

Ok. So I've been experiencing a relapse. This is my sickness. Once I feel okay (meaning I don't feel like I want to die anymore), I become hesitant to put effort in staying okay. So far I've been doing good (I think, feel and hope so) but I still have problems with adhering to my daily schedule because of my insomnia.

This week I was experiencing another cycle of my vampire-zombie sleeping pattern wherein I would not sleep for 2 days straight and then I would have a 4-6 hour sleep the day after and so on and so forth.

I know I should adhere to my daily schedule for that's what would help me get well, but I just can't. On the other hand I am reluctant to take sleeping pills because I'm afraid I might get tempted to OD once my mood get switchy.

Anyway, so the other day during my zombie mode, I was just surfing around the net about different treatments for depression. Then I stumbled upon pretty odd things. The oddest one was salt water spiritual remedy.

This method suggests that "spirits" ( which includes demons, ghosts, entities, etc) that attaches to humans can cause distress to them. These spirits can transfer their black energy and create large stores of it in our bodies which in turn can create a variety of problems such as depression, unclear thinking or organ malfunctions. These spirits apparently won't leave the person which it has attached to unless it has sucked out all the energy of the person which will eventually result to death. (Freaky! IKR?)

Read on if you want more freaky-ness.

According to the spiritual research foundation, each one of us is affected by ghosts to varying degrees. As a result, we all have some degree of black energy in our bodies. It is difficult to get rid of this black energy except through a generalized spiritual remedy such as spiritual practice or a more specific one like the salt water remedy. Performing the salt water treatment on a daily basis helps to remove this black energy from our body.

Salt water treatment should especially be done when one experiences symptoms such as:

• Lethargy 
• Reduction in promptness
• Inability to think
• Excessive thoughts especially when they are negative in nature
• Anger or any other extreme emotion
• Stress
• Any form of physical illness

When we are experiencing any one of the above symptoms, we are in a weakened state physically, emotionally or spiritually. The ghosts attack us in this weakened state and infuse more black energy and play up the symptoms to an even greater extent.

The picture below is a subtle picture of a ghost causing depression in a person.

This totally freaked me out.  Seriously, this whole concept fucked my head up even more.

Okay, so I'm not really a spiritual person. After reading this, I was like: "Hell no. This can't be real!". But on the back of my mind, I  know that there can be a possible truth here. And after I watched the movie "The Rite" ( a not so typical movie about exorcism) I became more curious to know more about the relationship of depression and possession

I would like to cite a few quotes from Father Lucas Trevant (this character made me love Anthony Hopkins even more) in the movie which I found very relative and striking:

"You be careful Michael, choosing not to believe in the devil will not protect you from it."

"Early signs of possession are subtle- social withdrawal, persistent tremor..." 

(I can totally relate to this. I've always been kind of a loner but this past months I got too depressed I won't come out of the house and even cut out all possible connections to my friends and the outside world. Regarding the tremors, I have this uncontrollable habit of shaking my leg when I'm idle. Am I being possessed???)

" You know,  the interesting thing about skeptics, is that they're always looking for proof... the question is, what on earth would we ever do if we found it?"

"Does a thief  turn on the lights while he's robbing your house? No. He prefers you to believe that he's not there... like the devil!" 

Father Lucas:"Tell me Michael, do you believe in sin?"

Michael: "Yes, I just don't believe that the devil makes us do it." 

 The last line felt like I was Michael. I've always believe that we are the sole captains of our lives and that we make our own mistakes and decisions without outside forces affecting them. I was an atheist once and now an agnostic and I've always been skeptical about the existence of good and evil. 


But that was before, all of these things made me realize that although I've turned my back on religion, I can't turn my back on God. Being born and raised as a Catholic, I can't deny the fact that a part of me still believes in God. I just seem to have lost it. I just hope I would still be able to find my faith back. And then maybe, just maybe, I would find my "old" (the happy and mania and depression-free) self too.

P.S. I might give the salt therapy a chance. As they say, it doesn't hurt to try and I have nothing to lose anyway. Right? ;)

THE QUEST FOR EL DORADO

As the rain and the wind gush against the roof, I stared at my family's sleeping faces. They were so serene. I Iong for that peace too. I was holding the vial with both hands. I was very much ready to take down its content to finally put myself to sleep.  I would be finally free. The end is in my hands. In that final moment, I made a (stupid) move and shared my final thoughts to you.

I was scared. I felt like I was hanging on a cliff and desperately crying for help. I was so happy that you came. Finally, someone came! Somebody still care.  Much to my dismay, all you did was just give me a rope and then left me alone again. I felt so angry and sad. I didn't know what to feel. I felt angry at first because of the fact that you didn't even took the liberty to pull me right back in. I was also sad because I didn't feel like you really cared at all. I was right; nobody cares. 

I was wondering, why?  Why does no one ever take me seriously? Do I need to jump off a cliff and die, for you to realize that I am not fooling around? I am sick. And this is no joke. How I wish it's just a joke. But it isn't. It's all real. 

I cut your rope and let myself fall deeper into the abyss. There, I was not alone. I was scared but I've chosen to face it. There lies my old enemy and once again I must fight it. I've chosen to seek help. And so my quest for El Dorado starts.