Nightmare

The Medicine Auditorium was occupied with Doctors from different departments gathered for an Anual Clinico Pathologic Conference when I arrived. It was an overwhelming crowd. I am actually contented being seated at the back where I had a perfect view of what everyone is doing.

Today I thought of my younger self, back in time when I am fuelled with determination. One fine young lady, I supposed, bursting with strong points and promises. I was once standing in front of the crowd voicing my eagerness to someday wear a white coat with a stethoscope hanging on my shoulder, top of this is completing my name with 2 letters added after my  father’s—M. and D.— letters that empowers a good reputation.

The Class prophecy I read in front of the crowd (which I personally wrote) was the only way I could tell the world that I have a dream—that I wanted to be someone if only given a chance. During those times, it was rather impossible for someone like me to afford a Medical School, and survive it as well.

I can specifically picture out how gloomy I was to be listed as BA Psychology when all I wanted was a Science Degree in Biology as a Pre-Med course even though I was not assured yet of pursuing Medicine. I finished BS Biology and Medicine too. I was always secured. I always believe in myself. I am strong. I was once undistracted.

Today as I return from a 6-day hiatus, I remember all these. I desire to be revived. I want to breathe once again, of good hope.  I need my nerve back.

But how can I possibly finish my end when I am, in reality suffocated with anger? There, I found myself running away from the auditorium after being reminded that I'm shattered. I fail to compose my intentions. I was made-up to regain my strength but still too weak.

I found myself crying as if this agony cannot be fought. What really hurts most is a part concealed until becomes a little obvious…that I’m losing myself along my fading dream.

Going back

Four days and I wanted to count more (if I could still do that) but that would be impossible, even unnecessary. I've been out of my training for four days (leaving my team no notes) which is a clear evidence of how unbecoming I am. 


This is probably the nth time I did not stand firm for what I wanted to turn into. This is the nth time I tolerated myself to waste another piece of me.
I am not running away this time.

You know me by name, perhaps, you know part of my story

I had enough of this poor situation, weak heart, lost spirit. I’m heading my way to the journey I longed for.

I’m walking a little step backward because I crossed boundaries.  Those extra miles I had, perhaps, made me lost my direction.But today, I’m heading my way to the journey I longed for. 

Today I decided to be trained to be the woman whose hands are instruments to save lives. My days won’t be like the days of people around me. My training won’t be as easy and will never be a smooth sailing because I have a scar whose pain I know will persistently linger. 

For as long as I’m on the same ground with the same people to interact with, there will always be someone who will remind me of my flaws (unintentionally as they can be). My days will never be the same. Chances of random things may jog my memories that will awaken the pains that once brought me to my disgrace. 

There will be kind of days--difficult and tough. There will soon be days I’ll surely find myself in one corner deep breathing to ease tension that could probably kill my remaining hope.

This agony will definitely stay—but I’m decided to pick the broken pieces of me, pieces that will soon cause deeper cuts to stir-up consciousness.   

I resolved to be preoccupied with things I needed to regain whatever was lost.

I’m taking back every single thing that was taken away from me—that includes my self-respect, my moral, my reputation.

Misunderstood

Slicing and dicing, she cuts deeper and deeper,
seeing just one drop of blood will make her happy.
Crying and shaking, she raises the knife,
wishing for the courage to take her own life.
Pushing harder on the blade, trying to die,
she often just sits and wonders why;
Why are people so selfish and hating,
nobody knows the pain she suffers through.
She just wants love, why don't they understand this?,
nobody says I love you or asks her how she is doing.
Wanting love more than anything in the world,
wanting to feel pretty once in awhile.
Crying and trying to die once again,
all she really needs is one caring friend.
Depressed all the time for reasons unknown to herself,
wishing all the pain would just go disappear.
Trying to be happy and funny is hard for her,
even when doing things she once did enjoy.
No courage to actually kill herself,
just cutting makes her feel better.
Wishing she could die, not knowing why,
just wanting love and companionship.
Crying and shaking, she raises the knife,
wishing for the courage to take her own life...

this is just a repost, author unknown to me

Misunderstood

I am trying to figure out myself what makes my life miserable these past few days.  Those unexplained cause that made me feel like i am being one of the world’s outcast. Perhaps, its the rain that reminds me of the pains I been through, it is my frustration of having a meaningless life—I am extremely saddened and so disappointed with myself today.


I am trying to fix my broken life. I tried so hard but like a broken glass, I never have a chance to patch-up everything. There will always be an empty space, vanished parts and deformities. Life will never be as perfect as the way life before, no matter how hard I tried. There is no way for reinvention. I don't know, but I once believed that wearing a mask will make my life look better. It is the only way I could think of today. I have to hide those scars that marked my dark past.

I feel so down… so ugly… I am so exhausted… and yeah, wasted. I am truly impaired… Am I going to be a doctor or end up again in nowhere for a thousand time already. I hate that destination—a literally known “space” wherein you cant find any single thing around, an empty freedom.

Some people would say “I am just getting frustrated over something I should not”. Then, do you know how it feels to be like CRISTY?

    I am silently struggling to survive, fighting back myself—exactly, my greatest enemy as of now is myself. Do you know then how hard it is for me to contradict everything? I wanted to cry and revenge but I should not. I wanted to die but I should stand firm. My body and mind is becoming weaker each passing day—times that I need silence to convince myself that I have to be strong. It is exactly the abnormality I identified to be Major Depression and not just a feeling of blues and sadness.

This is bad, but all I wanted to do right now is to take revenge. I tried hard to let it go, but I can still hear those insults I got back home. I can still hear myself screaming in pain. And what hurts more is the fact that I been so nice— I been so good… but then they still did those wicked things pushing me to be BAD.

        And the stinging fact perhaps was those moments that I am in tears while they're all in laughter calling me crazy.

        Tell me now, am I really bad to think and feel this way?


Originally posted at
cristymay.multiply.com