430 days. 

I kept counting. 

My fingers flicking open in order and hands always switching. Bent, crooked and flexed. New lines have formed on my palms. My fingers are no exception. I am slowly ageing without careful observation. My hands are still soft. 

My hands have always been one of the parts of my body I love. Very dainty, with clear lines and structure. Soft in texture but tough enough to fight. 

Anyway, I kept counting. 

I would deduct the dates and add the hours. Announcing it to him before smiling to myself. Encouragement is essential, and it would show him that I appreciate his effort. I really do. 

Going clean is just so difficult when it is a habit lasting for years. 

Any habit is hard to break. Even a person’s will might be weaker than the reliance on habit. 

430 days. 

The last number counted to, on 25th August 2016. And somehow I just stopped. The number still lying somewhere among the rest of my disorganised notes. Funny how I stopped then. 

I remember planning something. When it hits a bigger number. Maybe 500? But when is someone ever truly clean though? 

So naïve, I am. So misunderstood about cructhes, vices and addiction. 

Now I know that too much faith can break you. Especially when it is outside of your control. Especially when your own hands cannot tell the future that is someone else. 

But I knew. I remember asking questions every time I saw a cigarette in photographs, moments digitally recorded or a pack lying on the table. 

Perhaps my gut knew, and I chose to turn my observations to something else. Like the new scars on my right hand, from the dog bites. 

430 days of being in a grey area unknowingly. Neither here nor there. A space of unknowing and false comfort. 

How strange to look back at this now. Am I really out of this space now, even in my head? Or do I never really get to leave? 

Relative blindness. 

Numerals. 

Numbers that never go beyond 

A certain amount 

Unpredictable fluctuations 

But predictable depletions 

Never rising yet 

Always have enough to keep on falling 

I am starting to develop a fear of checking my account balance, just like how I instinctively avoid the mirror as well as weighing scale. 

Random thought: if a disaster happened, money wouldn’t matter because it will all burn away and no longer becomes a status, but a consequence. 

So why am I so hard up about it now? 

Dollars and cents shouldn’t define us. 

But it shapes my lifestyle. 

That’s fact. 

Observation June 8th. 

It is surprising how guilty I feel when I choose to stay in bed for an hour more, or two, on rare occasions. 

I stay in bed because I am tired, my dog just passed on and I just need a break. So I bury myself under my comforter, hug my safety blanket and lay my head on the only pillow I have. Stay still. Eyes shut and breath quiet. I slept at 5am the night before, or rather, this morning. My body feels heavy and my flesh weak. 

Maybe I can afford to just take this day off. Not do anything or engage in work. Just go through my emotions and rest. Let the mind quieten before all the errands I have later in the day. 

Always sounds like a good idea. Rest. 

I can always go back to the grind tomorrow. Taking a break happens so seldom that surely I deserve this? I earned it somehow. Must I even earn my right to rest? Can’t I just choose to rest? Shouldn’t my choice be enough, especially when I do balance it out with work on other days? 

But guilt seeps in and plagues me. It is funny, really. 

I choose to rest but I also choose to let this guilt eat away at my mind, and torment me. 

Lazy. Pig. Irresponsible. Failure. Passive. Not hardworking. A drifter. All achievements go down the drain. Think of your deadlines. Work isn’t that bad. Why can’t you do it? Move on. Who are you if you don’t work? What are you doing? Doing nothing and resting is a pleasure, a luxury. Hello? Get up get up get up!

And yes, I am not well off. My family only has enough or less. No one knows who I am, or even cares, especially in the bigger picture. 

So who am I if I don’t work? Work hard enough for people to know me and notice? Who am I without this? 

16th April. 

Once again, feel like abandoning this space. 

My words have left me, or perhaps I let them free. In a protest for my mind to be quiet. 

But I know it is all wishful thinking. 

– 

Been trying to write more but in my sadness, I get so introspective and shield myself from inspiration. So I get stuck, subconsciously voluntarily, and then the cycle repeats. 

I always have my imagination though. And in this little headspace of mine, I am free. Always free. 

Being alone through a process is tiring. But vulnerability is what I want, for this. And I can only hope it will pay off in the end. x

First Day. 

Here’s to getting the next 366 days over and done with. 

Here’s to finishing this year strong. No regrets, no holding back. 

Here’s to believing in myself and pushing the boundaries of the mind, body, soul. 

Here’s to knowing what is important and what my priorities are. 

– 

Keep breathing through. Pace and balance. 

Let’s try my best.