too much of this...

too much of this…

The past week I’ve been suffering from a serious bout of lethargy. A backlog of work has begun to pile up and I just can’t seem to get my act together and begin writing. I’m putting things aside. On my previous entry, I talked about how important it was for me to hang out with my friends because it helped me get things into perspective. Being with them, hanging out, helped me feel human and it allowed me a space with which to get creative.

Now, I’m scared that I lack the drive to turn all that positive energy into action. I don’t know what’s going on but I’m just so tired. I spend a lot of my time just resting in bed, hanging out with friends, watching my television shows, and sending e-mails to family and friends. It can’t be burn-out because I’ve felt like I got my second wind already. I feel recharged and creative. I want to work, but I don’t seem to have any drive to finish anything. Like I just want to keep percolating the thoughts in my head; like, I’m not yet ready to bubble over just yet.

I’m bound to believe that I must be depressed or angry about something. I don’t lash out, really. What I do is become totally inactive and useless. My instinct is to go inside, rather than project it outwards. That’s how I deal. And so, thinking about it this way, I realise I’m self-destructive. I refuse to be difficult or challenging for my friends and family. I am always available to them and I always try to be a positive force with them always. But I can always make myself suffer. That’s something I can handle — or think I can handle. But it is a horrible cycle because my capacity for self-hate is very strong. I get angry at myself for not finishing the work that is before me; but this feeling of anger is not permitting me to move forward and get things done. And so I get angrier at myself and it just doubles up and doubles up and I’m done for, really.

...when I should be doing more of this.

…when I should be doing more of this.

I have so much work on my plate and that usually makes me happy but I can feel something bubbling under — I’m waiting for something. That’s it, really. I’m waiting for something but I’m not exactly sure what.

Maybe I’m waiting for word about Sonata and if we have gotten in an international film festival. We’ve been sending the film to selection committees and hoping for the best. I could be dreading the time I have to apply for my US visa and until I finally get that done, I’m going to be in this state of uncertainty. Maybe I’m waiting to hear from someone. Maybe, I’m waiting until I get my act together and compile my poems (like I said I would) before I am ready to go out and get back to work; get back to my life.

As I write this, I can see it: all the things that I am waiting for and I am figuring out that I have retreated back into a child-like (childish?) state. I am secretly, subconsciously, waiting for things to get easy; for someone to hand me the things that I want on a silver platter.

But, no, that’s not how it is going to be. I need to dance, or maybe do yoga or something. Something physical. That will help me, somehow, get the anger and frustration out of my body and out of it from my pores. I need to jumpstart my cells and synapses with physical exertion.

That’s it, isn’t it? I haven’t done anything of the sort in a long time. Goodness, it is so weird that I have to blog to be able to figure myself out. It’s like when I write poetry. I only realise the issues that are kept hidden inside when I go off to write a poem and all the negative sides of me come out. This is one of the reasons why I write. Because I cannot lie to myself. What is inside comes out, naturally and without warning.

Okay, then. I have a plan. Time to set it into motion so that I can begin to start living again.

(much apologies for the past few entries — the push and pull and the indecisions and the back and forth of what’s on my mind — I’m figuring things out and I think I finally have)


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