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It's official. I am a nut-case.

I just got released from a one-day stay at the hospital....

I overdosed on anti-depressants and sleeping pills.

Not on purpose.

I wanted to sleep. I haven't slept for days. I've been so depressed.

So I took some sleeping pills, totally forgetting I'm also on anti-depressants.

Almost did an Anna Nicole Smith there.

The thing is I don't know why I'm depressed.

It's official. I am a diagnosed manic-depressive.

Lately though, it's just depression. I've been staying in bed, burying myself under the sheets.

I feel empty, sad, alone, but I don't know why.

I have a job that I know I can excel in. It pays well, too. The thing is, I hate the job. I'm quitting.

A week ago I tried cutting my left wrist. I wanted to end my misery.

It hurt like hell.

Figures.

I didn't do it to feel pain. I already am in a lot of pain, I don't need more.

I did it to see if I can really end it.

I couldn't.

Not because I didn't want to die, but because it hurts like hell.

Plus, I had nasty thoughts of tetanus & infection but then again those wouldn't matter if one is already dead.

I don't know why I'm depressed.

I haven't peaked yet. I have a long way to go.

I know so.

But then why do I have this feeling there's nothing more than this?

I don't see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Maybe the tunnel's already caved in and I'm trapped inside?

My friends keep on telling me there's no other way but up for me.

Why do I feel I'm just spiralling down, down, DOWN?!

Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now!

Holy week's supposed to be the week of penance, sacrifice, & self-suffering in honor of the death of Christ.

The timing couldn't be more perfect for my suffering and misery.

Most people during Holy Week are most probably frolicking on the beach, out of town, or out of the country, celebrating summer, celebrating whatever.

Me?

Nah...

I have work.

I'm supposed to be at work, earning double, even triple for services rendered during the holidays, but no... My body decided against it.

I probably have been food-poisoned again.

My tummy says so.

The bathroom's become my bedroom from Monday to Wednesday. Nevermind that my entire body's aching & shivering from fever & coughing & asthma. When you gotta go, you GOTTA go.

Thursday, I went back to work, thinking that I'm somewhat ok.

Friday, my body decided to fall apart.

I started puking my guts out the moment I parked my car in the garage. Good thing I was already rolling over the garage's tiled floor when I started puking. God knows how hard it is to clean up puke in the car. God knows it's harder to get rid of the stink. Nevermind that I ruined my clothes. I will never ever puke in my car!

I hate puking. It's a disgusting body function. We shouldn't have been made to puke. Bowel movements I can take. At least my asshole doesn't have taste buds. Puking is a different story. I like food. I like eating. I like savoring the different flavors. But not when it's already digested & mixed with stomach fluids & what-not. I puked because I'm sick and I puked from being disgusted from puking because of me being sick.

It's one of those moments that make me wish I were being tortured like the characters in Quentin Tarantino's Hostel. That ankle slashing scene looked far more pleasant than what I was going through that very moment.

I didn't want to puke anymore. Again, it's disgusting. Plus, try puking at the same time your mom's yelling down on you, "Are you pregnant?! Are you pregnant?!" Hell on earth. She should have just left me alone to puke in peace. Of course I'm not pregnant. I think...

I cried because again, it's disgusting. I cried because I wanted to puke & puke & puke but it was so disgusting. I cried because the puke won't come out but I still felt like puking. I cried because my tummy felt like someone just punched the daylights out of me. I cried because I wanted to cry. I cried because I stank of puke. I cried because they were going to bring me to the emergency clinic looking & smelling literally like a nasty Portalet left under the midday sun.

I thought things were going to be better at the emergency clinic, but wait, my misery was turning into pure agony.

Ever had your stomach pumped?!

If you had, don't you just feel like murdering the doctor & the nurse that told you it would be alright & it wouldn't hurt that much?

Why didn't they just reached into my mouth with their bare hands and yanked my guts out? That must feel more pleasant than having your stomach pumped.

I officially hate doctors & nurses now. No matter how hunky & nice they look like. Doctors are evil.

I've been advised to stay away from solid food for a while. I'm not stupid. I'm not going to eat after what I've been through.

Hah! Who was I kidding?!

Whn I came home, lo & behold..... Pizza & KFC was waiting on the table!

Just when I said I wouldn't eat. Just when the doctor told me to eat baby food! Just when I have been craving for pizza & KFC for months now but have been too lazy to buy...

Someone very inconsiderate decides to order those two things!!!

I hate everyone here in this house.

Heaven knows I'm miserable. I am so miserable right now.

There's still some leftover pizza & chicken in the fridge. Maybe..... Just maybe.....

Nah..... Just thinking about it made my stomach growl & it's not because of hunger.

I'm so damn miserable.

Lunchtime Wisdom

I was listening to two coworkers/friends' conversation over 'lunch'. I was so glad I didn't have anything in my mouth because if I had, I certainly would have spit it out, or more like, snort it out.

It was such a hilarious conversation but what really stuck in my mind is how she defined money:

"What is money?! Paper only!!!"

I couldn't have said it better...

Those Which Did Not Kill Me... Part 1

There's this saying by Nietszche that goes like this:

"That which cannot destroy you can only make you grow stronger."

Of course there's also Angelina Jolie's tattoo that says:

"Quod me nutrit me destruit."

In the spirit of Nietzche and Jolie's tattoo, here are 10 things that would've killed me when I was a wee (yes, I was little once), defenseless (yes, I was defenseless once, too) girl:

1. The Staircase Incident

According to my mother I was just over a year old. My aunt (my dad's youngest sister) was supposedly watching over me. I somehow managed to escape from her 'watchful' eyes. How can I not? She was talking over the phone. Probably some guy. You know how teenagers can be. Leave 'em alone with a telephone and all hell will break loose. All hell did break loose. At least, that's what my mom told me. She was in the kitchen with my grandma and they heard something fall. Then they heard something scream bloody murder. That something was me. They found me at the bottom of the staircase screaming and crying but still holding on for my dear short life, with a baby bottle in one hand, and a bottle of lotion in another. They rushed me to the hospital and by the time we reached the emergency room, my mother said my forehead and my nose seemed like they have fused together because my face was swollen.

What I've learned: A baby bottle & a bottle of lotion can save your life, and that you won't have any memories of this happening to you but you will never ever forget about it because people related to you will always remind you about that time you fell down the stairs.

2. A Murderous Plot

I was a 4-year old kid living in Laguna, with my future ahead of me being a Nursery student at one of the Preparatory schools in Calamba. I made a lot of friends, both boys and girls. At 3, I was kind of a tomboy preferring to play with the boys more than with the girls.

One day, during playtime at school, I was happily playing tag with the boys, unaware that there was danger lurking in the form of a retarded-looking classmate trapped in the body of a 12-year old boy. I remember climbing up the grills of the school gates so the 'IT' guy won't be able to reach me and tag me. I was high up on the gate like a monkey holding on for dear life when I felt someone tugging and pulling my leg down! I looked down and it was the retard! Of course a 3-year old's instinct would be to kick and pull away, so I did, but the retard kept on pulling my leg down. I remember kicking harder but I sure as hell didn't expect what happened next! Next thing I knew I was slowly slipping down the gate and when it was enough for him to reach me, the bastard stabbed me in the back with a very sharp number 2 Mongol pencil! Of course I fell down. Of course I felt the pain. Of course I cried and screamed.

There was commotion all over. The retard thought it was funny. He laughed and pointed at me when I was literally down. The teacher rushed over to the scene of the crime, calling one of her assistants to apprehend the murderous bastard. I was brought to the school clinic and that's when they found out that the lead of the pencil got stuck in my back. I will never ever forget the physical and psychological pain that he caused me. From that moment on, I learned to watch my back literally & figuratively.

I wonder what happened to him? I hope he's in a mental assylum. Frikkin retard!

What I've Learned: Kids can be murderous at a very early age and that kids who are murderous are also resourceful! Imagine making a murder weapon out of an ordinary pencil! I've also realized that no matter how fun it is to play with boys, it's always safer to play with girls.

3. A Sack Of Mentos

When I was 5 we moved to Manila. We all lived in a huge house together with my grandparents, an uncle, and my aunts. It was a very big house with a big front lawn, a huge backyard, tons of nooks, crannies, and a lot of stuff. I was a very curious little girl who loved exploring every inch of the house.

One afternoon I was playing by myself outside of the house. I wasn't playing with anything particular. I just remembered running around the front lawn and the garage. I don't know what made me stop and stare at an ordinary-looking sack but I did. The sack wasn't empty. It looked lumpy from the outside. It was like the sack had hypnotic powers saying, "Come to me... Come to me..." So I did. I went over to take a peek inside the mysterious sack. Lo and behold! I felt like I hit the jackpot when I saw what's inside the sack. It was full of unwrapped Mentos candy!!! I quickly grabbed a handful, looking left & right and behind me just to make sure nobody would catch me putting my precious loot inside my pocket. I could already see myself munching on them, savoring the sweet, minty candies. When I was about grab another handful, I heard my uncle shout at me.

"Hoy!" he said.

I was so startled I dropped some of my loot on the ground. I turned around to look at him but I couldn't look him in the eye. I was so ashamed. I knew my eyes would give me away so I stared at the cement floor. My uncle wasn't an idiot (back then). He knew what I did, of course. He grabbed me by the shoulder & started shaking and yelling at me.

"Bakit mo pinaglalaruan yung naptalina (Napthalene Balls)?! Hindi mo ba alam lason yan?!" he yelled at me almost showering me with spit. I could see his neck veins almost bursting because of anger.

The only thing that I could mutter in a sheepish voice was, "Akala ko po Mentos..." Then I started to cry.

My uncle let go of me, wiped my hands and emptied my pockets. He held my hand and led me inside and told the maids to give me a bath and wash my clothes. Now I understand why the Mentos smelled funny.

What I've Learned: Not everything that's small, round, and white is a piece of Mentos candy, the fresh maker. Sometimes, they're just really moth balls.

4. The Legend of the Reanimated Rubber

I was still a curious, and may I say wiser (by this time I knew that moth balls aren't Mentos candies), 5-year old kid playing and wreaking havoc around the family property. I remember playing one day by the garage while the maids were gardening & watering the plants and the driver tinkering around with the cars. I had with me a favorite toy. It was a red wagon that I used to put whatever stuff I found outside the garden (rocks, leaves, twigs) that I consider my treasures. Sometimes I pick up stuff from the garage, too (nuts & bolts, screws, spark plugs). Of course everyone yelled at me whenever I'd take the spare parts lying around the workbench and the open toolbox.

The wagon went wherever I went. That particular day, I was looking for new treasures in the garden and the garage. I picked up some interesting rocks and some flowers. I ventured into the garage looking for screws and whatever else I could find when I saw something in the corner of my eye. When I went to take a closer look at it, it seemed like one of those long, thin black rubber thingies that came from one of the cars. I assumed the driver discarded it so it seemed logical to me and my 5-year old brain to pick the thing up. When I was about to, the rubber thingie started moving away. It actually was slithering away from me. I was too excited to see a seemingly inanimate object become suddenly animated. I just had to share my fascinating discovery so I screamed at the top of my lungs, "Looooooooook!!!!!The rubber's moviiiiing!!!!!"

Both the maids and the driver ran towards me. They thought I fell or something. I heard the maids scream and I felt the driver grabbing me around my waist and carrying me away. I was baffled. The maids were still screaming like banshees. They were terrified. I saw the driver pick up something long, shiny, and metallic from the toolbox, ran towards the rubber thingie and started clobbering the poor thing. The rubber thingie was fighting back but the driver hit it harder. It started to coil up and then it stopped moving.

Now I know why the maids were screaming, "Ahas! Ahaaaaaaaaaas!!!!!"

What I've Learned: It's not normal for long rubber thingies to slither away, hiss, and fight back. If a long rubber thingie starts doing this, run away because it's a fucking snake! Oh, by the way, as I grew older, I found out that long rubber thingies used for cars are called fan belts.

5. The Lunch Box Assault

I was 6 years old and was in Kindergarten 2. I loved my school, my new friends, and the nuns that taught us music and piano. I also loved my new red lunch box. It was the kind that was rectangle and made with a tough plastic material, the kind that you had to flip and unflip to be able to open & close it.

One fine afternoon, I was outside by myself, waiting for my yaya to pick me up. My friends already went home so I was just on my own. I was getting bored so I started swinging my lunchbox back & forth not knowing there was this girl in my class, lurking behind me, and all set to scare the beejesus out of me. Blissfully unaware of her evil intent, I swung away. I suddenly saw my yaya walking towards me. Aching to go home and watch Astroboy, I ran towards her and hugged her.

The next day, when I went to school, I was so surprised to see the same girl already in class (she was usually late), very quite in her seat. I called out her name and when she turned to me I shrieked, "Waaah! Anong nangyari sayo?!"

She had bandages all over her nose and the parts not covered by bandages were black and blue. She said when she was going to sneak up on me to scare me, I unknowingly hit her face with my lunch box.

What I've Learned: Karma is a bitch and sometimes it comes in the form of a lunch box hitting your face. As what my gay friend always says "Karma is digital."

This is the first installment of Those Which Did Not Kill Me.

Coming next: Essence of Caterpillar, Tres Marias, New Year Bangs, Dear Auntie, & What Might Have Been My First Love...