February, what’s good?

It’s insane to think that in just 28 days I have gone through one of the worst roller coaster ride of 2019, and it’s not a literal roller coaster, in case you’re wondering. Oh you think I am exaggerating? Well, I’ll list it for you and I’ll let you be the judge.

One, I had the worst episode of 2019 (so far).

I don’t know where to start with this one, but I can try to tell you the story the way I remember it unfold. I came back from work, and I was hungry. I wasn’t up for cooking, I wanted me a fried chicken and french fries. So, I ordered them. I asked the delivery guy that I would want drum stick and thigh for my fried chicken. I specifically told them I do not want a breast or wing. He confirmed by saying okay.

Cool. No Biggie.

When the food arrived, as per usual I ate the french fries because soggy french fries are the worst. Soon after I finished my french fries and I went for my fried chicken. Guess what, guys?

Not only do I not get my drum stick and thigh, they gave me two, not one, but TWO FUCKING CHICKEN BREASTS!!!!!

Honestly, I don’t know what went over me but I was livid. It’s like a thick black veil was thrown over my brain, my consciousness, my eyes, and my sanity. I got so angry and I just started screaming. It’s like the whole dam of emotions suppressed just come bursting out like an avalanche. I was crying, I was screaming, I was angry, I was sad, and looking back, it’s like I was everything and everyone but myself, or the myself that I always thought I was.

I felt like my brain was split in two, the other half is relishing the anger that flows within me. It sustains the life that I felt was leaving me with desolate dreams and tiredness. The other half is like racing against time, trying to catch up with my anger, trying to tell the anger that you need to calm down, that this is not you, that you are better than this. Unfortunately, no matter how hard the other brain tried to catch up with the angry brain, it was a losing battle.

I felt helpless in the stream of my anger. I was so tired. I wanted to stop feeling angry. I wanted to tell myself to just let it be. There was no point to being angry. But I can’t. So I did the only thing I knew, the only thing that kept me grounded when I was probably 13 or 14 years old and I first had a taste of my episode; I punched and I hit the marble dining table, over and over again until the only thing I felt was pain and regret from hurting myself.

I caught my breath, I saw my reddened hand, I felt the pain surging all the way from my knuckles and palm all the way up to my elbow, and I felt so drained. So tired of this anger that I could not even put into words.

One thing led to another. The anger within me was not done wrecking damage. I was shrouded in more anger and sadness, one that I could not even put to words or expressions. I express it in pain and tears, and the beating to my chest, hoping the pain will take the anger away. It was such a wasted effort. I only stop feeling the anger and sadness when I felt alone and lonely; tossed like an unused tissue. I cried myself to sleep, regretting everything that happened, hating myself for succumbing to the temptation of an episode that I haven’t felt in decades. I was a mess. I’m a shell of who I once was.

I woke up the next day with a heavy heart, and empty brain, and bruised knuckles. Later in the day, I noticed there were several bruises on my chest. I felt nothing from it all. The hate, the anger, the pain, the sadness, the regret, the shame, none of that mattered in the new light of day.

So, there you have it. An episode caused by two pieces of chicken breasts. I could not go any lower than that.

Two, I was asked to move apartment by my landlady.

However small my apartment was, it has become my safe haven in the one year in a half that I’ve been in Colombia. It has seen my good, my bad, and my worst. It was the place that came close to what being safe from harm was to me, and to be told that I was to move was like a huge blow to my stability. My world was moved from its axis, and to me it feels like everything is shattering into pieces. All the perfect life I have constructed, or however close it was to perfect, was shattering one day at a time, revealing how rotting everything was.

I thought the apartment was to be my safe haven, but the moment I was asked to move, I don’t feel like it was my home anymore. I feel foreign sleeping in my bed. I feel like an intruder when I walk the apartment to do my laundry or simply to just sit and read a book. My brain went into overdrive trying to find a new apartment. I wanted to believe that I have enough good karma to keep me afloat.

Two weeks of living in a limbo, and I finally gave in. I’m so tired of living my days with a heavy heart filled by anger. I’m tired of not knowing when and where my safe haven was to be returned to me. So, I stopped trying. I let the chips fall where it may. I stopped fighting the inevitable. I detach myself from the real life. I let life take its own course.

Fortune favours the brave is one of my favourite saying. I’m not saying I’m brave, nor am I calling myself fortunate, but maybe I am in some ways. I took the leap of faith in accepting the things I cannot change, preparing myself to adapt to the things beyond my reach, and I was rewarded with a fortunate encounter with good people along the way. My previous landlady (yes, the actual lady who asked me to move from her apartment because she needed to use the apartment for her ageing mother) actually found me my new apartment, that is close to my old apartment, was a bit bigger than the old one, and actually has a balcony and a fireplace.

It was definitely a step up from my previous abode, and it may take some time for me to get accustomed to it, but at least I was not left on the curb when my landlady asked me to move from my current apartment. The second best part of the new apartment, the owner also speaks English, so I’m safe.

Well, there you have it. My horrible February. In the midst of going through an episode, moving apartment, and low-key feeling ready to die, I stumbled to March. I think I am better than when I was in February. I haven’t had an episode since then. I have not felt like I wanted to die. And I think I’ve handled my anxiety quite well the past few days. I detached myself from the things I cannot control. I let the other dilchh (whoever she may be) to take the reign when things are out of my control.

Honestly, I don’t know if there is another dilchh. I just know that when things are out of my control, I detached myself from the actual thing currently happening and just let my body and mind take its own course. Does that made any sense? I guess not, but it’s not my job or responsibility to make sense of this weird thing we called life.

I’m glad that February has passed and it’s just four months until June, of which if God be willing I will travel to New York to enjoy the five days reprieve from work and will also mark that I only have to survive six more month before reuniting with RAM in Seoul.

And so, the million dollar question, February, what’s good?

Nothing. Nothing good in February but I’m going to go and say that regardless of the episode and the wishes made in the dark corners of my mind for a quick death to take me out of my misery, I nailed February to the wall. It’s all passed and gone, on to more surprises for March, I guess.

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