Tag Archives: self-identity

Taking care of anything but me.

It’s been about 4 months since my cat began to struggle with her mystery illness.  She and her sister turned 2 years old last week, which at one point I was honestly fearing wouldn’t happen, and things remain as mysterious as ever.

I remember before she fell ill, I was the most upset I’ve ever been in my life.  I was just in such a dark place, and when she suddenly became my priority, before even myself, I was struggling a lot.  I found myself resenting her, and myself, and my life.  Nothing was working out for me, and honestly I still feel as though nothing is.

But putting her first in my life has helped me in a few ways.  I feel as though the final nail has been hammered into the coffin that is my ex.  I’ve hardly thought of him, and when I do, it’s never really a big deal.  I can play my music, and the songs that reminded me of my sorrow regarding the issue aren’t so sorrowful anymore.  They are my songs again.  And I find myself yearning for something better.  I don’t want to succumb to this nothingness anymore.  But I just feel so helpless.

I struggle a lot with my identity.  I don’t know who I am and I feel as though I have nothing to offer.  I don’t hang out with friends because I don’t have any.  And I don’t have any because I think to myself, “what can I do to be an interesting and good friend?”

There isn’t a lot.

Even before my cat got sick, I would go to work, hate my life, come home, take a long nap, hate my life, mope and get angry at anyone who gave me the time of day, then went to bed.  And now that I want something more, I still hate my work, I still am not fond of my life (though I try!), and I just feel stuck as a caretaker right now.

I’ve never had a very durable sense of responsibility.  I’m exhausted caring for my cat.  I am emotionally and physically drained.  I have to feed her so many times a day, and each feeding is a trial.  After I finally see the last mouthful go down, I feel so much relief and yet so much anxiety.  It’s only a matter of hours before the next meal, or pill, or medication.  I have to sleep or relax or calm my nerves somehow.  I don’t have time for people or friendship or myself.  I just need to be completely alone.  I am very high-stress, and for her sake I have to try so hard not to show her how much she’s hurting me.  I can’t have an anxiety attack.  Last time I thought it was acceptable to lose my emotions in front of her, I paid for it by seeing her go through an anxiety attack herself.  Screaming, hissing, immense physical discomfort.  I just need to stay calm and she will too….

Sometimes I try and think about what my life might look like when and if I ever get her issues sorted out.  It’s hard to picture.  It’s not like I did a whole lot with my life before she got sick.  But I try and contemplate what I can do differently.  How I can work on my perception of what I have and what I really need.  And it all just feels… endless.

I don’t think I’m suicidal.  I don’t really have those kinds of thoughts very often, and when I do, they’re pretty easy to brush off.  I think it’s just my subconscious self being as dramatic as my physical self.  I do think I am incredibly lost though.

I’m sitting here just waiting.  Waiting for my sick cat to die.  Waiting for my healthy cat to die.  Waiting for myself to die.  It’s going to come.  And I’m going to wait patiently for it to come on it’s own terms on all three counts.  But it just feels like there’s nothing else going on.

Sometimes I try and think about dating again to have a chance at passing the time with a human being.  I’m certainly not hung up on my ex anymore.  So why not try?  I am definitely still pretty damaged, is why.  The thought of me being somebody’s “person” actually makes me uncomfortable.  I think about who I am and what I do with my time, and I just cant imagine the kind of person who would go out of there way to spend the rest of their life with me.

I just don’t have a single thing to offer.

I mean, right now I’m actually okay with being alone anyways.  But sometimes I just wish I had someone else to share my burden with.  As in share my cat with.  Just someone to take turns with feeding her so I can space apart my anxiety a little.  Someone to come to the emergency vet with me and keep me company so I don’t fall asleep waiting in the exam room.  Someone to be the strong one so I can just… cry.

I just want to cry.



I wonder when I became this person.  I wonder for how long I have remained this person.  Hell, I even wonder who this person is, but I guess that’s a musing best left for another day.

I just want to know when all my hope was lost.  When I gave up on myself.  When I gave up waiting for him.  When I forgot what it felt like to mean something to somebody.

When the sun begins to set, so does my melancholy.  It turns into dissonance.  I play my mp3 as I busy myself for bed, and all there is to hear are mournful melodies I’ve acquired from video games passed and the saddest of Korean pop ballads.

I wonder when I forgot who I was.  No, became who I am.  No, turned into someone I am not.  I don’t know.  I don’t know what I am and what I mean anymore.

I have come to feel a great sense of loss for all things that used to matter to me.  Some have passed on from this life, some have chosen to move on from my life, and some I have distanced my life from, but in all instances I am isolated from everything that I had come to love.

When does hope come back?  When will I reconvene with my sense of self?  I am broken, but the pieces are all still there.  When does that mean something to me?

Wednesday, September 5th


I love you.  I can’t seem to say that enough…

I am a very different person than those you have encountered in your life; an ancient soul.  I am hard of trust, I am nostalgic, I am a time vault of emotions.  I hold everything I love in my life at a historic value—something so completely determinant in my being and my understanding of the life I lead, something so truly meaningful that it stays with me forever as a mark on my character.

You have marked me.  You have become so incredibly important in my life that I don’t know how to cope with losing you.  I don’t know how to continue my life when, to someone like me, I’ve now lost such a huge part of it.

I let you in.  I let you touch me, in my heart and my body, in places I’ve never been touched.  I felt love for you, I committed you to my memories.  You are a history within me.  I don’t know how to erase that as you have, and I don’t know how to move forward with such a damaged canvas of self-identity.

Unlike most things in my life that I connect with, I can’t save you.  I can’t put you on a YouTube playlist, I can’t replay you as if you were a video game, I can’t re-watch our love like a movie, I can’t save you to my desktop, I can’t listen to you on my phone, I can’t feel you the way I’ve felt you in our moments together ever again.  You are lost to me.   I see you everywhere I look, but you are missing.

All the promises I made with you… all the places we promised we would go, the games we promised we’d play, the movies we promised we’d watch, the experiences we promised we’d share.  I don’t know what to do with those now.  They’re my dearest promises… they are so important to me.  How do I ever do these things on my own now?  They will always be promises I’ll have broken.  I can’t do that…

I can’t do this.  I can’t find a way to accept that you’re just gone now.  How does someone like me deal with that?  I know you’ve hurt me, I know I feel betrayed and used by you, and I know I still resent the way you’ve handled my feelings so carelessly, but it doesn’t seem to matter to me.  You being in my life is all that matters to me.

When you told me you loved me, it was really I who loved you.  When you said I was what you needed, you were really what I need.  When you said you could be real with me, it was me who could be real with you.

Maybe I’m a romantic, maybe I’m lonely, maybe I’m crazy.  Whatever I am, it is you that is a part of that now.  How do I breathe without you acknowledging that?

I will love you every day of my life.  But I guess I just need to channel that into accepting your doing what makes you happy.  Please find happiness.  Please live the life you want to live and be the you that you are.

Despite everything, I am so happy to have met you.  I will treasure your feelings and your memories forever.  As a part of me.

The boy not yet a man…

The boy, he rests his hand upon

our existential window,

et je sais que ce n’est pas bon,1

si ses yeux sont des ciseaux.2

A life that mustn’t satisfy

this ageless man, he spins.

His boyish face can’t rectify

the weathered heart within.

With broken seams and mended dreams,

I face him, just, and say,

“Why do you frown just when it seems

the hardships go away?”

His heart unkempt and terrified,

the boy not quite a man,

stretches his hands, un-unified,

autour son coeur;3 Tian Shan.4

A pool of realized fears that shelve

a gaze with no reflection–

he tells me I don’t fool myself

despite my insurrection.

To stand before his realm of glass;

To face myself in vain.

The difference, you see, does not surpass

the image I did gain.

He breathed a breath serrated, and

made contact he did not.

Shed soft tears and still was jaded–

his pitied closet of rot.

1“and I know this is not good”  2“if his eyes are like scissors”  3“around his heart”  4A major mountain range of Central Asia, extends 1500ft.


I wrote this in University September ’11.  Somehow it seems fitting.  My former self must have known I’d need this one day.