I feel like the weeks have only been some one long day of keeping up with things I had also been doing already: going to the hospital to collect yet another batch of medical records with a few other friends, being in my desk for hours trying not to scratch my face in frustration listening to virtual lectures/practical sessions/listening to myself talk over several tutorials, typing endless things for the dozen of written assignments tasked. It has been hard to even stop doing anything to admit this has been crazy. When I do stop, I find things to do instead of thinking: I play videos in loopholes through Youtube, I watch and read the news, listen to things. 

Still, some things happened, and I am glad they did. I met up with D, one of the very few humans I met in college whose presence I can actually, physically and emotionally, withstand for hours, and for hours did we talk and dine in someplace nearby my house. It is so easy being with her, as if I can actually enjoy being unassuming for the few hours I can afford in that one day, and it has been so rare for me to find the time to enjoy being with people when they are right in front of me. It was awkward, and I loved it.

In one of the afternoons I was in the hospital with K and Y, we happened to be seated with an older man I have assumed is a resident doctor, and we talked for longer than I had expected. It was a lot of things, and by the end of it I was very uncomfortable and nauseous. It was hard for me to even explain these things to K when I felt his questioning gaze, and it was one of the things when I realized I have no words for the very many things I happened to be concerned of. Yet, I was too tired to try, and when I got home I barely remembered why I was trying so hard to say anything, to do anything at all. 

Today, I woke up very late after sleeping in for over twelve hours, showered, ate, and spent about thirty minutes freaking out about the things I have not let myself ponder as of late. I have a lot of examinations coming up, a lot of things I need to think of moving forward in my life, a lot of reasons for not wanting to be here, or now, in this body, in this ache. I have been meaning to write something, here or otherwise, and allowing myself pour, to rage over, to feel, but at the end of the day, whenever I think of things I would rather allow myself to do, it is sleeping. I am glad I managed to sleep a lot earlier. 

I am glad I am still here, despite not knowing why it has been so hard these days, and even harder still to let this be expressed and told to anyone. I am glad for a lot of things, but I would very like for these things not to be final, not to be this long, not to be this devastating. I would like to have time to collect some remnants for myself to keep, to find words for whatever these are, to believe I have not been hopeless.

In the end, I only have me. I can only be me.