There was a time when I suspected that the melancholy I experienced (almost on a daily basis) was linked to the sleep deprivation I subjected my body to. Sometime later, while sitting on the all-familiar long, black chair, the shrink said that was a mighty possibility and I should consider giving my brain (and body) a bit more rest.
The previous entry was penned the day when I had four hours of rest. It wasn’t as though I didn’t try, but it was an absolutely traumatic experience tossing and turning in bed for the greater part of an hour. The brain simply refused to shut down. Instead, in between wandering thoughts, it reminded me about how every minute spent tossing and turning was a minute of sleep lost.
With six hours of rest today, my mind seemed marginally less clouded with unwarranted thoughts. Yet, the grey that comes with this time of the year does absolutely nothing to lift my spirits.
I don’t like having to end the year on this note. Unlike its predecessor, 2010 was relatively not as harsh on my sanity and life. And for a long time now, I’ve pretty much given up on wishing anything nice or positive for the New Year.
I don’t want to keep my hopes too high. I don’t want to have to deal with all of the shite that rolls along when they (the hopes) come crashing down.
Simply because I’ve only myself to help me deal with my own demons.
It’s easy to be cynical whenever the rags give a bit of space to friends, relatives and family members of the deceased for them to air their fond memories of that particular person. They could use any positive adjective available in the dictionary to describe how they feel about that person.
Yesterday, while reading a story in the tabloid at the train station, the cynic in me was utterly muffled. On a more emotionally vulnerable day, I would have given strangers an excuse to re-assess my masculinity. Imagine the tramp balling his eyes in the middle of the busy station during peak hour. Possibly, a sight for sore eyes.
However, reading the account of someone losing his fiancée to an unfortunate (yet preventable) accident at sea does funny things to my heart (first) and (then) my head. The man spoke about how his late fiancée accepted his flaws and how, on the morning of her last day on Earth, they watched the sunrise together. When all around, I listened to account after account of how women often start conversations during dates or matchmaking events with “how much do you earn?”, it is heartening to know that someone has met a woman who would be a silent (and perhaps, stoic) encourager as he attempted to move up the corporate / earnings ladder. She stuck by him.
It was also heartening to note that they had been together for a long time. It is heartbreaking to read and to a certain extent, empathise his loss – a tragic loss that would take a lot of courage and time to overcome.
My heart went out to that man. Like how my heart went out to the woman who lost her husband on the night of their wedding dinner.
Side note: A younger version of me would have liked to have someone to share these thoughts with while making our way back home on the train. But I have become accustomed to just tossing them in my head on my own. Guess there have been more silent evenings in my life than I care to count or remember now.