I can feel it coming

Sometimes I feel sad for no apparent reason

I feel so... meh

I’m afraid of what’s coming.

It’s not the apocalypse. Or the End Of Days.

It’s not even an alien invasion.

Nope.

Nothing fancy or dramatic.

Just ….

*Drum Rolls*

………….The………..

………………………..Big……………………..

…………………………………………………….Depression…………………….

*Ominous Music*

I try to make light of the matter.

But really. I’m terrified.

Some say humour is used to mask extreme emotion; A coping mechanism.

I say: Ermm…Why did the chicken cross the road?

🙂

Ok, seriously.

I have spoken about my melancholic tendencies before. I come in and out of these….’blues’. Sometimes it’s not so bad. However sometimes, the blue becomes a deep, black.

The Deep Black, it’s not a very pretty place. It’s the place I’m most afraid of.

So, my breath catches.

Frozen in my throat.

My chest tightens.

Am I going to croak?

Will my blues ever stay away forever?

Will these days turn into grays?

Sigh. I gotta keep it together…

God willing, I will have smooth sailing through this stormy weather. I shall come out the other side, a little battle weary, but triumphant. Having successfully banished my demons to the recesses of my mind…once again.

🙂

See you on the other side.

xo

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Self-Sabotage

How does one explain it?

Whenever I’m THIS close to something beautiful….

Whenever I’m a teeeny bit closer to achieving a goal…

I mess it up.

Deliberately.

I.

Mess.

It.

Up.

Did I mention that it’s deliberate?

I ‘unno.

I have long since reconciled myself with this aspect of my nature.

I have decided, that I am clinically unstable.

And have analyzed myself to such an stupendous level , I have awarded myself an honorary honors degree in pseudo-psychiatry.

This is what I came up with.

I choose to self-sabotage because I want to have something to blame, other than myself, for my failures.

If I fail that exam, I can blame it on not revising hard enough.

If I don’t get that job, I can blame it on not arriving for the interview on time.

If I lose my best friend, I can say that I didn’t deserve him after all, because I treated him like shit.

Its basically a testament to my deep insecurities, my feelings of low self-worth, and my fear of failure.

And I’m sure every single one of my readers have experienced this at some point in their lives. Forgive my blanket assumptions. But….I’m really just hoping I’m not alone in this.

As I type this, I have lost a job, several friends, a degree and a soul mate…because of my dratted interfering.

Sometimes your worst enemy is yourself.

Check yourself.

Before you wreck yourself.

And on that cheesy note, thank God Monday is over.

Have a Terrific Tuesday..

xo

Things NOT to do

A few lessons I’ve picked up along the way from eejots (idiots) I have met in my travels. Enjoy.

DO NOT:

1. Stand in an alley, dressed in a massive beard, a kanzu and kofia (full Islamic dress) screaming Arabic epithets into the phone, all the while pacing back and forth.

What is Likely to happen: Missing persons list

2. Sit in a bar, reading a newspaper nonchalantly, all the while discussing how the men intently watching the semi-finals of a random championship/tournament are eeeejots.

What is likely to happen: Bar fight, broken face, police record.

3. Shove a vibrator up your *** so far, you need emergency surgery to get it out. Also you may not want your first words once the anesthetic wears off to be a request for said vibrator.

What is likely to happen:  Never, ever, ever being able to go to any other doctor in the country who has not hear about it. Even if you just need cough syrup.

4. Scratch your balls energetically in my presence, especially when my face is level with said location (umm, I was sitting down looking at a computer screen, eejot in question was standing next to me)

What is likely to happen: Knee. In. Groin.

5. Watch BodyTv or any other such SOFT PORN nonsense masquerading as workout videos and then pretend you are learning fitness tips. Especially if you are my significant other. There is a reason the camera focuses on Zuzanas boobs when she is doing sit ups. And NO, it is not for you to learn proper technique and form.

What is likely to happen: Laptop + 5th story window.

6. Sleep with a nurse. Or a medical student. Or a fellow doctor. Or even the cleaner on the ward.

What is likely to happen: We will all know what you’re (not) packing. *waggles little finger*

7. Light up a cigarette, while sniffing aerosols

What is likely to happen: Natural Selection.

8. Agree to walk a random kido to the bus stop

What is likely to happen: Atypical Tuesdays

9. Drink too much at the annual Christmas party

What is likely to happen: Resignation letter. Yours.

10. Run for president in Africa – You’re opponent is likely to either a) Rig the elections b) Kill all the opposition including you c) forcibly take over using the threat of the deadlock erupting into wide scale violence. Ivory Coast or Kenya, different country, same eejots running for president.

What is likely to happen: Different eejot at the helm, possibly two eejots at the helm. No change for the mwananchi (citizens)

Go forth and be merry.

Peace.

Melancholy

Sometimes I feel like I’m the lone pilot in an empty sky. Flying aimlessly, listlessly towards space.

I battle with a melancholic nature. I don’t remember always being like this. I just woke up one day and realized there was always a grey tinge to every aspect of my life. Like a silver lining, but without the happy ending.

Such things are not discussed openly. Depression, and her deputy Loneliness are just not dinner conversation. Not even pillow talk, or ‘girl speak’. Its a topic that is still hush hush.

Most people, especially in more traditional communities – African, Arab, Indian – do not believe depression exists. Lol. They do not even have a word for it in their respective languages. It’s just well, ‘feeling moody,’ or ‘hormones’ Basically a transient feeling that will pass after Mummy dearest makes you you’re favorite soup.

Moreover, accepting that it exists, makes you’re loved ones feel resentful-is their love not good enough to keep you happy? Why are you not talking to them? Why are you closing yourself off?

Big up to 3CB who brought the issue to light by bravely highlighting her struggle with depression.

I am not depressed…at the moment.

I cannot however shake off this feeling that something grey, forboding, and evil lurks around every corner. I see darkness and shadows behind every smile, every sunny day.

Before I reach terrified for the happy pills, I want to question it. Interrogate these dark feelings until they have emptied their pockets of hidden agendas and evil machinations.

Am I feeling unfulfilled? Is my melancholy temporal ( a ‘bad’ time in my life) ? Psychological ? Genetic? Cultural? Astrological? Artistic? Evolutionary? Karmic? Hormonal? Dietary? Seasonal? Environmental?

Eeeek! So many factors contribute towards the complicated mesh that is the human psyche.

But I have decided to be a student of my own grey, lobulated mind.

Eat healthily. Go organic. Exercise. Take up a new hobby. Meet people. Pray. Pray and Pray. Meditate.

Maybe I’m slowly going loco.

Or maybe I’m just homesick…

Peace 🙂

Accidental Farts

When you work with people day in day out in close quarters, you get to know them better each day.  You learn their habits, personalities, mood swings. Unfortunately, you  also become intimately acquainted with their……… bodyily functions.

Albeit unwillingly, you’re aware that your desk mate had a cheese and onion sandwich for lunch. You notice that the guy from the next department has not showered in a few days – his stench wafted up you’re nostrils and invaded you’re brain as he walked past.

Sigh.

You are acutely aware of the sweat patches all over your boss’ once crisp shirt. Yugh. You notice the crusty stains  (is that dried blood????) on the nurses uniform.

I have somehow learned to live with all of the above. The one thing that I still haven’t managed to brush off, and pretend I haven’t noticed is…..farts!

They come in all shapes, sizes, smells, and …well, decibels.

There are the ones that come out suddenly and accidentally after laughing too hard.

The ones that are like a machine gun letting rip.

The silent but deadly ones.

The ‘squelchy’ ones, where its definitely suspect that something else followed through.

Lol.

OK, I’ll stop there.

Wait one more. The one that gets me…is the mysterious patch of smelly air. In the middle of the room. You walk by, and u get accosted. You look around and there is no one about. Its like someone just left a nasty present hanging in the air, and then disappeared super fast.

To this day, I cannot just continue a conversation with someone nonchalantly after they have let one rip. I. Just. Can’t.

I scrunch up my face, look away, cough, get tears in my eyes, get the giggles. You name it. The fact that I have smelt and disapproved is written all over my face and body language. I might as well just say: ‘Euwwww, you just farted!!!’

How do you all deal with it readers?

I need to work on my poker face.

And my colleagues need to work on regulating they’re bowel movements.

Ahem. Just saying.

xo

Get married-or else!

Why is it that marriage and babies beckons when a woman turns say…22+ (this age limit changes depending on culture, religion, location and many many other variables)

Why are we made to feel incomplete unless we are part of a pair?

Why is it that all our accomplishments – career wise, personal development, religion – whatever, amount to nothing if we don’t have a ring?(God Made Me a Woman, BintiM)

I am more than the ring on my finger, dammit! (or lack thereof)

I have enough disadvantages at work – (emm, being a WOMAN!) without adding a husband and babies to my plate at the moment, thank you very much.

Women at Work

Why can’t I just be a successful single gal? eh?? ehh???

If you can’t tell, I am on full rant mode.

I am so sick of people calling me a nurse at work. I’m a doctor dammit! I am sick of sexist ‘jokes’. No, it is not my time of the month. The reason why I am telling you off, is because you messed up! Not because of ‘hormones’ thank you very much. Do NOT tell me how to do my job. Do I need to remind you that I am your colleague? Just because you have a set of balls does not give you the right to lord over me.

Jesus!

In such a testosterone fuelled career such as medicine – I need all the leg-ups I can get. And being single at the moment, is one such advantage.

Yet, in the society we live in, singledom is as unattractive as having ‘FUGLY’ written in black, permanent ink accross your forehead.

No matter how empowered we get, how many glass ceilings we shatter, we are still mesmerized by this idea of marriage. Songs like Beyonce’s ‘Single Ladies’ still makes on no.1 charts all over the world.

For fecks sake.

We can do better ladies.

I’m not saying I’m against the institution of marriage. Or that I do not want to get married. I am also NOT a lesbian.

I’m just saying I shall decide when I want to. And no amount of societal or family pressure shall push me into something I’m not ready for. I reserve the right to concentrate on my career. I reserve the right to be single AND a contributing member of society without the jeers, please.

UPDATE:

For the haters out there: No, this article does not mean that I do not want to be married. It just means I reserve the right not to want to. It’s for all of us slightly ‘older’ girls, who have been harassed by ‘antis’ trying to set us up. Who have felt the shame of eating with the 13 year old girls at family gatherings (having been relegated to the children’s table) because we’re unmarried and can’t be included in the married-women conversations. Its for all the girls whose accomplishments in life amount to nought, just because they are unmarried. Because marriage is valued above all else.

Profanity in the workplace

So my new boss uses the F word a lot. And the A word, the B word, the C word and many other profanities that would allow me to prove that I know my ABC’s all the way to Z.

Its disconcerting.

‘That patient was a Wanker.’

‘Your patient was a F****ing waste of time.’

‘Which patient? Oh, the Asshole?’

swearing in cartoon

$??@@****!!

My favorite one so far, is Numpty. Its one of his favorites; Reserved for people he doesn’t hate that much. Doesn’t it just sound funny?

‘You Numpty’

‘You’re such a Numpty’

‘Stop being a NUMPTYYY!’

Hehe. Ok, I shall stop now.

‘Numpty’ 🙂

Now honestly, I find it unprofessional. He is otherwise such a capable and inspiring boss.

Why is it that the higher up the ranks people get, the more their eccentricity and unprofessionalism is tolerated?

Hmmm. I guess I must do what the rest of the team does; Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Pretend he dint just say ‘cunt’. Ignore. Ignore.

Age and Position

Do you have older subordinates at work? How do you deal with it?

I find it extremely difficult. I’ve been brought up to respect my elders. Obey their orders not the other way around. I tend to find myself saying: ‘Please *insert name* could you kindly, if possible, maybe, hopefully….*insert task*’ It sounds wimpy, and not at all boss-like. Not that I AM the boss. But I hope to be someday. And mastering this inability to give instruction to older workmates is a handicap I must expunge if I am to realize my dreams.

How do you deal with it dear reader?

Characters at Work

Grumpy Grouch

Perpetual Frown. Always on the prowl for new, unsuspecting prey on who to unleash truck-loads of pent up anger. Beware not to cross paths with/ask for favours/request shift changes from or even invite to your events –birthdays and weddings are a definite ‘no-no’. Spreads misery like rain.

Office Clown

Everybody’s friend. His laugh can be heard echoing down the halls every few minutes. Always goofing off and making silly jokes no one quite gets. We all laugh politely anyways, because he’s such a nice guy.  After all, he does work hard at being funny. Even though not quite hard enough at his job.

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I feel like somewhere I lost everything.

But not really. More like I always thought I had it and then got to a point where my delusion and perception stopped being friendly. The good thing about “realizing” is that you can feel the cogs adjust and the sights straighten out. But all I have is this ambiguous hungover blurred sense of deja vu. Like I’ve always known it was like this. Probably why I’m not outraged and going crazy.

I feel alone in a crowded room; staring at faces and places that have nothing to do with me. A room full of mirrors reflecting everything I’ve ever been but am no more. It’s like friendship means nothing; these people all want something. So I disregard them. And then I realize they are all impressions of myself over the years leading to this point; everything prior. This is who I’ve been, not really who I am. I look at them and feel that same confused disgust that churns my stomach as I stare into the mirror. I envy the simplicities and youthfulnesses and all that. But I also quite despise it.

And really, I feel scared. That maybe by virtue of having been leading an imaginary life, I’ve wound up in a situation where I’m not who I think I am. Like I can’t do what I think I can. I’m constantly reminded everyday that I am who I am because someone put me here. I want to know if I can get here on my own. Isn’t the fact that I got further proof enough? I feel like I no longer have any validation.

But I don’t feel abandoned; ironically, I feel wrongly adopted. Forcefully at that. Like people are trying to claim me when they don’t even know me. When my family says they know me better because of all the years passed; I laugh and cry at the same time. Yeah, but do you understand? I ask them hypothetically in my mind. Maybe I grew up while they weren’t watching. May I changed and nobody bothered to ask. By no fault of their own. Maybe I’m fucking up right now.

Something changed, and I want to change it back. Or just change it to something new. I want my focus back. I want my life back. And then I want my passion and zest for life back.
But first, I need to get this out of me so that I can be able to figure out what is lacking. My release used to be cigarettes. Now all I have is a pen, a muffled voice, a passport and knowledge.

I’ve written, screamed and reflected. Now I’m left with the option I have aways avoided. The exit, the escape, the leaving. The passport.

A wise man once told me that when you walk, you’re either moving towards or away from something and that true purpose was in learning to do both.

I’ll take that a step further and say that being able to completely exercise all one’s releases is the only way to gain purposeful insight when one is going through changes.

So here it is. My pen is the stenographer, my voice the cryptic plaintiff, my knowledge the judge, my passport the verdict. Let’s see what judgment I can come to.

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