Melancholy, anger and depression

There is a guy over at the window, he lounges on a couch as he reads a book that has oft been read. The chime gently sways, and melodies ring out, breaking his concentration. He stares over at the chime, seeing the day he received it, from someone dear to his heart. As he is prone to, he starts wondering with melancholy, the wistful days of illusion and the current aspect of his loneliness. How so often in his greatest time of need, his greatest enemy seems to be himself. Needing help but never seeking it, never good enough for whoever wherever, too arrogant to seek humility. Failure after failure plagues his mind. In an attempt at subversion, he dives back hungrily into his book, only to be brought back to the present by the beautiful death knell of the chimes. he realises there is no escape except fully reliving his nightmare. With a sigh, he settles down to think.

Years ago, a hopeful love, a painful rejection, and cowardly fear. The essences of a story of not-quite-love. The things he did for an illusion. Spending copious amount of time, patience, understanding, encouragement, advice and that ephemereal thing called love. Illusion is the first of all pleasures - Oscar Wilde. In the same way most pleasurable thing hook onto a person, it hurts when it's taken away. Cold turkey, self-denial, anger and pain, oh so much pain in life. No man is an island13, entire of itself - John Donne. The silence can be so loud sometimes, especially when you try to sleep, and the darkness seems to amplify the silence, when you seek to cloak yourself in it. Lies, hurtful words, evasions, empty promises and more pain, pain in the heart, pain in his mind. No he must not cry. This is Singapore, pain can be endured, pain lasts longer inside, festering, but it is better than not being an asian MAN. You're such a manly-man aren't you? - Martha, Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf I laugh at myself. Please God, help. A quiet voice cries out.

At illusion's end, then can healing start. A slow, time soncuming process involvin all the senses and mental faculties He has available. For every sight, every sound, every taste, every thought, brings the illusion to mind. Even a month in a foreign country does little to ease the heart's weary burden. Distraction, he learns with a fervent speed, with focus lent by desperation. 2nd fastest to learn driving, studying, piano, guitar, drums, and the violin once again. 'A' grade in tank mechanics, throwing himself into church activites, family matters, making money. Then second strike, a crack at home, where he lives. Whatever can go wrong will go wrong - Murphy's Law. More pain, a horizon filled with pain. Is there no hope? Please God, help me, please?

A regular job, he finds some meaning to life, his schedule means, less thought, more action, no girlfriend, no new friends, little time for old friends, almost none for close friends. He shares the tenth part of his pain with his friends, but he is still an asian MAN. Work, work is the cure, weariness, exhaustion, focus and more work, are miracles of mordern anaesthesia. The numb the mind, the heart..., the soul? Yet once again, lonelines settles in. Is there no one for me? A sudden strike, more pain at home, a hurtful father, a mother in fear, a dutiful son. God, help.

A peaceful minute, a restful second, he goes and sit by the couch, to refresh his mind, to run fromhis pain, with an oft read book. The chimes start to ring.

My history

I was suddenly put in mind of this piece of... poetry I wrote when I was younger. I haven't been writing poetry much recently... Mostly as I've not been able to reach the depth of emotion I felt back then. The Army really just feels surreal, and artificial most of the time. Anyway here's my old poem... Enjoy...
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Irony of the world by SLJ

I love the situations God puts me in,
I laugh at the irony even as
I feel tears coursing down my cheeks,
My heart clenching into knots.

To be tormented, again and again, on earth,
While trying to be an angel.
To be praised and looked up to,
While not even trying.

I understand the busy ant-people,
I understand the rejection of the inferior,
I understand the importance of family,
I understand the unintentional hurts.

But it still hurts when she says,' I'm too busy'
'There's someone else I like',
'My Mom has a day off, I'm not free',
'I'm sorry, I forgot, I'm going out with my friends.'

To laugh or cry,
To be angry or sad,
To demand or just accept,
Is my question.

I only know,
I'm depressed,
As i'm impressed,
By the irony of it all.