Not another rant, please!


I’ll figure my way out

What do you do when you’re seething with anger and can’t seem to simmer down? Living with anger and disappointment is no way to live but one has to cope. You write, you write the shit out. Till there’s nothing left. Till the rage sears its ugly head again. Don’t care if no one wants to read another rant. This is for me. Yups it’s for me. I shall use this as an inspiration to write.

What triggered my anger? Aargh…so many things, my two year old still won’t take a nap, my husband’s going to be out late, I’m exhausted and rest is not an option. That’s it?

I was just hanging clothes out to dry and I switched to auto-pilot mode. Conversations and scenarios started appearing in my head. Why is everyone’s life so perfect and mine so screwed up? I know, some of you won’t even get past this sentence and have pressed the back button (or M icon). Another rant from an immature writer having such a skewed and narrow perspective of life, blah blah. How can she assume others are having such a perfect life? You know nothing! Yeah, yeah. As you can see my favorite hobby is assuming and conjuring up what others will think or say of me whenever I utter something seemingly foolish. Who’s ‘others’? My ex-friends, the judgmental world and the so-called divine being.

Ever since my second miscarriage late October last year, things have changed. I have changed. Quit my stupid job, left my community of ‘blessed’ friends, cut my hair pixie style and become a believer of fate instead of faith. Urgh, I keep hearing the positive guru’s mantra, “Your tragedies in life do not define you”, “Change your perspective and your life will change”…oh shut up! My life is not dictated by what these sunny-disposition people preach in life, my life is mine to live however I want it to be. It’s tough enough having no control over your womb so I’ll make do with other aspects of life.

These tragedies currently define me, my thoughts and actions. So be it. Maybe one day I’ll be free from this definition (don’t think so) but until then, I know I’m still struggling to come to terms with my loss. I feel like a bent nail being hammered into solid wood, something constantly hammering me from all sides, forcing me into a deep mass of mess that I can’t help but enter.

I used to believe in God with all my heart. We begged him to save the baby’s life but I guess his answer is no. The all-powerful all-loving God stayed silent in our grief. Oh c’mon, you can’t blame God. It’s nature and science. It may be chromosomal or biological problems that caused the heartbeat to stop. Whatever. Heard that enough from the doctors. But at that time, we were still believing in the God of Lazarus who raised him from the dead. Boy, were we wrong. Twice.

I’m not trying to offend you believers out there but this is my journey of faith-full to faith-less. Not faithlessness yet. Just enough to make me think that believing in fate is less disappointing than believing in a God-who-claims-to-love-you. Oh such shallow faith, the ‘others’ would go. Sometimes I would be ‘whatever’. Sometimes I would just scream, “F**k you! You on the pedestal, high and blessed! Tell me how you feel when you have two loved ones snatched away in your life!” Damn it, others seem to have it so easy! Maybe that’s the cause of my seething anger. All that assumptions and comparisons. It all happens in my head. Worse, sometimes in real life too.

Gosh now that my rant is almost over, I’m wondering am I making sense? Is my sentence structure correct, paragraphing etc…in the end, although it’s for me, I hope there will be someone out there who will identify with this. Even if it’s one person. I know, I know, this isn’t a blog platform, it’s a writing platform, our writing’s are supposed to enrich one another right? But guess what, writer’s who write about their honest struggles with dark, depressive and suicidal thoughts, have helped me to be open about my endless arguments and condemnations in my head. If that’s not enriching, I don’t know what is.

You guys are probably the first to hear these. The last thing I need is pity and preaching. Thanks again Medium.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.