deconstructing jessica

read between the lines

since then, two injustices have happened to me (sat in a taxi cab where the driver kept propositioning me sexually, and had a small child cut the queue for free ice-cream i was in), the latter of which just happened tonight and both of which made me superbly angry mostly because my mother added fuel to the fire by her words.

and then it just made me sad just knowing that there is no more stress-release button for me now that my dog is no longer alive and i can no longer pet him until i calm down, or hug him / let him snuggle under my legs until whatever irrational fear i'm feeling at the moment (usually of death, specifically my own) goes away. but now he's gone, and i'll never know if i'll ever see him and the rest of my dogs again after i die.

i have had a really rough three months of a summer break, just trying to get one single goal of mine working and my dog's death has just compounded it. there has been obstacle after obstacle in the way of my supposedly simple goal, and him dying all of a sudden without me being present was the cruelest, most literal wake-up call i have ever received in my entire life, the wake-up call being that it doesn't matter shit (as to whether i've achieved my goals) when the one you love is dead.

there is a 'new' dog in the house who's really my parents' and has been with us for 2 years, and he is so different in likeness and in temperament (from my other dogs) that, to be quite honest, it wouldn't affect me much if he were to die now. he's such an angry, unusual-looking canine, and his episodes of hyperactivity do the total opposite of de-stressing me.

i think throughout the years i really forgot how vital my dogs were in keeping me sane in this house. i've always said they're the only things that make this place a home, and that i'm only staying behind for them, and that's always been a crisis of a decision for me to make, especially when i started working (and even up to just last month), but now that he (the last one) is gone i even wonder if my thoughts sped up his death, like my urgent need for freedom and independence cost him his life.

and then there is the fear of whether i actually have the financial means to get a place of my own (i've failed in the past, and ended up inadvertently staying with matriarchs of other homes that were in a similar vein to my mother) and whether life can really be as good again as it was in january (i haven't felt that free in years).

i don't want to remain churchless (one year now), but i just couldn't take it anymore and it didn't make sense to keep allowing myself to be beaten down mentally and ridiculed once every week (on a sunday) when i could willingly avoid the situation (not attend church) and start to feel better plus more confident myself (a feeling that reached a peak in january, mostly due to the freedom i think).

but right now, i just feel so tired of being my own protector, so weary on being stepped on like a doormat all these years, all the strangers and the so-called friends...and if jesus is supposed to be my protector, then why did he let tonight happen? why did he let all the other injustices happen? why didn't anyone stand up for me? why do i always have to be the one standing up for myself? how am i going to safely release all this anger and stress now that my calm, patient, model dog is no longer around?

there is but one thing that has been keeping me relatively sane (other than my dog), though. when the angry dog (of my parents') has bitten my thumb, when my parents have once again allowed my brother to do something yet vehemently forbid me to do likewise, when i've felt really bad after taking all that anger out on my brother's belongings and when i've been really victimised and had my self-esteem crushed to a pulp by my the laconic coldness of my mother and the insensitivity of her words (she tends to attack the sinner and not the sin)...i find watching entire hours of house m.d. cathartic.

i've never been a devoted fan of house before, but it kind of grew on me when i popped it in the dvd player to find something to do while waiting for my dog-bitten thumb to heal and therefore enable me to fully use my hands. after that, whenever i've had something really upsetting happen to me, i've been watching gregory house go about and try to live his daily, pain-ridden (both mentally and physically) life, starting from season 6, and it's surprisingly given me insight into my inner turmoil (of that particular moment that i'm watching it).

it's like what house said to a patient (the guy who played langley in bourne) who asked him a personal question halfway through season 6 -- "you're projecting". and somehow, projecting all my pain onto this fictional character, and seeing him deal with it, and watching his longsuffering best friend wilson continue to be by his side at each mistake he makes, is a form of healing for me. it even got to the point where, at the beginning of season 7 when things start to get better for house, i started to think, if house can get better, than my life surely can (illogical, i know).

but from what i hear of the final season (8) that just ended this may, with the final episode of 'everybody dies', i think that might be apt advice for my current situation too, speaking of which, i should really go watch house now :p

p.s. sometime last month, i was reflecting on the 3 resolutions i'd made for the year and actually had trouble recalling what the first one was, and wasn't even sure if i'd got the second one correct. needless to say, looking at the resolutions right now, it's clear i've really blown it on all three. i actually think they started to leave my mind ever since summer break started, 'cos that's when i started to panic and treated the break as if it were next year (out of school with no job, and forced to start on the career i always wanted, out of nothing and no contacts, i.e. to literally 'face the music'). i've sacrificed peace on the altar of selfish ambition, and i've lost my dog because of it.