Isle of Skye

The first step to bringing peace into the world is to realize the peace that already dwells within you. ~ Anonymous To add to this: you've got to create that peace in yourself first of all. So, I'm a long way off. Violence is never the answer. I say this, yet I obviously do not believe in it or have conviction because I use violence in my daily life. Whether it is towards myself by eating the wrong things or crying over the hurtful things others say or not taking care of my body. Violence towards others through vicious thought patterns, which formulate into facial expressions, vapid words and, as last week showed, the ultimate: gratuitous physical violence because I couldn't tell myself to stop, that any relief i might get from it will never compensate for the shame, grief and self blame which now rest solely in my head. also, the fact that to do something wrong means you have to then feel genuine remorse, ask the person for forgiveness first, then turn to God. So, what did...

Last week's therapy session was a little understandable, to me. A little. today's? not sure I got anything else out of it. but she said I should be focussing on her as well. Even the runes say it's a gift and that it is both giving and receiving. more on this later On another point, I found a salon that's 5 minutes walking distance and she did a great job with the eyebrows. Will get hair cut from there. It's been a year since last haircut. Why is this just flatness and ugliness and pessimism and down down down. I am a six, with a mix of seven. K-nissa totally a seven. no wonder we don't get along.

According to the Tao of Pooh, the book writes itself. Okie dokie. In the meantime, let me stew in the toxic juices of envy and jealousy as I continuously come across the names of people who were either on my birthday party invite lists or in the school attendance register in large print, fine print - just in print. I seriously doubt there's a book inside of me. Frustrated and sadistic people end up being editors. Correction - motivated and frustrated and et. al. I probably won't publish this post. Only Coleridge could get away with being high on bhung and getting his work published and deemed readable. My mum and I were recalling the daffodils and roses in Morden today. Almost springtime. Easter. Cadbury's creme eggs (I romanticize, I never really liked the taste of them, give me a Kinder egg any day). I was thinking of daisy chains the other day. It always goes back to that. I can sum up my entire memories of my childhood (at least in the spring/summer) under the headings...

It was yet another of those rituals that occur so frequently in my family, especially when all of the members are under the same roof. I'm going to rationalize it and say that the demand characteristics of the situation, such as it were, required me to play along to the well rehearsed script. Whatever the truth is, - it's never really the Truth these days, is it? - that's not the point of this entry. The point of this entry is that I observed a smile of pure evil on my mum's face, one which I have not seen in quite so many years and with such little ambiguity about it. I was shocked, horrified. but thankfully now i just see it as a mirror. A mirror to what I am capable of doing, what i already have done and what my constant thought content looks like, when you put a face to it. Yet, somehow, my trying to not being hypocritical about all of this exonerates me. At least, that's what I'd like to think. Dr. Z is becoming way too didactic for my tastes. I've be...

... they just make you worse And I know I'll see your face again. -The drugs don't work, The Verve The stupid SNRI can't have any effect in just a day. It has to to be the alprazolam. Has to be that. Been sleeping a lot, completely knocked out. Walk-straight-into-heavy-traffic type of mode. Appetite down the toilet, activation down. I hate shrinks and their stupid medicines. They've just gotten so used to it all, they never ask if I'm pregnant or have cirrhosis. I wonder, if I didn't taper off of fluoxetine and after two days started duloxetine (isn't lovely how they make the names rhyme?), is that dangerous or what? and even though didn't want shrink lady prescribing me meds, I wonder why she didn't if she keeps on saying that she can. Afraid of a lawsuit? Or I don't know. Is this paranoia? One thing's for sure. I am getting horrible sort of image content in my mind, completely uncontrollable thoughts and images which are so deeply entrenche...

hashing things out with my friends who try to love me inspite of it all music (well, there it is.) my (now) four billis/chats/cats: Cocoa, Ginger, Sheba and newly named Tigger my mum's 2 year old pupil Burhanuddin - "kem chho?" 'theek chhoo' 'ghalti sey ho gaya!' herbal teas: specifically lavender, roobois and orange ginger Psych: the wonderfultastic amazingly crazy US tv show. (I am so Shawn. Or am I Gus?) http://www.usanetwork.com/series/psych/ [more to be added]

I had the most miserable therapy session yesterday. Not only did I waste most of the hour sobbing and unable to frame a sentence together, she charged Rs 200 extra and whatever she had planned for yesterday's 'very important session' was entirely sabotaged. I could feel the frustration creeping up inside of her. She's told me in no uncertain terms that I am not to consider emigrating from Karachi for two years, until I can bear to live here and interact with the people here and the situation that I am in. Was that the trigger that made me cry? I doubt it: it's not like I have anywhere else to go. The London obsession is just a manageable daydream. Was it the fact that she tells me I ahve a personality disorder, but is tantalising me by not telling me which one? Who gives a fuck? I looked up two likely ones: self-defeating personality disorder and avoidant personality disorder, I think it's most likely the first. Is it because I'm to not end taking pills, but...

(I just had to post this word for word, it's a sublime and hysterical piece of writing. Me, jealous? Noooo...) London's day of innocence Stuart Jeffries revels in the hush, the beauty, the joy and the anarchy of a city magically transfo rmed http://www.guardian.co .uk/uk/20 09/feb/03/london-snow-weather On the canal bridge just behind Kings Cross, a policeman took a huge snowball full in the face and - I couldn't quite believe this was happening - giggled delightedly (it must have really hurt). His three colleagues gathered snowballs and pelted the mob of school boys and girls, quite sensibly avoiding head shots (think of the lawsuits). But they were outnumbered and outgunned. And anyway, they were easy targets, these coppers in their fluorescent jackets. And the school children, those alleged dysfunctional products of our greed-obsessed, low-serotonin, broken-homed, intolerably lardy, TV-ruined society, were in a snowy wonderland where there was no school, no rules and...

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