Battle I with this.

Turn up the music that I need not hear what I fear to hear.
Isaac is now the one planning the runaway (3 months in the making, food, lodging and location as yet unconfirmed). It used to be me wanting to run, but then it is not my exams he has to face. But I am his runaway buddy for a good reason- I usually do want to run anyway. At any point, I never am having enough fun to reject an escape proposition. So away it shall be. To join a circus, tour on the back of a sheep truck, or walk to Adelaide.

No, the prospect of escape is only a stress relieving mechanism for us. Just the idea of running away is calming enough to push me to survive the remnant of that which I cannot handle.

Tonight was good. It has been a long time since I've felt the comfort of support. It's been a long time since the old group has been around (Yes Ger, you're sorely missed). Even though it was food, singing, preparation and washing up, it was fantastic. It felt so normal that I was euphoric. I have not been this normal in a long time. And the sadness of Chillipadi leaving is bittersweet. Soar high into the sky. I want her to explode with growth, with bigness, with joy, with strength, with life.

Water splashes on my face and I dilligently rub the aromatic scrub into my pores with the false hope that if I do this properly enough, my face will take on the spitting image of Jessica Alba. I inhale and the comforting smell of the green tea takes me back to Singapore days when life was normal (somewhat like tonight). I am thankful, but ashamed that I have resorted to unscrupulous means to evoke a memory just for comfort. I let my hands run over my face as water trickles everywhere, messy. Somerset Station Control. Love. Smoke. Shy. High. Emotive. Unfazed. Walking. Walking. Walking. I mop up the mess just as my mother comes in to use the sink. We shuffle around the tiny bathroom and I bury my face in my towel. Bedok, walking, skating, phone calls, 12 noon, bed. The feel of the towel against my skin makes me want to curl up in bed, safe.

I want to change. I want to feel normal again. I want to stop my art because it annoys and provokes me to shudder and cringe. But I cannot seem to stop. It just seems to explode more and more, and I don't know what I should do, because I do not like my art at all. Help, Help me. I am watching a horror movie of myself, I am doing things I don't want to do. Draw, paint, write, act, be, sing, love, dance. Help me. Youtube and facebook have become my gallows and my doom. Get me away from my art. I want instead to be correct. Like Math. I want to love correctly. Live correctly. Emote correctly. Spell correctly. Because being who I am is tiring me out.

I want to feel safe. But nothing, no one, nowhere is safe anymore.
I will try, as a last resort, my bed.
If this fails. I will try under my bed.
Dreamless sleep, I want deep, refreshing, dreamless sleep.

Lifebuddy's mayday is not a minute too late.