Doing what I have to do

If you are tired of reading how my life is and the problems and issues I'm facing, stop now. Go watch Playboy or something.

It has been almost a month since the accident, and it has been eventful. I've been CAT scanned, x-rayed, and blood tested. All of which showed no physical problems. In fact, as my doctor said, I've got bad news. You've had an accident and a knock on the head. But it still hasn't cured your madness. Everyone wants to be a comedian.

I've also met the guy who hit me. He's a doctor, and to be quite honest, he was acting like a jerk. I keep thinking if I should blog that story with names and everything.

I've got another 5-day workshop in Wariyapola, starting on the 4th and going until the 9th. More teachers looking for an education. Its going to be time to teach, and by Eris it will be done.

That last training session wiped me out. It wasn't the walking, or the location. It was, quite simply, the mental strain.

If you don't want to hear it, just go away now. I am sure my problems don't concern you. And this is as much an aide memoire as it is a blog post.

Since the accident I have been suffering from a few symptoms. A loss of appetite, sleepyness, and a feeling of disconnectedness from reality. My memory is fine, but the interface between reality and brain seems to be a few circuits short of a motherboard. I also have this odd feeling that I am not meant to be here for long. Something akin to an impending end.

I am not sure what this all means. Most people agree that I have changed. My parents, who spend the most amount of time with me, can see the changes in my personality. That I talk too much of inanities, unlike I used to. Many of my friends have noticed it too.

But I don't tell many people all this. Some accept it and are willing to listen. And for them I am grateful. Others basically say get over it! I wish I could, but I can't. This, unfortunately, makes it difficult to be my friend. You don't want to hear dark, gloomy, suicidal thoughts from your friends. I may have even chased off a good friend, who recently battled her way through a real life-threatening disease, unlike me.

So I write. I write as a catharsis and a log. As much sending out messages in bottles hoping that someone reads them, as they are just scratchings on a cave wall. Something to say, I was here and this was me. Its also there to remind myself of who I am.

I don't want or need sympathy. I write, because if I didn't write here, I would be scrawling on pieces of paper and hiding them. And my handwriting, simply, sucks.

I'm off to train people. I have this strange notion in my head that this must be done, and this chapter closed. A feeling like there will be no more chapters to write. So I do this.

And to be honest, I am hoping for an ending.