18th May, 2015. 12:30pm
When I was young, I saw a film about black slugs. I don’t know what the title is, and I can’t remember what the story was about anymore, but I remember seeing slimy black slugs… Eating people. I just started reading Jasmine Warga’s My Heart and Other Black Holes and for some reason, I can’t help but circle back into that film.
Which is totally irrelevant, of course, since black slugs is represented in the book in an entirely different way.
I haven’t gone through half of the book, but in this novel, the black slugs represents depression, or at least it says “the black slug of depression”, whatever the hell does that mean. The more I read into it, the more it makes me think whether that same black slug is inside me or not. Maybe it is. I mean, we all have black slugs inside of us one way or another. But is it enough to make me want to off myself?
I don’t know a lot about depression and suicide, but I’m pretty sure a depressed and suicidal person wouldn’t admit to those things. And try as you might into wanting to read into my words, I haven’t reached that place. At least not yet. I think.
Before my sister left last week, she kept telling my younger cousins to check up on me every once in a while and make sure “I haven’t gone crazy.” I know it’s a joke, but a part of me wondered if my sister knows something’s up with me that I don’t know about. After all, she was a Psychology graduate.
And my cousins did not disappoint. The day after my sister left, one of them literally asked me if I was okay; if I need a new book to read. I said I was fine, that I haven’t thought about hanging myself or slashing my wrist. After a while, someone else asked me again. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?!
And then this morning, when I woke up, I came down to find that the latest bills for this month has arrived. I almost had a heart attack when I saw the bills. Our electric and water bills soared higher than last month, which is REALLY bad news for me. I felt refreshed after an 11-hour sleep, but seeing the bills gave me a headache. I swear, if I could punch someone right then and there, I would have already. It made me want to go back to dreamland where, at least, there things are bearable. This month’s electric and water bills are unacceptable. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t. I wanted to yell but I didn’t. I wanted to get angry but it made more sad. I wanted to do something, but I don’t know what (to do). So I grabbed Jasmine Warga’s novel… It was a bad idea.
Or maybe not.
I mean, when you’re feeling stressed out and you started reading a book about depression and suicide, what will you feel? I’ve only gone about 30% of the book, but it made me want to just curl up my bed and continue reading. It makes me question the situation I am in right now, and I know it might not be good for me, but at the same time I wanted to learn more. I’m a sucker for this kind of thing. And whether it leads me to wanting to jump off the bridge or brave the situation after reading the book, it doesn’t matter. I have to suck it all up and pay the bills myself. It’s not like there’s someone who will help me pay them anyway.