Through deteriorated principles over the years, little continuity happens lately. Either progress or regression wins over my affairs on any given day, too and fickly. So it is a surprise to see that my motives hardly resile this week, but instead by needled discipline are cajoled. I used to know and identify with values back in the day.
Values, A Measure Of Identity
I used to know what I was for or against but the exodus from innocence changed my young, arrogant convictions to values now indistinct. Values were my measure of identity back in the day. I had a sense of myself by being rebellious or adopting a certain cause, like the pursuit of health and the virtues that kept me pure to this. I never smoked, never spat and never drank coffee, and because of my staunchness to honor these virtues, people admired me.
More importantly however was the fact that I could identify with this character within. I was comfortable living in this skin and within the confines of my own religious zeal. But sadly, as the onset of anxious decisions came, aspects of my cause fell apart, and it was this anxiety, which distorted sanctity and threw the value of virtues away.
Fast track to today and you can understand why the measure of identity is so much harder to comprehend. Once upon a time virtues used to be a stable of security. But drugs, anxieties and other unwise decisions changed that. I could never revert to an old virtue now because the trust was broken, and new virtues are even harder to find.
Close To Being Out Of Debt
I have however happened upon a sense of accomplishment this latest week, flexing the miser with neither a bandied side-effect nor concession around. I never used to be able to save or raise my snout beyond a debt hole, so maybe this shaping virtue is a founding start.
The worth of money is disciplined now, in such a way that within four weeks, this ongoing surplus in my credit card should with good decisions fade to below the blackness.
Ever since the dark ages I used to suffer side-effects, such as depression, the closeted sense of claustrophobia, enforced limitations, paranoia and alienation. I was maddened by this cyclic purpose because the side-effects would lead to concessions, and those concessions would make me slip money out of my account, for clothes, for prostitutes, for weekends and fast foods until it was all gone. I was undisciplined and used to waste the purpose of saving. But now that there is a sense of virtue of cause, and pilfers also to my side-effects, the restraint is easier to uphold.
This week marks progress because it did not buckle to the pressures of needless expense. I was able to limit my side-effects by visiting the gym three times a week, and by keeping up the cause of losing weight.
Testing Antidepressant Medication Dosage
Depression via isolation has by this activity been curtailed, as well as by some fresh interaction at home. I probably should thank these Tofranil pills as well, since my ability to cope would severely have been undermined without them.
I skipped a dose or two of the antidepressant medication Tofranil to see what would occur, but without surprise, it replenished old insomnias yesterday and made me anxiously uncertain its day before.
I get paranoid of what bad behaviors could resort, so conscious moments like those tend to be met with subdued panic and trepidation. The pills have acted as a safety net to negate these fears however, so there were no costly concessions, such as hookers or hand jobs to console my act of degradation.
Looking Forward To Being Debt Free
I only withdrew a minor amount of money to top up on groceries and see me out until the end of this week, which is where mum supplies me with her usual aid as well. Therefore, with miserly discipline and content principles has the fortune of one virtue been afforded.
I may indeed make more than an empty promise of this, and may soon see more liberation as reward. I look forward to new constructive agendas when it happens; like freedom to pay off my telephone bill, and then to buy a mobile phone. I look forward to this new off-peak membership at the gym, and falling in weight from my already 87 kilos. I look forward to new clothes without the guilt associated with it, and look forward to structuring a way out of this fine mess the self-conscious has gotten me in. I look forward to a month from now because I know my quest will not betray me. So it begins, this stability called virtue, in discipline, sustenance, and nobler things.
A Spiteful Relationship With Dad
The only side-effect in this current status is the spiteful marginalizing that goes on between dad and myself. He likes to state his presence and suppress my will, as in concocting excuses to discipline me at my bedroom door, to avoid my part in this family by compromising my participation, or to taunt my resent for him even more as he looms around my business pretending to do his business.
Dad has never supported me. Even in the simplest asks of favor he always precedes me, like the time he showed no support in my bid to seal the gap between the floor and walls. He could have approved and given me confidence, but in his conceited position, he marginalized me instead.
I think him a thorn as well because he never tries to instill any values in me and never has. He never tries with me, which made this relationship sour into one of nemesis. At least my brother talks to me and gives me the dignity to respond. There is a lot for me to share, as one can only make progress when the lines of communication are intact. All dad has to do is ask or respond at least without seeming condescending, but to me he is hardily pig-headed.
I still resent dad for how he laughed at me at my bedroom door. So on any given day now we ignore each other, as dad tries to state his presence by means of his three thrills, to suppress me, intrude on me, or either conveniently exclude me in times of matter. It is in this manner of behavior that denotes why he is so loathed a character, and why despite my initial reluctance, he causes me to react in such stipulated ways.
Shutting Out The Drama
The drama of this house is ongoing but in aiding the dysfunction, I just learn to shut it out. I take no notice of dad now. I never give him any extra tickets to put on himself by acknowledging him because he would only pervert my intention to justify his. I choose to ignore and not respect him. Even while he tries to reside in the frame, like in a certain instance where he butted in to my instruction to mum about the new televisions she had bought for herself and my brother’s room, when it hardly involved him, I ignore him. He spoke and tried to make himself important but I simply overlooked him.
Dad has to do better than to ride the coattails to privy conversations if he wants to be respected by me. Nonetheless, he never tries but to insult me, and the only time he does try, he uses the names of other people anyway.
“Turn the noise down. Your mother is trying to sleep,” he would say, passing on the blame to someone else.
He is a word disparaging I cannot think of right now. Perhaps I need to make him one up.
Diary Of A Mad Chaos is a daily diary written from March 1996 until today, of which individual books and book series have been created, namely “The Lost Years” an exploration of young, entwined love, the “Wubao In China (猎艳奇缘)” book series which provides an extensive comparative analysis of the cultural differences between Eastern and Western societies, and the book titled “Foreigner (华人)” an exploration of race relations in Australia.
