My last meeting with my therapist.

I’m so bored.

It’s not that I have nothing to do. I have tonnes of homework line-up. But it just the overall feeling, mood of boredom.

And yes. At this time suicide is not so bad. Just put an end to all these. Nobody cares anyway. It’s tempting tho.

I must admit. Why not put an end into all these misery? It’s easy way out. Too easy. It’s easy to think this way. Indulging in dangerous water. Lurking at the edge. I’m in a constant turmoil. Fighting against my own dead wish. It’s no fun when you can only dream but not execute them.

So… So… Bored….

What can I do with it? I talked to my therapist about it. And of course she can tell that I might have thought of suicide, contemplates on it, but not enough guts or plans to do it. And I assured her that I won’t be killing myself and I made the promise. Still, I’m stuck with boredom that is debilitating, in par with anxiety, knowing nothing can make this goes away. Stuck. I’m stuck. 

At last therapy session, my therapist asked me, What’s with the hands? Why the holding wrist? Why my impromptu art expression is with hands?

I don’t know, but I suddenly recalled there was once, way back then D once held my hand like that and he pull me and ran across the road. I don’t know. Maybe it’s an imprint. Maybe the memory itself is comforting. Maybe I’m just trying to convince myself, comfort myself. Because when he left HK for good, I’m left to my own devices to comfort myself when time gets hard.


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