Over Time...

It's almost my birthday again. Like the yearly Haj, or the passing of Holy Week (Mahal na Araw) I again embark in a pilgrimage into myself. I'd like to philosophically look at it that way, but really it is nothing more than realizing more about myself than anything else. This afternoon a sad thought came to me. I had dozed off late in the afternoon to get some rest. I had just come from 2 days off and had to get more sleep than usual to fight off the zzz's while I worked.

Well, I woke up after 30 minutes, strange thoughts filling my head. I recalled the stand up comic I had watched on TV the previous night. He said, "he's my only receipt I was ever in this world...", talking about his reaction when his only son called in a panic that someone was after him. It was just an intro into a joke about school bullies, but that wasn't the part that concerned me. What hit me was the sudden realization that indeed we are all mortal. I dread the day I pass, just like any other person. It's natural to fear death. That much I realize. What worried me was the fate of my children. My eldest has Autism, my younger one is a girl. I fear for them.

I have always been comfortable in the role of the protector. I had doted over my younger siblings when they were alive. I had subtly threatened quite a number of people whenever I had an impression they were out to harm my brothers. I still have the same tendencies that I over-compensate. I feel protective over all that are dear to me. It's not easy, me being almost paranoid about everything. So It worries me that my children will have to cope after I pass. The younger one might not be up to the task of taking care of her brother. She might be burdened by having to take care of him till it is his time to pass. She might feel lonely or abandoned. I dread even more when I think the genes causing my depression might have been passed on to her.

It's been 11 years since my father and brothers passed away. Eleven years and it all seems like a blur. Eleven years and I don't have that much to my name. Eleven years of minor accomplishments. I have managed in those eleven years to cause more grief to the people in my household than joy. I feel my anger is getting to me, plunging me into bouts of depression caused by remorse. I speak in harsh tones, often out of compulsion. I raise my voice at the slightest provocation. And yet many consider me a good person. That I am, but I have my own problems I feel I am powerless over. Depression, anger, worry. The last eleven years passed in a blur. But the years are taking their toll on me. These days, even with enough sleep, I feel dead tired. Am I caught in a downward spiral? I honestly can't say.