I've drifted away and placed myself in a coma for over a good quarter of a year.  Though, strictly speaking, everything's at their proper arm's length places, it feels like I've wandered through the woods without a map and had a million leeches suck my blood out that made me lose all the blood in my body.  Or like my heart and lungs and whatever other inerts I had have been lacerated by barbed wire that skewered me when I accidentally slipped on a banana peel which was lazily lounging around on the dark Dela Rosa Carpark (which partly is a true story, by the way: one night I was about to have dinner with my officemates when I stepped on a perfectly splitted banana peel and slipped like in the three stooges, or better yet, 1980's Pinoy slapstick flicks.  I seriously think someone did that on purpose but what the heck, I [alone - thanks to my officemates] laughed like crazy afterwards.  Anyway..) 

The leave I took was something I had to do for myself - to carefully release the contracted coil I had in my head and chest.  I figured I needed a little time just to sort these things out.  Also, I did it thinking that my friends, as they advised me and just like myself, needed it.  It was a difficult choice, but it's what others thought was right.

What I failed to consider was that separation changes things and makes everything drift away and much worse, drift apart. 

I hate myself now whenever I see the little things that remind me of them, like blockbuster movies, cbtl, or patrick star.  I hate myself more when I see things that could possibly have reminded me of them had I chosen to make the right decisions, like pictures on the beach, or bikinis, or our paychecks after the first busy season. 

Because of these little things, I can't stop blaming myself for making the bad decisions that made things the way they are now.  It is, as I am learning the hard way, the little things that truly kill.

I'm not so sure how much longer I'd be dead, but there's nothing else to do with a nightmare but to live it until it's over.