Note:

The state of my mind is irrelevant. Little has changed and I'm only steadily approaching either a plateau or a cliff. I cannot tell which and no matter how convinced I am that I am at my limits, I somehow survive, I somehow endure. It is unmistakeable that all the kind people who have been helping me are of His Mercy.

It is difficult to express the changes one makes to the soul. All I know is that in this moment I am enjoying a respite. I must remember that when faced with trial, it is only natural to suffer. To preservere is one thing but to conduct myself appropriately during my endurance, that is the real test. The goal is to remember what I've learned and to put it into practice. As they say, the doorway between the Heart and God is the 'amalan of the 'ilm. 

It is not enough to swallow one's anger, grief and frustration. One need to be able to remain kind, to be able to lower the wing of humility when faced with a trying circumstance. I've failed on all accounts on that respect I think. I've been anything but graceful in my conduct. I've never been able to let go of my anger. M. once proposed this to me, that the trick is not to swallow but to release and it was such a revelation to me. I've done nothing about it since though.

I wish my stupid heart would just bleed out its rancour. Yet the Ego... It never fails to foil me. Awareness yet without action. It is a mountain in my way, this selfish anger at the world. I truly must stop resenting my surroundings too much.

Anyways, today was no different. I've been fretting about working alone over the weekend so much that sleep has become inoccuous. Yet today, the pharmacy assistant tasked to aid me, turned out he is competent and I felt safe with him around. So I have now dispelled all anxieties for tomorrow. There is one quirk about him that I find endearing, he is one of those people who addresses himself by his own name; he doesn't say 'I'. I've only known one person who does that, an acquaintance from back in highschool, a different lifetime ago. The quirk lends B. a charming air of childlike innocence.

[On an unrelated note, B. wears cologne, and is a good-looking chap. He is firm and so the patients (the drug addicts) dare not try anything on me. I'm so relieved.]

That aside, I'm done with Mishima's Decay of The Angel. Sordid book. It has too little of Spring Snow's soft metaphorical beauty and too much of the terrible sort. It reflects Mishima' state of mind though; (the author committed suicide shortly after finishing the novel). I'm done with all that doom and gloom. These pointless pontifications of 'human' suffering. Futile and mostly, so vain. I'll never mention SS ever again. 

I'm okay. I'll endure.