Raising adults

The past week was a long one for me -- literally and figuratively. Up to now, I'm still undergoing physical and emotional self-medication.

I had to grow up five hundred times faster than normal pace in order to raise adults in five days. I needed to be a parent, a sister, a friend, a counselor, a therapist, a damage controller, a spongebob, the bearer of disturbing news...and then be myself again whenever I go to bed every night ever since. Heaven knows just how much I would long for each day to end and couldn't wait to reward myself with restful sleep. Superheroship is one exhausting business indeed, but my hands are tied. I still have to wake up every morning and rise up to all the occasions confronting me.

And for the nth time, I have to force myself to mature.

Cruel irony

After seven years of being greeted by hefty shelves of books here in the library, I would at times find it inevitable to fall back on these resources for self-help. As if, all of life's answers to man's problems are confined in this four-cornered hall. I need not go far off. It's all in here, right where I get paid every week. Although I know it's absurd to ever think that books (collectively speaking) will solve my psychotic tendencies, I continue to suck up to this self-deception nevertheless.

There are moments when I just find myself unconsciously looking up at the dictionary to translate my sentiments (argh! and I won't stop until I find the right word for it). Or search away in the catalog database the handbook that would give me the appropriate remedy to my forebodings.

Like, now.

What is "disappointed" in Tagalog?

What is more intense than the word "pain"? (There's got to be. There has to be!)

Is there a complete idiot's guide to numbed out idiots?

Input search expression: materials on "how to summon split personalities and be at best in all or both" = 0 entries...why zero?!?!

I'm desperate for answers, but books don't have them. This is what makes it totally inanimate.