"I want to make this work. Please, I want to make this work".
I chant these words in my inner monologue as I dread the outcome of our discussion. A discussion that is intended to only set aside our differences, but I'm afraid this is heading to its inevitable doom.
I pride myself in being a person who NEVER gives up on another person, especially my person, irrespective of how much they disappoint me. You can call me too trusting, too unsuspecting. But in truth, in hindsight, it is just plain idiocy.
Something that I learnt way later than I should have is - when a situation begins to drain every fibre of your being, leave. When it does more harm than good to your mental and physical wellbeing, leave. When your self esteem is being negatively impacted, leave. I had one foot out the door, but I did not take the other step to seal the separation. So here I am.
Eventually we forsake each other in an amicable manner. No bad blood, just tiny, miniscule scars on my side, and perhaps a little dent here and there on his. It's a well-established fact that every person that comes and goes is meant to be a lesson for us to better trudge this treacherous life in the future. But that does not make it any less painful.
Or does it?
Life is full of surprises. Well I myself am full of surprises. Rather than making my power move (aka sending myself to the psychiatric ward hahaha), I feel absolutely fine in the aftermath of the whole relationship debacle. Maybe the stint was too brief to leave a crippling damage upon me, I mean, it did not even go past the probation period. Maybe we were too incompatible that we divide every opinion discussed and it divided us too.
The latter makes more sense. We both want different things, are from different backgrounds and possess whims which are impossible for each of us to bear with. I underestimated the effect of having a lack of comprehension and not being on the same wavelength in a relationship. Those two are tantamount to building a steady bond for real. Without them you are bound to hurt your partner more and more, causing fractures to the glass and eventually, breakage - as I said earlier, the inevitable doom.
One thing is for sure, I am glad that I've gone through so much bullshit so as to make me this resilient. I'm strong as hell, and most importantly, I am fine. I hope he is too. Thank you for showing me what I am and what I'm not.
I’ve done this before. This is not something of a novelty to me. I know what to expect, what to do if things go astray. Moving out is not that difficult.
Four years ago I moved out of my family home to live near my campus for convenience. Now I’m moving out of my family home again, doing the same thing. But is it for the right reasons?
Divulging my intention to move out again to my parents was one heck of a challenge, because I had no convincing and legitimate reason to do so. The drive from home to my office? Half an hour max. The drive to the city centre? About the same. The drive to meet my new boyfriend? Likewise. So what gives rise to the need to move out?
Initially I was met with disapprovals and reprimands. They were reluctant to let me go. My parents feared that I wouldn’t be able to manage my finances and that I would live too hedonistic of a lifestyle without their close scrutiny. Well they are not wrong lmao particularly when it comes to the latter. And that’s one reality, in my opinion, that parents have to face.
I’m not too devout of a Muslim, nor am I non-practicing, but I do have conscience; sound enough to tell apart what is wrong and what is right. That’s something that parents often overlook in their child. As I grow older (rightly so, I’m 24 now), I ought to have the liberty to make my own decisions because I have perfect mental capacity to do so. I mean, come on, I obtained a driver’s licence SEVEN years ago, have now GRADUATED with a Law degree and am now EMPLOYED. All those are big girl stuff. So why is it so hard to let me do this other big girl thing in the form of moving out?
Saying all of the above verbally to my parents was not as easy haha. So when I was sitting down on the sofa facing both of my parents who were looking at me with questioning looks, I crumbled and cried. OUT LOUD. I stumbled on my words, chest heaving from my sobs, voice did not come out good at all. I cried lots and lots of inexplicable tears.
That was when my parents halted their stern interrogation and turned soft on me. “Kenapa sebenarnya, Aisya?”
I realised then that what I wanted was not to get away from them. In fact I want to grow old and watch them grow old too. We all don’t live forever. But what I truly want was a sense of independence. My antidepressant-addled self wants so badly to be independent and not have people hover over me so as to ensure that I’m not harmed. Ever since my hospitalisation two years ago, I’ve been seen as a fragile, vulnerable being who must be protected at all costs.
It’s suffocating, to say the least. I want to break free and prove that I’m a functional human, just like all of you reading this.
My parents listened as I rambled on. I swore by then I could see tears in their eyes too. Their stoic baby daughter breaking down? That’s their braking point. I hated that they were tearing up as well. I wanted a neutral, levelheaded discussion so that I could reason with them calmly. But when it comes to family, you can’t help but be emotional, can you? So an idea came to mind.
I brought them to therapy with me a week later.
My longtime therapist, Mr Leng mediated the discussion between my parents and I, and boy was the whole session so much better than the emotional outbreak back at home. It was enlightening. It turns out that I have been misreading my parents’ intention. They are just genuinely fearing for my safety. They do trust me. It’s the strangers around me that they don’t trust. In my dad’s words, “My daughter comes home late at night and you know there’s a bunch of fuckers out there wanting to take advantage of her”. My mum simply nodded along. They are not overprotective. They are scared for me.
Mr Leng also pointed out the generational gap between my parents and I, to which my parents acknowledged. “We’ve been young before too”, said my dad. Jokes about my dad’s younger days of attending Def Leppard concerts were thrown in. It’s a testament to the fact that my parents are not hindering me from living my life. I felt as if a hefty weight has been lifted off my back. I felt like I could fly.
I’m not sure if my parents and yours share the same mentality, but one thing I learnt for sure; we stand on different grounds but see the same moon. No matter how much we differ, there’s always a way to work everything out and see eye to eye. Don’t worry about it too much.
To my parents, I love the both of you. I love my siblings too. All four of them. I can take care of myself. Worrying is inevitable, it’s second nature as parents but don’t worry too much. I love you, I love you, I love you.
“See you tomorrow”.
Such simple words that plant seeds of excitement and hopefulness within us.
I’ve evolved. I used to dread the ensuing days, my depression injected little to no optimism into my system to look forward to what is waiting for me. But now I open my eyes wide to view whatever films I would curate as I trudge through the rough terrain of my life.
I don’t know who he is. But a “See you tomorrow” to a first meeting makes you wonder and fantasise about how that person would turn out to be. First meetings are like job interviews, barely peeking through the facade of professionalism and the desire to appear likeable to the other person.
But when a first meeting ends up exceeding your innocently-placed high expectations, you want more. And it’s a feeling, to me, of awful sanguineness and the desire for more time spent with the other.
You’re not already in love, but you’re definitely infatuated and you’re swelling with the wonderful emotions of admiration and curiosity as to what’s coming next. You wonder whether it is platonic or romantic, whether you’re compatible or will clash in endless arguments along the way.
You wonder and wonder, get curiouser and curiouser. It’s so innocent.
Wow, what a long description about having a crush.
“Please, you don’t have to cut me any slack”.
Sat in front of my boss, breathing in laboriously whilst nursing the lump in my throat, I was starting to regret disclosing every part of my struggles to him. Depression, self harming, hospitalisation and financial issues. My intention was to explain to my boss my 4 day absence, although he was already notified beforehand.
His ensuing words were not harsh, but they weren’t exactly gentle at best.
“You need to compartmentalise your personal struggles and your struggles at work. You have let them overlap, now look what happened to you”.
He’s right, so I muttered under my breath, just enough for him to hear, “I’m a burden?”
In response, his countenance affirmed my rhetorical question.
I’m a burden.
Now let me take you to two weeks later - the current situation.
Somehow I am currently out of breath after climbing stairs after stairs, going from banks to housing developers’ offices to drop and collect documents. This is what my pupilage entails now - driving around collecting and delivering documents, and attending signing sessions with clients, if any. Simple, no brainer stuff.
It is all part of my boss’ plan to help me. A little birdie told me that he genuinely worries for me and that he doesn’t want me to become depressed anymore. I was surprised tbh considering the response that I received when I divulge everything to him. Turns out he doesn’t want me to think too much, and he’s giving me the flexibility in terms of timing and my movements. Basically milking the shit out of my love for driving around hahaha.
Am I happy about it? Yes, because I’m cared for at work. No, because I’ll be missing out on so much… I’ve gotten the hang of how conveyancing and property law work, but I’ll be losing so many brain cells because of the leeway I was given. If I don’t utilise the knowledge that I garnered for the past 5 months during my pupillage stint thus far, I’m definitely gonna lose my groove. It’s like trying to get back in shape after abandoning the gym for months.
A colossal part of me was so upset about this new portfolio I inevitably had to take up. The fact that the entire firm had to accommodate to my needs made me feel apologetic as hell. One, I feel bad. Two, I feel like what I’m doing is below me. Three, I feel so inadequate and disappointed in myself for not being able to live up to and adhere to the standards of an ideal pupil in chambers. I’m the one who’s supposed to bend over backwards to please my higher ups, not the other way around. At the same time, though, really they’re so nice. I just ???? I feel undeserving of such an accommodating move. All these emotions tangled up together push me over the edge and I end up being reduced into tears.
There has to be a balance between a depressed person’s responsibilities (work, familial, etc) and a depressed person’s need to be taken care of. It truly, truly sucks to even have to find that balance in the first place. But it’s inevitable for the sake of staying sane. We depressed people, I’m not speaking for all of us but I’m certain a large portion of us don’t want to trouble other people even in the slightest. We feel bad even though we do need the kind hospitality.
I’m so torn yet I’m so thankful. Well we’ll see how it goes.
“Do you not feel even an ounce of remorse for what you did?”
Sat in the chair in the room with my therapist, I deliberated for a good 10 seconds before answering,
“No”.
But 10 seconds later, tears welled up in my eyes. And then, they drenched my cheeks. Your body always betrays you.
Of course I felt remorseful, I’m human. Dysfunctional, but not devoid of conscience. Betrayal after betrayal and I only have myself to point my finger at.
It was when my therapist asked me “So who are you friends with now?” to which I knew no answers to, that I realised that my bouts of misdemeanour has turned me into somewhat of a lone ranger. I scoffed, half with disbelief and half with pride.
“I’m a lone ranger now, Mr Leng. I like it. I don’t need friends to function”.
My therapist looked at me gently and said, “Evolution took place over many years but one thing remained the same - humans NEED one another to live”.
Right.
____________________________________
I did horrible things, of which I am not proud. So much hurt was caused by me and consequently I decided to vacate the nest that had kept me safe and warm for so long, and flew into a world full of uncertainty and loneliness. Lord it was much too bitter to handle, but just like your sense of smell, it adapts and grows accustomed to unpleasant stenches after a while and you barely notice it anymore.
To paint a better picture for you, let me establish the fact that for 22 years, I was a baby. Coddled, constantly attended to, protected. By whom? Family, friends, boyfriend. I was never left alone for longer than necessary. Before I had a car, I hitched rides and never had to pay for petrol. I cried and had someone’s hands wipe the tears for me. I rode Grab cars and had someone on the other end of the phone call to accompany me so as to ensure that the driver never harassed me. I plucked the dry bits of my lips and it upset my former partner so much because I “bled” when in fact it was just a little.
I was a baby.
When I left the nest, I felt as though I was forced to grow up way beyond my age. I was so lost, hence I made a few phone calls to a few trusted adults, badgering them for answers as to how the fuck I was supposed to live life without the guidance of my friends whom I depended on so much. Some of them chided me for my doings that led to such inopportune consequence, some of them were supportive and believed that I could do it because it was about time anyway. I'm 23, it's time to act like it.
On I went to learn about the art of being alone. In hindsight, it was not as difficult as I'd thought LMAO. I pride myself in my ability to be adaptable to difficult situations. But another thing I shall give credit to? My mental illness.
I have dermatillomania, which is a mental disorder that makes it absolutely irresistible for me to pick my skin til it bleeds and scars. I'm talking about hours of staying up late to do the deed. It sounds really far-fetched to those who are alien to mental disorders like this, but it's real. The first onset of it was when I was 11. It is one of the main things discussed in my weekly therapy sessions. I've been prescribed antipsychotic medications for it, like Risperidone and Aripiprazole, but they never worked.
Dermatillomania has very much to do with dissociation. I'm no psychologist, but from what I understand it is the feeling of having an outer body experience, as if watching yourself from a third person's point of view. And really, when I'm having one of those episodes, I simply never realise that I'm harming myself.
The downside is the obvious, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing to myself. The upside is, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing to myself. Haha. I'm oblivious and ignorant. And the ignorance? It's always bliss for me, in this case.
When I lost friends, my mind protected me from arriving to a realisation that I indeed lost friends. I felt like it never even happened. I felt as if I was shielded from the harsh reality that I created myself. My dissociation created tyre barriers around my whole being that absorbed the harshest impact that came my way.
The amount of time I cried over having to leave the nest? Only once. And even then I couldn't even understand why I cried. Throughout the entire process, I blamed myself for being devoid of emotions as I am the type to usually put myself through emotional pain as much as possible so that I feel milked out by the end of the process, and never look back again. But this dissociation thing? It only prolongs the grieving process and I can't move on. Dare I say that the people who were once present in my life make their appearance in my sleep at least once a week and I would wake up feeling disoriented and sombre.
Every time that happens, though, I would dust myself off the ground and go on about my day with my head held up even higher. Is it pride? No. It's strength and independence.
Nevertheless, I am happy with how things are panning out. I'm happy with my progress in growing up into a responsible adult. I seek my own counsel instead of complain about things that make me disheartened. In fact I never complain about anything anymore. I take things in stride and learn from my (repeated) mistakes, and I promise myself to wake up tomorrow as a better person than today.
My therapist is right. Through evolution, through centuries, it has been proven over and over again that human beings need each other. But one has to learn to be on their own as well, for it's me against the world. Me alone.
I'm not scared to be alone anymore.
My bed in the ward. This picture was taken sneakily right before I was released. |
PPUM's Psychology department |
Kasthoori's note for me |
Claudine's note that was left on top of my journal the morning after she read it. |
Trigger warning: Contains mentions of suicide and self harm.
[cont.]
18/5/2020
7:40 am:
This is the most racially heterogeneous environment in which I've been in a few years, due to the fact that I study in UiTM. I was the only Malay in the 20's bunch and I quite liked it. I was fasting today since my period had ended. I told the nurse to wake me up at 5 am for suhoor and she did a job well done. I didn't need much to feel full, the chocolate milk that my dad sent in yesterday and some mineral water already sufficed. Anyway, I was urged to shower. Still growing accustomed to showering so early in the morning. The air-conditioning made me feel SO cold.
10:00 am:
My psychiatrist was Dr Kim, a nice lady. Not particularly warm, but a proper listening ear. She grilled me on my depressive episodes, my self harming, my past harassment experiences, my dreams at night, my short attention span, my anxiety and my suicidal ideations. I was as honest as I could be while feeling all kinds of emotions tangled up together. In the midst of crying, I was feeling guilty, sad, relieved and tired as fuck.
Interestingly, Dr Kim tried to diagnose me with ADHD due to my short attention span and my inability to finish simple tasks, except that in my childhood I was a super quiet kid. But then again my memories from my younger days were practically wiped out, I didn't even understand why. She also asked whether or not the antidepressant that I had been taking all this while actually worked. I shook my head, which gave way to the decision that we needed to switch to another antidepressant, subject to my parents' agreement LMAO. Dr Kim said she would have to discuss with my dad tomorrow, which means she was gonna ask him all about me. Just the thought of it made me shudder. I had such a big ego when it comes to familial love. I found it difficult to be vulnerable with them, I never told them anything.
2:10 pm:
I woke up from a nap to the nurses doing a spot check in all our lockers and bags. I didn't know what gave rise to the need to do so because it wasn't a routine procedure but I malas nak question it. I performed my prayer and when I was done, I was so amused by both Emily and Cikgu Faizah. Both of them were loopy as hell from anesthesia. They just underwent ECT, otherwise known as electroconvulsive therapy which involved using electric currents to pass through the brain to change its brain chemistry. Or something. I don't know, I watch a lot of Big Bang Theory but I don't talk science HAHAHA.
I heard it has a high success rate, but it's usually used as a last resort when the patient doesn't respond to other treatments. It did sound scary to me la, because I remembered when I took Law Relating to Healthcare subject back in my third semester, we learnt about a case in which the patient obtained a fracture as a result of ECT. Emily had been experiencing memory loss since undergoing ECT, albeit only temporarily. Meanwhile, Cikgu Faizah was laying down flat on her back in bed while mumbling, "My lover... manager RHB Bank...". Tah la.
4 pm:
Emily, Kasthoori, Claudine and Win Nee gathered on my bed and talked shit about life. We were so sick in the head and we found it funny. Cikgu Faizah was on the other side of the ward and mumbling unintelligible things while sitting crosslegged with her whole body covered in her blanket. Oh, in case you didn't know, mumbling random words in one sentence that doesn't make sense is a common symptom of schizophrenia. It's also known as "word salad".
4:30 pm:
I felt guilty for driving you mad. It was all my fault. I missed the exchanges of "how are you"s without any sugarcoating. I wished things were different. My hospital robe offered a landing place for my tears - I just wished it was your chest.
5:15 pm:
A psychiatrist who was not even in charge of me, Dr Aqwa saw me crying my eyes out, so he came and dragged a chair next to my bed to talk to me. I told him everything - how much my heart was aching, feelings of hopelessness, my loss of interest in everything that I used to love.
Dr Aqwa reminded me of my friend, Darwis, his face and demeanour. An extremely pleasant person, could make anyone feel immediately at ease. He advised me to simply grieve it all out and said that crying was the best thing anyone could do as a response to anything sorrowful. He said even he cried all the time, especially back when he was studying Medicine. He added that us humans tend to overlook the smallest things in life and that every single day, we ought to appreciate every little thing such as the rain and the comfortable clothes that we get to wear.
Dr Aqwa reminded me that people come and go. Sometimes their existence in our lives meant to teach us a lesson, then they leave. It's a cycle of life. A funny remark that he left: If it could happen to Adele, it could happen to everyone.
7:30 pm:
I buka puasa with the girls plopped on my bed, entertaining each other. We wrote loving notes on each of our notebook and jotted down our contact details. We made a pledge to meet again, perhaps for a jog, an idea that popped up when Win Nee told us that she used to run 10km every single day. Wtf right. She also used to do taekwondo and Muay Thai. She offered her arm for us girls to cop a feel HAHA and it's taut as heck. I was so envious but I never did any workout so my flabby arms and I just stayed quiet. Things took a somber turn when Win Nee blanked out and sadly said, "I have to stay here for at least 2 more weeks but you guys are discharging soon. How can I go on?"
9:00 pm:
I was doing my skincare routine when Cikgu Faizah approached me, stared at my face and pointed at my newly-formed pimple, "Apa tu ataih muka? Hantu tokak (gigit) ka?" HAHAHAHAH. Pls let me have my hormonal breakouts in peace. But thanks to her for letting me know of the new blemish. The ward did not have ANY mirrors, be it in the bathroom or at the sinks. I guess it was to prevent terrible cases of body dysmorphia.
10:00 pm:
There was a new admission. 38 year-old Nicole with MDD, severe anxiety and OCD. I asked her how she ended up in the ward and she responded with, "Dalam otak saya sangat penat. Saya fikir mau bunuh diri saja. Saya tak boleh control". I could gauge that she was yearning for physical comfort so I reached my hand out to her, and she wholeheartedly took it and sat on my bed. Her body language screamed that she was horridly anxious. I asked her about her family and she told me of her loving husband and her 2 year-old daughter. The cause of her depression? Guess what. It was Covid-19. She was absolutely fine just a month ago.
She looked 10 years younger than her age. She gave me a bitter smile then got up to go to her husband to settle the admission process.
19/5/2020
1:40 am:
I was stirred awake by Cikgu Faizah chanting some random words while rocking back and forth on her bed with her body covered in the damn blanket. You'd think it was funny but not when most lights were turned off and it was nearly 2 in the dead of night. Takut la gila.
5:00 am:
I woke up to Claudine whispering to me, "Don't you have to suhoor?" to which I nodded. She sat in the chair by my bed and sipped her tea. Claudine lamented about how she couldn't sleep at all and had been crying non-stop. She did request for a doctor and was given 3 anxiety pills. She also playfully complained about how Emily always asked for her food and coins HAHA. For real though, Emily got hungry all the time that Claudine deemed her a "rubbish bin". The nurse then called out to me to take my meds, so I went. I wished Claudine a good night. She really was a sad soul wrapped in a happy exterior.
7:40 am:
The nurses woke us all up to get our bedsheets changed. I went on to take a shower, all the while thinking about the discussion between Dr Kim and my dad that would take place today at 10, without me. I somehow felt like I was being ratted out.
8:00 am:
Claudine left a note on top of my journal. It seemed like she read it while I was asleep last night. Cute.
11:40 am:
In her ludicrous tone, Cikgu Faizah said to me from across the ward, "Jangan nangis". Then she offered me her adult diaper which I declined then the nurse that happened to walk by said to her, "Dia pakai pad, tak pakai lampin dah". HAHAH. Cikgu Faizah then proceeded to sing raya songs in the most endearing, off-key voice.
Dr Kim came and visited me. She informed me that my dad agreed to switching my antidepressant to a new one. God I hope it works this time around, since Escitalopram didn't. Still, I had to be tapered off of it AND consume the new one at the same time. I hoped whatever chemicals in my brain cooperate with the new medication haha pls I'm tired.
Dr Kim let me know of how concerned my dad was pertaining to my wellbeing, and so was my mum. Well that hit me in my feels. I expressed how guilty I felt for making them worry, but I was reassured by Dr Kim that I was their daughter so it was absolutely in their nature to worry. I'd only ever told so little about my predicaments to my parents, only touched base about them. I'd bet they were surprised at the severity of it all. So I was advised to build more trust in my whole family.
I was also advised to make peace with the past, at least be happy that the good things in my life, which had in fact ended, did take place. I thought about it as Dr Kim left, cried and fell asleep.
3 pm:
Win Nee tried to kill herself. She used the edge of her locker to cut herself and banged her head against the wall. The nurses then pulled up the railing of her bed and moved her bed directly in front of the nurses' station for closer supervision.
After Win Nee had calmed down, us girls approached her and asked if she was okay. She assured us that she was okay, although we could see her cheeks had trailings of wetness left by her tears. She explained she just needed to do it and absolutely lost control. She literally didn't know what she was doing. I truly empathised with her. This was something that's usually hard to grasp by people that don't experience it, but I'm telling you that when we say we don't know what we're doing, we REALLY don't know what we're doing. Mental illness has a special way of fucking us up like that.
Kasthoori held Win Nee close to her, then we let the latter sleep.
3:30 pm:
Claudine has discharged. I already missed her. She left her comb on my overbed table though, I'll return it to her when MCO ends.
4 pm:
We went for occupational therapy, which was a form of therapy that entailed doing activities that make us focused. Today what we did was colouring. Man, I LOATHE colouring sia like I don't have the patience for it. My finished product turned out hideous. I really don't have the flair for artistry.
It was Kasthoori's 22nd birthday so we sang the birthday song for her. Instead of joy, she cried. I told her that it was okay, this year I had a bad birthday too.
5 pm:
Emily, Kasthoori, Win Nee and I were deep in our conversation - filled with anecdotes and cackles. Nicole, clearly in distress, approached us. "You all boleh senyum, kenapa saya sedih dan tak boleh senyum? You all masa mula-mula masuk tak boleh senyum juga macam saya ke?" She was putting so much pressure on her recovery process, I understood that. She was a parent, of course she would want to heal as quickly as possible and get back to carrying out motherly duties. Kasthoori told her that it would take time, so much time. Then Nicole hugged my waist as we were walking back to our respective beds and I hugged her right back. I felt like I was the more composed and mature one. It felt nice for once to be the one offering comfort instead of being at the receiving end of it.
6 pm:
I was so sad that I cried while performing my prayer.
8 pm:
The time to buka puasa arrived. The nurse beckoned to me and gave me a slice of pepperoni pizza. After days of eating bland hospital food, pepperoni pizza tasted like heaven on earth.
Cikgu Faizah's behaviour was so chaotic today. She took her trousers and diapers off and stood by her bed with her blanket over her whole body like it was a satanic ritual. Then she scolded me for leaving my cup of hot chocolate on the table and then drinking it 5 minutes later. Apparently, my drink ada saka because I left it alone uncovered. She kept saying frightfully that she saw white shadows infesting my beverage. But....I minum je.
8:30 pm:
I was given my new antidepressant called Venlafaxine. The capsule was bigger so it was harder to swallow.
Cikgu Faizah had been staring at me for a long time when she finally said, "Hang ni dok tulih ja, rajin betui. Assignment ka?" HAHAHAHAH for 4 days straight I hadn't thought of assignments AT ALL. I must've had a lot piling up already. I suddenly missed my friends and wondered how they were doing. But then my thoughts shifted to my assignments again and I got stressed out. Life really doesn't wait for us. That was a harsh slap of reality. Thanks, Cikgu Faizah. Serving her old purpose even in the psychiatric ward.
9:30 pm:
I felt so intensely sad. I read surah Al-Waqi'ah. I cried then went to bed.