On my own.

I had an extremely horrible day yesterday. I don't really share my feelings with anyone completely, even N. I somehow just don't feel safe. That one person I wanted to talk to last night, with whom I thought I felt safe, refused my request. I genuinely would have talked about my feelings, had they asked me what I was going through. I guess that's what I deserve: To not be able to share what I deeply feel inside with anyone. 

While N was sympathetic, I didn't feel like sharing more with him because he was more worried that I might lose my shit and go Bellatrix Lestrange on him. 

I have to practice caution now. I am on my own at least when it comes to my mental health. 

But then I guess it's just me and this blog of mine that no one reads. Maybe talking to this faceless mass of nothing will help ease my overburdened heart.

I'm still so overwhelmed that I am fighting my urge to cry while I am typing this in my office. I really hope I don't. 

PATIENCE

My patience is being seriously tested today. 

My senior colleague told me that the boss is bothered and not happy by how many sick leaves I take. This was because I told her I need some more time on proofreading a 600+ page manuscript and indirectly noted how I take leaves and this gets delayed. 

Our office doesn't have a fucking work from home policy. So, how should I tell my "upset" boss that I could have fucking availed those WFH facility instead of taking leaves. They are so fucking rigid about these policies that I feel pity on how so not employee-friendly this pathetic organisation is. They are okay with us working from home on our sick leaves. But not okay about allowing WFH policy. There is a reason why they are not doing well.

Do you know that our boss snoops and intereferes on our emails on a daily basis? Had I known about this issue, I would not have joined this place in the first place. 

I am so fucking pissed right now that I could seriously smash my keyboard on this office computer and just simply destroy the entire office space. I swear I wish to stay calm. But I really anm st4ruggling right now. 

Our boss monitors us through the CCTV cameras. Does he ever notice how the seniors around me waste my time yapping through their nonsense? DOES TYHIS BOSS NOTICE HOW THEY WASTE MY TIME AS WELL AS THEIRS DURING THE FUCKI(NG OFFICE HOURS>? 

I WQISH I COULD YE;LL; 0ON TOP POF MY VPOICE AND SAY THIS TOI HIS PATHETIC ASS. I SWEART TO GOD I DPONT KNPOW WHYT MY PATRIENCE IS BEING TESTSED TODAY.

I want to tell him how unfair it is to not have this WFH policy and then expect us to complete our work when we take sick leaves. I am so overwhelmed right now. 

My senior says that I have only one project indirectly saying that such multi-tasking you have to do. When have I never done that? Has she assessed this poorly now? ISTG, I will soon plan my exit strategy. I really hate how sad this office situation is.  The seniors gossip, and waste theirs as well as my time during the office hours. Just because they are there in the office for so long they get the immunity. My boss, who monitors everyone through CCTV cameras, doesn't see this? Why doesn't he tell them to fucking do their jobs? Doesn't he see how they disturb others?

I swear, I have to think of an exit strategy now. 

  

   

unbothered

How should I stay unbothered by people who talk incessantly and loudly, on their phones or with their friends at homes and in public and fucking everywhere? 

I'm getting violent thoughts of shoving their phones down their throat and bashing their heads on a wall. Like, why can't people just maintain some fucking decorum in public here in India? Is that so hard to follow fucking civic sense? I really have this urge to bash their heads and mouths so that they just stop fucking yapping all the time.

I really need help. 

red

I'm hurting so much right now. Like, literally and metaphorically. There's this huge lump in my throat right now and I feel like bawling my eyes out, but I can't. Don't want to sound any alarms. 

My mind isn't quieting down. My tears aren't willing to flow and are trapped somewhere. It's suffocating me so much. 

Of course, I'm hormonal right now. It's my first day of the five-day shitstorm I face monthly. I want to feel better for once. I want to stop pretending for once. I want to feel safe for once. I want to, may be, understand what's it like to stay happy for more than a day for once. I want to know what it's like to not be puppeteered by my mood swings for once. I want to break free from these intrusive thoughts. 

I'm so tired of my mind right now that I could even climb up to the tallest tower in the town and take the plunge just to end it all at once. I want to know how it'd feel like to have that last rush of adrenaline in your bloodstream before your brain smashes on the ground resembling a squished watermelon. 

Anyway. I'll try to get some sleep now. Let me see how I survive the storm. 

La tristesse durera toujours

“La tristesse durera toujours.” These were Vincent Van Gogh’s last words to his brother Theo, while Vincent was on his deathbed. This translates to “The sadness will last forever.” Well, wasn’t he right? Happiness is indeed fleeting, like a passing affair. Momentary bliss. Sadness never leaves your side; it's always present in your grief and your loneliness.

Today for me feels like I survived a massive storm and am just trying to lick my wounds. I’m not feeling joyous in any way, because I am bracing myself to face another storm that’s heading my way in a few days. It will be a bloody one and most likely will push me into the dark pit. I will have to wait and see how that goes.

I was wondering what my last words would be. I want them to be just say the same. “The sadness will last forever…”

No way out

I need help. Like I need to find a way out of my mind. 

I wish I could meet Plath’s ghost someday… would have asked her to help me figure this out. Probably she would’ve suggested baking my brains out like she had done. 

Dunno, probably one day I might follow her path. When I had asked AI, to review my writing, it said that the style is somewhat similar to Plath and Woolf. Both were mentally unstable, to put it mildly. Weren’t they? Well, that explains it.

My mind is burning like a furnace now as I am writing this. Anyway, I need to stop now, and probably think of a good day to bake my brains.   

trapped

How to console an anxious 89-year-old insomniac that she was not entirely the reason why her 31-year-old son died by suicide? While she wasn't entirely innocent, the circumstances compelled him to take that step. It's been over 20 years now. I really want her to sleep peacefully for a few hours, for at least one night. 

It's so difficult at times to deal with her anxiety, the endless vicious loop her thoughts have fallen into. She's in depression and needs therapy, but lives alone. She's so terribly lonely, and living with such a mental state that it pains me. I can never understand the grief of losing one's son, but I can definitely see her pain, and I cannot do anything about it. It scares me sometimes.

She's a tough cookie like that, my grandma. But istg I am extremely worried about how she's dealing with her anxiety and insomnia. She's diabetic and can't walk properly now. We both have never really been fond of each other. She always favoured my brother over me. Always favoured my uncles over my mother. But still, she's family. My mother loves her regardless, and by extension, probably I love her, too. 

I wish I had the ability to be nonchalant when it comes to these things. I don't know why I have the habit of carrying that pain along once I leave her by the door. She seemed so fragile. I'm finding it so difficult to carry that pain in my already damaged heart. It takes one to know one, they say. I can see how she's struggling to navigate her life in a pit of darkness that she's trapped in, and I can't do anything about it.

I just hope one day she will be free of these intense feelings and darkness and sleep well in peace.