romanticising the pain

just when i think that i can talk without any hesitation about my past, a phrase - romanticising the pain - gets thrown at me.

is it really? i really don't know. it genuinely left me wondering.. when i was never in my life able to talk about anything that i have been through to anyone, sharing it with someone makes me romanticising the pain i have been through? i guess, that must be it. 

i guess i am better off like my father who has built this impregnable firewall around him. not letting anyone know what you feel, leaves no chance of them talking about it or trivialising it, even if they claim to understand your pain. in any case, no one likes to swim in a never-ending dark pit.   

sometimes, it makes me wonder, why are people with me? is it because of who i am as a person or is it because they fear being alone and seek companionship. they would move on if i am no longer in their lives. their lives won't stop for me.

one day this darkness in me will gobble me up like a black hole and i will no longer be able to find myself anywhere. it is so agonising that it feels like my insides are burning in an excruciatingly slow pace. may be i am romanticising the pain that i have been through using my words here. but i guess, this is where i can. at least here no one will judge me. i'm so tired of people trivialising what i share with them, even something which is not personal. am i destined to take everything that i have bottled up so far in my heart to the grave? 

i thought of seeking therapy. but i really don't have the energy to do so. on the surface i look like someone who is normal but my mind is burning like it's lit on fire. 

you know i wanted to be a writer. because writing and reading gives me peace, because words and books don't judge. i don't have to feel guilty for dogearing them or folding their cover or breaking the spine of a book or forming the words the way i want. they just accept me the way i am. the constant guilt and shame to be a bother to someone who loves you and lives with you and thinks that you are romanticising your pain - is in a way heart-breaking for me. 

i'm so tired of thinking if the person is in that headspace to hear what i want to say. so tired. it never happens the other way round. why am i getting annoyed at this?  

may be i am romanticising my pain by sharing it in words here. but where should i put all the pain that i am experiencing? should i not do that here, too? 

may be some day when i am not around, people will check this blog and probably makes sense of all the posts that i have written. may be then, they will think that i was not romanticising it, just trying to express it.   

    

 

uncomfortable conversations

sometimes you get into some conversations that are so uncomfortable and yet they tickle their way into your heart, in a good way... they rekindle your longing, which was sitting quietly in some unnoticed corner of your heart for that person, with a child-like enthusiasm again.

you are finally able to say the things you never imagined you would to that person, who graciously listens, if not accepts, and makes you nearly believe that the person cares for you. the curiosity in trying to demystify you, the warmth of their words seem sincere and almost try to pierce through the shield you have worn to protect yourself from any more damages. it makes you feel... seen. it makes you feel... wanted. it makes you feel.. connected. it makes you, at least for a little while, believe that someone thinks of you the way you think of them, too, without any agenda. it makes you feel that you can find that comfort you have been seeking your whole life in these uncomfortable conversations. it makes you, albeit hesitantly, happy. 

and then the bubble breaks and you wonder: how long will this be? when your mind is so afraid to be happy, you think when will the shoe drop and you will again see that you were never exclusive. you will again go down that spiral and swim in the dark pits of your mind where pain, like a loyal lover, awaits you with open arms and embraces your frail heart.  

p.s.: sorry to disappoint you. yes, i'm alive. i survived a tornado which was raging in my mind earlier this month... and, boy, that was not easy. well, some time sooner may be. i couldn't resist writing this post, i was kind of overwhelmed in a good way :-) ... had to share it. 

just so tired - boring rant alert

to whoever is reading this post,

thank you for reading my blog. you have no idea how happy it makes me if someone reads my written word. i did want to become a writer, but i don't see that happening in my near future. future?! lol.

i feel like my mind is running on its final lap and would come to a halt soon due to exhaustion. if you can read between the lines, i hope you understand what i'm trying to say. 

just can't continue long enough. i'm hurting so much. i put n through the shit that i'm going through. he did say today, albeit out of frustration, that he's tired of dealing with my mood swings and depressive episodes. his frustration felt real. so real. why can't i help myself from not bothering him. he is trying his best to survive with me. tolerating me at every step. don't know how much longer he can take it.

i think i'm legit losing my shit. have started hallucinating a bit as well, as much as tossing in the bed is becoming a task for me because my mind is so heavy. don't feel like opening my eyes. it's like a sisyphean struggle. i'm talking here because i don't know where else to put my pain anymore. can't bother n anymore now. really can't. 

if you don't see any posts before december, consider this as my last one. my blog will languish in this faceless and chilly world of internet like my grave. oh, wait, i don't want to be buried or cremated. i want the functioning organs to be donated to the ones who need it the most. just in case anyone hears about my death and has been reading this blog. (lolol, who am i kidding... no one reads this blog, not even my ex for whom i have dedicated so many posts - not that he knows about it)!

while i was chopping onions the other day i again got this strong urge of playing a tic-tac-toe on my wrist with the knife. i did draw an outline without doing the incision, but a voice in my head was like, not now - not now - it would be traumatic for n to see me lying with blood dripping from my wrist. i did wish to slyvia plath the way out of my mind a couple times, but use a cooker instead, we don't have an oven. but then again, i don't want my last image to be haunting his mind for the rest of my life. although he might get over my loss, he might never forget the image. I think sleeping pills are best, you just won't wake up, that's all and it will look like you're sleeping. but for that i need to visit a psychiatrist/psychologist who can prescribe me one. let's see if this works out for me. 

anyhooo.. don't be scared, i may disappoint you by posting before december. if not, then, please do consider this as my last post. Thank you so much for patiently reading through my blog. if you like any of my posts, please do leave a comment saying how you felt. although i may not be around to read it, my soul might burn a little less in hell with your kind words. bye, you lovely reader. have a good life.    

how can i turn into a ghost after i die?

what if i were to die tonight? should i just quickly say my goodbyes and let people know how thankful i have been for them to be there for me throughout my life so far? or should i just... disappear? leave nothing behind, no reason for them to get any closure... that would be mean, no? but hey... i'll be dead, so at least i won't feel guilty which would make me want to kill myself again. lol. but what if i become a ghost? will i be able to feel then? 🤔

i would love to be a ghost, though. just to see how the people i have left behind are doing when i'm not around and spook them a little when they seemed to have forgotten me. 😈 lol.

i could practically know when they talk about me and what they talk about me. wouldn't it be great? or may be not... what if they unnecessarily say mean things about me or judge me harshly or make fun of me now that i'm dead... not that i'm not used to such a behaviour... but then i'll be depressed even as a ghost only now stuck into a space between earth and infinity. ouch.. no, nope. i literally won't let them shit, and haunt their bathrooms and wherever they go to relieve themselves. 👻😂

but what if i get a job as a guardian angel? i'll protect the people who are nice from mean people. like, a ghost vigilante of sorts. ok, this sounds like a good idea. at least i won't get hurt if there's a fight, because i'm already dead. lol. but would be fun to spook and scare the shit out of the evil people out there.

i googled 'how to turn into a ghost after you die' and ended up on this not-so-boring, unhelpful quora thread: https://www.quora.com/How-can-I-be-a-ghost-after-I-die 😜

did you know that was a wikihow page too, but they have kept it under review. may be because their steps were quite helpful. damn. 

but then i feel even as i'm alive, i should try astral projection, then may be i'll have some eligibility of being a ghost. i've also been learning a few things from stories which are uploaded on khooni monday and scary pumpkin youtube channels. 

i'm sure, i can be a great ghost vigilante. scaring the shit out of anyone and everyone even if i don't mean to... lol 😆

but yeah... i guess, i'll have to first die for that.

well, wishful thinking... 😇

should i?

i want to pull that trigger

and raze the ruins of 

what we had once built,

gave up, and left midway

 

i want to pull that trigger

and leave no evidence of

any of our memories - happy or sad

 

i want to pull that trigger

to release myself from that trap

where you're guarding the door 

to my present and now 

i want to pull that trigger

to end your existence 

in my veins

 

i want to pull that trigger

to end my eternal pain

i want to pull that trigger

to simply break free and die

 

should I? 

"lady lazarus"

trigger warning: graphic details of suicide attempt and all that.

(not that anyone reads this blog 😒, but still)

"you don't deserve to be loved" - these words nearly burst her eardrums. so much so that it even drowned the cacophony of the whizzing local trains from under the bridge that summer night. she had had enough. her mind was beyond exhausted. too exhausted to even feel the pain.

standing on platform one of dadar station, she narrowed her eyes when she saw two blinding headlights shooting off from a distance. a virar-bound fast train was about to fly past the third platform soon without halting at dadar. she climbed the stairs of the bridge (a bit hurriedly) to get to the third platform. she thought hopefully plunging in front of a fast train would be a quick way to go. but by the time she reached the platform, the train crossed it. she was tired to even feel bad about this missed opportunity.

she boarded a borivali-bound fast train from platform three instead and sat near a window seat staring blankly at the adjacent tracks which were now blurry and looked like a fast-moving ladder. she shut her eyes. all she could see on the dark curtain of her shut eyes was flashes of traumatic memories. flashes of the mental and physical abuse she went through when she was a child. flashes of how pained and shattered she was due to her broken and damaged relationship. flashes of her disinterested parents motionlessly staring at her. flashes of how she was sexually abused and bullied since her young age. flashes of how she turned out to be a shy and introverted person due to her not so idyllic upbringing. flashes of the heartbreaks she suffered silently. flashes of not being able to share her pain with anyone since her childhood. the flashes were forming into a storm so severe that she thought her mind would drown itself to death. 

she opened her eyes. no, she wasn't crying. too tired, remember? she got up and stood near the footboard of the train compartment. it was moderately crowded for a 9 pm train. the train was soon approaching andheri and was whizzing past stations it was not supposed to halt. this speed should work, she thought. again, her eyes were blinded by the headlights of a train approaching from the adjacent track. just the right time to jump for a quick mince, she thought. she took a cautious step back, so she should quickly be able to plunge herself on the track as the opposite train soon approaching.

as she was about take that plunge, with her toes all ready, a woman tapped on her right shoulder from behind and asked in an extremely bored tone - "andheri utarna hai?" 

she blankly stared at the woman, who got a little annoyed after getting no response from her, and then stood in front of her and blocked her path.   

just then she heard the lady on the speaker say - "krupaya dhyaan dijiye, ye borivali jaane wali fast local, andheri ke baad sabhi sthanakon par rukegi."

the slow train ran excruciatingly slow after andheri. 

damn. missed it again. 

no, there was no epiphany after this moment. again, she was too tired to think about anything. she suddenly missed her bed a lot. all she wanted at that moment was to lie in her bed and stare at her bedroom ceiling which was now used to her vacant, purposeless stares.

she rung her doorbell. her father, eyes still glued to the tv, opened the door while listening intently to what anup soni from crime patrol tv series had to say. her mother was in the kitchen rustling up dinner. 

she went to her room. kept her office backpack on the chair, shut the door partly and plopped herself on the bed and was blankly staring at the ceiling of her dark, unlit room. the comfort of her bed and her dark room were the only things that made her feel less lonely at that moment. would have missed this if i had jumped tonight, she thought.

"do you want to eat dinner?" her mother interrupted her thought as she asked from the other side of the partially-shut door.

"no" 

"why?"

"had it in the office"

"ok, good night"

"good night"          

the day of death should be special, she thought. may be on a birthda... and her exhausted mind drifted to sleep.

midsummer rain

soiled clothes

disheveled hair

chaotic mind

blank stares

on a pitch dark road

with nothing to lose

chasing death 

which might meet me soon

midsummer rain 

reminds me of you

grey skies bleeding 

i feel blue

 

think of me 

when i'm gone

kiss me goodbye tonight

might not see morrow's dawn

down the rabbit hole

as i spiral unraveling

miss me a little, will you?

after my clock stops ticking

some of the best writers are born in may - ray, bond, manto. 

the only thing about this month i love. and obviously not that i was born in it. 

but somewhere here in this space of virtual world, i would like to believe that i, may be, am an average writer. that i may fall in the category of writers, too, for starters.

i read somewhere that it's the best thing to be a writer's love interest, because the writer will dedicate their words for you or may be turn you into his/her muse. but do all writers introduce their work to the person they were written for? or just keep their written word alive and not let them die in some virtual black hole of the internet? i really do not want my poems and texts to see this day. not that i'm enthusiastic enough to go all creepypasta on the person by asking - "hey... would you like to read a few poems i have written for you?" 

sometimes i wonder how strange our minds work. it always chases things, people and feelings which are mysterious, tease us and are clearly unrequited. but here, writers write about them. just to arrest them in their words which would at least stay closer and never leave them. doesn't matter if it makes sense to others, they know deep down in their pounding heart, who those words are meant for. and may be, if that person reads it, may be somewhere deep down, they know that those heartfelt words were meant for them. 

 

i heard this word today - serendipity. it left me wondering, is it serendipitous to be associated with a bunch of good people who help troubled souls like me? or may be my desperate need to kintsugi my damaged mind brought me to them. you see, they quite lovingly and generously offer you a space to talk about your feelings; off load, they call it. they tell you how important it is for you to look after your mental health too. it is indeed good of them to care for the whole bunch and their concern comes from a good place. but how should i tell them that i've never learned how to do it? finding the right words to express my feelings, is something i have never done for almost a quarter of my life. like me, there are several in the group who are unable to off load. ab kya hi kar sakte hai?    

listening to them gives me a faint delusion that i matter to them. but do i really? i'm not sure. all have their own battles to fight and demons to tend to, especially with this pandemic fucking with everyone's mind and health. who has that mental space to accommodate my pain? and why burden them with one when they are dealing with their own shit? to this they say, don't feel guilty about it... how can i not? would only make me feel worse by doing it. it already does when i try to share some of it with n. there is a funny sounding word for this - conundrum.

besides, how healthy is it to connect with someone, for whom, you know that at the end of the day, you won't matter much. of course, they would talk to you, but how long would they be able to offer you their mental space? won't they have their own shit to deal with? you'll never be exclusive. is it narcissistic to think this way? or is it simply heart-breaking, especially when you massively fancy one of them? won't it further mess with your already fucked up mind? 

urgh.. why do i always become so cranky in may?     

this blog is turning into my pensieve now... not that anyone reads it anyway. 

fucking birthday month arrives. what if i die on my birthday? wouldn't it confuse all? whether they should celebrate or mourn? how long will they miss me? a few months? probably a couple years... then life moves on... i'll be long forgotten... until my birthday comes up again and they would marvel on the fact that i left the earth to join the stardust, the same day i was born from it. then again the same old routine... 

sometimes i wonder, what purpose did i serve the humanity by staying alive? sometimes, even the love of the close ones suffocates you when it doesn't understand your pain. it's not their fault, though. how can you walk straight on a pitch dark road? 

best would be to use an obliviate on them and erase my existence from their lives... i can't though, can i?    

anyway... good fuckin night

'wish you were here'

she lit her cigarette like a mia wallace from pulp fiction poster, took a deep drag and blew out a huge trail of smoke from her nose as she looked at several faces arrested in small digital squares on her computer screen (video calls, duh)... and here from the other side of the screen, as i watched her... i felt a bit dazzled... as if i'd inhaled that smoke she just blew out. her presence was indeed intoxicating. please cut me some slack, i had seen her after a long time. 

while her eyes darted from one box to another, smilingly, laughingly, occasionally contributing to the banter of the meeting and very obviously oblivious (try reading these two words aloud at once :P) of my presence, i safely hid behind my display picture which did a great job at not revealing my emotions. not that anyone, including her, was interested in knowing where my eyes lingered. 

she wore black today. black - the color borrowed from the night. the color where my mind takes refuge in. the color which resembles the walls of the room which guards all of my secrets and pain. 

was this not enough that her iridescent eyes were radiating an embracing warmth of blue. blue - the color borrowed from the daylight sky. the color which resembles the roof of my garden when the sun shines brightly. 

there, right there, i felt drawn to her like a rumi to a shams. 

no, i'm no rumi, and she is no shams, but the bond that tied them together, i felt, we could have one like that.

when the meeting was nearing its end, my eyes lingered a bit more on hers, arrow hovered a bit longer on the leave button, unwilling to click it... just to smoke in her image in my mind... a bit longer... like the drags she took from her cigarette.         

Disclaimer: No non-fictional characters were harmed in the making of this post.

hey, you...

now and then, strolling by the sea, I write my deepest pain on a tiny piece of paper... 

I tuck it in a bottle and throw it in the direction of the vast oblivion in front of me hoping that it never returns...  

often I see that the bottle gets washed ashore with the paper now drenched and the bottle now crushed... even the sea doesn't seem to like it.

I don't know where to put all of that pain... 

your eyes saw through my pain once... and they spoke to me. 

at least, I thought they did. 

hey, I don't want them to look at me only for my pain. 

would they look at me when I smile thinking about you? 

would they look at me when I so badly want them to?

if I send this post tucked in a bottle, would it reach you?  

in case it does, will you talk to me?

love,

  s     

 

trapped

your mind and skin 

reject being your home anymore,

your screams never reach 

your lips anymore, 

you try to shut it out 

but can't escape it anymore

you wish you could die

but are too tired to try anymore

that nasty tempest

TW: no rhymes, no coherence; read at your own risk

it bangs on your doors at midnight

brings in a wave of your grotesque past     

turns into a storm  

wrapped in a damp blanket,

blurs and blocks your vision

before ravaging your soul for good

it slowly crawls into 

your broken mind

light and swift 

like a roach,

catches you unawares

sprawls into your insides

before spoiling your senses for good

if depression had a voice

its words would bleed,

its screech would rip and rattle

your earth's surface

before shattering its core for good

TW: bleed, soak, die

Some day my 

bleeding thoughts 

will kill me,

not that I need saving... 

I'd rather drown 

in their blood

than in my own

Some day my

mind will turn 

into a graveyard

not that I'm scared...

I'd rather be haunted by

my morbid present than 

my grotesque past

Some day my

body will turn into ashes

not that I need saving...

I'd rather burn in  

pyre of my dead feelings

than my funeral

following a broken compass...

I was told to write down how I felt at the moment... I was amused at how my mind instantly started working an answer; like it was waiting for a thousand years for someone to ask this question.

Sometimes I don't know where my life is heading, feels like it's following a broken compass. 

Every morning I look in the mirror, I see someone else. Every morning. 

It feels like I'm not entirely dead and not entirely alive. 

Every evening, as the sun sets, I sit by my window watching life pass me by, sometimes staring blankly into the crimson sky not wanting to stay alive to watch tomorrow's sunrise.

The nights are like a cup of hot chocolate on an unforgiving, chilly day. I feel the darkness is where I'm meant to be. Like, my mind has found a home in its pitch-dark walls. Even on a good day, I feel my mind never left this space at all.

Why is it so hard to feel the ache which sometimes shatters your heart into 200 billion pieces or to feel the void which leaves a gaping hole in it?

Why is it so hard to feel the chilly indifference of your loved ones which pierces the skin so badly? Isn't it better to be alone than to have someone pretending to be with you?

While dying may seem simple, living seems like a Sisyphean struggle. 

I know everyone has their own battles to fight. Everyone has their own demons to tend to.

Anyway...  Thank you for reading this far.

facing your storm

the calm of the sea

often reminds me

of the storm your eyes

had once stirred up,

seeking answers to my pain

although it slightly wrecked

my heavily-guarded shores,

little did you know

that I'd seek shelter

in shutting my eyes