mind's a time traveller

my mind travels in the past and lingers there like a ghost. It longs to undo the things that set me on this path of emotional turmoil. It looks to see if I ever was a happy person.

It's not like happiness always evaded me. I remember how amused I used to be when my father would roll me up like a burrito inside the mattress when I was little enough to fit in it. I remember how connected I used to feel when on Sundays my father used to play old Hindi film songs and ask me to join him in cleaning the house. The feeling of being loved and taken care of when you see your empty wallet filled with exact change of 10s, 50s, and 100s, without you mentioning it. There was a weird sense of safety I felt through his small actions. I think about these days sometimes. 

I'm deliberately trying to think of good times here. Because then lingering on the bad ones would surely make me spiral down a black pit I may never want to return from.

Anyway, it'll be awkward to explain to colleagues who might need me for work why I'm tearing up. Will post something later.

emotionally simple, cute mofos

 Most men are emotionally simple, cute mofos. You need to tell them how you feel. They don't do layers. It's too much of a mental challenge for them; too much mental hard work. There's nothing wrong with that, though. Some tend to save their grey cells for old age, I guess.

Even if you live with them for donkey's years and let them believe that they 'know' you, they don't. If, by mistake, you share that your mental health condition isn't that good. They will not understand, probably thinking that you are overreacting or romanticising your pain, or to be precise, displaying victim behaviour. 

Now, you're a high-functioning adult with mental health in the state of a decrepit ruin, and you tend to keep things to yourself. But your body or your actions belie the mask you've put on. These cute jerks will not be able to see through these things. Their practical and logical reasoning struggles to make sense of why you eat your emotions or spend a fortune on tattoos. Nothing particularly strikes their almost nihilist mind, as they don't believe in labels or in anything at all, and wear cynicism like an armour. They just live with you and watch life pass by. 

Knowing this, you tend to avoid having such discussions. Why bother their myopic minds with such challenging tasks, right? Fuck it. You should deal with such things yourselves. No one's gonna die with you when you die. You are always alone, even if you think you have found a cute mofo to share your life with. You are always alone.

I may come across as a judgmental bitch here, but idgaf. My blog, my rules. Besides, no one reads these days. 

Fuck patience

Patience is a virtue—some privileged asshole who had nothing better to do in life came up with this idiotic thought. Being polite and patient and considerate and all goody two shoes just steamrolls you and batters your ego to death.

It's fucking difficult to be patient, especially when you're suffering fools. Why even? What good will it do except avoid conflict? But what about the anger that's seething in your mind? Why do we have to categorise rage and anger as negative and patience and nicety as positive? I would really like to meet that dumbfuck who must have made this rule in society and torture them to death.

Sometimes I try to kill the person (in my mind, obviously), or sometimes I imagine that person (there are multiple, btw) dies of a horrible heart attack, or sometimes they get flattened with the cement by a bulldozer, and people get to see their bulldozed corpse in a twisted position with eyes that are bulgding and wide or broken front teeth as they walk over them. Walk over that cemented path, I mean. Like how people walk on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I would name it Glad-This-Motherfucker-Died Lane.

Anyway. Enough of my useless rant. I need to get back to work now.