Gnaw.

Memories spring up from where you least expect them. So much of this town is tainted. I reach somewhere and suddenly the wind leaves my lungs, my airway is deficient and choked, and I have lost all sense of time and place. I am ready to break down, I do break down internally but how many times can I find a corner to silently weep in? I think I've learnt the art of weeping on the inside constantly instead. I don't think anybody thinks about people, places, songs, and cities the way I do. Many people have ruined many things for me but you took this to a whole new level. It's not even on you - it's on me and my inability to dissociate. It's not the end that has ruined it all - it's the complete and utter loss of meaning to every memory - was it all a lie, a pretence, did I "steal you from your parents" all along? Was there no free will? Are my favourite memories your worst nightmares? I think I can't be the villain in anybody's story and being the only one in yours is what hits me most. Nobody else knows what we went through but surely you do, right? Surely you don't hate me as much as you say, right? Right?

I hate that I'm always left wondering! Why must I be forced to rethink everything? Why can't it just be something beautiful but not everlasting? No, it must be scarred and I must be blamed. I empathize and I understand the world and then when nothing is left of me, I empathize some more. But never am I granted the benefit of the doubt I so easily give to those I love. You know what this questioning does to me? Do you? I constantly second guess myself. I struggle with self love. I always doubted my physical beauty now I doubt my inner one too. It's not fair to my parents, who raised me so much better than this; it's not fair to my friends whom I constantly hold to extremely high standards; it's not fair to the person I'm with because I always alternate between being too enmeshed or too distant but most of all it's not fair to me! Why must I be the one left in doubt? Why can't I just be allowed to treasure my past as opposed to constantly run from it?

In the end, you're all the same, with all the same promises and the exact same heartbreak.
And yet here I am again, hoping that unlike you, he'll always remember us this way.
Hopeless romantic much?


PS: Thank you Ad-mad, if you're reading, for being the only exception. 

"I see my future in your eyes"

There's way too much pain and I'm drowning. Where's my lifejacket? I think I found floaters but they're running out of air and I'm grabbing on to lifeboats that were pirate ships to begin with. I have to do this on my own, I say to myself. But I don't. I constantly need someone to hold my hand through things and I hate that about myself. I think I'm scared of the alternative - not because of how much it will suck but because of how comfortable I will eventually get at being alone, enough to never let anyone in, even slightly, again. I could finally find out what it's like - fighting to stay alive - maybe it's time - sink or swim baby. 

Doori.

He said to her: 

"Kehne ko hum paas hai par, kitni doori hai

Yeh bhi kaisi majboori hai?

Tumse hamdardi bhi nahi kar sakta main,

Meri bas ki baat nahi hai

Main ye behte aansu ponchu,

Itni meri aukat nahi hai.

Main bhi yahin hun

Tum bhi yahi ho

Par sach ye hai ki main hun kahin

Tum aur kahin ho

Kehne ko hum paas hai par, kitni doori hai
Yeh bhi kaisi majboori hai?"

She smiled. 
He finally understood what she had known all along but struggled to explain. 

She said:

साथ होके  भी  साथ  ना  थे,
अब दूर होके भी दूर नहीं
सबकी हमदर्दी के बिना ही जी हुन मैं हमेशा,
अपने आँसू पोछना बन गया हैं मेरा पेशा |
मजबूरी नही थी पर मजबूर हैं हम,
हमारी यादों से भी अब अनजान हैं हम |
दूरी तो सिर्फ एक बहाना हैं,
तुम्हें अपने आप से जो भागते जाना है...
पर मैं हूँ यहीं
तुम भी यहीं हो,
पर तुम हो नही
क्या तुम वही हो?

No title needed.

Today, I'm so upset that I don't think I can bother myself with making sense or coming up with a title for the post. Today, I want to scream endlessly into my pillow and weep till my eyes fall out. Today, I realize this is just another year, just another thing I need to get through. All my life has been a series of 'getting' through something. Everything but TISS (that was a dream). Getting through a day of school, getting through a day without anyone noticing me, getting by without hating myself, getting through without wanting to kill myself... I've been getting by.

Usually I do a pretty good job too - I almost even convince myself most times that I'm a happy, sociable, likeable, loveable person. However today it all seems to be a lie and the lie is catching up fast. It seems I have been lying to myself all along. I have been pretending. The truth of the matter is I'm none of this. I had the potential to be but life has sucked it out of me. And frankly, I'm tired.

Also, I understand it is too damn soon to be tired. It only gets worse from here. That's the thing - all this knowledge and self-awareness is torture. Lately I don't know what I want. On the rare occasions that I do, I am unable to work towards it. I am just such a fucking failure in my own eyes because values such as being a good human, empathetic listener, loyal friend are not ones that are celebrated in this country.

My eyes have dried up so I don't even cry anymore. I just wallow within, getting more and more uneasy - and quiet, horribly quiet. I have always been the one person who understands everyone but somehow in this whole world I haven't found a single person who truly understands me. And true, maybe this is all a part of bloody adulting. Then I want to ask god someone, anyone, where the fuck my childhood is?

Why was I never allowed to be a child?

Mr. Brightside.

I haven't really ever understood why I write. No I get how it's cathartic or therapeutic but why does furious punching in of the keys calm me down? Like nothing else does? Even if it is just me completely blowing things out of proportion.

Do you think there are some people that are basically dark? One of my clients asks me if she attracts negativity. If that could be true for anyone, that would be true for me. I pride myself in being the anti-midas, in how I either attract the worst or facilitate the best's transformation into the worst. I mean, that's clearly what I'm doing with myself, my body, yuck,

It's pathetic really - my ability to run so fast and fall so deep within the darkness. I think some of us just enshrine it within us - and I have been building it within for too long for it to just disappear. I think I keep visiting the haunted parts of my brain to ensure they still exist. Therapy teaches you that you can't take away someone's defence mechanisms without replacing them with something healthier first. For me that was going to be love, an unconditional, everlasting love.

After binge watching a stalker series on Netflix for ten hours straight, I do kind of worry (more than the usual) that such love doesn't exist - and if it does - it isn't healthy. I also think that I am ordinary in the most boring way - fear of loneliness does creep its way into my bones even though I am so fucking good at hiding out alone. I could be with you for years and you won't really know me - I keep a part of me always hidden and as soon as you begin to see the hidden bits, I create more and more walls, barriers, obstacles to always keep me protected.

I said, it feels like there's oceans between me and you - but I create these oceans. And now I speak directly to you. Do you even know who you are? I don't. You're an amalgamation of all my pain and pleasure - all my lovers - ex and present - all my friends - if there ever were any to begin with - my family - my conscience (was I born with one?) - you, this voice in my head, I don't know you who are.

A shapeshifter.

This year is ending, thank god. I can't take any more of this voice in my head. It keeps telling me everything I have ever done wrong. I can't shake the feeling of being a horrible person. Ugly, fat, incompetent, and just plain horrible. I build it up to burn it down. Always. 

Exhausted.

1. I wish he wasn't leaving.
2. People need to be happy. Happiness needs to be fought for.
3. Inculcating empathy is hard. Developing research skills is harder.
4. I constantly miss things and people that were once a part of my life.
5. Fat. Extremely fat.
6. Ugly. Lazy. Incompetent. 
7. Does unconditional love exist?
8. Winter takes the life out of me.
9. People disappoint. Life disappoints. Prepare yourself.
10. Staying sane is exceptionally hard.

Sachchi Mohabbat Kachchi Reh Gayi

RIP.
Rain and Thunder.
2014-2018.

कोई नहीं भुल्दा यारा जींवें तू है भुल्लेया

Hey, you.

I haven't written to you lately, have I? 
Did you think I forgot about you?
Did I fool you for long enough, yet? 
Will this pain ever end?
Will the mention of your name ever stop bringing tears to my eyes?
Have we moved on?
Have you? 
Should I continue honouring our memories or delete all traces of us?
Should I hold on or let go?
How the fuck does one let go?
How will we ever find something, anything that compares? 
Do we want to?
Do you want to?
Or are we just masochists who found this love just to fuel an eternity of pain?
Are we really that broken? Or did we just break each other beyond repair?
Are we still breaking each other?
(Repeatedly and unapologetically.
over and over and over again
Rain and Thunder. 
Thunder and Rain.)