Every day, I get up expecting a change in life. An opportunity. A call. Something. Anything that will bring at least a tiny bit of change. An email… from an old friend. An interview call. Something that will cause a ripple in the still water.
Life is so stupid sometimes. I feel so because it never gives you any break to get to the bottom of the mess you’re in and just keeps moving on.
The problem is (and it’s not created by me so beat it!) that I don’t move on fast in life. I’ve got a turtle’s speed to accept and approve events, phases, basically SHIT that happens in life! I register them, absorb them, think about them spending as much time one would spend thinking about a lover, feel them with undivided attention, then lots of whining and moaning later, dwell on them and live on them so much so that they become the sole purpose of my existence!
While I’m in that phase, I become the forever lonely meme and start writing depressing things. I mean really depressing, gut wrenching, blood dripping, throat lumping shit that I’m almost too embarrassed to share. But since it is a confession and I don’t want to disappoint you so with outmost courage, I am sharing something really stupid/sad/depressing/mother-of-all-suicide-bombers kinda stuff for ya’ll to indulge if you please:
Days pass aimlessly. I feel my energy draining out constantly. All my strength and capabilities fading away. I am being rusted and it scares me. Makes me uncertain about everything. Sometimes, day starts and ends but I don’t know when as I get lost in between. Other times, the day starts and never ends; I am just a captive who can’t get out of it. Like I am holding on to a thread and trying to reach the other end. The Earth revolves in front of my eyes. Dawn breaks on one side and dusk envelops the other. Everyone is running, busy with something, completely oblivious to my existence. Life is moving on and people are fast forwarding in front of my eyes. I want to scream because there is just too much silence in my head but I can’t find my voice. I am still but I want to move and I can’t move. I want to call out for help but my body is resisting. There is a constant fight between my mind and heart and all my senses. Words zoom in and zoom out. I see flashes of my childhood, an old swing, a little classroom, blue painted hallways. Old classmates who sat in the corner and whose name I now can’t recall. Vacant images of houses we once lived in and scribbled our names or poetry verses in the corner of our walls. Presents and diaries and pieces of furniture once dear to me. I see all of them in flashes – then they disappear, and I am the only thing left behind. Something is suffocating me and it’s all dark so I can’t see. Its silence is slowly taking over me and my resistance and screams getting weaker. Darkness is closing in and everything else is fading out. I can only hear my faint heart beat but how can I still be alive?
It’s not very enjoyable to write when all you have to say is stress and sorrow. In fact, it’s extremely hard because while people just read it, one is actually going through it and then sometimes, when you get out of that phase, you feel silly of the things you wrote and shared.
I have often wondered why is it easy (for me) to write about lighter things in life than the ones that are serious. I can write about someone else’s problems and misfortune but my own? It just seems wrong some way or the other and makes me think about the courageous people who have shared their autobiographies.
To me, it feels like you’re stripping yourself naked in public. Allowing people to form an opinion about you. You know how when you go to Youtube and find these home videos people post followed by extremely negative and insanely abusive comments below? Or Facebook groups where so much hatred and name calling is done in the comments section. Most of the people talk trash, pass judgments and shred the dignity of the person to pieces. On a lot of occasions, I have really wanted to give a piece of my mind to some racist idiots but always stopped myself from doing so. It’s foolish to pinch such ignorant whose only point is to demean people online.
But that just doesn’t do justice to my writing. It restricts me and limits my thought process to write only what’s not exposing me. What is safe to write. That damn mind filter takes away just about everything and I hate myself for showing such cowardice. I just don’t prefer to write in response.
Here is a promise to self (that hopefully I’ll keep): “Don’t stop just because you think it’s not worth it. You’re not the only one who rambles about anything that comes to your head and definitely not the only one who is awkward.”
outrageouslyoutspoken 