Its becoming exhausting, finding reasons to stay alive for. its not that a calamity has befallen me. neither have I had a loss of a loved one. i wish it were that, if only I had a legitimate reason for this sadness, this emptiness. an explanation. Chronic Discontent, says google. that’s what i have apparently. its also a sin to be chronically dissatisfied with your life, according to biblehub.com. pretty sure the Quran follows suit. not that i care. there are no real emotions that i can call mine. they’re all a reflection, mirrorred actions and expressions. smile and all will be fine. there is nothing that makes my heart move, nothing i can feel in my chest. an emptiness. sometimes i wonder if i have a heart at all, and then i remember how ridiculous that sounds. of course i have a heart, but then why dont i feel it. why dont i feel joy. the only emotion i can call real and mine is sadness. nothingness. no light. just a hollow vessel that beats and will one day stop. the only moment its not hollow is when i see my own flesh and the blood pouring out, its real. i am real. i exist. i am made of muscle and i bleed when cut. its a moment of realization. gone in an instant. and then we’re back to square one.
I dreamt of her again. Maybe its one of those Jung archetypes things. Someone whom i have barely exchanged a few words to in real life, occupies such a significant place in my mind. Maybe i see myself in her, maybe she is who i want to be. Maybe I’m in love with her.
The last time I dreamt of her she was home to a demon who wouldn’t let her die. We kept her locked up in a room upstairs. She would look down at us from the window sill, draped in her white gown, with that emptiness in her eyes. As if she was looking through us. Like a corpse that breathed and moved.
When she did die, it was chaos. Her body floated in mid air till every last breath of soul left her. Animals of all sorts, white tigers, exotic birds, sleek black dogs, came rushing in the house from every direction to mourn her. We had to close all doors.
This time round though, she was my friend. I spoke to her. She asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up. “A psychiatrist,” I told her. She listened and never interrupted. We talked some more. Then she took my hand and led me to her home. It was a small room with four hospital beds. A plastic doll with ragged clothes and an IV line hung on one side, slept in each of them. “I practise on them”, she had said.
We sat on one of the beds. She asked me why I dream of him so much. If I’m in love with him already. I wanted to tell her I’m in love with her, instead I kept silent. Watched her every move, memorized it. I told her its time for me to leave, that the uber fares would rise anytime soon.
When I came out I realized I was in my own living room. I was already home. She was in my home.
It’s more of a personal growth, an obstacle within the Self that I have to overcome. I made a promise to myself. A part of me believes that I’m ready, that now is the right time. It’s amazing how much I’ve grown in these past couple of years. The worst year of my life, 2013, or as i like to call it, The Great Depression, started making its comeback last year. I could tell in an instant. I was better aware now, wiser. I knew the signs like the back of my hand. Un-called-for crying spells, cocky and bitter demeanor, sabotaging all friendships, indulging in self-destructive behaviors. All of them painted a picture. A picture I had already lived in. It took me some time to come out. I knew I was hurting, but being aware of it was not enough. I didn’t know how to help myself. The turning point was Rushaan’s death, or rather, suicide. When i heard it first, i remember forgetting how to breath. It shook me so violently. All i could see was myself in her shoes. I started imagining scenarios. Ugly pictures. Me jumping off the college corridors, me stabbing myself with a knife, me drinking rat poison. Whenever i would close my eyes all i could see was a razor smoothly running through flesh, breaking skin leaving a trail of exposed meat, blood oozing out. It was hell but it felt like home.
Once you’ve had it for a long time, depression starts feeling like that– home, a safe space, a comfort zone. You never want to get out of it. The picture is ugly but it feels like a warm blanket on a cold night. Recovery feels like a frigid breeze. And every step you take to get out is heavier than walking out of frozen lake. Once you do get out, the wind slaps you in the face and all traces of that cozy sleep escape, your eyes open up to reality.
So I made a promise to myself this year. What I am about to do may feel like a slap in the face. It maybe the worst slap of all the other self-growth decisions I’ve taken this year. It may be the dumbest thing I will be remembered for in my college, I may be made fun of (hell I’m probably already being made fun of), the other person may think of me as a lovesick loser, but I still want to do it. If I succeed it would mean I won over my Shadow. That I overcame my doubts, widened my comfort zone, and took a step closer to integrating my thoughts with my reality. It’s about me growing and finally making friends with someone I’ve fancied for the longest time.
I keep telling myself that I’ll find someone else like you. But I’m lying to myself, I know it. God only made one of you and he sure took his time. It’s funny how you are a reminder of all my fears and all my doubts combined. I would call you my worse nightmare if I werent in love with you. Its amazing how life plays out, how ridiculously drawn I am towards you. There have been a dozen guys who came and went but in my mind there is only room for you. Part of me wants to run to you and confess with my whole chest so that everyone knows, part of me wants to run away and hide whenever I see you. Please God give me courage.
I see you shy away
And retreat your eyes to your feet
Hands in pockets, heart on sleeve
Head buzing with an inner monologue
I wish i could see the thoughts that go down in your dreams
Be able to see just an ounce of what you hide underneath
I stare at you in disbelief
Maybe its true, maybe gods do walk the earth
Or are you an angel that fell and decided to stay
I feel like I’ve known you for an eternity
Your head lifts and our eyes meet
It feels like looking in a mirror
Behind your armour of indifference
I see a human, flesh and blood, mortal
With a heart bursting with emotion,
Hardened by the past, or is it by fear of what is to come?
Like a river that runs down a hundred miles to find its shore
Maybe we were destined to meet
Or maybe we’ve already met in a past life,
And this is us remembering parts of it
This time it’s me who looks away
I remind myself, you’re still a stranger
And destiny is a thing of fantasies
I walk away, but in my heart i know
If we were to ever touch
It would be like two stars colliding
This blog has evolved into a cathartic journal diary as if i dont already have 5 different rant accounts all over social media. Its funny, the way i cope with life, the way i resort to speaking online where nobody can judge me or know the real me and the way i am so closed off to everyone around me. It’s not like i havent tried letting people in, its just that my feelings scare me and the thought of opening up gives me a panic attack. One time i was telling my best friend of almost 7 years what i wanted to be in the future and i suddenly couldnt speak, like all muscles had given up in my throught and i could feel tears threatening to fall if i continue even 1 more second, and my hands started shaking too. Its amazing how i cant even talk about something as simple as my future without my body going into overdrive. I dont understand why my friends havent left me yet.
People who dont know me think of me as someone who has everything figured out, someone who is too “cool” to be having any troubles with life. And that brings us to my actual rant. Everywhere i’ve been, every person i’ve known has always loved me. I was the favourite child, the favourite student, the smartest the prettiest the wittiest the one all guys are intimidated by the one who has it all. All these people loved a persona of me. Their liking was based on a part of me that i showed them, my extended family loves the chirpy sociable me on eid get togethers, my teachers loved the shy well-behaved studious me, the guys liked me for my looks, my friends liked me beacause i went out of my way to make them feel good. They would run away if i showed them a part of me that was ugly. If i were vulnerable with them and showed them my insecurities, my fears or my real thoughts, they would all leave. I have never grown to live with the feeling of not being liked, never experienced being the least favourite and the thought of soemone hating me makes me want to throwup from anxiety. They like a persona of me and it should be that way. They like the chirpy, smiley, pretty, shy me and i cant show them the suicidal, ugly, anxious, depressed me. So i speak into the void where the people i know in real life wouldnt have to face the real me. And everybody would live happily ever after. Thats how i’ve planned to live i guess. Not the smartest idea but not like i’m planning to live that long either
I dont dream often about airplanes, but when i do, its always painful. Not in the literal sense, its just poignant or plain hurtful to the heart for some reason. Its never a happy dream. Another dream i have had too many times is about moving. Moving on or moving away or moving out, that i have yet to figure out. But one thing I’m sure of, its about moving from a home, my home, either one.
Yesterday I dreamt about boarding a plane to the new home again. I never board it per se, I just appear in the seats. Always on the aisle side. Never close to the window. I wasnt alone, all the extended family of mum’s side was on it too, i dont know which one or how many, but their presence was felt. We have to cross a sea, or a river, some body of water that is big enough to produce violent waves and dark clouds sans rain. We have to cross it and its night time. The clouds are heavy but there is no thunder or downpour. I sit in my seat, my fists clenching the armrest as my gut squeezes upon itself, giving me a nauseous feeling. I silently pray and shut my eyes close, i pray we make it out alive. We’re halfway through when suddenly a giant wave makes way for the plane. Its inching closer, threatening to engulf the plane in one go. I think of how awful a death in an ocean would be, how awful dying wet would be. The wave comes for us, and hits the base of the plane, rocking it a bit and leaving our feet wet, but we make it out of it. The plane stumbles but gets back on its tracks moments later. I let out a long held breath. We cross the other half smoothly.
When we reach our destination, i realize there is no destination. We made it out here, such a long troublesome journey and it went to no use. We reach a hotel that panders only to the rich. We get our cutlery from a cupboard but its made of plastic, my cousins and i stifle a laugh but eat in it nonetheless. The food is bland. This is not the ending i was hoping for. I fled home but i cant find a destination. But i made it through the storm, a bumpy ride but cathartic nonetheless. I think i’ve cleared the first step. Now i just need to figure out the end.
This blog started as an experiment, i wanted to network and grow with a community of writers, trying to find my kind. but now that i look back, it was nothing more than an identity crisis. when my brain decided this wasnt the real me i switched platforms, hell i switched identities. I am no longer a writer, i am a photographer. isnt that right. who am i even. the person in the mirror, is she real. are the experiences that my mind relies on as concrete, a proof of my existence or they just a thing my brain made up to keep me from facing my real self. i have put so much of myself on the internet it amazes me. was this me trying to find someone who would listen to me, or was it just an outlet for the things i don’t want to say to anyone but a screen. Things i would rather let get lost in a void of bits and zeros.
sometimes the urge is too strong and giving in seems like the easiest most comfortable option. your mind goes blank and the people you care about seem very small and distant, shrinking further, disappearing. there is no right and wrong no conscience no morals. the line between reality and dreams glitches, blurry. just one step away. all of it. it seems the easiest. last heartbeats, breaths last thought. right in your palms in your fist. it feels within your control. one thing fate can’t dictate is what you decide to do with yourself. do i really want to stop. ive stopped feeling already. do i want to stop the rush. i can make myself suffer. its in my own hands. i can chose to. i dont want to stop.