It's that godforsaken month again.

 “2 November. This morning, for the first time in a long time, the joy again of imagining a knife twisted in my heart.”

― Franz Kafka, Diaries, 1910-1923

احوال

اس نے احوال پوچھا، تو میں نے کہا، دل نہیں لگ رہا، دل نہیں لگ رہا۔

One song that I always purposely misinterpret. It's a beautiful song, and I'll continue giving it my own meaning. That's the beauty of art, innit?

I would have embedded the song here, for the ghosts of my once-followers, had I been any less lazy.

Our past lives

In my past life - perhaps I was just as much melancholy, and more. But a part of me, a part that consists of me end to end - wishes to me to be now just as I was then.

I miss myself - the most.

وہ جو راستوں کا یقین تھے

میرے ہمسفر، تجھے کیا خبر

یہ جو وقت ہے کسی دھوپ چھاؤں كے کھیل سا

اسے دیکھتے ، اسے جھیلتے

میری آنکھ گرد سے اٹ گئی

میرے خواب ریت میں کھو گئے

میرے ہاتھ برف سے ہو گئے

میرے بے خبر تیرے نام پر

وہ جو پھول کھلتے تھے ہونٹ پر

وہ جو دیپ جلتے تھے بام پر

وہ نہیں رہے

وہ نہیں رہے

کہ وہ جو ایک ربط تھا درمیان وہ بکھر گیا

وہ ہوا چلی

وہ کسی شام ایسی ہوا چلی

كے جو برگ تھے سَر شاخ جاں ، وہ گرا دیئے

وہ جو حرف درج تھے ریت پر ، وہ اڑا دیئے

وہ جو راستوں کا یقین تھے

!وہ جو منزلوں کے آمین تھے

وہ نشان پا بھی مٹا دیئے

میرے ہمسفر ، ہے وہی سفر

مگر ایک موڑ کے فرق سے

تیرے ہاتھ سے میرے ہاتھ تک

وہ جو ہاتھ بھر کا تھا فاصلہ

کئی موسموں میں بَدَل گیا

اسے ناپتے ، اسےکاٹتے 

میرا سارا وقت نکل گیا

تو میرے سفر کا شریک ہے

میں تیرے سفر کا شریک ہوں

پر جو درمیان سے نکل گیا

اسی فاصلے کے شمار میں

اسی بے یقین سے غبار میں

اسی راہگزر کے حصار میں

تیرا راستہ کوئی اور ہے

...میرا راستہ کوئی اور ہے

 امجد اسلام امجد -

My birthday and I don't mix well.

My birthdays have a tendency to go wrong.

After a 30 of them, I should've gotten used to it.

But, no.

Well. Happy birthday to me!

What's the half-life for a splinter?

A part of me chipped away yesterday. And I didn't get a chance to mourn it even.

The part that chipped, an eerie fear has taken its place. It has dug in to me its tendrils, while sitting there innocuously... Or so it seems superficially.

I'm having trouble breathing right now. I can't seem to draw enough air into my lungs for them to feel okay. There's a violent riot going on inside my head.

B didn't lie to me. But he wasn't completely honest either.

Where did I go wrong?

And then there's that narcissist inside me that feels wounded because well, hello reality check, it wasn't enough.

 No, I'm not the best thing to have happened to him.

A part of me wants to mock the other part of me.

I'm nothing.

Apparently, I'm so much of nothing that I wasn't even worthy of being told the whole truth.

Honest to god, never in my wildest nightmares did I ever see insincerity as a threat to our relationship. Yes, it brushed up against me very rarely during the worst of our fights but... not in its true sense.

Aitebaar... I'm in a daze.

Two days and a half perhaps, and I have hardly had 2 meals.

I've lost my appetite. And I've lost a part of me too.

Phaans chubh gayi thi mujhe aur uss phaans ko nikaalne ke bajaye kisi ne andar he ghoonp diya.

What's the half-life for a splinter?

A dense feeling of overwhelming helplessness has wrapped around me... you've seen how they wrap your luggage at the airport? In the cling film sorta plastic, right? Helplessness is that cling film and I'm a sorry piece of luggage.

A luggage that might be the last one left at the baggage claim, a luggage that might as well get lost and would never be claimed.

My self-esteem didn't need this. It was at an all time low anyway.

I've got a slit right above where my heart is inside my chest.

The voices in my head, they're whispering to each other, and sometimes to me... so many questions. Some even mocking me.

Did I fail? Just like that?

Was I really worth all this?

A part of me smiles - in disbelief. This all has to be a big joke. It's not real, right? It's...

A draft suicide note.

One of those days, I would have killed myself. And once that happens and you find my lifeless corpse, please remind yourself that it was my fault. That I was wrong, that I did not respect you. That I had no consideration for you and/ or for all the things that you've done for me. Please remind yourself I never tried to reconcile and it was only you who tried to make things work. And most of all, please remind yourself that whenever things didn't go as per my wishes I wreaked havoc. And there we'll be - my lifeless vessel and your well-meaning thoughts for me.

I'm not okay today. Wasn't yesterday either.

I feel on the edge these days. Agitated to the core. It's... It's tragic. My last week with my parents... at my home. The only place in this whole wide world that I can still call 'home'. And I feel so wretched.

Ammi mentioned about me being in a furious mood all the time. I'm a ticking time-bomb. You'd never know and something you'd say could make me go off. I've been acting so deplorably with both my parents. Especially when I should love them as much as I can and gather as much of their affection to last me however long it will be. Because these are the only people in my life right now who love me no matter what.

But I'm not very much in my senses. I feel ungrounded. My mind is a hot mess, not so different from my life itself. I end up venting out at them in the most wrong and undeserved ways. I feel so sorry! I feel so helpless! Everything just keeps adding to this profound feeling of self-loathing.

I blame him for all of this. I'll probably never forgive him for this madness that has seized me - that makes it so hard for me to breathe.

He has no realisation of how his actions and behaviour have morphed me into the worst possible version of myself.

Life will go on. I'll get back to normal again... whatever normal refers to, that is. I'll start talking again. Life as we know it will resume, once again. But all this, that has happened will leave scars on me. And I'll remember.

I'll remember that somebody fucked my head up so miserably that instead of cherishing my last few days with my parents before leaving for another year perhaps... I fucked things up.

That nasty blob inside my ribs.

I am tired. Extremely. Tired. And yet, can't seem to fall asleep.

Something's weighing me down a bit too much tonight.

It's my aching heart. I can feel it aching but not kist inside my ribs, in the palms of my hand, in the back of my neck, in all my limbs.

As if pain was not abstract but matter and my heart was pumping atoms and molecules of it into my veins.

It doesn't cease to hurt. Not when I'm lying down staring at the ceiling, not when I'm watching TV and the visuals and sounds fade away into a void, not when I'm leaning against ammi like a disorderly clump of existence, not when I'm driving, not ever. It hurts, incessantly.

I'm tired. Extremely.

The ripped fabric of somebody's once beautiful existence

I feel like parts of my soul are tearing away from my existence. Every single time I hear a rip, I feel an excruciating pull, and something leaves me. How long before I no longer have a soul, it makes me wonder woefully.

I want to see my therapist and speak to her. She's not the best, if I must say. But she's my safe space. I can tell her anything, say whatever is in mind and know for a fact that it won't be taken against me. It will not incriminate me. It will not blow-up in my face. I know that she will understand and may even offer a theory on why I might be feeling how I feel. Without patronizing me. Without making me feel emotionally unsafe.

Thoughts I'd tell her today - thoughts that kept me awake last night:

I have a theory, and I think it's a good one. You know how when a piece of glass or ceramic falls and breaks into pieces - if it shatters into a few pieces, let's a couple or more, some of us might pick them up and try to put them back together. Glue them along the cracks. Make it whole again. Not as good as new, but... whole. 

If it shatters into a few too many pieces though... would anybody pick them up? Try to put them back together? Not a chance. 

In fact, we'd try and be careful around those shards so as to not get hurt by them. We'd tread carefully, we'd be careful not to touch them as they might pierce our skin. Make us bleed. We'd get a brush and sweep them up and into a bin.

They can never be whole again.

We're kinder to things that can be made whole again. Hence, we pick them up and put them together. We're crueler to things that are beyond repair, more so if they have sharp, jagged edges. So, we stay away (from) and cautious of them, and make sure they end up in a bin so we don't get hurt.

I feel like a once beautiful ceramic urn that broke into 'one too many' pieces.

How did my life break into a free fall? How did people who used to look up to me, love me - unconditionally(!), turn against me?  I've not hit the bottom yet - because every time I think I've hit the bottom, I'm made to realise that there's further down to go.

It's an abyss.

I don't want to go back. Allah saaiin, please let me die before I can ever go back.

شیشوں کا مسیحا کوئی نہیں 

کیا آس لگائے بیٹھے ہو 

Recurrence.

Tum jaanti ho tumhari ghalti kya hai?

Tum apni auqaat bhool jati ho.
Tum kuch nahin ho. Tum koi nahin ho.
Tum yeh bhool jati ho.

Raining cats and more cats

December of 2012. It was then, I think. It rained cats and dogs one night. S and Z were visiting Bj. Ammi and papa were asleep. And the wind was going just mad. Banging on the doors. With bouts of rain water slapping equally insanely, and instantaneously with the wind. The rain tonight reminds me of that. I was looking up mails that I wrote that night. I couldn't find them. Was looking for a needle in a haystack anyway. I found another email thread though. From October that year. I was going to six flags. B was going for laser-tag. Both of us had a good time. The idea seems quite remote now. I made pakoras today. Aaloo. They were really good. Thought of B, B would have liked them too. I slept after Fajr last night, I believe. Woke up after three. Whatever sleep I've been getting has been a weird sort. Very 'awoken', very conscious. My flu has gotten a lot worse today. I pruned and washed all the plants. They still had fairy-lights hanging over them. It's been, what, 7, 8 months now. I took them off and wound them up. They had a thick coating of dust. B sends me cat videos almost everyday. Our cat's videos. She's absolutely silly. My mind wanders in all directions these days. Leaping randomly between multiple timelines. It makes me very dizzy.

Jet & other lags

I woke up a little before one in the afternoon today. I was a tad relieved it wasn't three again. I woke up and had chai and biscuits. I missed having chai-biscuits for breakfast, as I simultaneously remembered how being stuck with chai-biscuits, and not a rather hearty breakfast, used to agitate me back then sometimes. My home's the same, but a little more aged than I remember. Just like my parents. A part of me dreads the day I'll have to go back away. My mind is making my jet lag worse - with useless thoughts of future that I cannot do much about at the moment. I'm having a hard time staying in the moment. Especially at night, as I lie down futilely in search of some sleep. Hundreds of unnecessary thoughts shape shift into creepy tendrils protruding out of my bed and clutching me in their not tight but eerie clasp. I sat with ammi for a while in the afternoon. Told her about the meetup plan with my KP friends. A part of me wanted the plan to get canceled, but didn't want 'me' to be the one cancelling. I dropped a text on the group: "Are we on for today?" "Yes!", responded Ibis. I pulled myself up and went to pick out my clothes. More later. May be.

Despite

I got my promotion letter today, with many compliments and a pay raise.

It was a better than average day, despite everything.

Sigh.

Life's great, except that what really matters.

-

Hollow relationships, and a truckload of egos.

-

I miss chacha very much. I hope I get to meet him soon.

I learnt a new word today.

'Reticent'.

And in that, I've also found a new aspiration.

Adjectives

Disrespectful.

Aggressive.

Unreasonable.

Ungrateful.

Unappreciative.

Hypocrite.

Unapologetic.

Self-righteous.

Over-sensitive.

Spiteful.

Impatient.

And the list goes on for a while...

Lo and behold! Presenting to you, myself.

Ashiyanay ki baat kartay ho
Dil jalanay ki baat kartay ho

Saari duniya ke ranj-o-gham de kar
Muskuranay ki baat kartay ho...

Barbaad dil ka aakhri sarmaya thi umeed
Woh bhi tou tum ne cheen li mujh ghareeb se...

Tum aur fareb khao bayaan-e-raqeeb se
Tum se tou kam gilla hai, zyada naseeb se...

Suicides are in again. Sigh.

A lot of news on people committing suicide these days. Good, happy, accomplished people, as far as appearances and superficiality is concerned. They took their lives.

Would it be a surprise then, if a failed person like me decides to die? Not at all.

Here's something I read today, an excerpt from David Foster Wallace:

The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.

If only people knew.

My heart feels like a heavy boulder crushing my insides today.

Comprehension

I don't understand things anymore. I don't understand people anymore.

I don't have any idea how this world and its social construct works any longer.

It's as if I woke up from a deep sleep and everything's changed.

I don't know anything, anyone, anymore.

-

I'd rather be dead.

This isn't a life I ever wanted. This isn't a life I had ever wished for.

I need a manual

Bohat saaray dukh hain yaar, bohat saaray. Lekin koi sun'nay wala nahin.

Kaash yeh saaray dukh jamma karke kisi thailay mein daal ker samundar mein phenk aasakti mein.

Mein inhe apne saath nahin rakh sakti mazeed.

-

I didn't go to work.

I'm not feeling good.

I couldn't have sehri today. I sat at the table for a while but couldn't get anything down my throat. Couldn't even have a single glass of water.

Have been locked in the room ever since I woke up.

Head's started to hurt now, as well as my eyes.

I am wondering who should I ask to be a little more considerate towards me if not the people who love me? Should I be asking strangers to be more sensitive towards me, is that what's supposed to be done? I'm very confused. Because I was censured for asking somebody to be a little sensitive.

I don't know who else would try to make me feel better if not these people who claim to care about me.

I just had a bad day... It was just a bad day. It wasn't even in my control. So, why was I punished for it. It was just a bad day that tainted me a little, and I failed to pretend that I was fine, that everything was fine.

I think I need to make myself understand that I'm not allowed to have a bad day. I'm not allowed to feel a little down and low.

Or not. It's actually just that I'm not allowed to let others know about it.

Sigh. I won't now. I will just need a lot of strength and a lot of patience. To bear everything alone, on my own, without ever letting it show.

That shouldn't be hard.

Just received a memo

Suck it up.

Nobody gives a dime worth of a damn, so shut up and take your sorry little existence elsewhere.

Do you understand?

It was bad, until it became worse

It was a bad day, but not so bad that I'd imagine myself crying to sleep and then wake up and cry again.

If there's anything I've learnt, it's that bad has an extremely strong tendency to become worse. Any day.

Back to square one.

At times, I'm unable to tell the difference between people who love me and the ones who hate me.

I wish not everyone was out there to teach me a lesson.

I'm not an outlaw.

Ever feel so hurt you can't eat or drink? Not because of loss of appetite, but because there's a whole chock of something stuck in between your throat and your chest.

Sigh. Who am I talking to!?

Sheeshoun ka maseeha koi nahin, kya aas lagaye baithay ho...?

Glory Lost

I have noticed that I have started avoiding encounters with my past - in all shapes and forms. Be it pictures, memories, mementos, letters, etc.

I am frightened by the possibility of hurt that it might bring.

I cannot bring myself to think about the times I was happy or even the times I was not this miserable, because it somehow leads me into questioning and reflecting upon my present state.

I cannot find solace in my past memories of good times, or better times, because a voice inside my head starts drawing a parallel between my then and now. Where did I go wrong, it asks.

And I don't have answers - I cross my heart. I don't have answers.

I wish I could go back to being the same kind of person that I once was - kind at heart and loving.

Smart and brilliant.

When I had met J. uncle quite a few months ago, he had told me that I am a brilliant girl and I should never change being that... I wish that were true... May be what he remembers of me is from years ago.

I remember when I was on exchange S. had asked me to never change and stay as lively and dynamic as I was then... And I had laughed and nodded.

It breaks my heart... And hence, I avoid encounters with my past -  as if it never existed.

-

It's my fault. All of it.

I lost control of my life, and instead of just letting everything be and letting time play out its turn, I hurried things.

Had I been a little patient, may be I wouldn't have destroyed myself.

Yes. I destroyed myself.

No one else is responsible for this. I refused to accept my fate as my fate, and here I am.

-

Have you ever seen ash hold the form and shape of the object it once was before it was burnt completely?

It appears to be intact until you touch it even ever-so-gently and it dissipates into a powdery state that is its reality.

I feel such.

-

There's a reason people (should) bury their dead. Dead things rot. And the rot does not fare well with the living.

I need to be buried.

-

I have wounds that were left open in anticipation of a healer to come and tend to them. That never happened, and I was left with open wounds.

Open wounds get infected.

-

Where did I go wrong?

I am extremely unhappy and I just don't know how to change that.

There's nothing to look forward to.

Desperate times

Those are desperate times, when your only hope is - God.

-

Each blow chips a part of me, off me, and what grows in its place is not me.

How long before there is no me?

A death of its own kind.

Kya kya na dil-e-zaar ne dhoondi hain panahain

There are thousands of people dying everyday, why can't I be one of them?

I begged Him. But He doesn't listen to me anymore. 

And that's my fault too.

I wish to be dead - all of me - completely - not just parts of me, as they are now. 

And strangely, that's the only thing I want for myself at times.

Of all the things that could be.

Claustrophobic.

Wide-awake.

L'Hexagone

I want to go back to France again. See more of it. Meet my friends.

I miss France. Very much.

I am not happy.

I don't need an apology

I just need to hear that it was an honest mistake and you realise that.

Here's the thing: 

As humans, ordinary people, we hurt and get hurt. That's a norm. You hurt, get hurt, seek forgiveness, are asked for forgiveness, and life goes on. So far, so good.

Problem lies where you hurt somebody, and not just you don't seek forgiveness but you also don't realize and acknowledge that somebody's gotten hurt as a result of something you did.

There's too much talk about self - we rationalize everything we do. And while at it, we completely discount how or what others may feel.

We're all guilty of it. And victims, too.

Switched off

Cannot function.

Fumbling in the dark for the switch that would turn me back on.

It's too dark, and I cannot make sense of anything right now.

Three is a crowd

It's papa's birthday today.

I spoke to my therapist in the afternoon today. She's in Dubai, so we had to have an online session.

H & M have been blessed with a baby. She's adorable MashAllah. H is over the moon. He texted me today again, and asked why did I sound so low. I told him things aren't OK with my in-laws which is affecting my relationship with B.

He's been through a similar situation. H's family wasn't readily convinced on getting him married to M. So, they've had to deal with a lot of family dramas too. But there was a slight point of difference, between them and us. H was on M's side, even when things weren't on her side.

So, he naively assumed the same case for me. And advised that I ride the wave for now. When we'll be together it'll be up to us how we shape our personal life, and how much of external interference do we allow. Like I said, naive.

Did I mention Inaya is adorable!! MashAllah. May she be blessed with a good heart and may she be surrounded with people with good hearts too. Amen.

Sometime in the evening today, I stared endearingly at Ammi for a few moments and told her that I'm so thankful to God that he gave us parents like her and papa. I hope and pray that if I ever get a chance to be a parent, I turn out like mine. They've beautiful hearts, especially Ammi.

Ammi stays worried for me these days...


What sort of relationship is this? Everything about it has been a controversy, since the inception. And the trend continues.

I needed a family that would have loved me and cared about me, my feelings.

Long weekend ends tonight. Back to work now. The only place that was a relief for me has now also turned into a shit hole. Welcome to my life, reader.

I was looking forward to (eventually) spending time with B alone once we were to be together. Just the two of us. Uninterrupted.  For each other. Understanding, rehabilitating our relationship.

But so long to that idea too. No alone time for us. There will be company.

Sigh.

Did I ever mention the wallet I bought for him finally reached him? After much running after the company guys, and escalating issues to the owners. Didn't even get a chance to be happy about that. Fml.

It's a closed alley, my friend.

Bh. congratulated me about the wedding date; I didn't have a response to her. Didn't appreciate being congratulated either. But it's not her fault. I shouldn't get upset with my own people.

I'm feeling tired now. I should sleep.

Grey hair

I need an apology. An honest unconditional apology in which a person apologizes not because one thinks the other person needs to hear an apology.

But an apology where the person admits, acknowledges, accepts the wrongs (direct or indirect, intentional or unintentional) and therefore(!), apologizes.

Nobody's sorry. One ought to be.

I kissed ammi and papa today and told them one by one that I love them. Ammi said she loved me too, and papa just asked why, so I told him because he's too cute.

BJ won't be coming for the wedding. I'll rather he comes for S's in December. So, I'll compromise on that. Well, not that I had another option.

I feel like quitting my job. Not because it sucks, it's great. But because I cannot juggle life together with my job anymore. It's too taxing.

I don't look at myself in the mirror much these days. But I did catch a glimpse of my hair a couple of days ago for it to hit me that it has turned even grey-er than I last remember.

I'm not going to get them dyed. My grey hair are my souvenirs, they'll help me remember what I've been through. I have a nostalgic bond with them.

B is extremely ignorant. Ignorance is bliss, they say, so good for him.

S's in-laws seem to be good people. I hope they always stay good with/ to her, inshaAllah.

I've started stress eating a lot lately.

Why do people have to take away the happiness out of my happy moments? Why do these moments tend to get ruined for me?

I wish B was on my side. Not to fight against the rest of world for me, if that's not possible. But to put a hand on my shoulder, and tell me that he's there with me and he understands - understands that the world is being tough on me.

But no. He had to be on the other side. He's not the hand on my shoulder, he's one of the fingers raised at me.

I'm angry. There are times when I can feel my blood boiling.

I should calm down. Because this is life now.

Nothing is OK.

The last two weeks of my life so far, have been excruciatingly tough on me.

Nothing is OK.

My personal life had been going south since quite a while now, but work life has followed suit too. The race is on - which one further devastates me first.

It's been three odd days I guess; I've been tearing up and/ or feeling on the verge of bursting out in tears and cries almost randomly - irrespective of the time and place, not to forget the context.

I was driving to work, I burst out in tears. I was driving back home, and I noticed the warmth of tears rolling down my cheeks. I was sitting in a meeting, listening to my director's opinion on a matter and teared up.

Truth is, it hurts. It hurts unbearably much.

It hurts that your life partner does not stand by your side. It hurts that I've been wronged time and again, and yet I have been condemned over speaking against it. It hurts that instead of being told that whatever is happening with my life is unfair and it shouldn't have happened, I'm being told to suck it up.

It hurts. That I'm not being comforted but confronted.

Who do I blame though? This person who does not even acknowledge whatever is happening or has happened, is wrong? For this person, whatever is happening is absolutely OK, it's well justified, it's acceptable, and reasonable.

The least that could have been said to me was, "I know whatever is happening is not fair, but I'm here by your side - I know this is unfair to you. But please, can you bear with this for me? I wish I could've not let this happen, and I am ashamed that I cannot do anything about it. But I love you, and it's hurting me too, to see you get hurt. But please, for me. For us. Hang in there."

But no. This is too much to ask for. Given what I'm worth, after all. I shouldn't forget.

There's another truth that I've stumbled upon very recently.

This hurt; it's not because of my mental health, my depression. This hurt is real, not abstract. This hurt is what any other person, with a perfectly healthy mental state would feel too, if put through the same that I am going through lately.

Yes, I may have been diagnosed with depression, but this (what I'm feeling lately) is not it - this is simply just 'getting hurt' by people you love, and people who profess they love you.

Bully

I am supposed to be working right now. On a presentation, scheduled for tomorrow, that I have been working on since last week.

It has taken its toll on me.

And then there is my life, apart from work...

I felt like a child last night, who was getting beaten up by some bullies. Begging them to stop, but they won't.

Do you know how that feels? I do now.

I cried and cried. S woke up to it and tried to pacify me. I told her it was late and she must sleep. She asked me to sleep too.

So, I slept.

Sleep takes away the pain.

It's a much deeper wound this time.

Angst at twenty-eight

I want to scream at the top of my lungs;
So hard and so loud, that
All the hurt, all the rage
All the sorrows, and all the agony
Leave me and my body free
And dissipate into the air. 
All these emotions are weighing me down.
Like an anchor dropped down in the sea of despair.


Everybody is a liar and hypocrite. I'm sick, and I hate everyone. I wish to run far, far away. Farther away from all these people who say they love me. They're the ones who, without any understanding, want to chain me down and conform to them, their whims, their likes, dislikes.

I sound like an angst-y teen today.

But all of this is all too real.

Thick skin

I'm tired of being forced into things.

It's one of those days again, when I don't prefer being still alive.

Come, let's cry ourselves to sleep because the pain is unbearable again.

Today was exceptionally rough. And alone.

The last three years

Fall/ Winter '14: 
He was drifting off and I was latching on to him like a person whose life depended on it.

Spring/ Summer '15: 
He left and I eventually accepted that I cannot make him stay.

Fall/ Winter '15: 
He realised he might still love me, but there wasn't much left to salvage now. While I hysterically rummaged through relationships to fill up the colossal void that I was left with in my soul.

Spring/ Summer '16: 
All my relationships were hysterical lies told by a person gripped in fear of being abandoned again and/ or ending up alone, to herself. While he decided he needs to walk back into my life and I should allow it.

Fall/ Winter '16: 
He fights me to let him in, while he simultaneously fought his case with his family. He wins.

Spring/ Summer '17: 
I am a person losing her grip on reality and sanity; hanging in a limbo - of perpetual anticipation.

Fall/ Winter '17: 
We turn into horrible versions of ourselves, while love takes a back seat and cringes.

-

It hit me as I was stepping into the same elevator I had stepped out of 11 hours ago as I head off to work.

I realised what he had said. What last three years? The last one year, yes perhaps, I will not defend that. But the two years before that? No... How can he say that?

Mere thought of it wrings my heart off life - sends out a spasm of agony that pierces the soul.

So, I thought I needed a recap.

I'm sorry I woke up, was what I wanted to say instead.

AV

In the morning today, I had decided that I'd write a note before I go to sleep tonight. About my day, my feelings, and my feelings about my day.

Although I'm extremely tired, and gave up on the idea initially, yet I eventually decided against all odds and came to write a note.

Truth be told, I'm too tired to backtrack and think about the day.

All I want to say right now is that I wish I could see my therapist everyday. She's the only person I really speak to. And now it doesn't even bother me that I pay someone to just buy their time so that they'd hear me out. It is what it is. And I like talking to her.

It relieves me a little knowing that I'm not going to die with all these feelings, emotions and thoughts bottled up inside me.

I just don't like it when she forces me to think too hard and put a finger on my feelings and describe them. I feel trapped at times when I don't have answers to her questions.

Sigh.

In the next session, I plan to speak to her about S.

I need to sleep. My only respite, from life itself.

Thank you God for sleep.

Punched in the stomach

I planned to sleep, but then I reckoned writing might help a little.

So here I am, again, feeling jaded.

May be this was a bad idea. I'll just go.

But before I go...

I wish people in my life didn't make it the sole purpose of their lives to punch me in the stomach, especially when I am already drowning with my own weight - hitting a rock-bottom.

My phone's buzzing... I think an apology is in order. Why? Because I am me. And this me needs to apologize to others for being itself.

It's easier to apologize than it is to explain.

And that folks, is how your own defense mechanism destroys you.

P.S. All I have with me is an inventory of failed relationships, at every level. Well done, me.

Don't

Breathe.

'Unnecessarily aggressive'

It's this feeling of deprivation of an extreme sort that comes over me and drowns me.

I feel alone lonely. Loneliness is a killer, innit? Hmm, it is.

Without giving principles of prose and writing much importance, I will be mostly jotting down my thoughts merely.

I think sometimes I know what I need. Validation. It is validation, I subconsciously seek.

I miss Lahore very much today. To the point that as I write this I feel my eyes tearing up.

And why do I miss Lahore?

Because I miss my people. Who made me feel like I was something, who cherished and appreciated me, who approved of me.

I feel broken again today.

It's this sense of deprivation of some kind.

I have everything. So, what is it?

Heart, hurt, and the hullabaloo

I don't even believe in this day. And yet, my heart feels a little heavy on the absence of commemoration (or acknowledgement).

Solitary Confinement

Locked myself in a cell today. There's no light coming in, and very little air - getting lesser by the day. At this rate, and if all goes as per plan, I should die soon.

It's a controlled experiment.

There is no air.

I feel my heart sinking again. It has started happening a lot lately.

There's a haunting sense of loneliness.

They weigh me down, these people. Every time I talk to them, it feels as if somebody has tied my heart with a boulder and chucked it into a lake - to sink.

They may not be bad people, but are the necessarily good to me? I don't have an answer yet - and that my friend, should be called 'optimism'.

I'm losing my grip on things. I'm fading away so fast it's becoming hard for me to remember what it was like.

I'm too much. He had said once. He wasn't wrong, was he?

I can't breathe.

Rot

Are you aware that affection can also rot away?

All things - body, heart, and the soul, and everything within - can rot.

Especially dead stuff.

Prisoner

Do you know what captivity feels like?

There's a line between place and part - which is to say they're two different constructs. To me, it's a very distinct line. But I wonder if it actually is?

I've been wallowing in extreme self-doubt recently. It's been quite some time now. I've discovered that people around me see, hear and feel the world very differently - it's a stark contrast, almost. My perspective appears to be illusory to me.

Between my mental health issues and my real-life problems, I cannot tell which is which anymore. My mental issues create real-life problems and my problems feed my mental instability. It's a vicious self-feeding loop.

Sometimes I sit myself down to understand the mechanics behind my current state of affairs. I think about a wounded man, with spears sticking into him - all of him. The small spaces of bloody flesh left in between the spearheads have shards of glass sticking into them. Not a single un-pierced inch left. You see him there, lying in the pool of his own blood. How do you help him? How do you touch him? Without pushing those blades further inside him.

May be you just let him lie there, and die slowly, and painfully. May be you just put him out.

I don't know. I am not the bystander.

Bokeh

There are moments in a day when I eagerly want to just die. At times it seems to be the only way to jolt people around me up to stop taking me for granted. And the most sinister-ly apt too. Because death leaves the living with no second chances. Only regrets.

I feel hurt. So broken, that the pieces of my wreck collide with each other to cause more agony.

And there's nobody to ease it away.

I am aching in places I didn't know existed.

The pain is excruciating. It's obliterating my soul.

I sit in the pool of my own blood, still - but not dead.

I try, but I am unable to help myself. My bleeding body lies in a dump in a dark alley, and I scream for help in a voice so meek that even I cannot hear myself.

The few passers-by that crossed me could but lend me looks of disgust and disapproval.

I feel a streak of warm liquid streak out of my eyes blurring my sight. The lights at end of the alley blob up into a pretty bokeh.

It hurts so much.

I cannot hold the weight of my eyelids anymore, they collapse on me.

The last thought as darkness envelopes me - I'll never be good enough... no matter wh

Good enough.

I guess the biggest fear I ever had was not being good enough. And I also guess I had to live long enough to see my fear turn into my reality.

I may do whatever I may think should be the right amount or even above that, but it shall never be enough.

If "good-enough" was a point on scale, it would be a perpetually upward moving point. I'll never get there.

Anyway.

Zeest se tung ho ae Daagh tou jeetay kion ho
Jaan pyaari bhi nahin jaan se jaatay bhi nahin

In vain.

I've often scrolled through my contacts... In an attempt to find somebody who'd understand. Who'd listen. Not judge. Somebody who'd tell me that I suffered a lot and that I am brave to be still standing.

I've scrolled and grazed my eyes over each name slowly, and thoughtfully, in a futile search.

Self-fulfilling prophecies

I have realized I am madly in love with him. I've come to the conclusion that only he has the power to make me happy, or sad.
And I've also come to the conclusion that I am extremely terrified. I love him dearly. And perhaps that's what frightens me. I am afraid of him(?).
I'm hiding behind this facade of arrogance. Because I'm scared of vulnerability. I can't allow myself to be vulnerable.
I cannot love him. I cannot care for him. Without opening myself to him - which would mean compromising the barricades I've built around myself.
Tears roll down my face as I write this. I feel a gripping sense of terror and helplessness.
He thinks I don't care about him, rather that I can't care less.
What have I become? A monster.
I'm making my nightmares my very reality with my own hands.
I'm scripting my own end.

- Nov 6

Smile please.

I think when they say smile they mean the real thing. Real. Genuine. Smile.

Smile can solve many problems.

I'd reckon it would be safe to assume they are definitely not referring to bitter, forced, pasted smiles.

Anyway. It's a pleasant morning. It's not cold but there's a subtle dry chill in the air. It's annoying and satisfying at the same time.

I feel like having a good hearty breakfast, the kind the makes you happy. But well, I'll end up with just anything that fills the stomach.

Conversations, are missing. Or rather, I miss conversations. Notice these one(two)-liners?

I can't comprehend why, but weekends are hard on me.

Oh well, I must go now and just have something to feed myself. Who knows if I'm depressed or just very hungry. The symptoms may overlap.

Smiles.

Reins

It's a scary feeling, not being able to control yourself.

I was very excited about the weekend. I felt almost ecstatic once I got back home yesterday. Life was good, until a few hours later at least.

I don't know what hit me. I know the trivial pseudo-triggers that set-off the mayhem, but what was it actually, or why - I do not know.

Humans are creatures of convenience, I said to a friend once. Therefore, by the virtue of being that very creature and for the subsequent sake of convenience  I'll just brush it under the "depression" carpet. The carpet which instead of ornamenting the floor has become a mound of sorts. Everything that I cannot explain - drag-and-drop under depression. Easy peasy.

I'm not sure what I am on about really.

Truth is, I don't want to talk to anyone about myself. I don't feel safe. I don't trust anybody enough to feel that they would show me compassion. Is it because deep inside I feel I don't deserve any (compassion)? I don't know.

There is a child inside me, hiding in a corner somewhere, who's terrified of getting bruised, of feeling the pain, of being mocked, and most of all - of not being good enough I suppose.

I'm drifting away, from life itself. Everything's losing its meaning. There is no point.

There's a perpetual sliver of an aching somewhere deep within. Like an aching muscle you can't pinpoint. It's a melancholy hum that's omnipresent. You don't notice it all the time, but come silence and it makes its presence known.

It hurt last night. The veins stretching out through my arms to my hands felt an excruciating surge of pain as I laid in darkness.

I have lost my appetite for expression all of a sudden.  I'll sleep.

I like how sleep takes away hours from my days, my life. Sleep is a friend.

I forgot to make a door

I had earlier decided that I would be writing a post every night before going to bed. I have failed to do so. I had thought writing down my feelings on a piece of paper (or a blog, alternatively) would help release the negativity that weighs me down - as per popular belief.

Even such a trivial task like this is an ordeal. Nowadays, everything is. I even struggle with the burden of holding my head in place these days. And I am not exaggerating. My neck muscles are badly strained. It hurts so much, it makes me cry.

But then again, everything does nowadays. Even nothing does. 

Well, turns out even looking at this white-screened window makes me cry.

Does anybody have any idea, the remotest even, how difficult the most mundane things, chores, routines have become for me? How much effort they take? How they drain me completely?

What do I want? What do I have? Who do I have?

I have walls around me; thick walls, bunker-thick. I built these walls. And... I forgot to make a door. 

There is no door. 

It's dark and damp inside, it gets hard to breathe at times. And there's a stench of rot.

Do you know how it smells like when a soul rots?

The heart wants what it wants

"... - or else it does not care."

I haven't washed my hair; it's been seven days. Last I washed my face with some thing other than just plain water - some sort of soap - was some days ago. The soles of my feet are black and dirty - an uncanny resemblance to my soul perhaps, who knows. I have been wearing the same t-shirt since... over a week now. I haven't put on any fresh clothing since then, except for when I go to work during the day - sane enough (yet) to adhere to social standards of upkeep.

And yet the outside world is of the idea that I live a close to perfect life. Now that's some achievement.

Or is it?

The fire that burns within and keeps us alive, is dead inside me. It's now a pile of ash - it might have taken everything with it. There could be an ember hidden under that pile somewhere, dying but not dead yet. Or there could be nothing. A part of me hopes it's not nothing - while the other, well, the other doesn't give a damn.

What does my heart want? And why won't it speak to me in a goddamn proper syntax? Beats me.

Reclamation

It's been forever.

Fine tuning

*sighs*

Attune yourself to hurt, me love. And everything shall be fine in no time. I know.

... *smiles*

Monologues from a dreary afternoon

Woe to the man, who finds not a thing of beauty in the rising and setting of the sun. Who ceases to be enchanted by the starry night sky. Who finds not a warmth in the charm of a crisp eve. Woe to him, as when it rains, not a smile kindles inside of him. Woe to him, who knows not bliss when the morning breeze caresses him. Who knows not of a delight creeping under his skin as the winter sun shines upon him. Who listens not, to the hushed chuckles of trees in the solitude of a windy afternoon. Who breathes in no pleasure from the soft morning dew. And woe be unto him, who looks at the bliss-ridden marvels around him, but with a numb stare. For what remains a difference betwixt him and a boulderstone?

Woe to you my precious, for what are you if not a boulderstone?

With apologies to Allama Iqbal

'Hum se kab pyaar hai, haan neend tumhain pyaari hai...'

Sighs.

One verse I love quoting out of its original context.

Out of sight.

... Hence, out of mind.

Sighs.

I can't sleep.

...

Dil ka kanwal jo roz-o-shab, rehta shagufta tha so ab
Uss ka yeh ab'tar haal hai, ik sabza-e-pamaal hai
Ik phool kumlaya hua, sookha hua bikhra hua
Ronda parra hai khaak per...

Ae chaand muharram ke, tu badli mein chala ja
Tujhe dekh ke mar jaaye na, beemar hai Sughra (SA)

Bicharne waalay tujhe dekh dekh rota hon,
Tu phir milega tou kitna badal chuka hoga...

The battles within.

I'm not, almost never, in a position to raise a finger at anyone, whatsoever.

My actions might very well as well be far more objectionable.

Sighs.

... I'm not proud of whatever I've become.

I can't pretend I'm okay, when not a single particle of my existence feels okay. I just I can't.

I am tired - of putting up a show all the time.

I am sick, and I am tired.

Sighs.

Please Allah saaiin...

It's so cold in here.

Of Techno City, depression and Kat baby's legs...

Sighs.
I don't want to be depressed.
It's so not me.
Since when did I start letting things bother me yaar...
I've become so brittle.
Sighs. Choro.
French braid banao, chalo.
Aaaye haaye!
Teil tou lagga liya karo.
*empties a tin of Sasso over head*
Thodi Thodi depression tou aati jaati hai na... Some tend to stay longer than others.
Some even stick with us for our whole life.
We can't do anything about that...
And jis tarah ke hum hain built... You know... The type who are usually always backward looking and who hold on to the past. Tend to feel more depression...
But then automatically, we also find the good fuzzy memories in the past too, which bring us a smile...
The idea is to deal with our depression our own way... Even if it means watching Kat's legs!
(...)
I just... I don't know. I can't seem to locate (and access the cache holding) good fuzzy moments in the past.
I wish I at least had that ability.
You do have that abillity. I guess bad natually always has a greater influence than good. So we can't help that. But just cause you can't locate or remember them, doesn't mean they aren't there.
Acha sunu.
Chalo.
Kahan Chalain?
Techno City... Quad core lainay!
No Techno City, too much garmi man. What is wrong with you!?
We go techno when it - rains.

Talk is cheap.

I'm emotionally  drained.

Kuj onj vi raahvaa'n okhiyaa'n san

...
Kuj gal vich ghamaa'n da touq vi si...

Kuj saajan kasar na chori si
Kuj zehr raqeebaa'n ghol dita...

Working from home

... Is not cool. ADD is to be blamed.

In another news, here's something I found while sifting through one of my note pads...

(Courtesy: Sloth)

Let's be honest

You don't need a friend, a lover, a healer.

You need an attendant.

Sighs.

... Where do we find you an attendant?

Tu mere safar ka shareek hai - Nahin humsafar!

... Yeh jo raig-e-dasht-e-firaq hai
Mere raastoun mein bichhi huwi
Kisi morr per rukay kahin
Yeh jo raat hai mere chaar suu
Magar iski koi sehar nahin
Na chha'oun hai na samar koi
Meine chaan dekha shajar shajar
Mere charagar...

I miss you Liz

...

Umr ki raftaar...

Rog aise bhi gham-e-yaar se lagg jaate hain
Dar se uthte hain tou, diwaar se lagg jaate hain

Ishq aaghaz mein halki si khalish rakhta hai
Baad mein sainkrroun aazaar se lagg jaate hain

Pehle pehle hawwas ik aadh dukaan khoulti hai
Phir tou bazaar k bazaar se lagg jaate hain

Be-bassi bhi kabhi qurbat ka sabab banti hai
Ro na pa’ain tou galay yaar se lagg jaate hain

Katranain gham ki jo galiyoun mein urri phirti hain
Ghar mein lay aao tou anbaar se lagg jaate hain

Daag daaman ke hon, dil ke hon, ke chehre ke Faraz
Kuch nishaan umr ki raftaar se lagg jaate hain

It's kind of a funny story

What if I sleep and I don't wake up?

Will you miss me?

I don't usually dream

I dreamed last night. The kind of dreams you dream with open eyes, and an awake mind. I dreamed of things, and places- and people. I dreamed of a world.

I felt a rainbow and a lone butterfly inside my stomach. I felt a little scared too. I didn't want my eyes to close, and my mind to sleep and wake up the next day to the same miseries.

I dreamed for myself last night.

But last night, I didn't feel well. I kept having this sinking feeling, my body ached and I tossed and turned. For a moment, I thought I might not see another day. Like the reaper was somewhere near me, around me.

Can dreaming end up in something so morbid?

-

I am scared. I'm walking down a tunnel and I can suddenly see a light at the end; and it's... It's frightening me.

The 'what-if's' are tearing me apart.

I once posted about how my mother said, 'Lougoun ko azmana nahin chahiye.'

I think lately I let this important thought she tried to cultivate inside my young mind, and the underlying rationale, slip.

I'm testing people around me, and... It's- no- I'm letting myself down.

I'm talking to a...

To a... To a blog?!

How miserable is that?

How pathetically miserable is that?!

...

Tumhari sirf tabiyat he nahin kharaab; tumhara dimaagh bhi kharaab hai.

Sighs.

Kab nahin tha(?).

Dil na umeed tou nahin, na kaam he tou hai,
Lambi hai gham ki shaam, magar shaam he tou hai...

I think I need a hug.

But I'd never admit.

In a loop

You know what's the hardest phase of grief, don't you?

It's that part, when something horrific happens and you...

You run it over and over again, inside your head, like a video in a loop - trying to register it with your brains. Trying, and failing. Trying again; failing again.

With every try, it hurts. It hurts harder; it hurts deeper.

With every replay, you relive the horror.
With every moment you relive, a hundredth of the reality registers with you - acceptance. A sharp pang sinks into your existence.

On the count of hundred, you come to terms with what ever happened - and numbness follows.

Quiet. An eerie quiet, is all you hear.

It doesn't hurt anymore.

It haunts.

Zara Dair Mein Ufaq Pe

Yeh haseen shaam apni

Abhi jis mein ghul rahi hai

Tere pairahan ki khushbu

Abhi jis mein khil rahe hain

Mere khwaab ke shagoofay

Zara dair ka hai manzar…

Zara dair mein ufaq pe

Khilayga koi sitaara

Teri simt dekh kar woh

Karayga koi ishaara,

Tere dil ko aayega phir

Kisi yaad ka bulaawa,

Koi qissa-e-judai

Koi kaar-e-naa-mukammal

Koi khwaab-e-naashagufta…

Koi baat kehne wali,

Humein chahiye tha milna

Kisi ehd-e-meherbaan mein

Kisi khwaab ke yaqeen mein,

Kisi aur aasmaan per

Kisi aur sarzameen mein

Humein chahiye tha milna…

-Parveen Shakir

Let's play pretend

Let's pretend everything is alright; and may be, just may be it will.

...

Qaza ne waar kiya bhi tou pusht e sar pe kiya,
Majaal kiski thi jo aata rubaru e Ali (AS).

Of hope and paralysis

'I don't want her living off hope.'
'There are worse things.''You're wrong!
Bad news stops us for a while, but then you move on. Hope - is paralysing.'
(Criminal Minds)

Hope is paralysing!

Lizzie... Allah saaiin, I  can't seem to get over the reality. It keeps haunting me, the fact that she's no more.

*sighs*

I wish she'd just come back somehow.

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'No man is happy without a delusion of some kind. Delusions are as necessary to our happiness as realities.'

- Christian Nestell Bovee

I feel so left out.

So lonely.

I used to have Liz in times like these once, now there's no one. Just me.

*sighs*

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Early monday mornings

I feel weird.

And in another story: I've realised that the tiniest variation in the tone, and smallest gestures, or their absence, gets to me.

It's the bloody expectation gap, i believe. But what am i supposed to do about it?

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Shehr sunsaan hai kidher jaay'n
Khaak ho ker  kaheen bikhar jaay'n

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xnduwsqiwgus

The brevity of the momentary spans of happiness in my life has started getting to me now.

*tired sigh*

I should have went to office today. There was so much work; and now I'll have to suffer for probably the rest of the coming week.

All for nothing. *throws her hands up in the air*

Besides, it has been a horrible day so far.

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