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
Saturday, November 11, 2017
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.
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
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.
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.
Saturday, November 4, 2017
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 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.