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.