Perceptions

My mom doesn’t think I’m brave. Or bold. Hahaha… Funny, isn’t it? She walked out of a marriage and that makes her an expert? She thinks I’m not free spirited. Says that’s what I want to be. Or portray myself as being… But I’m not.
Yup. I’m grounded to reality. That’s who I am. Grounded, weak and a loser.

Good job, ma.

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Count

I’ve had so many relationships, I’ve lost count. Why? What was I searching for? And every single time I fell in love. Atleast thought I did. Earnestly. And every single time I got hurt. Even if I am the one who broke it off… Which was the case mostly. I know they wouldn’t work. They weren’t meant to. But I still loved. With my naive stupid gullible heart. I craved for validation and attention from them. For love and dependence. Coz without them depending on me… Why will I feel important right? Not wanted… Dependent. Know the difference?

Other than these “relationships” I think I’ve slept with a lot of men. Why? I’m not really crazy about sex. And other than maybe 3 people, everyone wasn’t even great. Then why??

What is wrong with me? I always know I’ll break up. I’ll run away. I’ll bore. Why then tag someone along and hurt them?

Flirtatious bitch!

I need to start taking count. I need to be held accountable. I need to… I don’t know what I need to. I need to stop. Just stop. Enough. Just fucking stop.

Talk to me…

Off to therapy once again. After almost a 4 month break. I realised that I can’t confide or talk openly to someone I’m close to. And I had become close to my doctor. Emotionally…

This break helped. Shall now think of her ONLY as a doctor. Not someone I like. Earlier there were days I’d very my heart out at home, and craved for her. To hold me. Console me. She had become a mother figure. Transference of some sort I guess.

But no more. I shall talk. Confide. Emote. Deal with my past. I shall not waste any more time.

And then some…

I cheered up. Considerably. Was active, cheerful, functional. Hell more than functional. Made food, cleared up, made people around me happy…

2 days.

And I’m back where it started. Fuck. What’s the point. Are these 2 day gaps the point? Enjoy the periods of normalcy you get… Remember them for the times you need support. Is that it?

Fuck fuck fuck.

Does noone get it?

My family sure doesn’t. They have reduced all this down to “mood swings”. That’s exactly what I have… Mood swings.

They confuse someone’s “personality” with my condition. Oh… Even he is lazy. Or she gets mood swings. Or they don’t like crowds.

Fuck. That’s just laziness or PMS or introverts.

I’m not. I’m a loner. I hate people. They breathe my air. I’ve to breathe what they exhale. Even one person in a giant room. I like sitting in my cupboard. But I don’t fit anymore. I like doing nothing. Spacing out.

But then… I’m also lonely. Sad. Depressed. Suicidal. Crying about the time I’m losing out.
I miss her. I miss C. My unborn child. My boochi. I miss all of them.

I hate this month. Fucking hate it!

Time

It’s going to be 2 years. Just 20 more days and it’ll be 2 years since THAT DAY.

The day I had an abortion, my pet died and my best friend died.

The day after which I… I don’t know. I just lost myself. To deal with shit I had moved to Goa. Stayed with her for half a year. Lived. Planned our future together. We both were equally messed up. Needed each other.

We had dreams. Aspirations. And we were going to push each other to achieve them.

And then she died. Took my unborn and my boochi with her. Selfish bitch. She left me. Who gave her permission to die. To leave me.

Dammit! It’s been 2 years. Fucking 2 years crying over it. I need to let her move on. I NEED to move on. It’s time. It’s high time.

Spot the difference

But why can’t you lose weight, she frowned
Another bag of chips, I smilingly downed
It doesn’t matter who you are or what you do
There will always be something new

Something lacking something less
In a tidy little world, a tiny giant mess
An odd one, a black sheep, a misfit, a thorn
Something different from what they’ve always known

But is that bad? Aren’t differences cherished?
Or is the discriminated person blemished?
Who is to decide who is right
Is this a war you are willing to fight?

You hide your shortcomings under your make up
Afraid, when the dream ends and you have to wake up!
A bag of chips, and I’m ready to go
Is that the right way, I don’t know!

Maybe I’m good maybe I’m bad
But if beauty is the only criteria, you will be sad
Disappointed and depressed, coz I will lose
So let’s smile at the positives and call a truce

Statue of emotions

My Grandfather’s best friend is dying. Possible in a day or two. I remember spending my childhood vacations visiting them, being fed by the aunt while I ran around, sliding down the banister of their giant house, playing with their grandchildren. We, my brother and me, were always treated special because we were the first grandchildren in their entire friend’s circle.

I got the news today. A couple of hours ago, and I got emotional. Ofcourse I controlled expressing it. He has been ill for a while with alzheimer’s and dementia. So maybe this was good for him. He loved living with dignity.

Today was a tiring and tough day. There was a delay in a deliverable from my company… Which I started after a hugggeee break of being unemployed. That was and still is scary. The clients haven’t responded and I’m literally chewing my nails.

A long meeting in the afternoon went on longer than expected and I ended up staining my clothes. Luckily my top was long and covered the stains.

I returned back from all this… And heard the sucky news.

I was fine, talking normally… Then I started becoming low. Played mobile games to distract myself and pinched myself till I focused on something else.

Later while mentioning to my mother who noticed my mood swing that maybe this news was the reason, she said it sounded far fetched. Because I’m an unemotional person who would say that practically it made sense for him to die.

Yes I would. That’s true. Probably because I sometimes don’t understand emotions… Probably because sometimes the intensity hits so hard that I can’t deal with it. So I may seem like a bubbly fun girl who sometimes is very practical and has a poker face. But don’t be duped. I’m bubbling underneath with feelings that I can’t even name.

I want to cry. Want to vent. Want a friend. But hey… Why? After all, I’m just an emotional statue.