I keep starting writings in different platforms. I
think it’s because I am hoping that a fresh start will fix my life somehow. I
am aware just how annoyingly pathetic that sounds. Even more annoying that I
refuse to do anything about it than just sit and endure. Make others around me
suffer because of it.
When I listen to songs that talk about people just being
fucking horrible people and saying, “I want to fix myself but I just can’t”,
and relate to it, there is this constant thought in the back of mind that I am
in the same boat as them but they are at least making art out of their misery,
while I just waste away.
But I also strongly contend that to create art or..
just create anything, you need to experience things, live life. I don’t think I
am even experiencing anything right now, not even misery actually. I suppose that
is the difference between me and the people who’s art I consume. There should
be some perk to feeling nothing. I haven’t figured that out, Yet. Even though
it has been two years that I have been in this pit.
(It is insanely funny to me that my music app just
started to play Right Where You Left Me as I finished typing the last
paragraph.)
I look back at my life every now and then (everyday)
and try to figure where I went off the track.
And there is just so many things, its just embarrassing. Probably one of my
biggest regrets would be my loss of ability to write. I used to write essays
everyday in my journal. It only used to be minute-by-minute update of my day.
But I never ran out of words. I find it truly pathetic when I struggle to find
words to explain what I am feeling sometimes. I think it has got a lot to do
with how little I read nowadays. Got so busy with academics that when it all
ended I am just left with a shell of whatever the hell I used to be. The kid
who used to read, used to write, used to do a lot of things.
And here I am back to playing the victim card. As if
all of the things I am right now in life is not because of all the decisions I consciously
took. It feels like I did things just to spite my younger, older, all versions
of myself. Even now, I started writing all this because I don’t want to face
the reality that I have to stand up to people, take some tough decisions. And
that is a real fear I have. That I will waste away my life because I am too
afraid to stand up for myself. The possibility that I might just live my whole
life as a fake version of myself that is acceptable to my family is.. not zero.
And that thought is extremely funny to me. Because knowing me, I just might do
it. Which has to be funny because the alternative is just sad.
There are huge parts of me that my family can’t ever
know, no matter how much I want them to. And those parts will always weigh on
me and my decisions. I am struggling to figure out if I should just let it all
consume me or find a way out. It would have been plenty helpful if either one of
those alternatives presented as an easier path. But both seem equally fucking
horrible from where I am standing. So… we are back to where we started.
Last year or two has been one for mourning. Mourning
my dreams that I don’t think are made for me anymore, mourning a part of my
identity that I have got hidden in some dark corner of my head, mourning people
that pulled me out of the water just to leave me when I am afloat. I know
people say it is all for the best, things get better with time and all that cliché
lines. I don’t think that is ever going to be me. Maybe that is how everyone feels
in the thick of it all. But the version of me that I imagine gets over whatever
has happened in my life in the past few weeks sounds like a horrible person
because how can she do that... So I think I prefer not to get over it. From a
third person perspective I definitely see how insane I sound. But it makes
perfect sense from where I am standing, so I will just let me be for now.
Every time I sit to write whatever the hell this is, I half-expect myself to make some breakthrough with my issues. Unsurprisingly, I never do. That is some consistency I am weirdly committed to. Yay. Here’s to a load of nothing.
