Monday, October 06, 2014

Lessons of the Day

I don't know why I have not got myself to a psychiatrist for medication. Its a misguided attempt at maintaining my autonomy (says the dustspeck to the universe). I have hardly gotten over my depression, panic attacks and anxiety attacks. And I cry my eyes out as often as it rains, with equal severity. Is there any surprise that I am treated like a doormat when even I myself don't see the value in paying for my own healing.

Again and again, people disappoint me. This however is my fault because I have chosen to be vulnerable and depend on the wrong people. YES, some are heartless. YES, some are ungrateful. YES, some are assholes. Even absolute strangers.

So I put whats left of the broken pieces of my soul into a cast iron box and toss it into the abyss. Maybe this is how the Miss Havishams of the world are made. When bitterness, cobwebs and the cold fill the space of a long dead heart.

 

Wednesday, October 01, 2014

The ledge

I hear my own heartbeat. Its beats on. Loyal and true. Until it too will one day tire and rest.

The silence is thick and nights like this i think about the futility of existence.

I crave touch. Of warmth and familiarity. And it's now the very thing denied to me.

How meaningless is the dreary cycle.

When Robin Williams left us, my first thought was - oh how brave. Then came envy.

Unless you have been clinically depressed, you will never understand how gargantuan a feat it is to be happy. And like an erotic thought, the seductive allures of suicide flits in and around the concious and unconscious mind. Its tendrils lovingly caress and wipe away tears. Easy way out? Not by a longshot. It takes a lot of courage to take the cowardly way out.

Williams didnt want for anything but escape. As a lesser person, I have much to want but within the abyss of our souls, we seek the same death of personal demons, even if it means We lose ourselves in the process.

"Dude, get help". Said one person. I feel less confident.

In memory

I miss love letters, written in moon light. I miss sunflowers beaming in make shift vases. I miss sighs of reverie, warm hands, shared tea cups. I miss feeling anything but grey. I miss having conviction. I miss my rose tinted glasses.

The stranger in the mirror moves her lips as I do. Touches her face as I do. But her wispy hair and empty eyes are devoid of charm and if I don't know any better her soul is dead to the world. What a shame.