Living Hell

I woke up today and listened to the birds outside.  There were crows and pigeons croacking instead of the sparrows and the songbirds singing. Smoke filled the sky, the gloomy grey replacing the brilliant blue.

Which Google form did we fill to sign up for this hell? 

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Fantasy

I spend my days wandering through realities;
Trying to stretch my arm across the walls that separate my existence and fatality.
Looking through glass windows into possibilities that hold so much weight in them-
power;
To manipulate the entire course of a lifetime.
In a lot of these sequences, you feature as the lead.
In the space around me I’ve created with walls, built by the brick,
I’m alone and free to fantasise; go meandering into streams of my thought.
There’s no place here for anyone.
Except you.
There’s nowhere else I’d rather have you be.

_

“A fantasy, within a fantasy; ironic isn’t it?”
“Yes, but every time I think of you, the tornado of my imagination sucks me along in a whirlpool, spinning me around. I can’t help but lose myself in the debris of my own creation.”

One Late Evening

Stand at the terrace alone, look up and in that exact moment you will know how our lives have become so self sustained, so isolated. We are all alone, but together. Our smartphones have condensed the whole universe to fit into a screen, and that is more than enough for a lot of people. Everyone is making haste to get somewhere, to get something. We forget that there are things beyond and above. Above ourselves, beyond our understanding.

The lights of all the four rooms in the apartment are on. One for each member, separately. There is no laughter in the evening hour; no boisterous ten year olds running around chasing each other. They’re probably stuck doing homework. Watching TV, consumed in a tablet or a mobile phone, fingers tapping on a screen. There are the screams of a couple fighting across from the apartment where I live, and then there is a ghostly silence which almost makes me hold my breath. I am afraid that he is going to hurt her. He hurts her. Almost fifty feet away, his words hurt me.

I am here, stuck staring at the 3 am smoky sky, seeing the city lights desceding it’s purple into orange, wondering whether the stars disappeared because no one made time to look up anymore.

Mélange

To make a classic
anxiety-stricken city girl,
add:
.
One bowl of a painful past,
two table spoons of self loathing;
one cup of anxiety up to the brim
and a pinch of wavering self confidence stirred with a raging inferiority complex.
Then, the most important ingredient:
some fresh, homegrown melancholy reaped from her personal farms of depression,
and stir it the same way butterflies chase their rear ends inside her stomach each time she has to confront someone;
let it simmer on the gas, until small bubbles show up like
stress-related acne struggling for space on her face.
Now pour this mix into a bowl, slowly, carefully, the way she never can;
and season it with the toppings of your choice-
my personal favourites,
fake laughter and hopeless positivism,
then throw it in the trash, where it originally belonged.
.
Like me.

Affection

Dear you,

I’ll meet you
when I’m in a place where
my peace and mourning touch,
intertwined in each other’s ends and beginnings,
stinking of remorse
in the perfect balance of white;
After having moved on from all that was,
waiting to trip over your imperfections.
Before stepping over the line, for once,
to seek a love that feels
more like sympathy and less like affection.

Yours.

Road Trip

Life became a lonely journey with emotional pitstops. They began appearing a little too frequently. Maybe I needed them, maybe they needed me. But I know that there were a lot of them. I would have to make several stops along the way to refill my deflated tyre of happiness, to refuel my will to carry on. The four wheels that carried me appeared to be spinning, but what spun faster than them were stories in my head that I concocted about myself. I polished my body with scars that shined, and learned to wear my flaws on my sleeve. The wheel that steered my life on sometimes drove me crazy. But I still carried on, despite the seat belt alert resounding towards impending danger, despite the fuel-empty light flickering to grasp what was left of my attention, its blinks spelling disaster in morse code, I carried on.

I still do;
As I wait for the destined halt I will permanently hit at a pitstop one day, and for the vehicle that will crash into me and burn all that I am; putting this troublesome road trip to an end.

Story #40: An Anonymous Note (The Anonymous Anecdotes Project)

Dear you,

I know you are suffering in your own, unique way. I know you have a story, a history and something that gives you pain. I know you have happy moments that you never account for, and sad moments you never forget. I know sometimes you hide your pain and mask your insecurities.
p
Because I do, too.
p
But I want you to know that you’re the writer of your own story. All the characters, living or dead, are the people you chose to be with, at that moment. Every episode you experience is influenced by the words you say and the things you do. Just like every turn adds on to you successfully getting to your destination, every choice adds onto making what your life is or will be.
p
That being said, I don’t want to turn this into a sermon. We all know our choices make or break, but still, sometimes we end up saying and doing things that we shouldn’t have. Negativity fills us up. Things go bad one after the other, repeatedly, and everyone you’ve ever come to love seems to either not care, or be there for you.
p
But in times like this, I want you to know that you have the power to change your situation. You always have the power to change the situation. I want you to believe that you do.
p
Two years ago I had reached the lowest point in my life. I fell, hard; everything in my life seemed to be going wrong. I was sad, and I was sad all alone. To be honest, I still am. I haven’t recovered from it, but I’ve stopped thinking about it. I’ve learnt to focus my energy onto better things. I’ve learned to give into my emotions, but not too much. I’ve learned that emotions make you weak, and love makes you vulnerable. So I have tried to keep them both as far from myself as possible. I’ve come to know that I am alone, and that no matter what, friendship is, in the end, a beautiful illusion we distract ourselves with. Years spent in school together, times spent laughing, and sleepovers: they all dissolve into ego, selfishness and stop to exist. So I’ve just come to terms with the fact that no matter how much I may love people, they will never love me back as much. I will never be enough for anyone, and that is okay because people always have expectations, and expectations always lead to disappointments. 

This may appear to be a very pessimistic view of life, but I swear, I’m a very happy person and a self proclaimed optimist. Although, I believe now I’m turning into a realist. A realist who knows her flaws well; a little too well to hate them. A realist who for quite a long time didn’t look into the mirror because she hated the sight of her face. Anyway, I’m telling you this because I want you to know how I feel better about myself. 

I try to spread happiness. Try to. There’s something very satisfying in seeing someone smile; more so when I’m the reason behind it. So I don’t really care if its over something silly, or a story I just concocted. I just want to make people laugh. Maybe, I think, making someone happy is my way of making myself happy, because I never seem to be able to do it directly. Also, random acts of kindness. You have no idea how wonderful they make you feel. Wish the person who guards your front gate, buy the balloons from the little boy selling them at the red light, compliment your friend who’s insecure about her looks that she is beautiful, tell your parents you love them; there are so, so many little things that you can do that can literally brighten up someone’s day. They feel good, you feel good: it’s a win-win situation!

I know this because these are the things that no one ever told me. I also know this because I know it works. I wish someone would’ve been kind to me back at a time when I felt weak. I was still in school. I’d been crying for last thirty-five minutes in the toilet; that’s how I used to spend my lunch breaks. I’d stopped washing my sore, red eyes because I knew nobody cared enough to ask me what was wrong. This happened again, and again over different time periods in my life so far (I’m big on public crying, lol.) I’ve had multiple panic attacks inside fully crammed metros, and not one person has had the guts to ask me what was wrong. My point here is, in situations like this, people are afraid of being kind. Why? I don’t know. I just hope the people who are reading this aren’t the ones to turn their heads away when something like this happens. 

I want you to do one more thing. If you absolutely hate your existence, or you’ve just been experiencing bad things one after the other, do this: when you lie down at night, close your eyes and just say thank you to the universe for everything that exists in it for you, or rather facilitates your existence. Start with twenty things. The list will expand, day after day and you will realise the thousands of things that you need to be thankful for. I do this exercise at times when I feel that nothing is working out for me anymore, and it just makes me feel that I have way, way more things than I account for, and that my existence is magnanimous. 

I’ve babbled for quite a while now. I just want you to know that your life will go on; you are a unique, wonderful human being who is here for a purpose. I want you to know that right now is all you have. Smile. You’re allowed to cry. Let it out. Love. You will find love, inevitably, but for once try letting love find you? Everything good that is meant for you will come to you in good time. 

I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. 
I wish you well.

Yours. 

P.S: I listened to this song when I was going through a very low point in my life. It made me cry, a lot, but I also felt really better. I want to add it on here, because, I don’t know, maybe if you too are going through something bad, this could help. I hope it does. 

A Little Too Much (Shawn Mendes)


I cannot believe this is the last time I writing this after-note!

We all at some point feel exactly like the writer has described in the episodes of their life. Sadness, dejection, disappointment and what not. But really, true happiness lies in making others happy- be it through lame jokes (if you’re like me) or acts of kindness. These words have really struck a chord in my heart, and I think I will come back to this story, again. I hope the words have resonated with you just like they did with me. 

On that note, I declare The Anonymous Anecdotes Project as closed! I’m so thankful to everyone who’s contributed and/or read the stories; be it one, two or all forty.

Loads of love!

-:-

Any opinions, comments or ideas that you may want to put forward to the writer of this story can be mailed to me at ratti.priya5@gmail.com. Positive feedbacks and constructive criticisms are more than welcome. 

(The Anonymous Anecdotes is a project under which anyone can send me a memory, a story or an experience from their life that had a profound impact on them. It requires people to write their respective experience along with the way it changed them or their perception of life. According to the project, these stories are being published anonymously, with the intent of spreading a positive message and a hope that anyone who reads, relates or learns.)