Twisted bodies lie
in a straight line
between what could be
and what never occurred
The above lines, I wrote when last week I overheard my aunt talk about my grandfather’s illness and how no one did anything for him. A) She never knew him or ‘US’ for that matter / A) She’s absolutely right, we left him in a room to rot and die.
HAAAAH! *exhales* So, this will be a ‘oh well’, ‘ah well’ rant. Please allow me to praise myself, for once. I know, no one cares but Oh well – there you are.
I’m am terrible at answering questions. Okay. Terrible. I might have the quickest ‘mind response’ to a situation, yes the quickest and I can bet on that, but hey! I will not speak up. I will shout, and scream, imaginably punch my brain-cells so to make it work effectively. But, can I speak? NO. I have been repeating this to myself over and over again – “I’m doing good.”, “Everything’s fine.”, “It’s okay to be me.” – and is it working? No. Evidently not. This Bob-the-builder ‘Yes we can!’ stance has left me broken in a manner – I can no longer think properly without having the fear of going over to the bad side. A) I belong there / A) I know myself to be better than this.
The world doesn’t work like blogs. No customization will change your background. And, I can’t go recite poems out of the blue. This sounds harsh. A) It is. B) It’s all about your choices
I don’t want to look at both sides of the coin! One is enough. I almost always know what real-life situations mean, how the exams were, what my parents think about me, or if my younger brother understands me – I’ve been rarely wrong. Makes me sound like an arrogant, self-proclaimed psychoanalyst. The hellish part kicks in when I won’t do anything about it. I am either too lazy or scared, or perhaps just a simple-minded person who stresses over useless issues. “Five years down the line, this won’t even matter.” is what my only friend wrote to me when I told her all of this. Of course we need a person in our life who has a pragmatic outlook. A) She’s consoling me and she’s right anyway / A) She doesn’t give a fuck about me.
But, then that’s half the problem – I don’t want solutions.
Not to mention, trichotillomania has bounced back into my life, mind you – with a flair, it was always here but was latent for a while. I can’t quite put a finger on the exact reason. It’s aggravating. And, at times I struggle to type. The worst is not here yet. I’ll be okay. I love myself. More than anything or anyone. YES. YES. YES.