Tag Archives: Depression

Flowers live longer in a Graveyard

Sometimes, when you feel like you have found everything you realise it was, is and will never be anything. Some people make you feel as bright as thousands suns but, don’t you see that they also bring with them the potential of darkness that thousands suns couldn’t brighten. When you are with someone for so long, don’t you see that they become more fragile with each day? That so long can become no long and did you not see that? As it turns out, I stopped seeing after a while. I didn’t see it.

I have been wandering around aimlessly, looking for nothing in particular. Obviously, I was blind and I have been blind. One day I woke up and knew that I was blind and the knowledge ached my burning eyes. I now wanted to see something, anything. So I looked around. Frantically, desperately, endlessly. I saw nothing.

I was on a random bus which was headed somewhere I don’t know, I didn’t care. I was looking. And after a very long time, I saw something. Flowers, flowers in a cemetery. Have you seen this?

Flowers live longer in a graveyard.

I have bought flowers for someone, they die eventually. Someone has bought me flowers, I tried to render them but they die eventually. But, you place flowers by a grave and they live. They live longer.

Can death give someone life? Can death give someone hope? Or is it just death which lives longer? They come in all colours and you often wonder if someone places them here this morning. I got off the bus, I had to know.

I couldn’t touch them, of course I was terrified. But, I was happy. There were flowers around me. So, I wondered if someone placed them here this morning. But I looked around and flowers everywhere looked just as fresh and alive. Did someone place all these flowers today morning? That’s not possible is it? These flowers have been alive for all this time, I do not know how long.

Do these flowers live longer here than in my vase because someone tends to them? But who would look after flowers in a graveyard. Perhaps, it’s the hopes and dreams and love that they stand for. Can someone’s memory be enough to help you live longer… Can someone’s sacrifice make you stronger? Can someone’s absence make you grow fonder?

Perhaps it is in the state of mourning that one finds true solace in. When you love something, someone so much you often find them only when they are gone. And I would spend all my days in this state if it makes me feel the way it made me feel, in that cemetery. Do you think death could ever bring me happiness? I don’t mean death as in when someone does not live any longer. I mean death of dreams, and hopes, and relationships. Could the dead within make themselves live longer?

I wouldn’t know. I guess I am surprised that I hadn’t seen this before. But I knew in that moment, Flowers live longer in a graveyard.

Inconsistency

Let’s celebrate the fact that my blog is now a year old. And I haven’t written since the last few days (okay, months.) I started this blog hoping I would create something vividly interesting, be someone’s reason to look forward to life, but alas, here I am, a giant writer’s block posting popular, deep and irrelevant poems just to keep the followers going.

The truth is that, I am Inconsistent. Inconsistent with reality, inconsistent with people, inconsistent with the pace of time; basically just lost. On some days, I am Julie Andrews from Sound of Music and then most days I am just Jack’s inflamed sense of rejection. It’s a feeling of impending doom that just won’t subside. You wake up every day hoping to achieve certain standards and then its 3 a.m. when you are blatantly staring at the wall. There’s this spirit in me that wants to do something but I lack the motivation to act on it. There’s this idea but I lack the resources to execute it. There’s this plan but I just don’t show up.

Inconsistency lies in the fact that I want to but I don’t. There’s no reason, there’s no trigger and there’s no way out. And it absolutely bums me out to have this sense of delusion with no rationale. I cannot call it depression or boredom or unhappiness or misery or dejection. But I feel depressed, bored, unhappy, miserable and dejected. Adjectives but no nouns. What is more inconsistent than the fact that I cannot explain it? I am caught in this circle of life where all I can do is wait. My life is supposed to change drastically but there no reaction-time. For good or for worse my life is supposed to change. Either way, the valence is all negative. And I stand to lose in every situation. Every time I play it in my head, it is inconsistent.

And if it sounds like my life is a mess, it isn’t. My life is practically perfect at the given moment. This makes it worse, because I am inconsistent with its perfection. What do I do if I stand to lose no matter what I do? Am I a bad person if I choose to escape? I am all over the place, confusing you like this. But you will understand me if you know what it feels like not to be good enough, to die ordinary, to be afraid of the unknown, to run out of patience, to wait for something you desperately want.

That echoed. Either you are inconsistent with my writing or you are inconsistent like me. And I hope it is the former.

Was it easy?

There’s a lot of questions I could ask you to determine why all of this, all of us went downhill. Because we started off happy and it had the makings of Perfect and in my mind I was framing up the Happily-ever-after. You looked happy too, through it all but today, you are no more the person I can talk to like we used to. Forget the 3 am conversations; today, conversations in the broad daylight seem darker than ever. I just want to know if this downhill route is easy after all, was it easy?

Was it easy to stop constantly replying like you used to? Minute after minute, word by word. How we had to talk about everything, and an hour apart seemed like ages. How did that just stop?

Was it easy?

Was it easy to just stop acknowledging me when clearly I was around and you were around. You used to think about me all day, and now maybe you don’t. At least you pretend not to.

Was it easy?

Was it easy to stop talking about movies and shows and trolls and all those private jokes. Because they are clear as crystal in my head but approaching them is just hazy. Did that humor just die when we got here?

Was it easy?

Was it easy to just block me out and start hanging out with new people? Enter new friend circles and make new mistakes without me telling you to take care.

Was it easy?

Was it easy to fall for someone else? To tell me about it, to make sure that I knew I didn’t matter and that I wasn’t what I think I was all along.  To show people their place is an interesting thing to do.

Was it easy?

Was it easy to leave without a mutual understanding and concluding the whole debacle for once and all? Never rob someone of knowledge, they said. But that’s exactly where we are. We always said honesty was your specialty and that you were different from the rest. You broke your word.

Was it easy?

Was it easy to actually lose me than us doing something about it? Was it not worth it at all because you claimed it was important and that I was important? You said we would know each other forever. So maybe you should have done something about it. But, you didn’t.

Was it easy?

After all this time, I just want to know…

Was it easy.

Disclaimer: Resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely co-incidental. Most of the readers will connect to this literary piece. It is purely fictional and not targeted to any particular person or object. It has almost nothing to do with the writer’s personal life.

Feminism Low

I have been on a low tide of late.

Little heart break. Little depression. Little Guilt. Little regret.

I take pride in being Feminist.

But…

Of late, the feminist part of me doesn’t seem so bright.

The constant experience of being a girl in India could be a big reason. My poor choices could be another. The emerging rape culture is yet another. Being judged by other women makes me saddest (Read saddest). The downfall of modern feminism worries me. Our views have turned sexist in their undertones. But, I don’t know if that is the flaw in feminism at all. There’s so much anger, Indian Feminists tend to get sexist, also, why not? Do you see what’s happening out there? Not all men are rapists, sure. But, there is clearly an issue with some men.

I have begun to worry more and do very less. Today scares me. I am just low.

 

In all of this. I came across this video. It’s beautiful. Cannot thank them enough for making this, feels appropriate. No matter which country you are from, Watch this.

Indians, HERE.

Diary of The Unaccepting

‘Unaccepting’ is not a legit word, but it is the closest explanation of my existence as an entity.

Who is ‘The Unaccepting’?

Unaccepting is someone who sees what other people can’t. He looks beyond words, he belives the unbelievable, has endless faith on something that does not even exist. He fails to understand that nobility is rare, and truth rarer.

He is a criminal, hope is his crime.

Unaccepting is someone who is very low on Self-esteem. There are people out there who starve of faith and here he is overdosing on it. He believes everyone but him. He relies on everyone but him.

Unaccepting is someone who is Negligent. He neglects the fact that you don’t love him, anymore. He insists on seeing the good in you. He still wants it to work out.

Unaccepting is someone who is Damaged. He has been hurt over and over again. He still believes that there is some good left in this bad world. He still hopes that you will love him back. He hopes that he is ‘different’.

Unaccepting is someone who is Selfish. He fails to love someone who is immensely in love with him. He loves someone who shall never really be his. He loves challenge. He loves the wrong people, befriends the good.

Unaccepting is someone who is ‘Unaccepting’. He will just not accept that this is over. He will never stop believing in you, he shall still look for your silver lining. You tell him bluntly, rudely, hurtfully; but he will still not stop believing.

Unaccepting is someone. Unaccepting is me.


 

Dear Unaccepting,
Please accept it. Give up.
Yours reluctantly,                                                                          Future someone.

Someone Wake Me Up…

I have often told myself, ‘Don’t cry yourself to sleep’. But, no. No one is listening.

Here I am sharing this recurring dream I’ve had for like 4 years now.

Abandoned buildings or houses scare me to death. They remind me of isolation, desolation and Death. Death frightens me to levels I can’t even describe.

This dream of mine has been extremely disturbing because, I NEVER WANT TO DO IT.

It’s dark and I seem to walk towards daylight, like emerging out of a tunnel. I got my flip flops, jean shorts and a purple T-shirt on (Which is my favorite outfit, always). I don’t really see my face, but I am sure it’s me. It’s everything about that figure that reminds me of me. I am heading towards a deserted 4 storey building. It has been demolished, or burnt or ravaged… I am not quite sure. I make my way up the stairs; I swear I feel like I am reluctant to do so. I get up to the roof, and it is breezy, sheepishly windy. I make my way to the already tarnished ledge. I look down. It’s pretty much dark. I don’t know if I will ever touch the ground, dead or alive. But I am staring down, I see myself… Smile.

And, I am wide awake. I often jolt and sit up, its like I had to make a decision, and I just didn’t. I never jump off the ledge in the delusion (I hope I never do). It is almost surreal, I can feel myself losing my balance, tumbling into nothing. 

I believe my dream is symbolic. It stands for a choice. I often have this nightmare (if it is one), on nights that I am upset, sad or depressed. It says something to me, I still haven’t figured it out.

Next time I dream, Please, Someone wake me up…

urban_decay_photography_06

Freudian Flips