Losing it

“I wouldn’t be surprised,

In the middle of the night, to

Find Vinay watching me in my room. I’d just say

“Go home Vinay, it’s creepy.””

And she laughed loudly at me, then repeated it

To everyone around me.

We are… were friends, I tried many times to be

Friendly,

And not creepy.

“You’re so touchy!”

Yes, yes I’m touchy.

Because when you stand there mocking me,

Or joking about me or saying something to get a reaction from me and think

It’s “damn funny”

You are pushing me,

From the top, of my self-esteem, into a dark pit of anxiety.

I’m scared, if I stop being touchy

Then you’ll think, it’s okay to punch me;

Then I’ll be in high school again

Getting beaten up by the boys around me.

And I’ll be losing it.

I’m scared to go to high School reunions,

‘Cos my bully’s might want to throw a punch.

Or break my face,

Just for old time’s sake.

But I still met one, he convinced me

That maybe we could be friends, again

Like we used to be.

I met him in his car, we had a nice chat

And then he asked me

To blow him and I started crying.

I was losing it,

Every step into adulthood,

I forget who I am and end up in

My very own hell, inside my head.

Blocks: Writing

Writing for pleasure is coded language forI’m into BDSM“.

There is a lot of joy and happiness when you see a finished piece is a big fat lie, an orgasm lasts longer than that fleeting moment of joy. I’m proud of my work that has been published but I always want to do better or I see a possibility of how it could have been better. I haven’t wanted to write in the last month or so and it has been nice. There was a huge weight taken of me, this probably is the most relaxed I’ve been in the last three years.

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PC: Sad Dareen

But now that this blissful ignorance has passed a month and has turned into a little fear in the corner of mental thinking space and has started collected to go full judgement day on soon and I’m defenceless.

This blissful month wasn’t fear-free all the way, there were moments of pain, anguish and desperation to write anything. I gave and wrote a line or a sentence and sounded like a bag of shit and I didn’t try writing again.

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Vague memories of travel are moments of liberation. ©Vinay

I remember comparing myself to Justin Bieber, he’s 10 days younger than me and has gained the fame and fortune that I’ve wanted since the age of 9. I wasn’t exceptionally talented, I had fairly good oratory skills and a knack to write funny or impressive stuff compared to my group of peers which impressed very few people, if nobody. So the possibility never died in my head and still seems to survive somewhere deep.

Screw JB, I just want to get my degree without having to do a Sirsasana and this is when I regret bunking Yoga classes in Jain College, maybe it would have come handy. The biggest fear I’ve been nursing like my first born is of losing everything. It’s easy to say everything and not mean much, but there is a possibility of losing everything and it’s only growing stronger with every fleeting second.

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Flowers, books, and incense used to be therapeutic. ©Vinay

My laptop had a bad case of the virus and I lost all the digital data I’d acquired over the last three years. I had a lot of ups and downs in recovering the data and I couldn’t carry my heavy heart anymore and decided to cry; but not a single tear drop escaped my eye. We read narrative reporting in class and the piercing coldness hit so hard it was impossible to hold back my tears.

I’m on the edge, all the freaking time and its better I take things slow rather than trying to juggle too many things because if I blow up, it ain’t going to be a pretty sight. The pain won’t go away, but I can stop acting like a pin-cushion.

Emotional numbness, disregard, contempt, hatred are growing in my heart and I don’t want to uproot them. I don’t want to talk to people, there are a few I want to talk to but a minute or two into the conversation and I want to run. There isn’t anything I believe in, pessimism is my constant state of being and the height to which I don’t care has reached peak. It’s impossible for me to do anything else on daily basis, efforts I put to get through the day are draining me of my, everything. Exhaustion has left me paralysed and with bare minimum.

Hard Skull

Percolate. It feels exhausting, mentally because I have nothing to say about percolation. Then there are little ideas seeping in to my head, like how it takes time for me to do something or ideas to seep or something and then it percolates right out of me. For the life of me, I can’t remember what I was trying to say. It’s confusing, frustrating and annoying.

I’m trying to inculcate the habit of writing everyday, an idea I intend will percolate into my thick, hard skull.

I’m being hopefully, I know.

Tart it up

A giant biscuit tart the size of a large pizza, first with a layer of fresh sliced bananas.  Then a layer of fresh cream, followed by a layer of farm fresh strawberries and fresh cream after. Now a layer of butterscotch cake and ice cream is added and topped off with a generous amount of caramel sauce. The tart would feel like winter finally arrived.

A bite of something this delicious and sweet is required because it finally hit me. The fact that I’m going to be leaving, I’ll be gone and wouldn’t want to come back has arrived. It’s sad, slightly painful and just a little cold (but the cold never bothered me, anyway). I’m not depressed, I still want to leave and go ahead but I can’t seem to shake off the little sad feeling lurking around in the dark.

Where the hell can I go find such a huge tart? And why aren’t I satisfied? I just want to be able to move on without being held back or caught in a spider web.

Lofty Boots

Little big feet walked around
Steps closed in and days, melted into weeks.
Pretty eyes never looked; almost never,
A year and half later we talk,
Months later we’re friends.
A drunk night, he’s sleeping in my bed
I sleep, in a bed right above.
That lofty distance, will forever stay
But hope is a hopeless thing;
It doesn’t want to give up.

FLAMES

FLAMES a quiz from my childhood that helped reinforce hope in hearts of the boys.

F- Friends

L- Lover

A- Affection

M- Marriage

E- Enemy

S- Sister

This was a popular game in my 6/7 the standard,(grade) that helped verify if your crush and you were compatible. The game required both names to be written and then all the common alphabets were cancelled out. Whatever alphabets were left you’d count them and that number would be the key. Use the key number to cancel the letters in FLAMES. The example below will demonstrate. I’ll try to check the compatibility between the names Trump and Hillary.

T               H

R                I

U                L

M                L

P                A

                  R

                  Y

The key here is 10 . Let’s use the Key on FLAMES.

F   4th

L

A   2nd

M  1st

E   5th

S   3rd

So according to the test the name Trump and Hillary have potential to be great lover but it will change if full names are used and it’ll be the same deal and everytime you finish the key, start counting again from the next alphabet. This is the way the love compatibility was calculated in my school and many others to help a brother or sister in need of common sense.

Or don’t

Either you do or you don’t; it’s a yes or a no. Life in my defence has always been either white or black and nothing else ever existed in my world view. The grey  area never existed up until then and the first time we met, I nearly drowned in an ocean of self-pity.

Or is this all my entitled, privileged and spoilt child attitude. It’s a question that I can’t answer honestly because personal bias effects the answer or opinions involved with these questions or conflicting thoughts. It’s a struggle that’s universal apparently because as a child I thought the worrying made me different and special but it clearly doesn’t do very much at all, because everyone else does it too.

Or is it just my constant need for attention or self that is so desperate for human approval and this makes my needs and urges seem normal for that brief period of time. Like Lucy in the sky and a rat in collection of a hobo’s sale of needless things. Idiot things to be or just not be worry about being horny all the time.

The ranting on a expensive bed after a rich dinner I’d add is the epitome of laziness rooted in the Freudian slippage stags.

Vegetal: It smells Green

“It smelled like green and I thought Vinay will like this description” he told me as we sipped lemon tea at Chai chowk. He was in Madekari district last week and when he reached Abby waterfall, there was a strong vegetal aroma that he could only describe as green.

“What does green smell like to you?” He asked me. Green smells like freshly cut grass (I know how clichéd that sounds) but it wasn’t the first thing in my head but after I contextualised it made more sense and the grass was it. But the mental image was far more different.

I did see and smell fresh cut grass but it’s early in the morning, the dew on the grass is still cold and stepping around there is petrichor in the air but only subtly. This still feels inadequately described and that’s when the argument that was made in the book “The illicit happiness of other people” by Manu Joseph hits me. Language is a limited device, it can never completely help describe many things and that might just be a means to hinder human evolution. This feels like a conspiracy theory but honestly there are many things that sound or seem simple till I start describing it to another person and feel the incomplete.

This inability to describe is something I fumble into when I’m describing or talking about nature, smell, visuals, shadows, light or sometimes just how it feels to touch an object and how that feels against the skin.

Primp

To talk about primp is a really challenge because it requires introspection and reflection on my self indulgence, partial narcissism, and pride; these are things that makes me an Asshole of the highest order. I know it and have been more than happy with myself for being the amazingly awful person I am to everybody without bias.

I love the days when I care about primping up for College because I otherwise do spend a little time on primping for anywhere else. I enjoy the attention; regular practice has made me better at primping which brings me some really nice things to hear about me regularly. I hope my practice helps me get better and maybe someday it’d be a habit enough to not doubt myself or my work.

Primping is easily the first word to associate me with because of the vanity I spout with my indulgence with my hair. My hair has way too many stories, there are probably some ancient posts on my blog about my hair. I love the attention it draws and also how much of a great ice breaker it can be.
I’ve contemplating a haircut for a while now, even people who said I have nice hair wanted me to get it chopped off. But I don’t know what I want, if I want it to be gone or if I want it to be longer. The effort and time gone into to caring for the hair and protecting it from hands of the administration makes it harder to let it go.