Monthly Archives: March 2017

Mean

It’s been twenty years since I’ve come into this world. Sadly, I’ve been sensible for only the past two. Even when my actions made no sense, I don’t think I was ever someone who judged someone based on how they looked. I wasn’t that type of an asshole. Mainly because who the fuck am I to call anyone ugly or fat or whatever when I’m the same?

So when someone who knows absolutely nothing about me, started to talk shit about how I look and the way my body is, I lost it. It’s not like I haven’t heard how weird I look before. I agree with everything people say. My nose is weird. My skin is abysmal. My hair is worse. I KNOW. I know everything that is wrong with me but why the fuck do you need to repeat it over and over again? Even that’s fine when it’s all just a joke and everyone is making fun of everyone. It’s the comparison that hurts me. Specifically to someone who just brings out all my insecurities. 

There was this girl who just started talking shit about me. Mind you, this girl knew me for about twenty four hours. Then she started comparing me to another girl, whose name literally makes my heart drop to my stomach in an instant. First it was all a jest and even I was laughing but then she said something like: “God bless the man who has to see your face the first thing in the morning” and “That girl makes Niddhi look like a pig next to her” and I fucking cried. I mean this man she’s talking about doesn’t exist in my life yet.  It might’ve been a joke to her. That girl that she’s comparing me with isn’t even in my life anymore. And moreover, I know I look a little bit like a piggy.

But why hit right where it hurts? I mean I don’t go digging around other people’s insecurities then why the fuck are you doing this to me, man? Why are you being mean to me when I have done absolutely nothing to invite that kind of behavior? Why are you comparing me to someone in front of whom I will never have the genetic advantage? It’s not my fault I look the way I do. They didn’t ask my when my chromosomes were pairing up. They didn’t ask me what levels of melanin would I prefer on my skin. They didn’t ask me what kind of hair would I like. I was MADE this way. 

I even know that a dude will never ever choose me if his decision is solely based on the way I look. (To be completely honest, even if you put my personality in the mix, it wouldn’t help. Because who wants to listen to my dark humored puns and several fandoms all the time?) I know everything a person can hold against me. I’m everything a person doesn’t want in a human body.  How the fuck is it my fault that my skin is the dark or that my hair can’t behave itself. 

Why do we have to belittle someone just for the sake of being mean? I don’t understand what joy do people get in making someone feel so small and so bad? Why can’t we let people be?

There’s nothing funny or fun about bullying someone. It sucks, trust me. It makes you question everything from the way you look to the way you talk to the way you feel.

Please, just be a decent human being and don’t make fun of someone just for the sake of having a good time. All it does it create more mental issues. I don’t need more things to worry about, I have way more than enough. I don’t have relief in any aspect of my life. Why did you need to fuck it up even more?

So, please, for the love of all that you hold dear, do not make fun of someone’s insecurities.

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It’s time

You deserve more

It’s a terrifying thing to loose touch with the one thing you want, I know. But sometimes it’s better to focus on growing rather than doing the same thing again and again that brings your progress down to square one. 

You deserve normalcy. 

You deserve all the cheesy things that you think are lame. 

You deserve more than what you’re getting and I hope you stand up for it.

It’s about time. 

It’s a rant

I’m suicidal.

Apparently there’s something wrong with that. But let’s be honest, who isn’t?  Who hasn’t at least once thought about ending their lives? Everyone is suicidal at some level or the other, I just happen to be at the pro version.

I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t like having to explain why I’m in a place where the future doesn’t exist for me. I don’t like to talk about coping mechanisms that I’ve adopted. This whole dying thing, I don’t talk about to anyone.

Believe it or not, a pot dealer gave me some great advice. Now that I think about it, he’s a pretty nice guy. So he told me that it’s better to write these feelings down. Not because they’ll help, but because after you die and people find these logs, they’ll feel awful for the rest of their lives. I like the sound of that. Not everyone, obviously. Just the ones who have driven me to the point of dying. Ironically, they’re the ones who are also responsible for me being alive.

Another idiot told me that if I go through with this, I should think about how bad my family will feel. Well, they better feel pretty damn bad. It’ll change them forever? Thank goodness. I don’t want my life to end in vain. I hold no love for my family. It died the day they told me that I had to become a lawyer, even if it took 10 years or even if it killed me. If you think I’m a monster for not loving my own mother then go ahead. I’m the worst creature to ever walk the Earth. If I had a kid who was already dying out of anxiety and stress, I wouldn’t drop the pressure on them to become something that they don’t want. I’ve had tough love my whole life. I’ll admit, it made me tough. But I’m no longer that strong. For once I’d like to be loved as a child should.

The worst part is, they know what I do. They know that I sliced my wrists open. They know I bled for a long, long time. They know that the reason I want to die. They know everything. Yet no one came to me to ask why were there bloodied clothes in the garbage. No one asked me why there were gashes on my wrists. No one asked, so I told no one. So when I die, I do want then to feel bad. Maybe they won’t do the same thing to my brother. Maybe he’ll benefit the most from my death.

I really thought that would be the day I’d end it. It didn’t take courage. All it took was a blade. I had a letter written out. Actually, three. One for my family. One for Diksha and one for Radhika. In them I wrote who gets my stuff.( For the record, no one gets my Louboutins. They go with me.)

It wasn’t God’s plan to make me die. I mean after an hour or so of bleeding you’d think the 5litres would run out. But apparently not. Fuck it, I didn’t even get dizzy. I only cried because on my laptop Netflix was playing S5 finale of Supernatural and it was a pretty sad scene. My poor Winchesters babies. (Yes, even when I thought I was dying it was Supernatural I was thinking about. Fuck you, too)

Needless to say, I didn’t die that day. I made a hell of a mess but I didn’t stop breathing. I’m still fucking alive, obviously.

Fuck, I didn’t mean to sound like someone who’s pathetic and needs help. I can still hold my own, thank you very much. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea to listen to pot dealers, after all.

And I swear to The Hol Trinity that if someone tells me “You’re just 20 years old, you still have prospects,” or “You’re a kid and this is just a tantrum and you know nothing of real pain” I’ll throw a pan in their stupid face and then they’ll know what real pain is. Just because other people have it worse than me doesn’t mean I’m not relevant. I know everyone’s suffering. I know everyone feels like this. But I’m not everyone. I’m running on fumes here. If other people still have fires left, it’s because they’re made of stronger stuff than I am. Do not start preaching to me otherwise I’ll pull your guts out through your throat. (Fandom references all over.)

I’m still kinda sorta fine, because I have no other choice. I’m done trying to die because, I tried and it didn’t work. It’s not God’s will to put me out of my suffering just yet. My will wasn’t to make it to December 2016. But again, I’m just a human.

Maybe my lack of affection towards people is the reason I want to die. I mean I’m not completely out of touch with my human side. I still care about my family. I do what they say. I have friends. I help anyone who asks. I hold no grudges. I don’t hate anyone. But I don’t actually love anyone either. I don’t think I have it in me anymore to love another person. Be it my own blood or otherwise.

As for my coping mechanisms, it’s dark humour, cigarettes and Netflix. That’s it. I’m running on Internet and Smoke.

If there’s a light at the end if the tunnel, I don’t see it yet. And until I do, I’m not about to change a thing.

God, why?

See I don’t usually do this thing that I did, so know that when I did this, I put a lot of thought into it. 

I’m 20 years old, I’m not a kid or some poor naive girl someone took advantage of. No. I did this completely on my own, after putting days of thought into it. 

I did something that I can’t believe I did.

I kissed someone who I didn’t know very well at all. It was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done in my life. It sucked ass. It was horrible and all the while I was just concentrating on not throwing up. 

It was the first time in my life I went on a legit date, the kind I’ve only read about. The dude was nice and basically Adonis come again. I mean I didn’t have any high expectations, but I didn’t expect it to be disgusting. I’ve had my “fireworks” and I know it won’t happen again, but I could at least expect it to not suck. 

The worst part is that the there was nothing wrong with the guy himself. He didn’t do anything wrong. My stupid mind fucked everything up. 

I thought I was ready to do this crap again. I thought I’d made ny peace with everything but apparently not. I am far from ready to move on. Really far. Like million miles away kind of far. 

It was so embarrassing on so many levels. I had to get out of there and it was basically the most humiliated I’ve ever been. Why, Jesus, why?! 

I really don’t know how long I can keep this up. There has to come a point when I have to stop being pathetic. I don’t like being alone, okay? I don’t want to be one if those women who lead a loveless life and die with dogs. I don’t need anyone but I don’t do so well one. 

Maybe I’ll try again later. After scrubbing myself with Holy Water, that is.