Tag Archives: bipolar disorder

Changed 

“I love you.” 

Right now I’m not sure if I do anymore, but I say it anyway because it’s all that I am. I can’t remember what you look like very clearly, or even recall the sound of your voice. I’m not the same person you left and you’re not the same person I love. I love you in a way that you’re my whole world yet I would rather not feel like that ever again. 

But I know I love you because that’s the only reality I’ve known. I know I love you because I can’t love anything else. I know I love you because you’re my whole life, even if you’re not in it. 

I know that I love you. 

I find it comforting to hold on to this fading emotion because I know what it feels like and who isn’t a sucker for familiarity? 


*picture credit I’m not really sure about, it’s just a picture I found in my archives.  All credits go to the original photographer, not me. 

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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.

Cruel trick of mind: 2

​I’ve had my share of bizarre dreams, okay? It seldom ever happens that something which my mind dreamt has left me distraught for days without an end. The first time it ever happened was in 2013. I dreamt that my grandfather is back to life. He even had a scientific explanation for it. Christ, did that dream hurt like a bitch when I woke up.

This time, I had the best conversation of my life. I swear to almighty God, there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to make that be real. It was just so simple. We were talking on the phone, being balls-out honest, and I said everything I had bottled up in me for the past year. 

It was just so real. I’m usually aware that I’m dreaming. I’m in the dream but I know it’s all over the minute I open my eyes. Not this time, though. You know how when you’re talking on the phone there are several little disturbances like someone calling your name, or a text message alert…even that was on point. 

Then what hurts most is the voice. I’d never heard something so clear in my life. It was like I could touch it if I wanted to, and I really, really wanted to. As pathetic as it sounds, a conversation that only happened in my mind is enough to drive me for months.

Imagine my devastation when I woke up. More than that, imagine how pissed I was at myself, because I’ve spent a major part of the past year trying not to think about that particular thing. I’ve done everything, I mean everything one can do to get over such things. From psychological books to Cosmo magazine; I’ve done it all. It wasn’t even on my mind the night before this godforsaken dream appeared. 

It’s like all my progress has been brought back to square one. All I want to do is roll up in a ball and never get out of my bed.

Bottom line? I had the best conversation of my life, in my dreams, with a man I can’t call anymore. It sucks ass.

*Picture by Sanjana Dawani. Check out her pages on Facebook and Instagram 

I’m happy?

(Just so you know, I’m feelin’ extra weird today)

(Also Pillow Talk is playing while I type this out, so excuse if I sound like I’m in the mood. It’s Zyan’s voice that’s bringing all the hormones back from the dead. And my imagination, of course)

(Now you understand the part about extra weird, right?)

I swear to God I haven’t been this happy in months. Literally like oh my gaaaawwdd. So what happened was that a package that I’d been waiting for a long time finally came today. (Not that package, you perverts. My mother would throw me out of the house) To give out a little more information than necessary, let me tell you in excruciating details about the package that came.

My sister moved to Poland this past October, and if everything works out like planned I’ll be going to her in June and she’ll be coming back home with me. Anyhoo, most of the things that I want, I can’t get them here. I don’t have the time to go all the way to Delhi or Mumbai in this skin-melting heat and still have a chance of not getting what I want. I wanted a couple of things from NARS, Chanel and Anastasia and some more things. I also wanted the Victoria’s secret bombshell bra. Now, I’d already told a friend of mine living in Delhi to get me this, but I guess she forgot, or she didn’t get it, something like that. So I told my sister to get it for me. Now it’s really awkward telling your sister, who’s 8 years older than you, that your bra size is huge-er than her. (See see see, I’m grossing you out already) I don’t really need the bombshell bra, because me wearing a push up bra is like… water over the bridge or something? I don’t know, bro. I’m bad at explaining shit. But I still wanted it because…I don’t know that either. I just wanted it. When my sister went to buy it, they didn’t have my size in stock (My luck, you know) So two weeks ago, she finally found it. Then, she went on a full on shopping spree for me. She literally got me everything I wanted. She even managed to get me the Kat Von D liquid lipstick in Lolita. I probably don’t love anyone as much as I love my sister right now.

Also today, in one of my LSAT UK mocks, I crossed 150 and I’ve been chirpier than usual ever since. When I went into the office today Preksha saw me smiling and she actually thought this moment was worth recording because apparently I don’t seem to be happy that often. Well, whatever.

I was wearing my Chanel pirate lipstick today, so Preksha was like “You’re kissing someone today, spill it.”

I made a face at her and said, “No way in hell I’m kissing a guy wearing this lipstick. I’d die if I ever saw this smeared.” I can do whatever the hell I want with liquid lipsticks, because that shit doesn’t move for hours but this one does. And I cannot stand this beautiful color be anywhere else other than my lips. I’d die.

I have no idea when I turned into this materialist snob, I guess I’m not but still. There used to be a time when these things didn’t mean anything to me and now they’re legit the only thing that give me happiness.
Hell, I’m grateful for that, too.