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 

Disintegration

(This is long and boring and just urgh. So feel free to skip this one)

This past month has been so, so bad that I don’t even know how I’m even alive to write this. It’s not for the lack of trying, but we won’t go there today.

Stress and anxiety will kill you.

I’m not quoting some medical journal, these are my own observations. I had dealt with depression and mania in the past but this…this is different. I do everything right. I eat right, I do yoga, I dance, and my sleeping schedule is also decent. There was a time when I couldn’t fall asleep before 3:00 am, and now I can barely keep my eyes open till midnight. At any point of time, unless I have plans, I’m always asleep. I still make plans to go out in the hope that maybe my monotony is what ails me. I still do my make up and go around as if there is nothing that bothers me. I have only talked to two friends about it. I’m a little off topic. Yes, so the thing is that I know depression. I understand it. Being lethally depressed is kind of my comfort zone when compared to anxiety.

Anyway, the first thing to make me realize that there was something seriously wrong with me was when I went temporarily blind in my right eye after I woke up one morning. (I know, right?) I thought it was an allergic reaction because I tight line my upper-lash line or because I wore mascara a lot. I even had half a mind to sue Urban Decay. The doctor had a different opinion. After my vision came back in about 6 hours,  the doctor told me to get some tests done to check my vitamin levels and told me to eat a lot of salads and vitamins and what not. I knew it then that this wasn’t caused by some vitamin deficiency but my mental health. I was one step closer to breaking down.

Then, about two weeks the app on my phone made me realize that my period hadn’t arrived for two months. The first thought in my head was, of course, “Holy shit, I’m pregnant.” But then logic kicked in that I wasn’t. I checked and also, I’d be gaining weight instead of losing it, if I was. It’s funny how we always jump to that conclusion. But anyway, this time I went to a gyno and that lady was so nice and concerned about me. She gave prescribed me some syrups and told me to do yoga. So I did exactly what she told me to do. It’s been more than a month but I’m yet to see any changes. “Aunt Flo”  hasn’t visited either.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not ungrateful for the life that I have. I’m very, very grateful to be able to have a chance at higher education, food and shelter. I’m not saying that my life sucks. I’m saying I do. My mind has become so fragile that it’s not able to control my body. I’m losing touch of who I am. I cannot believe the person I’ve turned into. I wasn’t this brand-toting bitch who gave a crap about what the difference between blue toned red and orange toned red was. I had legit one pair of floaters and now look at me. I could be suicidal as all hell and yet my self esteem wouldn’t suffer. It’s super weird.

Again, my life isn’t all bad either. I go out a lot. I hang out at this place called “The Nest” almost every day. I read a lot over there. Whenever this certain friend of mine comes to town, those couple of days are always amazing. My anxiety levels drop drastically. I eat a lot more and I sleep better, too. I think he knows how much he helps because he’s started coming down more often than what I think is convenient. It’s not just him, my friends in general are lifesaving. When I was in my suicidal phase I talked to Ruchi and Bebo, friends of mine from school. If I’m alive today it’s mainly because of those two.

But still there’s this… Thing in my head. It’s just there and I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what it is. I mean I have seen people die of stress. Hell, my baba died of stress, so I should know. Even if I don’t actively take actions to end my existence, it doesn’t matter. It’s happening on its own.

I’m sorry if it didn’t make a lot of sense. I don’t make sense, either.

My lists

So I introduced an idea a few weeks back. It’s in the post titled Take it off. It was that we all should make two lists. Under one head we should list down the things we don’t like about ourselves which are more physical in nature, and under the other one we should list down the things that we like about ourselves which are not physical.

Obviously, I expected some people to hit me up and tell me that it isn’t so easy to love one’s self. They told me that someone who has spent decades hating the way that they look cannot just change that by making some stupid list and embracing themselves. And if I think I’m so good at this accepting myself thing, why don’t I make a list and post it on my blog for the world to see.

I hated the fact that they seemed to assume that I had no insecurities and thought that I think I’m perfect. I’m not. I’m actually very very very far away from it. You think I don’t get that envious chill when I see someone like Gigi Hadid, or Adele or Lisa Hayden? No, it’s not that I don’t get insecurities. It’s just that I am what I am and I cannot change it. I’ve accepted it. When I had really bad insecurities about my looks, I actually thought about getting a rhinoplasty. There was even a family joke about it. What they didn’t know was that their jokes hurt me. My nose is weird. It’s not big or small..It’s weird. I don’t even know what shape to call it. I started taking the idea of changing my nose very seriously. Then one day my glasses slipped down lower on my nose, making my nose smaller in appearance. I looked in the mirror and thought…Is that me? That didn’t look like me. I didn’t like it very much. I didn’t want to look different. It occurred to me that even if I did change my nose, I wouldn’t like it very much. What’s the point of spending all that money and still not liking myself?

So, no. I don’t think I’m the the most beautiful person in the world. No, I don’t have the confidence of someone who doesn’t give a fuck. No, I do not think that I’m invincible and most importantly, No I don’t think I have the power to change anyone’s opinions just by posting something on the internet. It has to be you who does it. I can probably help a little by telling you that it is do-able and not the most bizarre thing in the world. Loving one’s self is difficult, especially when you’re your worst enemy.

But if knowing about my lists make you feel better, and makes you think that it’s possible that you can accept your body, and love yourself then I will gladly do it.

The things that I don’t like about my physical appearance are:

  1. I have these small bumps and red dots all over my arms and legs. I don’t know what they are, they’ve just been there ever since I can remember.
  2. My hair. It changes seasonally and since monsoon is coming, I need an army to protect my hair from frizz and shit like that.
  3. My vagina. Long story, but I’m very, very insecure of how it looks.
  4. I regret the scars on my thighs.
  5. My elbows and Knees. They’ve always looked like I was born in a coal mine. Again, no idea why.

The things that I like about myself that aren’t physical:

  1. I forgive people easily.
  2. I’m there for people. No matter what. Literally.
  3. I’m loyal.
  4. I defend my people to hell and back ( I guess that comes under loyalty)
  5. I do not judge. Like, at all.
  6. I’m independent.
  7. I learn from my mistakes
  8. I work hard. (Remember when I was working 17 hours a day?)
  9. I’m funny, man. It’s dark humor, offensive humor and way more sex jokes than should be allowed, but funny regardless.
  10. I’m strong as fuck, bro. Sometimes I surprise myself.( I didn’t think I’d survive 30th June of last year, 28th August of last year or 28th April of this year, or 22nd May of this year. But I did. I’m so proud of myself for that. I’m not saying I’m unbreakable or that I can’t be hurt. No, all I’m saying is that I’m capable of handling a lot of things that life’s thrown at me.)
  11. I accept myself.

So there you go. My lists are all out in the open. My lists of things I like about myself is longer, because I’ve developed those traits. Not to impress anyone, but to become a better person. For the people around me and for myself.

Again, by no means am I suggesting that I’m over every little insecurity that I had. I’m not. But no one, and I mean absolutely no one in this world is going to make me feel bad about my body, not even me. Especially not me. You can point out my mistakes, you can remind me of them for the rest of my life, but you cannot say that I haven’t changed for the better. And I will keep on changing.

So should you. If you don’t love yourself today, it’s okay. You will if you try to. You will fail, but that’s okay. Nobody succeeded without failing first. You’re not doing things right if you aren’t failing. So failing is okay. Be sure to get back in the game and start from the scratch if need be. You’re worth all this effort. Trust me.

You’re beautiful and you’re unique and the world wouldn’t be the same without you.

 

 

 

 

Explain.

Explain something to me, if you will. I’m a firm believer when it comes to love that you only get one. One, and that’s it. I don’t mean the random dating, or sleeping around or when you just use people. No, I’m talking actual love. If you’ve fallen in love once, you cannot do it again, at least according to me. Yes, it is possible that you’ve failed a few times before you get the right person, but were the past ones actually “Love”? See, I’m the last person to talk about any of this. So bear with me if you want, or correct me if I’m wrong.

How do you fall out of love with someone? How does it happen? You just stop caring about someone who means the world to you? That seems a little impossible to me, if I’m honest. I may not like people in general, but I don’t think I actually hate anyone. I’m a stupidly forgiving person so I might be wrong but is there some internal switch I don’t know about? I was listening to “Love yourself” by Justin Beiber a few days ago and there’s this line which says I fell in love now I feel nothing at all.  Well, maybe you didn’t love her at all, jackass. Because everyone I know who has actually been in love are in two situations. Either they’re still together or they’re still in love with that person. And those who are still hung up, have legit reasons to get over their partners but they can’t because they actually loved them. I think they’re right. Once you love someone you can’t over them because it happens once. Once. That’s it.

I’ve seen my friends dying inside everytime they see a picture of their former partners with someone else. It literally looks like someone has stabbed them in the heart. They go from ear to ear smile to don’t-know-how-to-breathe in one second. I get it, it must be hard to see the person you loved with your life with someone else. Now, to be completely honest my friends are idiots, too. They did some super stupid shit which lead to their break up but tell me something. Couldn’t they be forgiven? Were their mistakes really worth breaking up over? Then again, what do I know? I’d forgive anything if I truly loved someone and believed that they loved me. I mean, of course not literally everything is forgivable but almost everything is.

What I believe is that if you actually love someone it’s magic. Because think about it for a second. You guys aren’t related. You have no obligations or reasons to love them. There’s “blood is thicker than water” kind of bond. You have absolutely no reason to love them but you still do. It’s magic and once the magic takes place I don’t think there exists a spell to undo that kind of magic.

I mean just look at us, man. We whine that we’re alone and when we do find someone we mess things up for no reason. There’s either lack of consideration of lack of forgiveness. One cancels out another, I think. Why do we make things so complicated? Most of the things are forgivable. I understand, once someone messes up they need to learn a lesson. But guess what? People do change. I’m not saying stupid lines like “Love is blind” and all that shit. Love is seeing everything and still accepting them.

No matter what.

But then again, what do I know right?

 

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.