Tag Archives: fear

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.

 

 

 

 

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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?

 

Shame.

So throughout this post I’m going to pretend that I actually am someone who is entitles to have an opinion on things like self confidence, body image and such things. So bear with me.

I’m a little annoyed when everyone keeps on asking me things like, “You’re kind of overconfident, aren’t you?” Uh, yes I am. It took me YEARS to be confident with my skin. Constant reminders from everyone who called me ‘Fat’ and ‘Round’ and ‘Fat-ass’ didn’t really help, either. If I wore clothes too loose, it was a problem and it was an even bigger problem if I wore them tight. I couldn’t show too much skin because what am I, trying to get cat-called everywhere I go? I couldn’t wear clothes which covered me too much because then I’m a prude who doesn’t know how to dress.  I was constantly reminded that I wasn’t as pretty as the other girls and that I should learn to behave and dress more like them. It’s hard being my body type and then dealing with these comparisons, too. I’m not lying when I say that I actually considered plastic surgery to change how I looked. I ruined my body because if something is already ugly, what difference a few more scars are going to make, right?

Then it was October and I’d gotten my first five figure check. I was an 18 year old, working 17 hours a day, dealing with so much shit and making more than anyone in my family. I was going to put myself through law school. I was independent and I guess that was the little push that I needed. It might sound weird, but it was Donatella that gave me the first shred of confidence. I mean the song, not Versace. I listened to it over and over and over and over again. I didn’t need the approval of anyone else to convince me that I’m a bomb. I didn’t need other people telling me this on social media. Hell, I didn’t care what anyone thought.

It’s my goddamn choice to rock a turtleneck or a tank top. I don’t care if I’m showing too much skin or too little of it. Guess what? I love it and you can shove your unasked opinion right up our anal cavity, thank you very much.

Now, another set of people who didn’t develop further than the stage of being an asshole are the ones who think that if you look good and you feel good about yourself you have got to be doing it for ‘someone’ else. These people make me laugh, really. You think I own every shade of red lipstick, just to impress some dumbfuck who doesn’t see the difference between Ruby Woo and Classic pirate? You think I’m wearing a winged eyeliner sharp enough to kill, it’s for some  guy? Are you serious? Guys don’t know shit about make-up. I was shopping online once and I asked my friend which one of the two shades were better.

Me: Okay, which one will look good on me?

Palash: *Glances over at my phone* What’s the difference?

So if anyone in the world thinks that she’s putting on make-up for you, you need to get down from that imaginary horse you have because no woman does her make-up to impress anyone other than herself.

Now, getting back to the point. Big surprise! You will have a billion reasons in the world to feel bad about yourself. You will make so many mistakes in your life that you will start hating yourself. But making mistakes shouldn’t make you hate yourself or your body. The best thing you can do is apologize for it, and pray to every god there is that you will get forgiveness from those who you seek. You can’t do anything else, to be honest. We don’t have a time machine yet (At least as far as I know). You need to own up to what you did, accept consequences and come out a better person. People with negativity will always leech themselves onto you because they can’t get over their own insecurities. It’s a  Hum to doobenge, tumhe bhi le doobenge type of situation. We didn’t get over our issues then why should you? You need to surround yourself with better people, people who support you no matter what or a million blog posts from a nobody like me won’t help.

You are a bomb the day you decide to be. Have no shame in taking compliments, you deserve them. Do whatever makes YOU feel good and flip the bird to anyone who says otherwise. You’ve got a scarred body? Cut? Burned? So do I. So do more than 7 billion people out there. People seem to have this misconception that guys aren’t victims of body shaming. Yes, they are, and they don’t get enough light when this issue is talked about. It’s not easy to be a guy and be commented negatively based on physical appearance, either. All this shade people throw on each other just based on how they look is the stupidest thing to do with your time.

You are who you are, and no one has the power to change it and no one should. I don’t wanna be weird and quote Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, but

“You’re beautiful in your way, because God makes no mistakes.”

These words are everything, and it doesn’t matter if you believe in a God(s) or not. You were made the way you were and there are no mistakes when it comes to that. There’s a plan set out and everything is going accordingly.

So if you’re down about anything, get out of bed, listen to some gangsta rap, fix yourself something to eat, put yourself together and reign like the Queen/King you are.

 

 

 

 

 

I guess I wanted it back.

I’ve been trying to write this one for so long. I did wrote it three times, but couldn’t bring myself to hit publish. Because who writes like that? Who thinks that it’s okay to kill other people in exchange of getting theirs back?

I;m not normal. Anyone who knows me will confirm that. I’m crazy, and I’m not kidding. When I say that I’m kidding, I’m not trying to be a bad-ass or whatever. I actually am crazy, and I’m okay with my insanity.

That’s not what this is about.

What I’ve come to know recently is that if you loose someone, like when they die, they’re never coming back. You’ll never see them again and it’s terrifying. It hit me hard a few weeks back that….shit, they’re never coming back. Out of the blue I was crying my heart out…shaking like I was having an epileptic attack. I hadn’t cried like that in a very long time. Maybe never.

I shut my phone off…threw it away, actually, and then it was like every river known to man was coming out of my eyes. I don’t cry that often these days. I know what I want from my life now, and that’s my priority. Everything else can go screw itself, IF it’s not one of the people that I love.

I have no idea why I cried, but the whole time I was crying, I had one thing in mind. “I want them back.”

I wanted all of them back. I even hoped that “God” would take away the people who deserved to live less and give me back mine. Too much has been taken away from me. I want it back. I want to be happy again, like I used to be once.

I’m not a sulky or whatever person . My life isn’t that bad. It doesn’t suck all that much. Good things have been happening to me recently. I mean, I feel like I’ve grown up. For the first time in my life, I prayed not for myself but for someone else. Khud se zyada doosro se pyar hai…I love others more than I do myself. I mean, I would give anything for their happiness. This just means my family and a few friends.

They want me to do something…no questions asked, I’ll do it. I’m sure they’d do the same for me, too. So, I shouldn’t really complain and be sappy that I’ve lost people. To be honest to myself, I’ve gained more than I lost. But as an arrogant and ungrateful human, I still run after what I’ve lost.

But I wanted them back when I was having a tear-attack. I was saying it out loud again and again. I want them back, I want them back, I want them back. Zid hai….wapas chahiye sab. Kya kar loge?

I couldn’t say anything to my mum or grandma. Then they’d start crying and it’d have been all my fault. So I switched my phone on. I told what I was feeling to three people. All three of them had a single answer.

Accept it, they aren’t coming back. Accept it, they’re gone forever and you’re going to miss them forever. Accept it, and move on.

No one said get over it because they haven’t either, and you simply can’t get over it. How can anyone?

I mean, it really is childish. They’re dead. It doesn’t matter how much I loved them, they’re dead. They aren’t coming back.

It should be okay.

But it’s not.

I can’t do anything about it.

I hate it.

And I hate whatever I just wrote because I don’t want to take everything so serioulsy. Badi mushkil se sochna kam kiya hai…I can’t afford to think more and more.

But whatever, I’ll just publish this thing.

Your secret is safe

Okay, the only reason I’m still posting here while my boards are going on is because I’ve recently learned that people who’ve told me the stories of their lives have also admitted to me that they’re scared by the fact that they’ve told me everything.

Here’s the thing.

I don’t go around telling the whole world what happened to you. Gossip is one thing, and sensitive matters are a whole different category of secrets.

I know how it feels like when you spill your guts to your stranger. It feels good for about an hour, and then the panic kicks in. I know, okay, I know how scary that can be. I’ve tried it. I’ve been where you’re at, that’s why I say how important it is to just say whatever you feel like to a person you know will keep your secret.

What will I get from telling people stories about your life? Why will I do something to others that I don’t want happening to myself? Come-freaking-on!

Whatever you’ve said to me in person, email, Facebook, or whatever is literally going to go with me. It’s never ever be spread out to other people.

As far as the fear of judging goes, I’m the last person in this big mad world who will judge you. Why? Because I’ve done more dumb stuff in my life than I care to remember.

So, the gossip part is out. The judging part is out.

Why the hell are you scared now?

I’m not carnivore. I’m not going to bite you if you tell me your problems (A few months back, I wouldn’t be so sure, but that’s irrelevant now)

If you’re reluctant to talk to me, then it’s your choice. I’m not going to hold you collar down or put you on gunpoint to tell me everything that’s happened to you!

But if you do decide to tell me, trust me on this, you have no reason to fear it afterwards. I’m not Charles Augustus Magnussen. I’m not going to blackmail you later in life in exchange for something.

So, I know most of you are going to read this.

Don’t be afraid. Fear is what’s going to take us down one day, it’s better we dump it first.

It’s here….

Okay, this day is coming sooner than I’d expected. It’s what I’ve been dreading for the past year…

The C.B.S.E. Board Examinations 2014 are starting from 1st March. Mine will drag till 10th April…

Panic Level :Extreme
This exam will literally be the piece of paper which determines my future….

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA………..!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s here…!!! 😮

Letting off the steam…(Rambling)

More often than not, my head is like a war zone. There is World War III going on inside. I try hard to keep the damaged thoughts and memories away.   I’m okay for a few weeks, then this thing starts to eat me from within again. It’s like a viscous cycle. It goes away for a while, then it comes back again. Every time it comes back, it’s harder than the last time.

I can’t afford to be ‘not okay’ right now. I’ve got exams going on, and in the last four exams, I have no idea what I’ve written. Pain medication and Cough&Cold medicines are making me insane. I’m high most of the time due to these and it’s making me crazy. My depression chose a really bad time to start surfacing. It’s my last year in school and I cannot, in any situation possible, screw it up. I’m working as hard as I can. I’m sleeping three hours a night for the last two weeks. I’m studying as hard as I can. I study till 1:00 in the morning, then I wake up again at 4:00 to pick up where I left off. I watch TV for two hours a day, four half-hour shows a day. On weekends, I watch a movie at 10:00 which drags on till midnight, give or take on hour. I don’t go outside to take a walk. I don’t listen to music anymore. I can’t bear it actually. I study, eat, watch TV and sleep for three hours. That’s all I do. Oh, yes, and one hour of blogging every other day.

I know the answers of the questions. I know what the Diminishing Marginal Utility is. I know the relationship between Price and Demand. I know what Elasticity of Demand is. I know what a deficit in the union budget is. I know how trades are settled in NSE Nifty and BSE Sensex. I know what NSCCL and NSDL do. I know what a broker is supposed to do and what he’s not. I know what Fayol’s laws are. I know how an agent is supposed to behave at his job. I know who wrote the poem Ars Poetica (And decided to contradict everything he’s written). I know these things! I know bloody every single one of them. I know everything that matters.

When I’m handed my question paper, it’s as if someone has put me on Flight mode. I start seeing two where I should see one. If I don’t take my pain medication, my back-ache kills the crap out of me. If I don’t take cold medicines, I’m left to choose between wiping my nose all the time or actually writing the answers. I write everything that I’m capable of at that moment and then put my head down to sleep, until those three tormenting hours of examination are over. Every morning, I wake up with my head throbbing out of my skull. It hurts constantly. So often, that I notice the difference when it’s not there. I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know how to get out of this hole. I want to. I really, really want to, but instead, I end up getting sucked deeper.

The worst part is to go through it all alone. No one in my family knows about my depression. It’s surprising, isn’t it? They can’t know. If I tell them, they’ll think that I’m just hungry for attention. They are those typical Indians who think that if you’re going to a shrink, you’re downright insane. You belong in an asylum, not in a school.

Image

I thought I could do it alone, you know. I thought that it couldn’t be THAT hard. I mean, being depressed is being sad, right? Being around people might change that. Then, instead of being sad, I could just hate them. For me, that’s a whole lot better than being sad. Again, I chose the wrong people. I did the wrong things and by the time I realized it, it was too late. Like they say, the damage had already been done. It’s not just hard for me to go through this all alone. It’s like-taking. No one knows what’s wrong with me. I can’t tell them. My mother has her own pile of stuff to deal with. I can’t unload this on her. She’s got two bedridden parents. The last thing she needs is an errant daughter. My dad? Yeah, right. It’s a miracle he remembers that I exist. And bad news just keeps happening around me. Trouble is obsessed with me, don’t you know?

This is so much, oh-so much harder than I expected it to be. I did things I’m not proud of. I did things which I’m tempted to do again, but I don’t because I know that it’s a step too far. I don’t remember what it’s like to have a real conversation anymore. I haven’t had one in the last month. Who am I supposed to talk to? My new dog? My ten-year-old brother who’s always playing? Sometimes, I get so lonely that I just start talking to my laptop or copy or even my toothbrush! I realize that me talking to them is not a problem. A problem is when they start talking back. I’m so isolated, stuck in my ivory tower like a hermit, alienated, and what the hell not? I don’t like other people, but I know that I need them to survive. I’m one of the seven billion  homo-sapiens, a primate. I require company. I can’t help it! Evolution made me this way!

Its not always bad, you know. I recently went to a hill-station near my city on a school trip for a weekend. It was awesome! I had so much fun. I danced like crazy along with my other friends. The problem is, they are the kind of people who have fun almost all the time. They can make you smile at a funeral, and that’s a very good thing. The problem is that I need a deeper connection with someone. I’m way too deep for a healthy normal teenager. I smile on the outer surface. I make the funniest jokes. On the outside, I’m a radiant personality. I’m living a lie. I’m telling thousands of lies everyday, just to get by that day. One day at a time, that’s how I’m surviving. I put on happy face, so that people don’t ask me why I’m sad. I keep it all within me because I’m scared that if I tell everything to someone, they’ll know my weakness. They’ll know that I’m vulnerable and not half as strong as I appear to be. 

Is it wrong to be scared? Is it wrong to think that I do need someone to talk to. Someone who gets me, someone who just won’t ever judge me. Is it too much to ask? One billion people living in India and no one can understand me? What am I, an alien? I’m tired of living a lie and telling them. It’s exhausting to be two people at once, and yet not be myself.