Tag Archives: health

I’m sorry 

This whole self esteem issue is driving me insane. I don’t know how I let the words of a mean-ass bitch cut through my skin. It had taken me better part of the last two years to be comfortable within my own skin. Not just me, I used to urge people to do the same, too. I still do, but now I feel like a hypocrite. 

So I wrote this “thing” to just get it out of my head because I really can’t keep it in any longer, I’ll go crazier. 

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I’m not skinny like the other girls you like so much. I’m sorry I’m not as beautiful as your last one. I’m sorry you find me funny to look at. I’m sorry you had to put up with catfish after you’d had caviar. I’m sorry for not being fairer. I’m sorry for not having the perfect face. I’m sorry for my stretch marks over which I had no control. I’m sorry for my skin reacting the way it was evolved to. I’m sorry for my nose, and I’m sorry you had to look at it. I’m sorry for not having a symmetrical body so it’s appearance could please you more. I’m sorry my butt is spotted with cellulite. I’m sorry my breasts aren’t as identical as you’d like it to be. I’m sorry the sight of me makes you cringe. 

I’m sorry, even know it’s not my fault. 

I’m sorry for it all. 

*Picture by Sanjana Dawani. Seriously, stop what you’re doing right now and check out her page on Instagram. 

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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.

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.

Vow.

This post was published sometime around August’15. It got deleted and I managed to forget all about it like a complete ass. So here it is again, with little finishing twitches here and there and the concept has been borrowed from Tumblr. I read something like this and thought to try my hand at this.

7am: I wake up from a dream about you. I hate myself for having that dream for about 5 minutes then I jump into the shower.

7:15 am: I check my phone and there’s still no word from you. I throw the phone roughly on the bed and get ready for work.

1pm: I’ve drowned in work so I don’t think about you. But damn it to hell, nothing works. I can still smell you from the dream.

3pm: I eat lunch with a friend. Your name comes up and my stomach drops all the way to Satan’s cage. I lie and say whatever you do doesn’t concern me. I lie and say that I’m over you.

7pm: I come back to an empty home and the air gets heavier and more difficult to breathe. I take my phone out and read old messages to torture myself.

8pm: I have no idea how the bottle of water in my hand turned into a glass of whiskey. I read an old text which cuts me open from shoulder to waist in one stroke and I gasp for air.

8:30pm: The books you bought for me taunt me through the shelf while I make dinner for one. At this point, I’m ready to burn them to ashes and burn those ashes again. But I know I won’t, because I’ll desperately cling on to any memory of you.

9pm: TV seems stupid. Social media seems stupid. Laughing seems stupid. Breathing seems stupid. Stupid seems stupider. The only thing that doesn’t seem stupid is that I need you. I didn’t think I’d need you like this. I didn’t think that I’d stop existing if you left. But what’s the point? You already did, and you left those fucking memories.

10pm: Last night’s dream comes to mind, and I give into it. I give into the feeling of you touching me. The way you curse, the way you grind your teeth together in lust, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when you can’t handle any more, the feel of your cool lips against mine when you first kissed me, the taste of your blood when I bit your lip a little too hard. It fucks me up further to realize that you literally run in my bloodstream.

11pm: it seems like it’ll be an age before I hit the call button on my phone. Why should I call you? You made it clear that you don’t care then why should I?

2am: I figure out the answer. Because you’re the only one I could feel. Because I’ve tried fucking my way out of an empty heart but it doesn’t work. Because none of them could make me feel what you did with your mere words.

3am: I’m praying to every god I can think of to bring me a time machine.

4am: My phone rings and I know it’s you because….I don’t even have a reason how. All I know is that it’s you. I answer the call because I don’t see logic when it comes to you. I don’t see reason, or ways, or plans. And it hurt like shit when you chose logic. But then again, what’s the point? I’ll continue not seeing logic and you’ll continue following it.

4:05am: I invite you in.

6am: You’ve set me back to square one. Whatever little progress I’d made has been reduced to dust. You leave without a word. You don’t even look back. You don’t even say my name once. I make a solemn vow to myself to never let you in again, knowing that whenever, if at all, you call again, I’ll go running back to you.

7am: I laugh at myself. My arrogance got the better of me. What I thought could never break me has shattered me to pieces. I get up from the bed and start getting ready to spend yet another day in this mayhem we call “world”

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.