depressive bitch partially rants; doesn’t do a lot of deep thinkings into feelings

(and shit talks on a surface level without getting into details cuz I believe it is way too painful asjda to talk about it. It hasn’t become real yet, but talking about it seems like its real so we’re gonna pretend and not talk about it to avoid hurt feelings)

“Its a paper town. With paper houses. And paper people. Everything is uglier up close.”
JG, Paper Towns

“The town was paper, but the memories were not.”
JG, Paper Towns

There is a very thin fine line between living your life and destroying your life. Its funny cuz one builds you and the other is basically a scheme of self-destruction. The manual comes with the same set of instructions – work hard, party harder, meet a lot of people, get drunk and high and make out with whoever and how many ever people you like or don’t, one life give it a good shot. Its crazy how the same set of instructions either keep you mentally sane or fucking destroy you.

I tink, (yes future Aafrin, you have taken to calling it as tink now) yeah anyway, blslapska *clears head* I tink I have not ate much in a while. I have not really ate much in the past couple of weeks ig. And I felt very bad. For starving myself. But I just couldn’t get myself to eat. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, oh hell yes it did xD

I have now taken to starving myself and drinking way too much. In the past four days, I have had three scoops of ice cream, one cavin’s milkshake, one oreo milkshake, one cup of coffee and some dragon chicken. Oh and a little more than a quarter Bacardi Limon raw, five blue mounts, some rc whiskey, a little bit of beer, and a couple of shots. Yes.

Safe to say my body is currently running on vodka.

Its fucking me up a little bit. Not being able to eat. I was very sick this morning, given the excess physical activity, lack of food and a lot of drinking, obviously. I had a couple of shots and I felt so much more better. It sucks. (no no obviously it isn’t even close to addiction you bitch its only been like four days)

I wish I could eat.

I have been working crazy, but thats the usual so. But I realized that I have connected my self-worth directly to how much I work. That fucking sucks. I don’t wanna pass this down to anyone else, what my mother has made me feel.

I have made out with three different people this week and had sex with one of them. Until a couple of months ago, I had only made out with two people in total. I made out with three people this week. Wow jeez. I need to calm down a little bit. I have been bunking college crazy, not eating, too much work, too much booze, light ah gaaju. Mudila da dei, Allahch bachana.

Where did it all go wrong?

Has it gone wrong or do I just feel shitty light ah for no reason? I can’t even settle on how I feel. I really be pullin the “one minute I feel shit, next minute I’m the shit” big time.

I don’t exactly regret making out, I wish I didn’t drink this much but I really don’t tbh idc, I just hope maybe that I eat food, but then again I don’t wanna wish for such big stuff, its very scary. Eating is very scary, not eating is very scary, food is scary, I am scared. Take the food away cuz I can’t eat it, but then watch me not eat and guilt trip. Repeat’uh.

Something isn’t right and I was feeling very shitty before writing but not so much anymore actually, as long as I keep writing ig. My thoughts are scattered and so I’ll end it here. I’m gonna make this blog priv again, undo the publicity ig idk. I just want this to be me ranting wit i’m tired and i’m tired of typinh and my mind is bllanks

is it just me? am i lowkey not satisfied or happy w the blog? why tis chest tightening feeling won’t go away?

One for love, one for loss, and one to make you think, “what the fuck.”

“Thomas Edison’s last words were: ‘It is very beautiful over there.’ I don’t know where there is, but I believe it is somewhere, and hope it’s beautiful.”
JG, Looking For Alaska

Letters to my dead family. With things I wish I could’ve said.

One for love

do you all have that one unfulfilled wish? like that one wish that you really badly want but know can never come true?

It’s meeting my nanaji for me. Unfortunately, my granddad passed away before I was born. And that sucks a lot for me, having a grandparent that you never got to see or hug and hold hands with. But I grew up listening to stories about him, how heroic he was. On Feb 14th, when there’s love everywhere, the small town he is from all lined up wearing black, shut down stores so they could bid him farewell. I still visit his town and get treated like royalty and everyone rushes to me to tell tales about how kind he was and how loving and caring and forgiving he was.

I want to be like him.

I hear so many stories about how he wouldn’t frown and help everyone so much financially, emotionally, in any way. I hear stories about how he rescued my grandma’s sister as she was falling down from a waterfall. He didn’t think twice, this man! He just jumped right in.

He was so so brave. I want to be like him.

Nanaji, not meeting you is something I have felt sad about since a kid but never really expressed. I’m sure you’re in jannath for everything you’ve done and for how much people love you.

It’s funny how someone I have never even met can inspire. me this much. I hope I could’ve met you.

One for loss

I think I miss you. I barely even knew you but it’s making more than a sad difference that you’re gone. I wish I could’ve held your hand when you left us. Or even have been able to be there. It’s been a couple of months but it always keeps coming back in a loop. So I’m going to tell you now a godspeed I held back:

“Khudahaafiz ammijaan. Jhatthan rhao. Ab tumhe accha bharakkoo mitthaa khaa sakte:’)”

And one to make you think, “what the fuck.”

You’ve left me with nothing more than a saved contact now. I keep coming back to this. I told you I was coming to meet you. I told you. I picked out my dress and went to sleep to come meet you the next day and steal ice cream and play w catto. I woke up to my mom screaming and crying. I wore that dress to your funeral then. I was going to meet you and talk to you and eat delicious food with you that day. You could’ve waited for two hours, couldn’t you. Why didn’t you wait for me. My brother hasn’t been the same ever since. He’s only two years older than me. Please come back.

I think I should be telling you goodbye now, it’s been a good couple of months. But I need you back for my brother. I hope you’re looking over him. I hope you’re w dadhiya and dadhuba in jannath ab. Man I can’t bring myself to tell you goodbye. Take care, Chan Maamma.

It was plenty weird, losing an uncle and then just a month after, losing a grandparent. And to have a grandparent that has inspired me so much, and yet I still haven’t met. And daddhiya and daddhuba, you were like grandparental figures, I miss you sometimes. You saw me in 4th grade the last right? I wish you could see me now. I think you are. Hope heaven’s a happy place for all of you and you’re chilling together<3

Something I wish didn’t matter

“It hurt because it mattered.”
JG

I cannot even begin to explain of how much importance this moment is to me. “It’s a teenage girl finding comfort in her mother’s shoulder, what’s so special about it?” must you ask. And I look at you with a hundred million emotions in my eyes, a surmount of feelings that develop inside of me looking at this picture, this moment. It’s not just a teenage girl finding comfort in her mother’s shoulders; it is all that I have ever wanted and more. I have yearned for it for years and years and on and on. I have wanted this so much. I have wanted this so much and it hurts me so much that I have now convinced myself that this is not what I’m longing for. This wait, this hope, I have given upon it.
You see them playing the piano together, their comfort activity. You see acceptance, and love, for just how Kate is. What might seem like a hobby to you encapsulates the entirety of the painful longing I have had to carry without even knowing that I did for 19 long years. And I still am. Oh what would I not give up on this universe to be able to do something with my mother that we both commonly enjoy and sit together and laugh at, look at each other lovingly for a minute before going back to whatever we were doing. Ah the sweet sorrow that I feel.

As I write this, my mind wants to lovingly picture us together, laughing. But it just cannot, I cannot. I am too scared to picture that moment. I am too scared to let myself feel that moment, even if I’m making it all up in my head right now, even if it’s not really real. I am too scared to not pretend I do not want this. For I am too scared to fall in love with this idea in my head that she can love me for who I am, that she’ll be proud of me for all I’ve done, that she can sit with me contently without hating me. I am too scared I will go ahead and fall in love with this stupid idea again, and be irreparably broken again. I cannot let myself want all of this and asphyxiate everytime under the crushing boulder that I will only hear her be ashamed and hate me. So I tell myself I do not want this. And then I fuckup once again. What more do you expect of a 19 year old with all this pain that he’s shoveling away?

The becoming of the unbecoming

“With any
luck
we’ll never find
the things
that we are
looking
for
and,
instead
we become
them.”
Jarod Wabick

Okay wowww. I’m a beautiful writer. Sheesh. I fucking love myself. What a journey. I was just looking back, reading all my blogs and look! Look how far we’ve come! I’m so so so proud of myself. I’m in love with myself, I care about me. I’m happy.

The growth has been massive. And I always say this, that I’m very thankful for the growth, all the growth, my growth. Emotionally, and spiritually too ig. There is not a day that goes by without me thinking just how much I’ve grown. I love myself so much. I love people around me so much. I don’t hold back in expressing my love. I am kind. I am nice to people. This was something I never ever thought I’d be. But I’m kind and nice and loving, everything that I thought was weakness. But only now do I realize just how strong that could make and has made me. It feels amazing to be able to love people. I’ve become so much more confident now. The love I give and the love I receive, man oh man. Fuck hate istg. My love so strong, your hate shackles against it. My peace so protected, your violence deafens. I am thankful.

I’ve done so much in this past year and been so happy with myself compared to all my other years combined. My activism has shot up. So many people text me saying how they are inspired, asking for guidance and support on how to become like me, starting up activism because of me. These messages make your day, trust me. I’m becoming a published co-author! I’ve started playing football again, I’ve started dancing again and I’m not giving up on those this time. I’m not as good as before, not even half as good as I was before, but we’ll become better. We’ll progress, slow and steady, but we’ll make it. Not giving up this time.

Oh but I don’t care about opinions and people tho dammnnnn. Its on a dangerous level, how I can cut off toxic relationships in seconds, know if its going to be toxic and distant, cut people off in the first red signal, never be treated less than what I deserve, the best, and move on easily. I prioritize myself and the right people. Don’t settle for less. But also know, you get what you give. If you want the best, you make people feel the best. Gahh fuck relationship advices.

Take care of yourself broskii.

You can get through this. I love me. I love you. I love. Everything is fucking possible.

Love is a choice btw. Nothing in my life is what I want. I do not like this. But I’m happy.

xx.

Meh.

“Awake, dear heart, awake. Thou hast slept well. Awake.”
The Tempest, William Shakespeare.

Oh fuck no, you sleep some more.

Pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain fucking hell, raw solid deep numbing pain that makes me feel like my heart doesn’t exist and my ears are like numb oh God pain pain pain pain pain.

I’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, we’ll be okay, we’ll get thru this, Jesusfuck, you heart, listen to me, I’m here I’m here I’m here, I love you I love you I love you, hold your shit together, we’ll get thru this, we will. Calm baby, calm, shush shush, higher frequencies. attract. higher frequencies. This sucks. This hurts. Breathe, shush, calm. I love you I love you I love I love you, we’ll get thru this heart, yes yes, I love love love. Issfine, isscool, yuss:) hold on, we got this.

Also, my heart is my heart, none of your Miranda smh.

And I think and think and think.

“And then a Plank in Reason, broke,

And I dropped down, and down – “
“I Felt a Funeral, in my Brain,” Emily Dickinson.

5:00 am. I’m tossing my pillow, turning around in my bed. Could see the Sun, tearing apart the clouds, burning a shade of crimson that I cannot quite describe. Beautiful. I haven’t slept yet. Couldn’t sleep. This incessant, nagging, haranguing bubble of thought that claws its way out, piercing and puncturing and ripping and forcing me to be shredding parts of myself; claws its way out as I choke; until its the only thing I can see in the mirror. “I suck.”

And then I tell myself, “shut up and get some sleep.”

Maybe I do get some sleep. Maybe I dream. Its one thing to lose a friend. Its one thing to lose all your friends. But it won’t prepare you to lose your family. The incapability that you feel. I do not want to be honest, but I am going to be anyway. This blog is my escape.

Its 1:00 pm. I’m hearing noises below. Shouting, yelling, swearing. Something breaks. In the living and in myself. I’m scared. I walk down from my room. They were fighting and he slams the door and leaves. She looks at me. Its one thing when strangers tell you things that make you feel like shit. Its one thing when your friends whom you trusted make you feel like shit. But it won’t prepare you to have your mother make you feel that way. That same incessant, nagging haranguing thought that I tried so hard to escape. “I’m worthless.”

But I tell myself, “shut up and get some food.”

Do you know what it feels like to live with hate? So much that it doesn’t seem like something you’re living with but rather something you’re living in. Its one thing to have random dudes hate you. Its one thing to have your friends and family hate you. But none of this will prepare you for when you hate yourself.

Its 6:30 pm. I argue with myself, I list out all the possible reasons of why I deserved whatever was happening to me. Makes no sense, makes no sense, makes no sense. You’re crying but you’ve been taught at home to never cry so you press the sleeves of your shirt or blouse or whatever you call this into your damn eyeballs and dry them out and act like nothing ever happened, but if you could picture an universe inside of yourself, its collapsed already and you’ve gone way too far and way too many years with this pain that won’t ever dilute and feels like a fresh wound that has been sanitized everytime, the sting, the burn, the rage, help help, shut up shut up, quietttttt. I suck.

Its 9:30 pm. I am pissed at myself for having done nothing productive today or anyday. I suck. I tell myself that its okay, its okay. But God, I really don’t agree. I think I’m going too hard on myself. I think I should give myself some time. I think that if I was hard on myself I wouldn’t be such a failure. I think I shouldn’t think all this. I think and I think and I think. I tell myself again that its going to be okay. I wish I could believe myself. But you see that same nagging, incessant, haranguing thought that always failed to leave, dominating all my senses, repeats: I’m worthless.

Its 2:00 am. Something happened in between but goddamn, I can’t seem to be able to write it down. I cry.

Its 5:00 am. I’m tossing my pillow, turning around in my bed. Its a fuckin’ cycle, a spiral that shrinks as you follow it in. Could see the Sun, tearing apart the clouds, burning a shade of crimson that I cannot quite describe. Beautiful. I haven’t slept yet. Couldn’t sle– pause, wait, I breathe. And you know how Marjane Satrapi talks in Persepolis that if a wheel stops, the whole cycle collapses? I followed the spiral outward.

Its been quite a while now that I learnt this: nothing was wrong with me. It doesn’t make sense because I didn’t deserve this. I won’t shut up. I wouldn’t say I realized it out of the blue. Life first shows you hell, you feel like shit. Then it shows you more hell, you feel shittier. And at one point, you notice that you’re only seeing hell and turn away, look around. Thats the moment you need. Your break-through. You’ll be a-okay. You’ll love you and you’ll realize that is all you need for now.

🙂 eh.

I’m right here. Y’all could talk to me whenever. Just drop an email. Or a comment. I could do with some talking, too.

I’m back, Motherfleckers.

“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: It goes on.”
Robert Frost.

Apparently now, its almost a year since I wrote anything in here. Barf. Do you know when life ultimately treats you like shit? And you’re like, “why tf do I deserve this ugh, why do I deserve this” blah blah, shut up. Stop pitying yourself. Empathize with yourself. But don’t ever pity, you’re not weak. Admit you’re not okay, ask for help, cry, cry, cry, until it makes you feel better, even if you didn’t know what made you upset in the first place. But don’t pity yourself when you feel like you’re done and give up trying. Don’t ever give up on yourself. I know its easier to say than be done, but I’m not asking you to do it. Try. Try is all. With just the meekest effort. But try.

It might suck. And you might need a lotttttt of time. And you might still be not okay. But when has anything been perfect anyway?

To all those random, nice people who’ve emailed saying this blog is amazing and shit, thanks man. And to all those random *types and erases assholes* who’ve emailed saying this shit is depressing, okay look: Firstly, change your perspective. This is what I’m doing for myself to combat with depression. This is supposed to be against depression and all that crap. And I’m doing it for me. I suck at telling how I feel to someone I know and I bet there are others like this too, and it feels better when taking some effort to understand or to be understood. Secondly, don’t spread hate man, c’mon. Because let me tell you this:

This blog is my truth. And I just want to be honest here. There’s no way I’m changing my truth and what I believe. Also notice, I say this is my truth. Not THE truth. Our faith differs. Our truth differs. But is it really the truth when we all imbibe myriad comprehensions of a story that might not even be singular or plural or universal? Fuck, it might not even exist. But we all like to blind ourselves with this pure, deity, celestial bright white light called “truth,” when it is just another possibility. If truth isn’t truth, then wouldn’t lies not be lies? If what is true to you, is a lie to me; if what I believe is something you reject or dismiss, then who is right and who is wrong, how do we win this tug of war? Or would be sane enough to agree that there isn’t no universal truth or there isn’t a lie? Or is that exactly what insanity is? If everything is a possibility then.. if everything can happen, why the fuck are we all so scared to hope? Why do we give up already?

Pew pew.

(I randomly began to type this out with no idea where it is headed, I’ll read thru it again and perfect it sometime later maybe, but as for now: I’m back, Motherfleckers #suits)

Feels so good to have typed this bruh.

Losing and striving to find yourself

“Dismantle your wounds so you stop living your life by them”
Nikki Rowe

(Note: This blog would suck. Cuz I’ve lost it within that me that makes me write. My other blogs are good tho.)

I feel blank right now. I’ve lost my will to write. Or more likely, I feel there is nothing to write about for me. That is scary, very scary. I haven’t felt that before. I generally read over a dozen books a month, I haven’t been able to finish a single book this month tho. I’ve lost all motivation, I’ve lost all desire. You know one of those moments, when all you feel is that you’re a pit? You feel empty. You tell you are lazy, exhausted, that you are tired. You have no interest to do anything. This apparently is a side effect of depression. Alas, depression itself is a side effect of dying. Almost everything is, really. (JG ref#1047939)

Don’t let yourself fall into that trap. You are stronger than that. I’m forcing myself to try and to write. There was a time when my pen would just keep scratching the paper. I would think and feel that much. When I was at class, when I was eating lunch, when I was out shopping. There would always be something for me to write about. There would always be me reading twice as much as I write. And now I’ve gotta force myself to sit down and jot something. Thats how much I’ve lost myself. But its okay. I’m working on myself.

You could too. Make an oath to differ. To cause a change. Make yourself obedient enough to follow it. Discipline your mind. You are lost only to be found again, anew and awesomer. And the only person who can find you back is you. Don’t give up on the things you love doing. Don’t give up on yourself, ever. I love you, this blog sucks compared to the previous ones but whatever. (Please do take a minute to scroll down and read tho) I’m not giving up. I wrote that. I can still write that. Or better. All we need is ourselves; we’ll be okay:)

P.S. Rereading this, I realize how much a shitty writer I’ve become but I’m feeling so much better after taking effort to write this down.

Remind me to forget

“To be alive is to be missing.”
TATWD. JG.

I miss him. I never thought he’d matter so much to me. I never thought I could love someone that much. I never thought I could. But he made me real, in a way that I thought I couldn’t ever become. I’d made my walls strong enough, I’d made myself cold enough to not feel emotion or hurt. Sleepless nights, no appetite. I thought I wasn’t human. But he made me believe, in love, in our friendship, that it was something I could count on, that we’d be forever. I learnt how to let go of my insecurities and love someone, like squeeze your heart and drain every last bit of love out for them. I hurt. I feared. But I also loved. I became a person from just another species on the animal kingdom. Love is both how you become a person and why. (Another TATWD ref XD)

But then, he played me. I thought you can’t get played by a friend, but yeah, you can. It took me long enough to realize what I meant to him. He told me I wasn’t just a speck of dust but a star; I realized he meant the universe to me and a star was but a speck of dust. I think that I shouldn’t be writing this post, that I shouldn’t value him so much to do this, that I shouldn’t love him anymore, that I should leave him for the way he treated me.

But here I am, still writing this, still posting this, still..

We can all get over that someone. Trust me. It took me a long time, long, long time. But I’m making it. So can you. You can and will go on. You’re independent and strong and everything that you wish you were and weren’t, too. If I can make it, so can you. There might still be a part that hopes for things to go back to how it was. But was it really what I thought it was? Or is that a lie I’m imagining too?

Pain and Metaphor

“There are times when you just have to let it all out. All the anger, all the pain.”
Will Grayson, Will Grayson. JG.

Hope, love, change. These are very significant terms, they have power. You can’t deny the acute shortness of breath that you feel when you say out those words aloud. These are things that we fear (we refer to them as “things” and not just “words,” like they are real. And real things can kill us.) Why? Because of the precedented loss. Pain. It is the only word that is so hard to express. Language at once runs dry when you try to express pain, be it physical or psychic. You can easily tell what it was like, but it is impossible to tell what is was. (TATWD, my friends, yes.) We seek to use metaphor to try to describe it. The “it” being so vast but also nothing at all, being some unnameable object? feeling? …some unnameable, inexplicable something that terrorizes all of us. Its like ten fat men wearing stilettos standing on my head, like someone choking my throat, its like a knife piercing my heart, again and again. These metaphors, our language; it does so little to communicate, the ache, the longing, the strength of the people bearing this, the emotional tug of war, the exhaustion in your limbs, the physical and psychic pain. Nothing connotes the surge of hurricanes inside of you, but this too is a metaphor; the riot of emotions inside of yourself, like two kingdoms fighting for dominance, but that is too. The abundant language, that allows for everything, does not give us freedom enough to convey how we feel and perceive what we feel. The thing is, crossing all these boundaries, setting aside your insecurities, when you let others know how you truly feel within, they judge you. Crazy, dramaqueen, mess, attention-seeker, mental.

You’re seeking for encouragements, aren’t you? But we both know it. Nothing I could possibly say would make it hurt less, or show how dauntless you are that you still go on. But I can tell and mean this: I hope you find help if you are suffering, I hope you find the right people, I hope you are cared for and loved, I hope you are understood.