Tiring anybody out is literally the last thing I wanna impose upon people. My writings on this blog may seem to be a little repetitive; sometimes overdone on the subject of depression or mental health. But that’s because I can’t seem to get around the issue myself. I write on my feelings at the time I’m writing and therefore, they are definitely not a highly-thought output from my part. And I use metaphors and similis a lot- which may turn these into some inconceivable codes of life- or to some, an unnecessary flex of vocabularies. But that I do, to mask my emotions beneath, to bury those blushing feelings underneath the wordplays and to filter out the relatable readers only.
And I like to write in this particular way just to express myself- that I’m not so naturally built for in person. I’m not an extrovert. And I’m not sure whether I’m an introvert either; because sometimes, my actions are laughable enough to lead me to believe that I may be somewhere in between; just how my life is progressing right now- hanging in the middle with no ends in sight.
Another reason I think I write on the anonymous forums is that I get to explore myself throughout without having to worry about what other people think of me and my ideologies pertaining to approaching my lifestyle. Strangers are more cordial than the closed circles and that’s a fact I’ve discovered from time to time. That may be because they don’t know about my inner demons so well as my friends or relatives. Still, their appreciation and concerns are something to hold on to rather than having to wait to get my problems acknowledged by those counterparts and to explain to them what’s really wrong.
This semi-introverted routine has made me prone to endless complexities; from things as silly as getting nervous during viva voces to managing familial relationships. [I feel like I’m being more direct in a sense here, in terms of stating things.
And I’m not proud of my inherent qualities at this stage of my life anymore because that’s made me sick already. I’m getting bored and wounded everyday by the mirror. I have zero plan moving forward; to change anything at all. I’m refusing to evolve and yet always hoping to morph into a better personality. This bipolarity between intentions and actions has never flew me anywhere; nor will it now.
I blame mysef for every single atrocity that’s taken place so far; to me or my family. Yes, my family has felt it- my failures affected them in more ways than one. My father is the best of optimists and yet I broke him down time and time again. My mother started billing conditions on her love for me now and I don’t think she’s at the wrong here. My sister is struggling to sustain her faith and I can’t even stand to support her- ’cause my knees gave out a long back- right after my spine. My brother is going through the same phase I did one day- that changed the course of my journey for the mixed outcome I’m still suffering from. He’s stronger than me- I know. But I see a little bit of myself in him that I genuinely want him to lose forever.
I have no idea what I’m saying right now. I have a publication in Nature and I still don’t know what the heck I’m supposed to do with it. I have no direction, no motivation. My only possession right now is a blackened heart with no eyes. I’m stuck on the edge of a maze that keeps taking me back to the middle of it from where there is no salvage left. I’m drowning in the dark of an ocean that keeps floating me up on the surface from where there is no escape to the shore.
I have fewer hands to pick me up than I did yesterday. And I’ve accepted that cycle. No one’s in the deep as me. Expecting them to come through without me actively asking for it seems far fetched a dream. Moreover, I do have all the tools right on the table beside me- to construct the fort I so require to deconstruct myself. But where am I? What fuel would you suggest to consider the job done? Where am I gonna die?
I’m being elevated when I needed to be humbled. My fame is solid except the M in it should be a K. They have always pushed me over the threshold. The line I wasn’t supposed to cross was blurred. And they gave me all the falses to work with.
I’m sorry I woke up.
An Escapist 