Deal With Things

My patience has been deteriorating slowly these last few days or maybe I am finally growing a backbone and standing up for myself (albeit within the careful confines of my room). But I have definitely been mean in various aspects of my life, confrontational a lot of the time, raring for a fight, not very favourable, desirable attributes but I cannot help it, I don’t really have the patience to take what gets dished out to me or maybe I am getting too sensitive or intolerant or a snowflake as people seem to think I am. I don’t know how to deal with all of this, that is the simple fact of the matter. I am incompetent to deal with stress and the other things and there really is nothing else the matter. But that also points me in the direction to seek some kind of support and help and I think, I might have put that off for longer than necessary.

Are things really bothering me or as a friend asked me, is my mind conjuring up the botheration (if that’s even a word) to seek some form of sadistic comfort from the process of victimising myself? I mean, the friend did not ask me that but I think that’s what he was getting to but he did not really put it out there. Mainly because this could be taken in a bad way and I think he wanted to save me some kind of bad feeling, which I appreciate because sometimes these hard-to-swallow pills taste better coming from myself. But that doesn’t mean that I particularly enjoy taking them but I guess, that’s why they are hard to swallow in the first place. I think I haven’t exactly reached the point of finding sadistic pleasure in feeding myself hard pills too. If I do, I would put that as the loss of sanity from my side and I think, I would prefer to not exist.

Existence is such a weird concept and recently, it has been on my mind more than I am willing to admit. There is always the fear and recently, the hatred for existence and existing, or maybe hatred is too strong a word, most definitely a resentment though. I don’t think I know exactly where it started and there is a fear of saying it out loud. I don’t want to go to a counsellor and say that I have recently been wishing that I did not exist. In a way, saying it on the blog also feels extremely vulnerable and scary because it makes it concrete. But this blog feels more isolated than an actual counsellor and talking and isolation sounds extremely tempting. I have recently been filled with the need to isolate myself and I have been trying my best to fight against it by forcefully inserting myself into people’s lives, so I don’t isolate myself like how I want to. It is quite counter-effective but then I am definitely not dealing with things well. Well, I never claimed that I knew how to deal with things, did I?

And that’s my memory for the day.

 

 

 

Conversations

I went to Delhi with my friend today and it was a much-needed getaway and I enjoyed the day so much that when I got back, I was grinning like a Cheshire cat. I was genuinely really happy because the last week had been the most trying of times and I had absolutely hated every day and myself along with everything else. This was a much-needed trip because it meant that I got to escape the confines of the campus walls and well, that did me a world of good. The real world is a fascinating place, it is quite refreshing to see that life exists beyond these walls because sometimes, it becomes quite convenient to stay within these four walls and pretend that this where it all starts and ends when it actually is not the case.

I have been struggling to sleep these last few days because my mind has been in a really bad place the last few days. It is filled with a kind of deep, burning feeling of dislike for myself and it has only gotten worse as the days progress. I have actually grown to resent these blog posts too because they feel like a lot of work and I don’t want to put in that work. But I also feel that I need to get to this because it helps clear out some things in my head and they don’t always make perfect sense. My brain, whenever I am trying to sleep, is this restless thing that continues to work and jump from one thing to another, even though I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what those things are. It annoys me so much that I cannot help but grow a feeling of extreme resentment towards my own mind, my own existence in extension. Sometimes, it feels like I am just an unnecessary burden on this world and on the people in it.

Today, I had a conversation that towards its end threw some very important, extremely hard to swallow pills at my face. I had to swallow them, obviously, because I really did have no other choice. For my own sake and to save me a lot of self-despising registered on a platform where it will exist forever (or for a long time, whatever), I am not going to get into the details of what the conversation was. It was a very important conversation to have, I believe, but also one that I now fear could have ruined/modified a few things, especially my relationship with my friend. Well, the outcomes of that conversation were not exactly the most consoling for me because there were a lot of uncomfortable realisations in it. For fear of it being said that I misconstrued some things, I shall refrain once again from getting into the details. But all that needs to be told is that it has only instructed me that I probably need to direct my gaze more inward, probably in a less unfavourable light (I am not quite convinced of this part though, I think I really need to criticize myself a bit more because there are a lot of bad things I do). Sleep evades me, tears, unfortunately, don’t. Please tell me my existence shall come to mean something after all, please?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Joke’s on You, Joker

How long before someone becomes a burden too heavy for you to carry? Or how long until you yourself become that burden? It has been a question that has been plaguing me ever since I had the conscience to make friends. But it has been bothering especially after I made friends who I got close enough to be truly vulnerable with. Suddenly it is like I want to share my sorrows with them and seek support but it is simultaneously accompanied by the worry, “how much is too much? How long until they leave or decide that you’re probably not worth their time?” Not very encouraging thoughts, but then when have I ever cheerleadered (I doubt this is even a word but it is still a cool word to use) myself on?

It is quite funny because when I was younger, I was constantly told by my grandmother that I found it easy to make friends. She had seen me at the swimming pool one day and I had just managed to catch a couple of girls with whom I was talking (in retrospect, I believe one of those girls didn’t really like me that much and wished I would just leave her be). When I came back to the house, my grandmother just smiled at me and said that, with that ability to talk to everyone and anyone, I would go places. It is quite true, people can go places with the ability to talk to others, too bad that as time passed and I grew more aware of myself (a bane it truly was), and with that came the horrible withdrawing into myself that I had to effect.

I think a major part of this change in my behaviour was also the fact that I was constantly reminded, in many spheres of my life, that I was worthless and had things that were undesirable and worthy of scorn. It started from inside the family to outside and well, these were the only two places I existed in (or rather, could exist in). I never got the opportunity, I believe, to form deep friendships because I never let myself feel like I could show or should show vulnerability.  I had to stick to my role, the joker, the one the joke’s on all the time, because well, surely everyone loved the joker right? So with nothing else in me that could ever be loved or liked, best to make myself into something that will surely be. What a farce.

I think until now, part of being the laughing stock of anything at all only reminds me of my self-imposed typecasting. It only brings to the forefront the times when I had to consciously make myself the joke because otherwise I might not be loved as much. And so I think I unconsciously try to be the dumb person who fumbles and mumbles and is a bumbling babbling baboon because I have, for so long, attached my identity to it that to not have it is to feel empty. There, I have said it, I cannot imagine myself as being a non-joker or the laughing stock of a group. And no, this is not about my own sense of humour and ability to make people laugh by smart comments, it is being the cause for other people’s laughs by degrading myself (at least in my head) and being dumb. And when people reinforce it, the performative just becomes all the more believable, reified, if I may. It is a messed up logic, but don’t we all want to feel loved at the end of the day?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Existence

Recently, I have been struggling with figuring out what to write in my daily blog posts because I don’t really see the point of recounting an uneventful day and that is exactly what my days have been. They have been inconsequential (much like what I have come to realise is my own existence) and to put it out here feels like I am giving too much importance to myself and besides, who wants to read my mental ramblings about how I had a class and how much work I have and how many meals I skipped that day. What is the use of a life whose only concern is about how each day is proceeding and nothing more, where its primary concerns are not of any consequence in the world? Whose world is this existence making better or helping? Potentially no one’s.

But let me move away from that for a second to talk a bit about brilliance and the way it shines through. This is where I think I behave a little elitist and say that I believe there are lives and people who don’t shine, who probably never will, whose existence will merely be a speck. This could be because of whatever reasons and I am in no position to speculate about that. But I think one of the few thoughts that I have about my own existence (what is even mine in the first place, I wonder) is that it is a useless one. Yes, I occupy positions in this world where my presence adds some value to people’s lives. Yes, I am a daughter, a friend, potentially say, a mother or whatever. But these are roles that can be fulfilled by anyone or if I didn’t exist and no one else existed in my place, those places would not be there at all and it would have been a different life, but one that would have been perfectly fine anyway. But aside from these misfortunes of circumstance, there’s literally nothing I can call to my name and fame. It is quite a useless and pittance life, honestly.

It might be a good counter-argument to say that I am but 18.5 years old and of course cannot be expected to already be someone of consequence in the world. That is true, I would agree completely, I do have time. But do I have what it takes to convert that time into a consequential existence? I am not very convinced. I really have a lot of work to do that is extremely important for my life at Ashoka and I am not really getting anything done. Adding to my worries is my own dwindling mental health, I mean, it fluctuates a lot, there are times when I am doing quite alright and sometimes when I am just a burden on this world and myself and I don’t really see the point of going on and on. It sounds horrible and of course, I don’t support or entertain any ideas of suicide (it is a very serious issue and I hope that people who face problems get help and keep themselves healthy and safe, we need you). Anyway, it is all part of the shining existence idea because that is something I revolve around in almost all aspects of my life. I will do better, right?

And that’s my memory for the day.

Demons

Ever since I can recall my academic life, from school to university, I have been an extremely worried student. I have constantly been of the opinion that I am not doing well and that I am only destined for doom and nothing less. That is not exactly a wonderful feeling and while I never did cherish those memories where I have vomited or cried or spent hours freaking out about everything under the sun, I also learnt to kind of suck it up and deal with it. I would get extremely stressed about many things, sometimes very much legitimate things, deserving things. I would deserve the most scathing comments I could inflict on myself and inflict them I did with a sadistic pleasure that I still find.

I never had a choice, I had the undeniable pleasure of being a disappointment many a time and being an appreciated success equal times. College taxonomies implore me to define myself in some way, ways that are simultaneously alien to me as they are relatable. I feel like I am an average student at best alongside times when I feel like I am intelligible one (not intelligent, mind you). Actually, that is a lie, I have felt like an intelligent student too at times, especially during English classes in school. At university, I felt intelligent in certain classes that have gone so far away into the horizon that talking about them feels eerily like an exercise in nostalgia. Let me rather not.

I think part of the problem comes from a place of deep-rooted anxiety and insecurity, and dare I say it, hatred and prejudice directed towards myself. That is right, I probably hate myself, for a lot of things, the least damaging of all being my own perceived mediocrity. Just saying it out loud makes me feel like I am creating unnecessary drama, creating a space that legitimises my own demons, just so that I can bask in the comfort of my own misery. It is convoluted, extremely so but the fact is, I don’t think I can say any of it without being reminded of the pervertedness of my own mind. It makes me hate it all even more and wish desperately that I didn’t have my mind, that I (this wonderfully constructed self-identity that somehow is intrinsically connected to my essence) didn’t exist. I don’t think I have, ever in my life, despite a lot of issues and problems, ever wished that I didn’t exist. But recently, it is a thought that comes back again and again, to make me wonder what it is about my existence that I cherish enough (turns out, the answer is nothing, really).

Things I cherish don’t cherish me back the same way, and well, I might wax lyrical about having no expectations but when it came to my own doorstep, I was left extremely disappointed and hated everything (enough to state that I shall cherish those same things no longer). I am easily emotional, a fact that I rue to no end (of course, no one likes to associate themselves with someone who is so prone to tears all the time like I am!). I have never felt quite so emotional as I do these days, tears seem quite ready to flow out at any point of time. Overwhelmed is probably the right term to use, I am most definitely, completely overwhelmed and right now, it is out of my hands that the only thing I can do is shed tears of helplessness. And what a wonderful job I am doing of that, perhaps the best job I have done so far. It is going to turn out alright right?

And that’s my memory for the day.