The epitome of philosophy lies in the basis of humanity. Do I believe in love or is it one of the perfectly obscured materials which we have created to feel less pain. The weightage I give to love is one of the many billion things I feel at one moment. The gift of feeling multiple emotions and straining yourself from divulging them is hardly an easy task. I’m frustrated. That’s such a nice word. Frustrated doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel at many a moments in my life. One day its hyperactive happiness, another day it is controlled and then as you see it, in a blink of an eye breaking my bones to feel less. The burst comes and goes. You feel the monster rising and then blowing out. It comes out like creeping on the soul, treading on my flesh ready to claw it and throw it across the floor. Am I breathing? The sudden pride of owning an entity which was never yours in the first place. It was given.
The presence of a third person who didn’t leave my existence in the first place. I hear everything I see everything. I assume. I laugh. I blackmail. I hurt the ones who love. The screeching sound in my brain is on mute. They tell me I must be insane that I think I could be insane. I cannot embrace my sanity. I’m told to act normal be normal feel normal. What is normal? I cry publicly now. Instead of breathing under a bulb in a room full of darkness, I smashed that bulb. I need to stop stressing and revisiting the past they tell me. Don’t look at your wounds. If you don’t look at them you will feel they are not there and forget about them. I always think about my diseases. Never thankful that I’m cured instead fearful for a relapse. That’s why I don’t get too happy too excited too ecstatic too vocal. I have achieved to be a normal human. That’s an achievement? Really?
Presently, I may have broken records, but pride will swallow you whole. The higher power will grant you what you desire but will strain you from achieving your greatest feat. There’s a catch. There’s always a catch. Be humble be positive be empathetic. That’s when I’ll win.
Sara closes her dairy and hugs it tight. As if holding it firmly against her chest will dilute all the scratches in her mind. She always leave a positive message in the end. If on any day, her mother reads her scriptures, she would be terribly broken. A heartfelt line in the end just leaves a kindle of hope that Sara always will find a way to hold on. This was necessary. Not only for her mother’s sake but for her too. She needed that jolt of reality smacked right into her to soothe her anxiousness. To help her stay grounded. To bring her back from the turmoil.
She is a Boss. Ass. Bitch. She has been strangled for a long time that she had learned to smile when she is choked. Take the high road. Instead of giving equal importance to everyone she had realized to only care for those who loved her. She wrote this on stone. Being pushed to be an A-grader had numbed her mind. An individual who isn’t scoring high marks in studies might as well be wed off and become a homemaker. She believed it. Those around her believed it. There wasn’t any way out. In ten years, she had been shattered and recollected herself successfully numerous times. She was strong. Her idea is accepted as a problem, not a solution.” I have smashed glass ceilings, brother.” It’s not enough, honey, comes the reply. From all her knowledge and experience that has latched on her like a leech, she used to hate that she was made to feel not enough. As she grew up, studied, observed similar situations which others had encountered she believed that push was necessary to become extraordinary. She was not born to be mediocre. She was born to be special. And special doesn’t define the same old progressive evolving human who had to climb a mountain to be noticed. But even a small but bold change that could be brought even in herself. Sara did not need a throne to divulge her plans to the world. She will read slowly and mark her understandings of the world, here and a little over there.
The good things maybe a plenty but the criticism had made her a bickering, complaining and pessimistic creature. Do notice it is not human, but creature. Being positive and that too every day is an exhausting task that she had taken upon herself. She still bickered. She still complained and once a while she would whine about the shitty weather. At one point in time, feeling sorrowful for herself, which is a foreign concept to her now, had been her everyday musing. She ached for things she didn’t want. She had this illusion that was thrust on her as a teenager that a man only can make you happy. Bad company. Zero social skills. The excuses are many to explain why she felt the need to define herself through validation. Right now at this very moment she has cut herself off from all those things that she never required. A wholesome meal full of calories which her body and mind didn’t need. Focusing on herself was in her subconscious. Her life was slow and her hustle was strict. The world did not revolve around her. Being in the phase of being in the limelight (which she never was, could be but didn’t feel the need to acknowledge) had crushed her soul. Putting the pieces back is agonizing, that too of a shattered glass. Imagine after you are done, it looks as if it was just manufactured. The cracks can only be seen from the inside but outside, god damn it, oozing perfection. Fortunately enough, the pros outweigh the cons and that, programmed via Sara’s brain would always be the predetermined answer to every situation she faced. But there were stages.
Stage I: Oh, I failed the quiz.
Stage II: Nope, it can’t happen to me. TO ME?! Nah.
Stage III I’m such a failure. I’ll die a loser. I feel dejected.
Stage IV: IT’S MY FAULT. IT’S MY FAULTTTT. (Sweats uncontrollably)
Stage V: Its okay I will do better in the next quiz. It’s all about choosing and picking the right moment for the next move. (Sweat starts to dry)
Stage VI: Watch out bitches I’m the queen I will slay I will conquer I will rule.
Stage VII: Overdramatic much? Don’t be hyper now. Keep your cool, boo. When’s snack time?
This was a 20 minute session. That too, in class. Others could be longer. Many lasted days. And sometimes it would only take a second to snap to Stage VI and even lesser time to tumble down to Stage III. The sixth stage was her all-time favourite. Even though it had the side-effects of being impulsive, making rash decisions, speaking without thinking through, laugh attacks, sassy comebacks and even forgetting who she was. It gave her a high. She loved it and she loathed it. The stage was dangerous, she knew but it never bothered her until she gravely suffered the aftermath of her actions.
Dark circles under her eyes. First signal. Ditching heavy makeup. Second. Feeling vulnerable and self-loathe which was persistent. Third. It didn’t count since that was just inside and ongoing since she remembered. The first two signals were visible and both were enough to know a great life lesson was to be slapped on her tarter personality.