Crying without tears
Sitting here, like this, with a mind that screams silently and with a lump in my throat and eyes waiting to burst into song, wanting to reminisce about what has passed, about that which will never return; wanting to cry like a child, while a cynical, weathered old soul somewhere inside cackles at the irony of ruing over the past, I have nothing to write. Nothing, but the need, and the desire to express what I can barely word.
There is guilt, there is pain, and there is a bigger question staring at me and asking me if I have the right at all, to grieve over something that I did nothing to help. It is somebody I love, somebody I loved a lot. Did I understand this love too late? What stopped me from saying this when time was still merciful?
There was this someone that probably spent a life deprived of a childhood, love, happiness, while trying to spread it all around. The last few hugs are still fresh in my mind. It was the arms of someone who had, once, been a very strong person. Weak, soft and humbled, they were, after the fall. The last was the most painful. Cold, emotion-less, stiff. Whatever failed to convince you of the truth, this last hug was enough to convey the bleakness of finality. For someone that could never feel what all others seemed to feel, that was a rude jolt. It still makes me shiver.
Even a mention is enough to get me crying these days. Deep inside, I know that it is only because I am unhappy in life, that the unpleasant past has such a piercing effect. Acknowledging this makes me all the more disgusted with myself. I really want to stop feeling bad, about what has happened, and about Me.
Self-pity doesn’t even work anymore. Not in the usual sense. Would that really make things better? I know that today is better than this day, a year ago. At least, here lies the power to change. What is missing, if anything, is the spirit. Maybe a fight is waiting, in the wings. The Fight needs to happen. Now.
Everything turns magical once it is the past. That is alternately the most awe-inspiring and repulsive thing about the mechanism of reality.
Help Me God. And forgive me A for not being what you had needed. I pray for your happiness. Give me faith.
Let there be light. Alas! It dispersed.
Why? Really?
This! I mean all this (the author looks up dramatically and points at all that’s around her) is a necessity.
Till now, I had neither the inclination to, nor the belief in sitting down and writing about my life, it’s ills, how it kills, or about resorting to pills.
But now, trust me, it has become necessary. So please, forgive me for indulging in what I believed till now to be borderline sin: Ego-writing (Is that a term, yet?).
I had nothing but contempt for people that took out time to write about their cats,their silly love-lives, what they had for breakfast and their disoriented sexual orientations; till now that is. Now it’s alright. By the way, have I told you about my cat? I call him Burberry. He’s a cool cat(damn! That’s something I’ve never managed to be!).
I look outside the window. This city is f-r-e-e-z-i-n-g cold. So is everybody around me. There’s A that can’t be bothered even if I proceeded to kill myself, in her presence. Or B that would plan to stop me but she’d get busy half way through and proceed to execute her other, obviously more-important plans.
Man, I’m feeling better already. Did I tell you why this blog was created in the first place?No? Okay, so I will, now: Nothing fancy. This is an experiment in refuge. Refuge in bitchery, refuge in bitterness, refuge in vocal profanity of the written sort
. Above all, an experiment to find out if snubbed thoughts are what made me so miserable these hellish two years.
For once, I don’t want to be politically correct; not any more. Fuck the world. Oh boy! Being something-teen(or just off, if you want the truth), in an ideal world, that would be a bit of a catchphrase paralleling hey-how-are-you-doing in my holy life. But no! I can’t recollect even a single instance of me saying That, in a long, long ,long time. Now you know what the matter is, don’t you? Yes. I am your run-of-the-mill loser, marinating in anonymity hoping to feel better, this way, cussing and swearing around.
But No, this is not me. This is another person within me, someone I’ve constantly pushed around and silenced. A comatose, dying animal that can be revived only with some good ol’ TLC. Wake up! the angelic Bitch in me, and conquer the night that is, but yours! This is giving me a nice soaring kick already!
Why a reversed rainbow? It sounds deep, no? You don’t think so? I say so. That’s enough said. Consider that your first clue, gentle reader.
I have little else to stay. A blog deserves an introductory post and here it is. Hmm. It isn’t long enough. I need to say something deep and meaningful. Okay,
Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, errr….
wait.
I’ve flipped.
Alright: my shiny new blog, this one’s for you.
Stranger than your sympathy
And this is my apology
I killed myself from the inside out
And all my fears have pushed you out
(and I proceed onto the chilly night as the song plays on)
See you another night, friend.