The feeling of worthlessness is so strong, but when your brain has some illness that doesn’t have a reason to exist, things becomes tricky. The most irrational fears of your becomes so convincing that you really start to believe that you would fail at everything you do. In my case even breathing, I always wonder why I forget to breathe and I curse myself when I hyperventilate. I curse myself for being too tired and I hate myself for having a feeling of not wanting to do anything at all.. Ever…
I am a good patient at least, I try to search about depression and anxiety and how I can help myself with that. I saw a video where it was explained how the person should treat themselves when they suffer from self loathing thoughts. Look at yourself like a third person, a kind friend who really wants to help and make things better. I try to do that, I fail most of the times while doing that but sometimes I do successed. At present I am being a good friend to myself by writing this blog which I was not going to but the friend me said, no, you can definitely do it and you know what? you should do it for everyone irrespective of whether they read this or not. I am giving out this message to this world, this universe that I am trying.. I am fighting with my best efforts to cope with the helplessness, the terrible gut feeling, the pounding heart, the headache, the tired body and mind, the hopelessness and I will keep doing that till my natural dying last breath…
P. S: To those who are struggling, I want you to know that it’s more brave to walk the unpleasant path with unpleasant experiences compared to a glittery one.Bravery always pays off and rewards can only be known who has it.. I love you all…
Sunny summer day,
Playing kids outside,
She always wish
To belong to other side.
Today one reason
Tomorrow another one,
It’s not alright to go outside.
Days passed and years went
Now she has even stopped protesting.
It’s a strange place
What is present day where
She is a loner who doesn’t belong anywhere.
She tried her best to fit in for long
But since a while she agree with it,
That maybe she will always be an unfit puzzle piece…
The pills that you take to make yourself well,
Are they really a cure or a new bane?
I take one and I get effects that are conveniently ” side “.
I take two and I get dependent on it,
Still it doesn’t take away the real problem.
The doc say why not try three!
Is it the real cure for years of suffering?
Is it real antidote for life long illness?
The doc sees me for a min or two and announces that I am hysterical,
But who would not be hysterical if they are dying inside,
Who would not be hysterical if they are being torn apart each and every moment of the day.
Is the pill a remedy for an age old curse?
If it was the real medicine then life would have had an antidote too…
The young heart knows not much,
It follows the attention.
It cannot distinguish good from bad.
It just follows the path of impulses,
The young heart persevere,
It persevere even if it hurts,
It can’t let go, it can’t let it flow.
The young heart is pure and naive,
And it always fall for the trickster.
It is the irony of love
As it takes you down before it takes you high.
Young heart learns soon,
Young heart understands soon,
That most of the times you have to choose to love what is good for you…
They come like a cool breeze out of nowhere,
They feel like you have been waiting for them.
They make you forget even yourself,
That’s how their magic actually works.
Just when you get little too comfortable,
They will show you what they are really made of.
When you can’t stop worshipping the trickster,
They leave you with nothing but plain dejection.
They are playing and playing till they get bored,
They are taking and taking till you have no more.
They will hurt you and ask you that why you cry,
They will ignore even if you are dying.
They are nothing but something just like spirit,
They will only mess you up because they are toxic…
The waves of emotions come and go,
But the still and steady coast of relation always stay.
The impulses of the moment drives you blind,
But the love that grows is slow and kind.
The people that attracts your senses may be intriguing,
But the ones that nourishes your soul are rare unseasonable rain.
Don’t fall for the breezy strangers that sweeps you off your feet,
Instead keep the gentle comarade that catches you when you fall…
Chirping of the night creatures,
Humming of the electricity,
The light people are falling down,
And the night children are wide awake.
The stillness of the air makes the sound of pen on roll crystal clear.
The smell of the moist dry earth soothes like no other .
It’s the night that is showing its magic or the work of the ink,
That the clutter in my mind no longer lives…
She see herself in the mirror,
She sees her reflection and she is pretty sure she loathes it.
Why does she feel unworthy of being adored,
Why does she feel unworthy of self-love,
Is it the random comment that points out how her body has changed?
Or is it the specific judgmental voices in her head that seems to be ashamed of her?
Or is it the casual insults used by her loved ones in a “joking way”?
Should she tell them that it bothers her?
Should she tell them that it’s depression that is making her eat uncontrollably?
Should she tell them that she starves herself whole day out of loneliness ?
Should she tell them that she can’t change her genes?
Or should she shut them off as its none of their business?
But what does she tell her inner voices?
Who placed such dialogues in there..
Was it the parent who rejected the 12 year old’s changing body,
Was it the crush who rejected a genuine admirer,
Was it the school teacher that rejected the talent just because of a number on scale of weight or colour.
When did we start treating a child like show stopper,
When did we start berating a child for his or her individuality,
When did we start comparing it with the poster child when in reality the child is an unique perfect creation.
It is time to stop, it is time to think before we say or look at a child,
Because it is watching us, observing us and learning from us.
Strangely it adopts our impression of him and continue to treat himself the way we did.
We are the voices,
Think before you act in front of a child,
As a broken adult she will shut other’s mouth but won’t be easily be able to shut the voices in her head…
The one thing that makes me is also the one that breaks,
It does not slow down even if I can’t take it anymore,
Every thought is out of its shelf, it’s a mess;
There is a need for a way to sort them out,
They float around in my head giving me answers that I ask for,
But they sometimes go on a rampage, questioning my questions.
Fears, feelings, memories, words, images, people, ideas, they are all in there,
You wont be disappointed if you search for galaxies in there.
I can let you in if you are on a soul searching voyage,
But be careful or else you will loose yourself;
You won’t be disappointed if you search for galaxies in there.
I explore it by the words I write,
You explore it by the words you read.
The ends are seeming too conclusive,
That makes you feel it’s inaccessible now.
You may not perceive the fact,
That you never were accessing at all.
The memories are always with you for life,
The moments are never to be owned.
The endings that make you feel down right now,
They are previews for an upcoming beginnings…