An unusually long post.

Being someone who finds it quite difficult for the most part to vocally express their thoughts, it becomes very frustrating when your written medium isn’t supporting your brain either. It causes large gaps between the times you actually do print out all those thoughts and ideas and feelings, and sometimes becomes a bad habit, which is funny because you have experienced the opposite, too, when too much of the verbal/written junk is clogging the pores of the atmosphere and is therefore unwanted. If that makes sense.

I was looking back through older entries and realized that the blank scary place I talked about in one of them as coming up in two months? Well, yeah, I’m right there now two months later, existing in this big, scary, blank place. There are many, many things that I can use to fill up my days, for myself and for others, and yet, there are those nagging thoughts that will just not go away. I don’t need lectures on kindness and consideration; I know how the tiniest things can have all sorts of big and small impacts, sometimes short-lived and sometimes far reaching. I know I have screwed up multiple times and I know exactly what mistakes I made.  Sometimes I set about to justify my actions and words, sometimes I knew better and just kept quiet, because that was how I felt I needed to deal with the situation on my own part. 

It has just come to this point where there are certain long moments, many of them, where I go into a state of anxiety and sometimes full blown panic, because I just can’t deal with all of it. I feel stuck between the past and the future and am unable to decide what exactly I need to do to get out of it. How to fix things, if things can be fixed, and how to proceed if there is nothing that can be done about what has happened and is now just done. I will begin to despise my own self, because I can almost see the trails leading out from me to far away consequences, and I feel powerless now to do anything about it, to prevent the inevitable impact of my actions and of my very existence. It’s like a timer constantly ticking in my head, constantly going off and then being reset. I do not know how to explain that I cannot do this, I cannot sit and watch everything crumble like I made it all crumble before. I hurt enough last time when I screwed up, and I don’t want to dive into a new place of pain and guilt and misery. I don’t know how to explain this. 

I am usually good at coating myself in impermeable material that prevents shocks and most other things to just roll off of me mostly, and can buffer my brain into layers to trick it into missing thoughts that I don’t want to be thought about. Lately, this tactic has become a survival technique, because two months of constantly coating and then breaking down the impermeable layers that I painted on myself caused a lot of wear and tear. It is hard now to feel myself for most of the time. I no longer exist in the safe haven of trust and faith and security. I have lost faith in immeasurable quantities. Attempts to try to cement it all together again have resulted in disastrous miscommunication and the situation being worse off than it all was to begin with. Indifference will not help. It uses so much energy to do that that I can’t tire myself out like that anymore. Don’t want more wear and tear.

I am searching for a solution, and for the right words to explain how I feel. It is highly disturbing how I fail to find those words, but also quite clear why this is happening, because the lack of faith just makes everything so much harder to handle. I can’t blame the poor environment that is created for me that is also one of the reasons my thoughts aren’t getting across, because that needs to be clarified by me too. I need to let that be known. 

Pardon me for this lengthy vomit; feel free to leave it as it is on this blog because I always keep the good and the bad and this is one of those things that shouldn’t be cleaned up. Is it pointless? I don’t know. Vomit makes you feel better once it’s out.

Currently re-reading: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Movie watched: Fireflies in the Garden

Turnabout

For a few days now, I've been trying to live full out. That means I've been working on my thesis but also doing whatever it is I feel like doing. Whatever it is I can do. It's led to this strange sensation that hit me yesterday that I felt like my old self. The old rida. From two years ago. And it was liberating. I felt like wild crazy me!

I have my bad moments that start during the quiet afternoons which I now hate. They are the times when, if my mind does not sleep, it rapidly descends into irrational thoughts of the mind-puddle type. Slimy, ugghh puddles. Hurtful things, u*ly things. Insecurities. Self-loathing. Strange images of deaths and pain and anger. Justified and unjustified frustration. The self-loathing is the worst: the idea that I despise myself and cannot gain the acceptance I need from myself to even make me get up and move.

My life two months from now is a large blank. It's scary. It's actually got gaping holes right now even, but I've been sloppily filling them up however adequately possible to feel whole. Hence, I have somehow subconsciously called in two-year-back me, the one who knows how to wear the armor and do all the required moves in it. She likes to be wild and spontaneous. She's the wall builder, and the one who resorts to being numb as a method of self-defense. It's an important aspect of my personality that I had lost while letting down my guard, letting it down quite, quite far. So for now, not feeling too deeply, or rather, not delving into places where my mind can stop to catch a breath and just ponder, is a good thing. I provide my head with enough constant background noise so it is not able to hear itself think (ugghh I know that was terrible).

I can spend most of the day, as a result, in a happy fireproof bubble. It kinda makes me wonder at how much of a sappy weakling I had become. All weepy-teary. Now I'm all unfeeling and wacky. Who wants caring sentimental me anyway?

Winter afternoons

Afternoons.
*sigh*
Afternoons are not good times. These days. I believe it is the weather, the atmosphere, the routine that has an effect. For, winter afternoons signal the end of the day, the imminent setting of the sun, and the nearby transition to darkness, and evening, and cold.
Hence, they depress me.
Every afternoon finds me curled up in the corner, staring at the artificial flames, seeing past them, feeling so much all at once, and my body trembles with sobs, harsh sobs that may or may not hold tears.
Or, under the heavy quilt, which sees and hears and feels me then and at night, and tries to hug me into itself, tries to comfort me, warm me, and yet, the dying sun has set – and I am warm on the outside, but still cold inside.

I wait for times when memories will bring only smiles. And perhaps a tender touch of wistfulness.

I miss her, who hugs me only with words, and that is better than any bear hug.
I miss him, who wishes and waits and whose path I embellish with flower petals.