Numb/AK

I'm back, to write some more. Because I'd rather do it here than tell anyone such a tragic thing.

Can't believe AK is no more. Not that we stayed in touch actively. I always wondered what was up with him after reading his social media posts. And we did interact a fair bit when I wrote for him for the magazine. I had a nagging doubt that he took his own life. His posts were always dark and strange but back then, I was still so reticent of starting a conversation with anyone. I didn't know how to deal with what they'd have to tell me. 

I don't say that it would have helped him if we spoke. Don't I know that it doesn't. But it's quite numbing, honestly. Especially when HS told me that he died by suicide and had stopped taking medication for BPD. Frankly, I'm a bit scared. Can't help thinking about the night I was coming back from Hoppipola. I was so low and dejected. And out of nowhere, I had this thought, 'What's the point in going on if this is how one feels all the time?' There's no purpose, no joy, the heart and the mind don't cooperate. It feels so hollow. And meaningless. 

Right now, I just keep reminding myself that it's too soon. I have been on a treatment only for a couple of months and it takes times to have positive effects. 

All the same, I feel like I'm climbing up a muddy slope in rain. The slush keeps making one slip down. During treks, there's usually someone more efficient you can rely on, who will give you a hand. And you know you will make it there alright.  

Stop talking

Ugh. It was so easy to keep things to myself earlier. All these years, no one really knew what I was thinking or going through or feeling. But now I have laid it all open. I think I regret it. It was such an impulsive thing to do. And now that I have started, I cannot stop. I'm talking, talking, talking all the time. With so many people. Too many people know me now. And I can't tell why I dislike that so much. I am fond of all of them. They are all so good to me and smart, awesome people. Why do I still feel guilty about opening up? It doesn't make sense. But nothing does these days. 

I feel like such an attention-whore. Every day I think I will only pour my heart out either here or on the WhatsApp self-chat but I end up chatting with so many friends. 

I also have this new thing creeping up. I'm a chill, fun person when I'm just getting to know someone. And it feels natural; like, I don't pretend to be as such. But once they come closer, out comes my real sad fucking self. I let my guard down. I feel I'm becoming thoughtless. My issues are no one's burden to bear. Why should I be saddling them with it? Making them worry about me and my well-being. It's an added task, being there for me, making sure I am okay when everyone has their own demons to deal with. 

I'm going to try harder till I reach the same point again. To deal with my crap on my own. For that, I really need to stop talking so much first!

What depression looks like

Pic: Reddit. R/pics

This image is under, 'This is what depression looks like'. A thought I've been having for a while. It's easy to fake things. Post a happy pic. Write a funny status update on  your social media. Upload funny memes. People are likely to think everything is fine with you. 

I know the kind of day I've had. Drowning my howling cry in music blasting loudly. Sobbing into my palms when the song ended so that no one would hear me. For the first time, I explicitly said that I cannot work today. Put on a smile and wit for the video call. And battled an insane, pounding headache for the rest of the day. 

Harshu coming over was such a blessing. Loved the conversations about our travels. And just talking about stuff. I still have the pounding headache. But I don't mind it now. 

Meeting J

I don't understand why I've been avoiding meeting J so much. Of course, I usually don't feel like meeting anyone but I'm not averse-averse to it so much. I can get myself to hang with people and be in an agreeable mood as well. But it's just with J that... I just don't know. 

I do feel bad about it, and guilty. I know she doesn't have many people to hang with. And she always meets me with enthusiasm. I guess I'm just tired. Of taking her around and more so of conversations. Earlier I could take a deep breath and do it all the same. But now, anything I have to force myself to do breaks me. 

I'm also afraid that I will snap at her. I've somehow come to correlate meeting her with doing a chore. It is a bit exhausting being around her. 

Come Sunday, hope I get around to it okay. 

Clarity

I wish I had clarity of thoughts. I guess I do have it. But it feels like it's trapped behind a door. And it's not the fog on the door that you can clear or that will evaporate. It's a translucent door. I can only see a vague form. Is it time to replace the door?

You. Because

You're real

You have a strange look in your eyes 

That's aloof, empty, emotionless, yet intense

The kind that just makes one want to be

Without the need to feel

To walk on the ground 

But really float above

To share comfortable silences 

Because words don't always have to be spoken 

To be meant

You

Because you are you

Answers

"How is that even possible?" First I stopped in my way and gasped in awe at the East Khasi Hills. The Universe has its own way of reminding you just how small a dot in the big picture you are. You stand at the foothills, crane your neck, timid in stature but bold in spirit and start walking. How is it even possible for so much beauty and magnitude to exist on Earth? If you think about it, it's just green colour... For miles. But when Nature adorns the colour, it's immediate magic. 

I made it to the Living Root Bridge with a clean mental slate. I didn't know what to expect. I was looking to be surprised, or shocked, so went to the uncharted territory, absolutely unprepared. We passed houses, people, villages, all strangers for each other but bound by the mountains, even if for the time being. The language of insects. A locked chapel. A cemetery—all white and somberly quiet yet peaceful. Cemeteries have that about them, don't they?

The old man had an expressionless face. No curiosity. He has seen tourists for years. Another humbling thought. You visit a place and are overwhelmed enough to build memories for the rest of your life. But does the destination or even its paraphernalia even spare a second thought for you? You know the answer, don't you?

Every bend had an ancient rock sitting deep in meditation for centuries. Expressionless like the old man. Calm quietude like the gravestones. You feel if you stood there long enough staring at the wise rock, asking questions, it would find a way to give you the answer—unsaid but to be felt. But are you ready to hear it? You know the answer, don't you?