Prose before hos

To be fair to you, the resentment has been wildly public. It showed up in intermittent conversations and check-ins. My therapist knows nothing of the lad so it also explains hiding, and keeping it away means I'm locking up a part of my life that is very clearly bothering me. 

He said some hurtful shit last night. The kind that made me sick the same minute. My mum thinks it's the mall aircon and he thinks it's seasonal viral. I think it's him but I had been sneezing all day yesterday. 

In a way, I have cut myself out from my anger. I've cut the bleeding organ and kept no parts of it as memory. My effort, resilience, anger all washed away and all I am left with is grief, vacuum, and the courage to make peace with it. It comes with nothing but god it's an exciting space to be brave and bold and idiotic. I can't write anymore, I don't read anymore, I don't have a single valuable insight but I'm fucking free. I can be myself, wholly cringe and unacceptable, basic as hell and fat as fuck. 

Honesty is telling yourself you suck so you can cut some slack to your inner critic whose first response after watching you burn three months' salary on jewellery was—"Bitch, why?"

On one hand, I'm telling my therapist I can't wait to quit and run and on the other side I'm ensuring financial ruin so I'll be forced to work for at least a year before I can take a brain. Just fucking wow. 

I've been wondering lately, where are my friends? Not like in life but more like we don't hang out, we don't even talk, it's not like they're busy with their kids (most of them are in healthy relationships, with/without marriage) so really, if it's not their toddlers, then what is preventing us to have ragers?

I've spent more time at home and at the airport than I have spent with my friends and that's not a monthly average but more like a year's worth of quota—took more flights than met my friends or vice versa. 

Maybe my friends hate but I do definitely hate them so what do I even say. It's okay to let them go and if they don't come back, likely that you (in this case—me) are an asshole. Yippiekayay. 

I bought my first fucking piece of gold, diamond, platinum all at once 2 days ago. While platinum was on the list, I felt fucking greedy around the other more, like some weird form of FOMO when I don't even wear this stuff. I think partly it's just coming to terms with what my life is looking like—no man, no marriage, nothing of the serious adult kind so might as well fake a reverie. Bought gold and diamonds for myself so nobody's crusty son can ever be the first to say he bought me my first ice. At the same time, to feel like you don't fucking need to produce someone's sons to be able to buy yourself those. I don't even care that much for these things and yet it felt like the time was right. 

Something in my heart screamed wanting to do it because I wanted it and I didn't fucking want anyone else to satisfy that urge, scratch that itch for me. Nobody does it like you do it for yourself. 

I read this quote earlier today that when I find a boyfriend, my boyfriend is gonna know what he missed and I never resonated more to a line. But again, I've gone from a "ahaha" person to "grief is upon us" in 14 hours of work and 3 hours of sleep. Life feels fucking hard. The only person who truly wants me to show up daily is my corn on cob guy, "Aap itna late kyun aate ho?"

Fuck even my boyfriend doesn't care for me as much, and none of my friends have asked me about my well-being or whereabouts, although I can confirm I've been a missed call in their list at least twice in June, if not more. 

The other day I burnt some sage and while blowing to extinguish, I accidentally burnt my hand. The embers lit my right hand and for the last two days it's been hurting like a bitch. Never thought demon resides so close to me. 

Anyway, I'm in a flop circle. No job, no friends, no salary, no respite, no love, no time from the man, no validation, nothing. Everyone is still continuing to suck so I don't know where that promised glow up is stuck. 

Love looks like an old friend; who's always stopped shared public transport to bring me ice cream. He doesn't eat sugar anymore so the Sundae was all mine. 

Ten years ago, there was peanut butter caramel ice cream between work. This time it was a local specialty, "Ice Apple Sundae, just try and tell me"

It's about surrendering yourself into the hands of someone who knows the city and knows you. That's the spot where magic happens. "If I can't take you around the city I've known all my life, what else am I good for?" I did the same, I would have done it for anyone, but he always surrendered, always gave in and trusted me. That's why we made a great team. 

Surrender, I did. 

How is it that your old friends know you better than anyone else in the world? My food, habits, fixtures, everything was unquestionably palatable. I was unapologetically myself- unbearable, impulsive, chaotic and loud and he complimented my ways- validated my unbearable lifestyle, and added to the impulsiveness with bad ideas ("Let the expert among us figure where to find a spot to smoke"), he was the calm to my chaos. Made me feel cared for (No, you need to eat dinner, just get something; Let's go to Town for breakfast, it'll be worth it) when I had abandoned myself (I was on ibuprofen, coffee and two Vada Pav). 

When you meet people from back when you hadn't undergone severe traumatic events one after the other, your old self comes to life for a hot minute. Bombay, between work, felt exactly like that. I was on fumes and caffeine but this man and his love for me kept me alive. When I look back, we befriended each other over a work project and little did I know I'd have found myself a person who'd be a walking antidote to my severe depressive state in 2024. "My mum can't make you Sabudana Vada on such a short notice but she's sending yous some Puran Poli you can take home."

I am so glad the butterfly effect of not having to go to the UK meant I met my old friend during this work trip. I realised that I must have done something right in my life to meet a friend who went above and beyond for me years after I dropped nail paint on his bed during our initial work meeting. 

I'm cold. It's 45 degrees indoors and I'm cold. My tummy hurts, everything hurts. I attempt to cry but I'm all dried out. No tears left to cry. 

I finally shed between number crunching when I see his hands. I don't know why I do it. I swear on all things holy, this never affected me, but I suppose I needed any excuse of a reason today. His hands, the ones that were always holding mine, all mine. 

I don't know, something about his hands broke me and I bawled. It's long overdue. I've kept a straight face for over a day and a half and if you were anywhere near me in the last 48 hours you'd know that I was a mess. I fucking hate living through transitions and sitting through dread and grief. I'm grieving his loss. I want to be alone for a while. I want to be jobless for a while. I keep going in circles, I told myself I'd never be jobless but my present self is begging my old self to let me be jobless for the foreseeable future or we'll land up with broken bones in a jumping off the building attempt. I ask my colleague if she'd help make a case for why I jumped. Before she can answer in earnestness she's pulled into a meeting. 

Am I sad because I'm dealing with a narc for a boss? I don't know. I think about how I've lasted over 18 hours working without a single thought. I miss my sister, I reckon it's the real reason why I'm miserable. I've learnt to detach from things like these so why is it affecting me? I told myself through the last weekend nothing matters and yet I keep thinking through how we are breaking everything that is sacred.

I'm asked thrice about how are things with the boy. I ignore that like I ignore all the questions about my well-being and if I need help. I begrudgingly accept help but still don't come to talk about how are we. I feel I'm not supported by anyone including the one who should be rooting for me but that's a P3 grouse. P0 is that I need a new job, P1 is that I need to get out of this situationship and look out for myself.

We wouldn't go a day without talking. Now it's a weekly ritual. We barely talk, we barely even acknowledge the other person has gone missing. I was reading about three stages of situationship, where the third stage is mutual ghosting. I wondered if we'll get there together or individually. Looks like it's happening at once. I want to talk but I'm tired. We also always go in circles. "Oho", "Oh Damn", "rough", "cold" and the last time I brought up my grouses I was told nothing. There was no response. I'm tired of bringing my grouses. I am told nothing and my ability to raise issues becomes an issue.

I miss my therapist but also I think I can no longer afford therapy. When I got to this point, I wasn't able to afford therapy without a job. Today, despite a job, I can't afford therapy. I can buy my sister a meal worth more than 2 sessions but would I plunder that amount on myself to heal? Never. I'm the problem. I'm cold. It's 45 degrees indoors. My tummy hurts, my ribs hurt, everything hurts. I finally cry my eyes out. I've a lot more in me. 

I miss being myself. I miss having hope. I'm all out of it. Except tears, that's a supply which never fails me. 

Shiv Roy wouldn't, I just know it. She wouldn't be this sad even while she's pmsing. 

There's not very much to mark and say in the 17th consecutive year of writing here. I started my career on this page, unknowingly. Today, 17 years later, I am ever so grateful, to myself, for doing that. It's the one relationship that I'm still deriving value from. 

I think my 30s have brought a whole new crop of people, the majority of whom have no idea I do this or that this page means a whole lot to me. I intend to keep it this way. I intend to keep my life as low-key as I can because what did we get after opening up for all these years? I have no regrets about the love(s) lost but friendships, those fucking hurt. 

It's also not to say that I like most of you cunts and can't stand you but god knows, even when Logan died, everyone cried. I feel a big anniversary or anything to do with this image is imminently like an anti-hero's demise written by Jesse Armstrong. Only, it's too real, and I'm the Waystar RoyCo CEO here. 

I'm not about to make big promises like last year (cause god knows that blew in my face and I am so tired of it all) but I'm about to do what I do best. Write, even when it makes no sense or head or tail to you. I did it at 15, without a plan and I'm here at 32. Not the wisest and also shows little tendency to move on, but hey, you knew what you were signing up for years ago.