Too close to mental breakdown

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

For a rather long time now, I have actually been focusing on the work that I am suppose to be working on. Semester 2 is harder than anything I've encountered- dick or academically. It's worth all of my mental energies and the fact that I poured one third of what is expected in my dissertation this week is a proof to all that. 

In the past few days (or has it been weeks already?), I have consciously avoided filling in for scholarships. No more London/States/Vietnam for me. I am not getting any fucking funding to go fuck myself anywhere else. I am going to rot in Delhi all my life, under the same roof with the same people and share my fucking room with an asshole of a sibling. Don't mind this, mother. I am an ugly dick to be posting this shit here but my life resembles a pattern here and that pattern is called, "Sore Loser". 

I just finished watching Season 2 of Girls and it only reaffirmed why I hate watching soaps. A-) They come seemingly close to reality and then, B-) Bang, they just fucking get over in your face and leave you with a void. Lena Dunham created a fucking monster with this one. The underlying issue of urban loneliness intertwined with hypocrisy is, ladies and gentlemen, the story of my life. Everything that went past, three years of graduation to the macro level of jazz fest, the after party, shoot(s), friends, everything has been a constant source of chronic anxiety for me. Admittedly, I love when I am working and have no time to contemplate. Reflecting while driving or thinking under the shower only happens when I am fucking depressed with no one to run to and jobless. Sure, there is work but no money which is another issue that Girls highlights. I have no financial security right in my face for myself and I would like to blame myself and the Indian parenting for this one, straight ahead. Yes, I went ahead and blew my savings on a better mode of transport and no, I never considered working from home until last six months when reality hit my face that I should have started this long ago. Writing/editing is not bringing me anything. I need a fucking talent or a professional fucking degree for a full time job and I have none, for now. 

It's only when I started taking a bit of an interest in my course, I realised that this won't work either. I am surrounded by ass lickers who know their way through stuff and it took me a long time to realised that there is no room for conscientious people here. Amongst the things I have established for now, I know I cannot produce anything that I most want to. So, if asslickers want the project a certain way, it will be. There are multifarious layers to the idea I am most trying to avoid touching but I hope I am mature enough in a week or so to fully address it. 

I don't know if it's coming from working under constant deadlines, pressure of producing results with written work and failing at what I wanted to out of 2013, writing a dissertation- I cannot live in this house with my parents anymore and for anything to change in that regard nothing short of a lottery and a miracle (and notice, how those two are placed in different categories) would do. I need a change of setting, people and most importantly financial security for me to afford anything that I want- or rather, that I need to buy when I feel the fucking need. 

Most importantly, I need a fucking vacation. I need time away from the current setting for multiple reasons. Unfortunately, what I have in store for me is a fortnight of shooting, a full fucking dissertation submission, a research paper, a professor whose classes I have been cutting for six weeks (who can almost make or break my career in the grad school with a click), bunch of mid-terms, birthdays and ofcourse, exams panning over three fucking weeks in excruciatingly hot month of May and no plans of anything henceforth. 

And, you know what?

I am going to fucking rant. Rant as much as I want and where I want. I am not going to fucking hold it anymore and keep it from anyone. I am just going to cut people further more because that seems like the best way to deal with people.

If you're reading this, I urge you to not call and ask me what's wrong. I swear to Fisherman Friend's box, I will add your number to the fucking ignore list app in my godfucking ancient cell phone that hangs every 4 minutes. 

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