Cutting my losses

Sunday, October 30, 2022

I have a draft, or maybe more from October. The last one I shut down midway was so deeply painful that I chose to do everything except address what I was writing about. In a way, it felt a lot like the life I once had and then lost in the nick of a time. Even the lowest points come from a space of privilege, I am aware. 

I suppose taking writing as a day job means dolling out a certain number of words and getting your fill with them. You can ingest or throw up any more than what you train yourself to do. In my case, this page is languishing cause I am channeling all my energy into dissociating my life and trying times, whenever. 

This was a fun month, I want to write but the fun doesn't cut visiting an old friend's place because he lost his mom and fun doesn't include getting coerced into doing something you didn't consent to do and fun doesn't include eating your trauma out night after night and fun don't include grieving your dead grandfather when you least expect it. He would have been happy seeing the award; how dare he force me into doing what he did; can I tell my friend this will really hurt and nothing I say will heal his loss? 

The older I get, the more convinced I am that Prince (or was it King?) Siddharth (L*rd Bu*dha) probably needed a therapist more than meditation. Men will do everything except go to therapy. They'd rather attain salvation or blame Taylor Swift for writing album after album instead of helping themselves.

Taylor Swift, what a baller. At the end, she emerged as a winner. Kanye needs help and she's making the big bucks. A huge win for annoying people across the world globally and a big L for those (like me) who thought Kanye was really onto something until Kim ditched him. 

25 minutes for this month to end. A whole lifetime of trauma to talk about. Until then. 

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