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. 

I'm tired of being a fuck up on the regular.

If my 28 year old saw me today she'd jump off a building. Sure, I have all these cool bylines and a fancy new life that treats me to being broke more than usual but fuck up? I don't think I ever found that cool and now that I am one, I don't know how to bounce back. 

I think I'd cope better today if I was fucking up shit when I was younger, I told ziggy earlier today. He came back with a wholly rational explanation to that and we went in a loop. My point being the same, if I'd experienced being a failure say in grade 8, I wouldn't be breaking down about my professional life blowing apart today*. 

This today* has lasted two years, and we'll be entering the third in under a week. Come February and I'm reminded of how all the grand plans ended and I thought it'd be a temporary funk that I'd crawl out of shortly. To be fair, everyone around me thought the same. Until a month passed, then two, then six and all of a sudden it's been two fucking years of the same shit. 

Sometimes I think would it be easier to start again. Imagine being born as a child in an orphanage with no access to healthcare or education and trying to figure out life from scratch. The burden of expectations and failure rate would be different, I'd probably turn out to be more of burnout and less of an overthinker like I am. Or maybe, I need a day out in the Sun. A day in a park with sunlight would do me good if I managed to get out in time. 

Maybe 9 months ago, the struggles were making my body work. A month ago struggle was making things with a man work. Today the struggles are questioning if being alive as a whole is worth an exercise and somehow I'm struggling to find any reason in support of that. 

I was not cut out to be a failure and yet every step of the way I am being called out as one. I am at a point where hanging out with friends is a constant reminder that everyone has their shit together and me? I'm just touching the grass. They have sorry faces on when they hear me talk. "It'll change, things will get better." follows silence. Their personal stories are radically different. Someone's getting a spouse, a baby, a house and I know they have worked very hard and invested a lot of their life and time and this is a reminder to me. A call out that sometimes it's okay to follow the beaten road and get results handed than going down the road less taken and encountering a dead end and stopping there and crying after kicking the wall and breaking your foot. That's where i'm at. I've kicked the dead end, cried alone and my friends can hear my sobs from the other side of the road. They're sorry for me. Thank you for hearing me out, I tell them, knowing fully well their sorry can't change my life and my gratitude serves nobody. I serve nobody. 

I think failure kicks in when you realize you're out of people to blame. Where do I trace this? My family's lack of initiative in putting me through paid hobby classes to cultivate things other than what I know? Being a failure with numbers? Being introverted to a large extent? Opting degrees that are one worse than the other? That's not true cause friends with the same degrees are doing well and being introverted has nothing to do with being a failure and hobbies that I cultivated without any external stimuli are the only ones that are somehow saving my ass. Do I complete that degree? No. 

Even for simpler things- I can trace back. Wordle, you know that word game everyone's wanking to? Yeah, so, suppose the word is "light", my first five guesses will be "adieu", "right", "might", "sight", "tight" until the sixth is "light" and by then it's too fucking late. Everyone on my feed is talking smack. "oh my god, I got in the first guess!!!!" You can all shove it up yours. I even suck at the fucking word game now, even when the word is simple. Then people think I know words. 

I think CBSE adjudged me fine when they did. Maybe I am not all that bright or sharp and I don't actually shine. I have no interest in being mediocre at anything and that explains why I abandoned everything that requires practice, maybe except the bass. That's still a part I blame on my family. If they'd invested any money on my hobby there, maybe today I'd be a hit bass player act somewhere in the MENA or something. That wasn't on me that I had outgrown my bass and for years I was asked to work with the same one. 

That's another thing with my family and my fucking growth as a professional. They'll invest in skills or resources if the "family can use it". Oh, a professional camera? Let's get you, so we can have birthday shots. Do you need an iPad? Next time your mom wants to play music on the go maybe we can use it. There's never been an approach towards working on "you" as a person. The goal was always "us" and never the children. Most Indian families go all out on their kids. Everything common between most success stories today is ruthlessness from Indian parents in making their kids shine through. Oh, you need a partner? Here's our sanction, go marry. Okay, you need a house to work from? Here, take these keys and start. I've had my share of things granted to me- most of them were edible and lasted less than 20 minutes on the dining table. The focus of providing for things worked differently, perhaps cause of the family background. You can't fight your roots, you have to accept them. 

I've never been a fan of January or February, well not in the last 18 years at least and that's more than enough to claim "never". I can't wait to cry my eyes out all of this month and to mark the celebration, I'm posting this big announcement of being a fucking failure on 2/2/22. I hope everyone who reads this breaks their arm and crashes their car today. If it's not evidently clear, leave this blog alone.

I don't know if I should be grateful for all the deadlines imposed on me around the one time of the year I truly don't want to work, or if I should sulk about it. 

 Officially old enough and idgaf. I hate most of you, anyway. Hate is weak. I loathe, despise a lot of you. I don't need affirmations in the form of cheap presents, especially when you're spending money to get that (good shit is costly, mediocre shit is also costly, the worst— cheap shit is also costly).

Here's a list of things I most definitely don't want—

Cakes. From any outlet. If you know anyone buying me a cake, stop them and put an end to that crap. I am not going to eat mass-produced, store-bought cake to ring my 30th in. I'm a motherfucking nut when it comes to cakes and if you can, find out the only cakes I like and bring it over personally. Lol, jk, don't come. I don't want to see anyone, most definitely not my friends. You all suck balls. 

Local baker's handmade chocolate. Just fucking no. For that matter, any kind of chocolate is a no. 

Alcohol. I had my last drink in March and while it's a bit much to say I've quit drinking with a bachelorette right around the weekend, I am trying my (Kanye) best to lay off. I don't like the hangover and I definitely don't have the company to enjoy alcohol. 

Clothes, shoes, bags, jewellery, of any kind. I buy my own shit and I'm too old to pretend I like what you'll get me. What's terrifying is that I know a circle who's already bought stuff so I'm gonna have to put on a poker face and pretend I am absolutely blown over, thank youuuuuu! Not. 

Smol business stuff. I don't want any. Half of them are dimwitted fools and it's a pain to interact and imagine doing all that to get something I don't like. Pathetic. 

Speaking of stuff, absolutely don't want any "gift" item like a photo frame, mugs, plushies, nothing. Not at all. Please respect my aesthetic. 

Gift coupons. I won't redeem, you'll be throwing your money. I don't want to shop from random fuckall places online. Yes, Amazon is a random fuckall place as are all others.

Electronics. Absolutely fucking not. I do recce for months before I get a fucking USB cable. Don't peddle me anything from that category. 

Food and drinks. I'm on OMAD (one meal a day) and while the general belief that is I'm coping with bad depression and nursing an eating disorder, I am in no mood to eat take out Chinese or whatever else. I do that a lot and that's practically how I've kept myself balancing between sanity and coping with traumas of shapes and kinds.

Social media declaration. Absolutely no fucking videos, no bingos, no photographs. Nothing. Forget and move on. Chances are, you will trigger me if you do any.

Books. Unless you have access to my reading wishlist, don't you dare get me a fucking book. 

If you think I'm being rude/insensitive/pathetic, chances are we haven't had a heart to heart in a while and I'd rather we continue the same. For the love of the lord, don't shove the link of this in my face and ask me questions. It's literally awkward to say, "haha you know I did it for writing". No motherfucker, this is where I'm most honest and chances are, you shouldn't even bother being here cause it's such a personal fucking space and if you were personal, maybe you would not have to read anything here. 

Someone recently asked me what stage of grief I am in after I discussed the seven stages with them. 

Denial, I told them. Still processing all that's been going on, and still trying to make sense of all that's happened. 

Except, I think, I may have moved on to the second stage. Anger. 

I was supposed to travel, starting today. I don't know what really transpired (I know exactly what did) but this was going to be my reclaiming my life trip, with a near stranger for two days. 

Covid (in his case) and a minor accident (in my case) prevented that plan from happening and I couldn't be more glad, at this moment, to admit that it didn't happen. Perhaps, it is my anger or PMS (due date 7 days later) or whatever else, but everything right now is amplified. All my emotions are charged and I am really fucking angry. 

Angry at people, who don't care for my wrath or me. Angry at friends, who do not understand what it's like to grapple with the loss of someone, angry at over-friendly pals, who want to help with good intentions and yet are not understanding of what I've gone through and going through, and then with those, who haven't been there at all. 

There's nothing but a lot of aggression and hate for one and all and I'm living with all of it, compressed and packed for it to be preserved like a vial of bitterness, to be slowly injected over time, over months and years, and I'm afraid, it might never change. 

Last week, my therapist had asked me to allow myself to blow off the steam, if I felt the need to, and I told her I'd been doing that. Over tweets, small mentions here and there with friends and strangers. To think, I fully understand her today would also mean to admit that I wasn't quite blowing it off because it's coming over at me like high tide.

I want to howl and I want to break plates and I want to scream and tell people to fuck off. Fuck off with your plans to meet, hang out and fuck off with your fake concerns. And at the same time, I feel absolutely and hopelessly alone, scrambling for someone to talk to, hear from and hold on to. Anyone. Yet, everything and everyone frustrates me. 

That breaks me, minute after minute and day after day. I feel like there's nobody and despite all the noise about help and solidarity and friendship, it's all farce.