The Diary Of an Introvert

It's really easy to be the victim, to relate to melancholy, to claim to have experienced all the horrible stuff life has to offer, it's easy to blame your present wretched self on past scars. What is tough is to choose to be happy in spite of it all, that takes courage, it takes determination and the will to change. They say it's all right, all right for you to let go once in a while. After all, you're only human. Don't fall for it, you can be better, seek better, friends, surroundings, job anything you want.  DON'T NORMALISE CARELESS BEHAVIOUR, DON'T NORMALISE DEPRESSION, ANXIETY, AND THE DAMNED EXISTENCE THAT COMES WITH IT. Emphasize that it is temporary, it is here to go, that you would work hard for it to go. Let the melodrama halt for once and for all!

 Isn't it perfect? - you and I, having so much in common. You like me, I could tell. I like you too, don't want you to feel otherwise. But this mutual approval of each other is short lived, it's my 'Yes Phase' and you sir are enjoying the front row tickets right now. For 3 weeks, I'd say yes to almost anything you ask of me, want coffee? yes! wanna sleep in my bed - you betcha! wanna use my comb? - consider it yours! You'd think I like you, sometimes you'd also reciprocate. I'd be optimistic about your existence, would try to fit you in my life and all future plans. And just when you'd be in perfect comfort of my company, it would happen. Like a sudden wave, it'd hit your peace (and mine). I'd begin to resent you - because I realize I can't say yes all the time. I take notice of your whims and flaws. I would say no to your most basic requests, I'd distance myself from you and sometimes would be abruptly silent in your presence.  N...

 Why do I watch the dumb teenage dramas, why am I still not over Harry Potter verse, why do rom-coms still make it to my watchlist?  I blame nostalgia and the feeling that comes with it.  Remember the times when world was exciting, you were discovering all these things (mostly through these teenage rom-coms ,novels , tv series) and the butterflies rise in your stomach. You know those momentary goosebumps. And it was such a great feeling, that sense of hope, mystery of future possibilities, when adulthood was one big adventure. And here we are in adulthood, soaked in routine, responsibilities and deadlines. Have you ever wondered what the word 'I' means to you now? What living for yourself feels like? And I am not talking about world travel shit, or living it recklessly, or selfishly , just living on your terms. I can't , you can't , because that's how the adult world works. It's sucking the life out of me, the glimmer of hope I had growing up, the will to learn ...

A year ago someone told me - "You're a kid, you haven't been hurt enough, you haven't seen enough, you know nothing baba". A year ago, I was like  - "eh? Hit me with your best shot, let's see what's the fuss about?" A year after, for some reason I again have someone repeating the same words. This time though, I looked in the mirror, saw myself - yes, I am a kid. And this innocence suits me. Why should I feel bad for not being broken?

I used to sing in the shower. I used to spend hours dressing up. I used to embrace the sunny days as they'd warm me inside out. The cloudy skies would ignite excitement as the potterhead in me would await the new adventure. I used to love to smile, at random dogs craving my attention, at kids waving at me from their school buses, at acquaintances I have met only once, or just to myself recalling a funny incident. I would write about the bliss I called life as I would look at everything through my optimist's goggles. I would doodle cute romantic couples, write poems about the beautiful trees, the lovely weather or any new thing I had fancied. Don't I sound unreal, don't I seem a naive delusional kid. You told me I was, and so after meeting you here I am. My showers have gotten quicker, dressing up seems futile. I hardly notice the weather. I can't sing, I can't draw, the old habits of writing poetry, short stories all seem so stupid, so I only write about my goal...

I write and I erase. There used to be a time I used to think we were poetry and its words would just weave themselves into the manifesto of our love. As we parted, it transitioned into a ballad of my aching heart and now as it has finally sunk in, I know we were nothing but two bored souls not even in mutual attraction trying to force each other to give in to the personal whims, it was a tale of misery. And so I try to forget that miserable tale, to forget ever meeting you and having to experience the burst of dopamine for the first time, to ever feeling your warm touch on my cold skin as I would melt into those arms, to forget ever gazing into those lying eyes and thinking how beautiful they were, to have ever kissed those manipulating selfish lips while I would forget the world around. I struggle every day, coming to terms with just how naïve and desperate I was and how blatant and seasoned you were. But I try still, as I find purpose of different kind, as I immerse myself in pursuit...