One tiny snip. A calculated piece off the brain.
Drill the skull piece back.
A mandatory lobotomy…to curb the feelings. Especially the intense emotional one.
Peaceful silence. Unbearable or not, one will never know, once job done.
One tiny snip is all it would take, to save the mankind, from endless suffering. A snip at the bud, if I may say.
What a world it would be.
A colourless one
For all the racing thoughts
For thoughts that get easily manipulated
Or swayed by words
Maybe sweet, maybe bitter
Maybe dishonest words
For thoughts that make you re-live unwanted moments
Again and again and again
For thoughts that don’t let go
Of a person or a maybe a memory; bitter or sweet
For thoughts that run in an overdrive of assumptions
For thoughts that are messed up
For thoughts that seem out of control
Or throw you out of control
Stop. Stop. Stop.
It’s a trick, she said.
Ask it to stop. And it will work, for now.
I was told I shouldn’t. Which slowly turned into couldn’t. Now they scream in pain that I wouldn’t. They are wasted, wasted muscles. Forgotten what they can and should do.
So now, they have to re-learn to help hold my head again. Breathe through the discomforted pain. Free the mind from the tightly tied straightjacket by self. To finally help salvage my pride, rediscover my independence. All by teaching the wasted muscles to re-learn to move again, centimetre by centimetre.
She was curled into a ball. The lights flickered before it gave away for good. She was a tiny figure in a big bare room. Unprotected, sans any barriers. She lay there with defeat both as her friend and a foe. All she could feel was that she was beaten and battered. Yet, here she was with some more breath in her to spare. Somehow she still had the energy to keep going on.
Did that make her brave or listless?
It was the warmth of the sun, that could pierce her walls and dissipate all the blackness inside her. Today, the warmth was strong. It got in her eyes, but did nothing to the blackness today. Nor to the anxiety.
Maybe, it was not depression. Maybe the stoic resignation in her eyes and the impermeable walls were really fostering a heartbreak today.
A process, maybe, from finally accepting a painful truth.
How do I mend a broken hope inside of me? When the over analysing mind makes me believe that things that were said to me were merely just words that I wanted to hear. Half of it was just want I wanted, rest of them words leaving me crushed and in limbo.
So how do I mend that brokenness when I keep returning to it, again and again, fully knowing that things wouldn’t change. Yet go back to it, again and again – hoping that this time it will still be different. And there’s that half hope they throw at ya and leave you biting your nails.
How do I move forward and let it go, when I still strongly feel this is it. And I stay foolishly persistent. Keeping my pride and ego aside. Allowing myself to be patient and understanding. When all I keep looking for is – will he truly be one with me? And I allow myself to call him and let him be my person.
Foolish or pathetic – you might call me. But I’m giving myself some time to do its own thing. And remind myself that I’m human. Sometimes I’ll be irrational. Foolish. Persistent.
Any huge life event has a seemingly big impact on a person. Maybe for a week or two. Certain things that were taking big room in head, now suddenly seemed insignificant. Easy to let go and move forward.
Then the everyday-ness thing sets in. Mostly the vibes of everyday things from people around you. And the whole of it, all the significant and insignificant stuff – starts to feel absurd. Everything absurd. Even that 20 seconds of crazy courage of doing/telling something that one wouldn’t do. When even that sinks in, absurdity sinks in even more.
My feelings in brief. Or maybe, simply am flaky.
Is it easy for you to let go?
The more I tell about it before I do it, I can’t. It’s like I jinx it myself. I can do it better when it remains confined in my head and hasn’t formed words or sounds yet. You can’t argue with silence, can you?
Certain things, people or feelings, I can easily let go. Most of the other stuff, I irrationally hold on to. And it’s annoying.
I did wonder if the knee jerk reaction was actually the truth. And if the rest of the normal times was plain tolerance. Somehow, that day I felt like I lost some battle. Does that mean I had devauled my own worth? Or maybe, I had let my mind go on an overthinking trip and not pause and ask you if you are ok. And what was wrong, really?
But you know that itch, inside of your head, that you just cannot scratch – that was exactly how I was feeling when I over thought. Maybe that was instinct or maybe it was me not acknowdging the truth you put forth nicely to save me from getting hurt.
See? The inability to let go. I have so many things to say – I can only write and never open my mouth.
As a writer, she could express emotions beautifully by weaving the right words together. Even for the ones she hasn’t experienced yet.
But when she steps out of the writer’s boot, in real life, with real people and emotions, those same words fail her. Stumbling and hoping she said the right stuff suitable for the moment.
Why is it
That when facing death
Or even the slightest of brush with it
Is the want to be alive even more?
But, what if the will is low
Would I be able to outrun the grim reaper?