Truth Behind that Lie

She kept speaking to his namesake. Calling out his name when speaking with the namesake, to taste the missing flavour on her tongue. Hesitant to pick up the call and end the silence. But when the silence ended, he missed hearing her sigh of relief. Of being able to call him out without using the namesake as a reason.

Yet, their friendship grew stronger after survived this storm.

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Over The Edge

They were thick friends. Almost inseparable. Even the distance couldn’t keep them apart. They made memories, every single day, even if it was over the phone. They were that sticky, close, inseparable friends.

One day, unknown to her knowledge, he was pushed at the edge of the cliff. He stood there, silently, feeling the gravity pull on to his center. He closed his eyes, feeling the breeze gently push him closer to the edge. He swayed, but he had held on to his balance.

She was his last piece of silky silver thread that he could hold on to and pull himself out of the abyss, if he happened to tip over.

So, his mother sent him away to her. Maybe spending a week with her would help him clear his head, his mother thought. She sent him away to be her, with huge hope nursing in her heart. She wanted her son back. Badly.

Next day, there he was at the airport, reluctantly embracing her in a lose hug. She was disappointed with the lack of his usual enthusiasm. She shrugged it off and pulled him in a cab to take him home.

She tried to get him to talk. But he now preferred long silences.

She wanted to help, but she didn’t know what that worm was that was slowly digging into his brain. She only knew he wanted to talk but couldn’t find the right words.

Her patience was running thin.

She was only 24. She didn’t understand the mighty darkness that he was enveloped into. She prided herself into being practical. She prided herself into believing that everything about her was in the proper place.

She didn’t understand his inability to get out of bed or go for the long walks that they once enjoyed doing together.

He had crawled tighter in his shell. Lost to her, forever.

She failed. The guilt was beginning to build in her. It stayed inside. Suppressed. Closed.

She assumed the air of being practical and fair. He needed to hear the truth. He needed to be shaken out of his numbing tune. But he was gone. Lost in his music. And she pretended to move on as the silence between then grew. It ate into her. Her eyes had grown old.

Time passed into months.

She believed it was love. The idea of love was enticing. She was pulled into it. Dragged to make a decision. A rash one that too. She was encouraged to take it. She was also warned against it. Mostly, she was warned about the reckless risk she was jumping in. It was impulsive. She did it anyway. She thought, “Fuck this shit. I don’t want to look back in regret.”

But she did. She had lost.

It didn’t matter who looked down on her. It mattered when her mother like figure looked down on her. She wasn’t angry. She didn’t reprimand. She just was disappointed.

Hell broke loose.

She was pushed in silence. Her eyes closed. Her mind closed. A wall was built around.

A plea for help was denied.

The pile of guilt and shame kept getting bigger.

She could no longer pretend. There was lengthy silence. Panic attacks in the middle of the road. A mind that was slipping away in darkness.

In midst of this, there was a failed marriage. Battle of ego and pride. Sanctity of relationship was lost. Belief was shattered. Ideology was broken. Her last source of comfort had slipped from her hand.

Panic attacks got worse.

She went down to see him. She had lost him. He was there near her, but not with her. It felt like her heart was socked hard.

Guilt.

Went back to routine.

She was living with constant panic attacks. They owned her.

A doctor treated her without meeting her. Thrusted 12 small pills in her hands. Advised her to take one every night. It will help you sleep, he said. It will help you breathe easy, he said. But it would only numb her muscles and her senses.

Things felt bleak. She didn’t know where she was anymore. Where her mind was wandering, she didn’t know. She grew fragile. Fragile enough to let a stranger’s taunt get to her.

She found herself standing in front of her own abyss. But there was a friend, who had touched her shoulder, and unwitting asked her to stay back. It was a faint, muffled sound. But she heard it and took a step back.

She had reached out to her phone, thinking of giving him a call. She typed his name and then locked her phone. She couldn’t give him a call. Someone, whom she could reach out to at any time of the day or night. She needed to speak but the words were stuck in her belly.

Her mind was losing its strength to hold on.

Panic attacks came with added wandering thoughts. Scary thoughts. Thoughts that gave her ideas. Made her believe in disillusion. Pushed her. She was close to touching insanity.

She was tipped over the edge.

She stood over the end of the abyss ready to make her final lunge.

But before that, she had to speak with him. She had to reach out to him. She had heard he was doing well now.

She plucked her courage and spoke to him. She spoke about how vain she was. She spoke about how she had failed with him. She spoke how the pressure had buckled her down. She spoke about her guilt of not being able to help him. Of all the guilt that had eaten her away. The unspoken love. Trying to me up for the lost time. It had only taken her 3 years.

She felt lighter after speaking with him. With every tear flowing down her cheeks, she felt her chest getting lighter. The pile of guilt seemed to slowly disappear.

It felt like she was getting her business in place before the deed was done. With this thought, she went to bed.

A rested sleep after a long while.

The next morning, it was worth being alive.

The Time I Survived

Yesterday, I felt my end was near.

There was a sharp, shooting pain that took birth from my ear till my chest. Numbing my face, making it difficult to speak. 

Fear rose in my chest, leaving the tiny red beast within the confines of my rib cage in a tizzy. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Yet, I could feel it. My end was near. 

There was a serene acceptance. Almost embracing the fate that seemed sealed within the confines of my mind.  

I wondered if you would remember me. I wondered if you will look at my typed out words, resting in your phone and feel loved. I wondered, if my words would help you feel cherished. I wondered if you could finally feel me next to you.

The day sailed by, without any physical incident to the little red beast. It was still beating. By night, it slept restlessly. 

Then there was dawn. 

I had survived.

But my words still hung on in your phone with a silent hope in my being that those words would still have an effect on you, which I cannot define.

That Sweet Lullaby

The mother held her baby in her arms as she rocked her gently. She sang that sweet lullaby in her soothing, gentle voice. Her dream of wanting to be a singer was fulfilled. She had an eager audience. Her daughter calmed down. Her breathing became regular. Her eyes heavy, until it was unbearable to keep them open anymore. She was finally asleep. But the mother continued to sing. Repeating the verses, enjoying the lyrics as she imagined dedicating each words to her daughter. Singing her emotions to her. Till the song slowly faded on her lips. Her eyes rested with the trailing verses. 

The day came to an end. Another battle won. All that mattered was her baby daughter in her arms.

Her Adventures with Mismatched Socks

She was meticulous, organised and obsessive about perfection. She was diagnosed by her friends as a specimen with a mild case of OCD. She refused and claimed to be healthily obsessed. It was just her fond love for symmetry and unblemished perfection.

Accepting the unsymetry wasn’t tough, but it made her nervous. One day, she decided to brave it, and she wore two different socks to work. Grey on the left and black on the right. Since she wore ballerinas, they were pretty much visible. 

She glanced at her feet every now and then, but then the day went by without anyone pointing her flaw out. Rather, no one noticed it at all. There was this vague feeling in her head of being watched, scrutinized and judged for her mismatched pair, when everyone around her were busy feeling the same about their mismatch and living in their own heads.

It was impossible for her not to think of the mismatched pair the entire day, but it was not that difficult to accept the mismatch either. It was as simple as that. Acceptance.

She chased the perfect symmetry in life so furiously, that she had missed seeing the beauty in the other powerful but ignored things. Like: Her mother’s love. Her mother silently listening to things she wasn’t speaking out loud. Her accomplishments. Her aging parents. Her own self.

If accepting this unsymmetrical mismatch could, if not silence, tone down the restless voice in her head and let her get going the entire day, why not the same with the mismatched unsymetry in herself?

This was her first step towards being a little adventurous, in her own little way.

That One Hug

They stood on the porch at four hours past midnight, as their paths awaited to be diverged again. Their adventure had come to an end. With time, the familiarity that the distance had deprived them of, was discovered in an unknown land. With time, the comfort of being themselves with each other had fallen in comfortably like that one missing puzzle of a jigsaw.

When it was time to say their goodbyes, he held his hand forward while she glared at his formality. She opened her arms timidly and he took a step forward and gave her a hug. This was not a drunken state of mind hug. This was a conscious hug. And his hug conveyed everything that maybe his words couldn’t for the last three years of knowing each other over long distance.

That one hug, opened up a box of suppressed emotions in her. But she hid her face in the dark as she saw him sit in the car and head towards the airport. She walked away towards the elevator before he could see her again from his car.

But that one hug…

The pretense icicles in her heart had melted. There was acceptance of deep attachment to another human being. She was overwhelmed and surprised with the enormity of the feelings she had for him.

She held back the dry tears that threatened to break from her eyes. She thought maybe sleep will make it easy to bear. Maybe sleep will make the ‘momentary’ feeling wash away, she thought. She went and slept on his freshly made bed.

The morning after dark was cloudy with light drizzles. The enormity of being able to feel so deeply had still successfully caught on with her as she boarded her cab towards the airport. She confided in her friend, who sat next to her with her arms on her shoulder, as she began to understand that she was simply missing him. She had gotten used to the unasked assurance from him. The unasked fulfilled promise of being by her side, no matter how, when she needed him the most. She had gotten used to his presence around her during their adventure together. As her friend held her, she let go of her pride and felt hot tears flow freely from her eyes.

It was finally the acceptance of a beautiful bond that they shared – friendship. It was a pure, unadulterated, unselfish, maybe a little selfish, friendship. It was the acceptance of letting go of her controlled boundaries and acknowledge the special place he held in her life. It was this acceptance that made her determine to make an attempt to show her emotions like he did with her all the time.

To be honest, she had taken a while to realize the emotions of his hug. Once the feeling of his arms around her shoulders was gone, only thing that remained was the warmth that he had left behind. Maybe this was their last goodbye after all.

My Mistakes

My mistakes: They are like invisible chokers around my neck. Gently kissing my neck – with a pressure just enough to remind me of the horrors that followed after all my mistakes. They act like a gentle reminder, like the ghosts of my past, constantly hovering over my future, reminding me of every drastic risk I had taken.

The choker. It is constantly on my mind. I find my hand almost reaching my neck every time I think about it. I imagine it to be made of cold white steel with a fiery red ruby in the center. The ruby holds the rage, the shame, the penitence and some learning. Feel the cold steel, tighten its grip around my neck, making me gasp for my life, every time I am close to making same mistake. Ringing a faint and familiar taunting words in my ears, “Only fools make the same mistake twice.”

I am not sure if I’m imprisoned in the hands of fear. I am not sure if I doubt my decisions, because of one big mistake. I am not sure if it is killing my essence slowly.

But I am glad of that invisible choker around my neck. It keeps me in check. It lets me be wild but not reckless. It lets me be sad but not depressed. It lets me forgive myself, but not forget.

It binds me, but it also helps me evolve.

And sometimes, I am wildly proud of that choker around my neck.
—..

My Lessons From Today

Never be afraid to ask. Only when I ask is when I get all the answers and with the answers I learn something new. Leave no room for assumptions.

To ask questions, I learned to leave my ego behind, to not be afraid to show that I do not know something and finally to accept that I am at times ignorant and need help to understand. Only when I accepted all those things, I got more knowledge. I became a bit wiser than before.

This is what I must do:

  1. Ask when I do not know. 
  2. Let my ego behind, accept and not be afraid to ask. 
  3. Listen to them speak. 
  4. Learn and grow. 

I keep wondering, how many deaths in my family and in my friend’s family should I see before I finally understand that life is not permanent. Only death is.

Maybe, I already have understood it, else this reasoning or this understanding wouldn’t be there. I must value time more than I do already. My time. My time with my loved ones. The time that my loved ones share with me.

I must remember: Only and only death is permanent. Nothing else.

Maybe, my dear reader, you will listen and learn from my mistakes as well. Teach me as well, it will help me when I am lost.

Let us learn and grow together. 🙂
—..

Mr Grey Does It, Yet Again

Ordinary. That’s how he made me feel : just like everyone else.

Stirring a powerful rage in me which was mistook as “puppy love” by everyone else. I would say, that didn’t bother me. Yet.

What bothered the bruised self ego is its own pride for being forced to swallow the apparent hard truth which is applicable to everybody as per the human psychology: The truth behind every action. The hidden motives which I refused to accept. Especially the motives on social forums, motives to feed my necessary narcissism/self pride, whatever you may wish to call it. But this was not it. Though my points were blatantly made void, this wasn’t what had ruffled my just calmed feathers.

No, he doesn’t know how much he has affected me.

He made me question my pursuit of truth – If my love for truth is pure or is it really just a lustful chase to feel and enjoy the idea of not being regular. He blatantly voided my stubborn argument that some of my public actions had no motives which humans normally thrive on. My reluctance to accept the motives as everyone else over his equally stubborn arguments, made me doubt myself. I asked myself, “Why am I denying this so violently? Why am I explaining myself this explicitly? Why am I taking up challenges to void my past actions? Why?” I wonder in this self doubt, was this an argument with my subconscious? Am I lying to myself, pushing myself in denial till it ceases to be the truth? Being a double standard? Because if there were truth in all my statements, would I feel the need to go out of my way and explain myself?

Am I not paying attention enough? Not observing enough?

This hurts my pride. This makes me angry.

I lie, yes, whenever necessary. I am not a saint. But his arguments made me question if I’m lying to myself. If yes, it would be a catastrophe. And that’s how accepting his arguments made me feel ordinary. Like being some person with just a face.

This shakes my loyalty towards obsession of the truth. A moment of self doubt.

Let me take a deep breath. Let me sooth this wounded beast first.

Better now.

If he was right about my motives behind particular actions in argument,  I have no interest to question his motives right now. But my interest is on as to why did he consciously provoke something in me which he felt I was ignoring urging me to address it?

How much denial have I buried?

I love truth. I accept to embrace it. And I must start  so by putting an end to lying to self or denials as it is called. I will stand up to my truth and not doubt it. Doubting my truth is doubting myself. Any fingers raised at it next time, will be slapped back with raw truth. Truth is never to be doubted.

He provoked all this.

He did it, yet again.

This time, keeping my pride aside, I almost welcomed it.

Bright Red Flaring Nose Alert

Struggling to find a healthy channel to tunnel all the unbearable rage spitting out of my clenched jaws. Over all those unanswered messages, the failed tests, the audacity of my own hormones for compelling my own body to disobey me.. Also such unbearable intolerance to humanity’s stupidness at times. It is overwhelming.

This rage heightens my obsession with all the suppressed obsession. Especially my insatiable obsession with the truth. The unbearable desire to break it to people without giving a damn to their feelings, because I feel liberated and assume that they would too, eventually. But not all are evolved. Some like to dwell in their own chimera.

Such coldness cannot exist in my bones for the sake of humanity. But this temptation is too hard to resist. Pure unadulterated truth just spills out unfiltered at my unprepared company’s ears, shaking their core and my sense of existence. I must say, it sounds very beautiful when it escapes my lips with such ease that it seems to simplify things and present them to my naked soul as is. I am sure my company wouldn’t appreciate it the way I do. But at that moment, I effing don’t care. I am comfortable in my skin and pure. At that moment, I do not want to understand the complexity of human need of reassurance. Because, at that moment I’m stripped off all the false hopes and reassurance with the naked truth simply confronting me pointedly in my face. I see no need to deny people of that either, whether they want it or not.

I do agree, many including me at times need the fake assurance to keep the hope alive and keep feeling alright. But at what expense? Isn’t it better to accept what is as is and hunt for the next best thing? We are anyways dying slowly everyday so why dwell? That makes me cold and heartless, so be it.

This is what people would call as the “demon” in me. It will be called a demon by them because usually the misunderstood/difficult  side would be easy to tag as “the evil”. What is evil anyways? Isn’t ignorance and oblivion evil that way? Wouldn’t it be contradicting on humanity’s part to call the truth as evil? Don’t many people demand for truth at times?

Truth. At times a welcome blow that knocks the wind out of my lungs, making me more alive than ever, even when I will be gasping for my breath. An epitome of liberation. An epitome of true form of a person, mask-less, unfiltered and pure. It brings destruction, but with the peace it has to offer. Nothing else matters.

But, once the moment of crazed obsessive passion ceases, my eyes sees the destruction my uncontrolled tongue has left behind. Breaking some people and pushing them deeper in their own oblivion. But does it really matter? Isn’t truth more satisfying? Once they open their eyes and embrace the truth won’t it be more liberating? I sound heartless. Maybe I am.

But, I understand there are norms of society I must follow. I must lie in order to let the faith in humanity not cease. I must be conscious and not let anyone break because of my actions. Even in the course of me being heartless, I must understand my obsession isn’t theirs. Truth doesn’t matter to all, but yet it is demanded with such elan.

Such irony. Such a paradox. Such a waste.

If only I could tame my obsession with truth and actually want to tame it along with my imprudence and my tongue lash. Till then, oh what the hell, I may as well enjoy it. At whatever cost may be.
–..