hanging in there.

It is difficult to unsee it once you see it, this magic beaded into your nerves, this power that stems from your soul, and once you do, you feel like you are high on your own depths. You have been called out ‘unproductive’ and ‘incapable’ and ‘undeserving’ of love, but you have also been called irrevocably strong and a go-getter and easily-blending-in-with-anyone lovely, so may be you are a labyrinth of opposites that melt into each other and you cannot perfectly label yourself on who you are and what you are because may be, you really belong only to the betwixt and between of everything.

It doesn’t matter, you don’t want to be caught up in this mesh anymore, you want to be no-thing, nothing. It is what makes you feel above and beyond all the tyrannizing mess, anyway. It is what makes you feel akin to the birds, gliding above the rest, watching the world from a distance.

You think, may be, you were not cut for being categorized and put into boxes depending on your skillsets, possibly because you don’t have many (or any!). To be blatantly honest, if at all you were asked to recount your skillsets because your life depended on it, you would say, you excel in laughing out loudly, you are at times clumsy, at all times non-elegant, you hold high honors in not being able to keep things from people, and that you know to draw yourself a line to tell apart your intrinsic parts from the extrinsic ones so that you bare out only the extrinsics but over time, everything just bubbles up to the surface and exposes itself and you, to the world.

You are learning to go from ‘terrible’ to ‘tolerable’ at your job. You are bumping into deadlines more than ever now. Meeting them offguard like that, you feel stupefied, your past-self would have never thought its future-self could upgrade so high.

You gather, it can always be learnt, what is expected of you, to learn. But what they don’t tell you is, it cannot always be found, what you don’t even realize, is missing in the first place. You know what you long for. Openness. Clarity. Liberation.

You don’t see a clear path ahead, but you do see a path. You decide to take that anyway. How lost will you be?! Your innateness will catch up with you soon enough. After all, no matter how much you try to blend in, you are never able to contain all of yourself, inside yourself, somehow the essence always spills out and every path you walk on, starts reeking of you, becomes home. May be, there never is a sureshot destination for real, and whatever it looks like, exists only in your head. May be, the path in itself is magic, strewn with signs for you to pick on, and carry on from there, but to nowhere really, the journey is all the magic that is there to unfold.

You have this memory, ringing constantly at the back of your head and though you have been trying so hard, for days now, to wipe it out clean, you actually haven’t been able to erase it quite completely. You have often desperately wished it were material so that you could get rid of it, the way clean out your closet. You have tried to rearrange your thoughts around it just like you reorganize your clothes on the shelf, but now you are howling for change so bad and there’s no point in repositioning the clothes when what you really want to do is throw away the closet.

You have got problems, and so everyone has. But you are unique in your own way not everyone is. You learn to stop generalizing every thing around you, every trait of yours inside you. You learn to replace the word “everyone” with “I”. You learn, no boulders are big enough, no muck is grimy enough, no wind is bristly enough, and no cold is biting down enough on you, because you are a different protoplasm, there’s stubbornness mired into all of it, into all of you, in disproportionate inconsistencies, disproportionately aplenty.

This is your canvas, you planted the easel here and you will finish your painting, replete with the exact grace that you had wished upon it. 

And if you run out of acrylic, you pick up your bottle of water color and start brushing in and if all those bottles break and spill out, you smudge pastels over the piece and if you lose your pastels, you fill crayon inside those lines and if you exhaust your crayons, you pencil your sketch with insane undertones of graphite and if you misplace your pencil, you ink your heart out and if you drain all ink, you glaze oil over the sheet and if you have burnt out all the oil, you claw into the magnificent white space with your fingernails but you bring out that damn picture that you have always wanted to see. Means or no means, you don’t shy away even if it comes down to your own blood to evoke the scene in the painting you had set out on arriving at. After all, you got only this one canvas to sport.

rock bottom.

You know, your mind is muddled with clutter this very moment and would unabashedly remain so, for all the yet-to-arrive, be-here-soon moments, and “it is going to be alright” sounds too cliched to even believe in, anymore.

You know that you are so petrified of losing everything that you make endless lists in your phone’s crappy memo everyday, to just keep your shit together but yet again it dwindles to no use at all( like it always does!) as there are two or more items still rotting unchecked, still plaguing the daunting list at the end of the day.

You know your soul is burning like camphor inside, and all the smoke is making breathing difficult and yet you manage to live another day, with all the heavy weight pounding on your chest, like an illegal assault upon your existence.

You know, no matter how hard you try to bait your attention into making room for TV series or reality shows or travel itineraries, it weirdly always ends up thronging the memory of the tragic situation that blew up your dreams like a detonator pumping life into a dynamite, and there went your whole life, whooosh! (notwithstanding how you had always envisioned it to be!), bursting into splinters up in the sky. Nowadays, you do nothing but nurse the hollow, freshly carved inside you, eating away at your flesh, stinging you to the bones.

You call up your friends and seek good advice and no matter if you are bombarded with a ton of healthy tips, to each one of which, ofcourse you nod away restlessly and without fail, but no sooner than you put the phone down, welcome home bitches! you are back to square one, trembling at the edge, scrambling for your life.

It’s not like you don’t want to move on and live happily ever after with a broad smile stamped on your face, like people around you (who would not want that!). BUT it is far more difficult to even pretend you are happy when rather that one memory is now haunting you for the umpteenth time and you just cannot shake it away, pull it out of your mind and walk ahead.

You know you cannot undo the past but clinging onto it is just fucking with your present and possibly erasing any prospects of a good future, and you know, you know all this down to your very core and you yet cannot save yourself, anyway.

Welcome to rock bottom.