Random Thought Vomit

I just write whatever comes to my head, don’t mind me

[sadbagofbones]

Hold me like I’m hope, I’ll kiss you like you’re faith

[sadbagofbones]

"I want to kill myself" It's a phrase we repeat to ourselves so often, it has almost lost its meaning. It doesn't mean taking your own life anymore, just a cry for help so that your circumstances are put to an end and the array of thoughts running around your brain are shoved back into the deep dark corner where they belong. Anything as small as the things spilling on the floor want you to kill yourself.

"I want to slit my wrists" Now this phrase, people rarely use for theatrics. This phrase carries meaning. This phrase carries with it a possibility. It's specific, the imagery is unnerving and the methodology is achievable. It doesn't imply ending the circumstances, it implies ending your life fundamentally.

If I was to say "I want to kill myself" in a group of people, no one will pay much heed to it. Some people might even laugh it off as another rant over something inconsequential. But if I say "I want to slit my wrists", people's expressions change. It isn't plain whimsy anymore. There is a purpose to it. It isn't an empty statement, it comes with a vision attached to it. A gory, unpleasant vision that might run a chill down anyone's spine. Hearing this phrase coming out of your mouth will get people concerned for you, even earn you a few sympathetic glances.

Wanting to kill yourself makes you relatable, funny even. Wanting to slit your wrists makes you morbid,

And there is a fine line between being silly about declaring you want to kill yourself, and being serious about slitting your wrists. And when you say those phrases one after the other, people are left wondering just how much courage you have to cross that line.

[sadbagofbones]

I had always heard, that we should seize the moment in order to revel in it. But is it really us, who seize the moment? I think, rather, it's the moment that seizes us. It takes us by the hand, guides us through all the tremendous happiness this world has to offer, skipping all the sadness and grief, onto an island of serenity and peace. It gathers our pieces in its embrace, and holds us together until we become whole again. Some moments are over in a split second, but etched into our memory forever. Almost as if, the moment caught us, and held onto us. Kept its promise of never letting us go. We might move on, but those moments stay. We might change, but they never change, they always remain the same. Untouched, unblemished, pure and wholesome. Moments, which make each heartbeat and breath align, which make us warm from within, which glow like starlight and calm us like moonlight, when they seize us, welcome us and become one with us. If it was us who had to seize the moment, we might pollute it, take away it's splendour to make it more like us. But moments don't judge, they don't discriminate. They keep us in their hearth, and remind us, that life was good and will be good again. They stay with us, as we live on from one moment to another.

[sadbagofbones]

Acceptance.

It floods us, like a dam opened. It fills us with fresh air, like the dead revived. It warms us, like the bonfire. And it gives us purpose, to start again.

It might come in a day, a week, a month or a year. But it comes. And it comes bearing gifts. It gifts us a new sense of being, a new energy to resume our life with, a new hope for the future to look forward to, and a happiness disguised as peace.

It brings over us, a sense of relief. It brings back the sense of control we thought we had lost. It doesn't undermine it's predecessors, but adds meaning to them.

Sometimes, it comes easy. Sometimes we have to search for it. It is there, hidden behind the pain and grief overpowering us, crippling us. It comes as a crutch, gives us the strength to walk again, to eventually fly.

Acceptance doesn't mean giving up, neither does it mean giving in. It sets us free, lets life take it's pace, lets a new path present to us. It means loosening our grip on the reigns and being guided by our faith in the process and confidence in the goodness in this world.

Acceptance brings back our trust in ourselves, validates our existence and gives us the power to take on every obstacle, every hindrance, towards a better and brighter hereafter.

[sadbagofbones]

You know what hurts more than losing someone?

Watching them move on.

Watching them take steps away from it all while your feet feel heavier with every step you take.

Watching them thrive while you are stuck in an endless loop of memories.

They say everyone has a different pace. And you might be ready to give yourself the time you need, but watching them walk away faster than you had anticipated hurts.

It stings because, although you’re in the same situation as them, yet you aren’t in it together.

It isn’t a competition, but you don’t want to lose because they won’t be there to console you.

Watching them get on with their lives, while you are unable to figure out your own, makes it all the more difficult.

That’s the beauty of parting ways. You embark on the same journey, but you don’t get to hold their hand. You just get to watch them, either reach the destination with them, or get left behind.

[sadbagofbones]

Heartbreak is a beauty in itself.

I'd think. I'll learn from it, be smarter hence forth.

But it's an illusion, a lie I tell myself when my lonely soul comes across a shooting star.

While I pretend I'm keeping myself safe from yet another devastation, my heart is making a wish of it's own. A story which might not have a happy ending, just another lesson I'll swear I learned.

Heartbreaks don't make me inhibited, they make me desperate. The pragmatic in me wants to take each step carefully, but the romantic in me? That same romantic who was left destroyed, just wants to rebuild herself, just wants to feel love again. And she wins.

And the funny thing about heartbreaks is, there can never be enough.

Joke's on me, yet I am the only one not laughing.

[sadbagofbones]

Almost.

The word is poetic in itself, like a story written for the reader to interpret.

Most of us, though, have only one meaning associated with it. Loss.

'Almost' is like living on borrowed time, breathing stolen air and sharing kisses kept secret from the eyes of fate.

It is living under the delusion of time, hoping against our better judgement that we have it all.

This word, it comes with a sadness of it's own. A sadness, reeking of amateur hope, misplaced faith, and empty promises.

When the word associates itself with a person, it is a painful reminder, of what could have been. And what actually is.

Almost.

A story, with beauty in its incompleteness, left unwritten but never forgotten.

[sadbagofbones]

Today I feel exceptionally lonely.

Festivals do that to you sometimes. Especially if you're away from home slaving away towards a goal, when you don't even have an ounce of hope in you. You'd think, hey! Just be positive! Honest effort never goes to waste. Right? I would agree, but my life is a living exception to that idea, and I can't help but feel pessimistic about the prospect of ever becoming successful in these endeavours. I am not saying I want to party, drink, dance or do any of these extremely energy-draining activities which my fellow batchmates are actively doing without a morsel of regret.

I just want to feel, like I belong. That all the sacrifices I'm making, are being noticed, being acknowledged and hopefully, being appreciated. I don't mind not having fun while others do, or studying while the others don't. I just want some assurance, something, to let me know that I will make it. That I won't disappoint, again. That it will be for something, and not another failure like the many I've had in life.

What is the point of festivals, you ask me? Other than the mythological aspects, it is a time when families come together and celebrate each other, be grateful for each other and express their love for each other. They say. festivals are just an excuse for loved ones to come together and thank God for each other. And here I am, spiralling down a self-deprecating path, with no family member, no friend, no loved one in sight to pull me out and tell me otherwise. Funny, right? The very people who are supposed to celebrate you, have reduced you only to your failures, and would rather mock you for your efforts than support you for them. Only if you do good, or are useful, are you celebrated, are your efforts noticed and valued. Don't do so well, everyone is too busy in their lives, having fun in their own victories and banal pleasures to offer a few words of kindness to you.

We humans are social creatures, but why is our communication resorted only to humiliate someone? To look down on them? Why is it so hard to embrace someone when they fall, to lift them up with a little support and whisper sweet motivations into their ears? Why is it so hard to put aside our anger, our disappointment and tell them that things will be okay? That they aren't alone?

I wish I had the answers to these questions, or at least have the energy to whisper these things to myself.

But here I am, waiting, like an idiot, for someone to hold me and tell me it will all be fine. And what an endless wait this is going to be.

[sadbagofbones]

I smile at them, laugh along

But when they turn around to leave,

I ask myself

Is this real or just a facade that they’ve put on

When I lay in bed at night

Playing all our conversations in my head

I wonder

Is my thinking unnecessarily intrusive, or am I actually right

All these people, and all their interactions

Leave me thinking

Do they really like me

Or am I just another person, just another transaction

My scars and marks that all of them see

My secrets that they promise never to tell

Is it because they really care

Or is it just another act of pity

Where does this self deprecation come from

When I seem to be surrounded by people who love me

Why am I never satisfied with what I see

And feel that their real thoughts will always stay mum

[sadbagofbones]

He was the poetry in my agony.

He was the painting in my blood.

He was the firework in my explosion.

And he was the song in my scream.

He was the almost in my never

And I held onto the something he was, in all my nothing.

[sadbagofbones]

We complain of loneliness, yet we despise vulnerability.

We complain that no one listens, yet we let our eyes do the talking for the fear of being heard.

We complain that no one sees us, yet we hide for the fear of being looked at.

We complain of feeling empty, yet we use our pieces to put others back together.

We complain of being alive, yet we fear our hearts will stop beating.

We complain of our discontent. And yet, that’s what we rejoice in.

[sadbagofbones]

When was it you realised that people let you into their lives just to fill a void other people left them with, and not because they value you as an individual?

[sadbagofbones]

One of the things I heartily wish for, is to be remembered. To leave an impact.

All the friends, peers, lovers and strangers I’ve met, I wish they remember me in my absence, because I made them feel something which they’ll be unable to feel and hence miss, when I’m gone.

They all have lost people in the past, and I hope I am able to help them overcome that loss, and make a place of my own in their memory. Fill those empty shoes, and modify them according to my own self.

And after all that, in the end, I just want someone to consider me a loss worth the conscious effort of moving on from.

I think we all wish for that.

[sadbagofbones]

I feel like we're constantly running away, and we have no idea what from, or what towards. Maybe we've forgotten where we started from, and where we're headed. All we remember, is that we have to run.

And running, is exhausting.

[sadbagofbones]

Why is it that at times we fail to find the joy in things we're supposed to love the most? The career, the people, the life we chose for ourselves? Everyone has that one escape, from all the inconvenience that is life. But is it necessary, now, to have an escape from that escape?

Why are we so inclined towards escaping? We made a choice, we should have the courage to stand up for it when things get tough, right? Then why do we find it easier to run away? To numb it, rather than feel it?

We keep saying, we need a break, we could use a breather, because yes, things get tough and the human stress response kicks in which is exhausting. But, what's a break from the break? Is there a break from the break?

Is it always going to be like this, running away from things we once wished we had?

[sadbagofbones]

I can trust them with my life. I just can’t trust them enough to stay. 

[sadbagofbones]

I don’t want to find hidden affirmations of love in someone’s actions. I am tired of looking, tired of implicating things that might or might not be there.

I want someone to hold me by my shoulders, and aggressively tell me how much I matter. Scream it into my ears till it’s the only thing ringing in my brain.

Life is too short to not tell people how deeply you feel for them, and life is too long for you to settle for anything less than loud and assertive verbal declarations.