The mind
I'm going to smile and pretend and tell you this story.
I am okay. I have been okay. I will be okay. I have been saying this to everyone, I don't see a reason to speak the truth now. I am fine. It wasn't me who stood at that ledge that one time. It might have been my body standing there waiting for the right moment, for the winds to shift, for my feet to slip, but it wasn't me. This mind is fine.
Do you mind if I light up a smoke? I picked up this habit a while back, existential crisis, I like to call it. A mid life, scratch that, a quarter life crisis. But I am going to quit. I will, the moment, my life decides it has meaning. I am not dependent on it. I mean, I used to smoke when I used to feel sad but nowadays I don't feel sad anymore. I mean I hardly feel anything. I am really happy. Ecstatic. Nothing brings me down anymore.
What's that? Am I lying? I don't lie. I never lie. I wouldn't say never because every body lies right? You're using fancy shrink words in that notepad of yours, aren't you? What was it you called me, a manic depressive. You can't diagnose me as a manic depressive. I don't get sad. Not anymore.
Am I over my break up? (I am going to lie again, because I am not going to say, "No, I live and breathe him, I wear his clothes and cry myself to sleep every night. I hate him for what he has done to me, but a part of my heart is still with him. When I see his face, I want to hold him. When I see his smile, I want to smile with him. I tell my friends I am over him, that life has never been happier than it is now. But I am crying inside, everyday hoping that he knew none of my secrets.") Yes, I am over it. It was nearly a year ago. Not exactly a relationship anyone in their right mind would want to have stayed in. I got over it and him.
Do I talk to my dad? Not anymore. Not since that asshole threw me out of my house. Not since he disowned me. No. I haven't spoken to him. My mom on the other hand won't stop calling me. Headache that it is turning out to be, I need to soothe her. (My heart has never been broken as much as it has, I keep hoping my dad would pick up when I'm talking to mom. But it hasn't happened. Not yet. Not now. And it hurts. It makes me want to go back on that ledge) I just need her to stop so that I can move on.
How much of it is the truth? Everything.
The Psyche
She is going to sit in front of me and question my intelligence.
She hasn't been okay. She hasn't truly smiled in ages while her lips tell the lie, her eyes tell the truth. "Tell me more about how you're feeling now." I can see the cracks and the wounds. She didn't want to see a psychiatrist or even a real therapist, she chose me. I do this as a hobby. She deserves and needs real help.
She lights up a smoke. I remember when she came here the first time and lit up a smoke. She wasn't smiling then. She was in tears. An abusive relationship, a physically and emotionally abusive relationship, that she didn't have the strength to get out of. She sits in front of me and cooks up a story about her non existent existential crisis. And as I see her laugh. I see that it doesn't reach her eyes, and that her heart is still heavy.
"You have a way with words. Twisting things around a bit, are we?" I give a her small smile. She starts to get defensive. I write down defensive. Yes, she is right, she was a manic depressive and instead of getting better, she was getting worse. She was in denial. Her smile never reaching her eyes. I wanted her to smile, it has been ages since she had.
"How are you in regards to the entire break up?" She looks up at me, I can see her eyes welling up, she is going to start lying to me again. I feel a little cross. A little irritated. I feel like she needs to accept that she needs a push when it comes to getting over the relationship. The break up, everything. But she lies to me again. She knew she made a mistake staying in the relationship. But she felt like it was the biggest mistake getting out of it. She was making carrying on a conversation difficult. I am an untrained semi professional, not equipped for this much.
"How's your dad? Have you talked to him at all lately?" Touchy subject, but connected to the break up in every way. He had hated the boy and wanted his daughter to have nothing to do with him. The bruises, the scars were constant reminders to him. He had told her to leave the house, if she was going to stay with the boy. So she left. She took his hand and left. Her dad reached out to her friends, and everyone he could possibly find to make sure she is safe. Her mom would not give her dad the phone everytime she called. The mom blamed him for her daughter's current predicament. I blame the boy. And I blame the girl now for not accepting her emotions.
I look at her, knowingly, I know the truth. "You're lying to me. How much is the truth?"
"How much of it is the truth?" Comes her response, "everything."
I'm going to smile and pretend and tell you this story.
I am okay. I have been okay. I will be okay. I have been saying this to everyone, I don't see a reason to speak the truth now. I am fine. It wasn't me who stood at that ledge that one time. It might have been my body standing there waiting for the right moment, for the winds to shift, for my feet to slip, but it wasn't me. This mind is fine.
Do you mind if I light up a smoke? I picked up this habit a while back, existential crisis, I like to call it. A mid life, scratch that, a quarter life crisis. But I am going to quit. I will, the moment, my life decides it has meaning. I am not dependent on it. I mean, I used to smoke when I used to feel sad but nowadays I don't feel sad anymore. I mean I hardly feel anything. I am really happy. Ecstatic. Nothing brings me down anymore.
What's that? Am I lying? I don't lie. I never lie. I wouldn't say never because every body lies right? You're using fancy shrink words in that notepad of yours, aren't you? What was it you called me, a manic depressive. You can't diagnose me as a manic depressive. I don't get sad. Not anymore.
Am I over my break up? (I am going to lie again, because I am not going to say, "No, I live and breathe him, I wear his clothes and cry myself to sleep every night. I hate him for what he has done to me, but a part of my heart is still with him. When I see his face, I want to hold him. When I see his smile, I want to smile with him. I tell my friends I am over him, that life has never been happier than it is now. But I am crying inside, everyday hoping that he knew none of my secrets.") Yes, I am over it. It was nearly a year ago. Not exactly a relationship anyone in their right mind would want to have stayed in. I got over it and him.
Do I talk to my dad? Not anymore. Not since that asshole threw me out of my house. Not since he disowned me. No. I haven't spoken to him. My mom on the other hand won't stop calling me. Headache that it is turning out to be, I need to soothe her. (My heart has never been broken as much as it has, I keep hoping my dad would pick up when I'm talking to mom. But it hasn't happened. Not yet. Not now. And it hurts. It makes me want to go back on that ledge) I just need her to stop so that I can move on.
How much of it is the truth? Everything.
The Psyche
She is going to sit in front of me and question my intelligence.
She hasn't been okay. She hasn't truly smiled in ages while her lips tell the lie, her eyes tell the truth. "Tell me more about how you're feeling now." I can see the cracks and the wounds. She didn't want to see a psychiatrist or even a real therapist, she chose me. I do this as a hobby. She deserves and needs real help.
She lights up a smoke. I remember when she came here the first time and lit up a smoke. She wasn't smiling then. She was in tears. An abusive relationship, a physically and emotionally abusive relationship, that she didn't have the strength to get out of. She sits in front of me and cooks up a story about her non existent existential crisis. And as I see her laugh. I see that it doesn't reach her eyes, and that her heart is still heavy.
"You have a way with words. Twisting things around a bit, are we?" I give a her small smile. She starts to get defensive. I write down defensive. Yes, she is right, she was a manic depressive and instead of getting better, she was getting worse. She was in denial. Her smile never reaching her eyes. I wanted her to smile, it has been ages since she had.
"How are you in regards to the entire break up?" She looks up at me, I can see her eyes welling up, she is going to start lying to me again. I feel a little cross. A little irritated. I feel like she needs to accept that she needs a push when it comes to getting over the relationship. The break up, everything. But she lies to me again. She knew she made a mistake staying in the relationship. But she felt like it was the biggest mistake getting out of it. She was making carrying on a conversation difficult. I am an untrained semi professional, not equipped for this much.
"How's your dad? Have you talked to him at all lately?" Touchy subject, but connected to the break up in every way. He had hated the boy and wanted his daughter to have nothing to do with him. The bruises, the scars were constant reminders to him. He had told her to leave the house, if she was going to stay with the boy. So she left. She took his hand and left. Her dad reached out to her friends, and everyone he could possibly find to make sure she is safe. Her mom would not give her dad the phone everytime she called. The mom blamed him for her daughter's current predicament. I blame the boy. And I blame the girl now for not accepting her emotions.
I look at her, knowingly, I know the truth. "You're lying to me. How much is the truth?"
"How much of it is the truth?" Comes her response, "everything."
While seated by the window on a chair, I could see the motley glory of the entire world montaged into a window frame. In the front-yard, just outside the window of my hostel room, one could see all kinds of tall trees, rampant bushes and a medley of arboreal life flourishing. Not far enough, could be seen a fledgling emulating scrupulously what its mother is trying to teach. The pantomimic love that I felt at the very moment was merely the figment of my mind, I knew. The novice will learn to fly eventually. But the unconditional love, care and hard work of the mother will be bequeathed to the generations to come. Behind the bushes at left most corner, I was marveled to see two squirrels caressing each others tail showing the gesture of sublime camaraderie. But, something which often awed me while seating in the window are the dust motes swirling in a girder of sunrays entering my room. One could feel the entire universe dancing with the opus of dust motes and to the tune hidden behind.
ReplyDeleteThere are several untold yet fascinating stories around us that could be felt while savoring the beauty of life seating by the window. The stories with exalted and edifying zest. The stories with unprecedented lesson and unraveling truth. If one sat in the window long enough, paying close attention, the entire world and its sensible stories would parade past with its heterogeneous glory, said one of my friends.
I use to read the stories sitting in the window to this day...
Really nice
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