Recurring nightmare

She lies still in her bed, alone. She stares into the darkness, and sees the never ending, almost invisible spirals that seem to envelop her every moment.
When she's asleep she dreams about being bound, gagged and tortured by an unseen enemy, a foe that takes sadistic pleasure in her despair. She prays this is a dream,  and she secretly thinks it isn't. She is afraid of herself. A part of her is terrified witless of the pain that can maim her, disfigure her, break her. Then there's that part of her that is anticipating the pain, almost joyously.

Lying in her lonely, cold bed she wishes for someone who will protect her; lie with her, shield her, hold her, nurture her. Maybe love her?

She feels the emptiness inside her, a deep, dark, emotional abyss that has a pull of  great magnitude, a gravity of its own; which is pulling her in, step by tiny step, inch by single inch. She is terrified of falling in and drowning. She thrashes against the demons that only she can see. She pushes and pulls at the restraints that bind her. She cant break free, oh god, she cant even loosen them. She starts to panic, her heart thudding in her chest, her heartbeat so loud in her ears, thud-thud thud-thud thud-thud THUD-THUD. She can feel her skin burning, her soul being scorched out of her body.

She opens her mouth to scream but her jaws are locked together, the blood curdling screams swallowed and not a sound escapes. She helplessly watches herself disappear into ashes even as she struggles to hold on to something. Her nails digging into her palms with a force so great it rends her flesh apart. Blood oozes from her self inflicted wounds but she hardly notices. Her head starts to pound, her heart is beating a tattoo against her chest, her blood is rushing around her body, waiting to be set free, to flow free.

Helpless, she closes her eyes and gives in, her tormented soul, keening.

She writhes and twists. She weeps copious tears. 
She hopes to be rescued. But her hopes drain away, with time.
Like blood from a sliced wrist, it slowly ebbs out of her, painfully. Dulling her mind, numbing her body, glazing her eyes.
She mourns herself. She knows there is no one to mourn her.
She then waits for the free fall to end.
For life to finally desert her, in every way she could've imagined and more.
Her cold sweat leaves her shivering. Her mind too tired to understand terror anymore, simply shuts down. There's no more feeling, no more pain, no more relief.
There's just an eerie silence,  and a bone deep exhaustion.

It's raining again!

Not everyone likes it when it rains.
It rained all day this Saturday (20th July). and I spent the day sitting by the window, staring at the rain.
And of course, wrote a couple short poems that came to me almost as an epiphany.

A bloom caught in the rain, I wish.

A star playing hide and seek, I think.

A raindrop that settles for an ever-after as dew, I see.

I roll under the wide blue skies,

I fall from the heavens up high,

I gently kiss your balmy skin,

And die a blissful death at your feet.

A raindrop, a tear, a dew-drop, a trickle;

I was one, I was all

Clicked this one from my window, and it inspired the poem on the left

I was so tiny, so small

And yet I bring so much beauty.

I wish, I wish. Oh How I wish,

that beauty to be mine.

That resides in rain, in the painfully mundane,

The allure of the unseen, overlooked and obscure

This kinship must be divine.

~end~

Spent hours looking at each drop cling to a leaf and roll away,

just to drop and splatter. Symbolic, don't you think?

When It rains, I understand the poetry,

Playing out like a strange dream in front of me.

When it rains, I see the tears I've cried

reflected in the sky.

When it rains I seem to dwell on the same insane thoughts,

When it rains, your face is all I spot in the clouds.

When it rains I feel a strange kind of calm.

When it rains there's an onslaught of words

which go unspoken, unwritten, un-everything.

When it rains, I wish for the same old things,

paper boats and streams for them to float in.

When it rains I see the poetry.

~end~

The Hour of Lead

We all know what black-holes are.

This celestial, dark body that has a gravitational field so strong, nothing escapes from it. not even light.

Everyone with a working knowledge of physics and Everyone who's seen Star Trek knows what I'm talking about.

There is no escaping the black-hole. 

Every so often, there's this burning, all consuming, magnetic darkness that takes over me.

I am a black-hole for happiness and good cheer, for smiles and laughter, for lightness. 

Nothing can please me, make me happy, crack a smile.

Instead, I suck it out of people who have it and replace it with misery and moroseness.

This strangeness I seem to carry around everywhere is a dead weight I can't shake off.

It makes me think of Florence and The Machine-> "I was In the darkness So darkness I became".

Quantum Mechanics, Theoretical Physics and someone called Edward Witten (from Princeton) recently disproved that. It seems light can escape.

For the minds, the Jungian perspective suggests there's no light without darkness. Light is important and appreciated only because of the pull the darkness exerts on us.

For me, This darkness, depression, (mood swing?) is bone deep. My head aches, my bones hurt, my heart sinks.

It makes merely existing so heavy, so tough sometimes its all I can do to not give in, give up and just walk away. Sometimes, I do just that. Walk away. 

What really tears me up is the pull from opposite forces. I want to be left alone and I don't want to be left alone. 

What scares me is, that I like this constant buzzing pain.

What shocks me is the lengths I might go to, just to keep this hurt.

This, pseudo depression (or is it real!?), I wonder if there's any meaning to it. My books tell me there is. This is a monster I fight for my sanity. 

But I think happiness is overrated. 

Are we ever, truly, fully happy? Isn't there something we're longing for that we can't have, or someone that hurt us? Isn't there some kind of loss always there, tearing a hole through your soul? 

In our youth, we're anxious for the future, for the opportunities that are going to come our way. Dreams and hopes that we've nurtured with painful efforts.

Then there's a part that laments the loss of certain thing, material or otherwise, that burns a scar on you- constantly reminding you of what you DON'T have.

And forgetting all this, we still try to be happy. And we are, yes. When life is more pleasant than bothersome.

And even when we think we are happy, aren't we mourning, or coveting or simply sighing over something/someone lost, that got away from us and is buried in some recess of our ever-loving, and somewhat unraveling minds?

I sometimes think of J.K Rowling in these, phases (for want of a better word. I refuse to call it depression). I know! (huh) I relate this enveloping, soul crushing,cold-cold sadness to the effect dementors have, and I quote Lupin, "Horrible, spectral creatures, hooded and robed, which feed on human emotions. Dementors drain ‘peace, hope, and happiness' out of the air around them." There's no rhyme or reason to it, it just flows out of you. 

Chocolate does make it a little better, but it doesn't really go away.

I wish I could Expecto Patronum this monster to hell but, what do I know, I'm just a muggle! 

This is the undoing of my self.

This is the end of the rope. 

Its like Emily Dickinson said, This is the hour of lead.

"This is the hour of lead-

Remembered, if outlived,

As freezing persons

recollect the snow,

First Chill, then Stupor-

then the letting go."

Brothers!

You know what makes life really worth all the tough struggles, the bad days, the PMS, the bickering, the pain, the sleepless nights. Its the good things that happened to you.
Its a horrible cliche, not worth a blog post at all. But I was especially blue today. And I realized, the thing that brought me out of my misery was remembering all the good things, all the precious things in my life

See what I mean! 

The most precious memory I have is of my baby brother's gummy smile as he pointed at me and said ggaggag (his first attempt to say my name). It made me hysterically happy then, It makes me smile loopy today; and I am confident it will make me happy tomorrow too.





Brothers are obnoxious. Mine is. He is the worst kinda pain in the ass. He makes fun of me, he annoys me, irritates me, loots me dry,  misplaces my books, ruins my whites by pushing in a red tee in the middle of a white wash cycle and turning it all to pink, he hits me hard enough to give me a nasty bruise, basically he does all the things that make me want to kill him, or wish.... that either I was adopted or he was!

But he also misses me when I'm gone, he pulls up the comforter over me when I fall asleep on the couch, he makes soup(admittedly very bad soup, but the effort counts!) when I get sick.
He gives me a hug when I really need one, He makes me smile through my tears, He makes me feel like I am the most perfect sister in the world.

And that is enough.

I remember how it felt having his plump baby hands hold my face, his beautiful gummy smile, and his wonderful sweetness.
Most of it is still there, though no more baby hands, (he has the hands of an ape!) he still smiles like he's the angel Gabriel smiling down at a lowly mortal, and he still is wonderfully sweet.

Life is so much more because he is in it. 
Brothers are special. Mine is extra special, not in a disabled way, but because he brightens up my day even by being awfully grumpy. 

I love his grumpy, grunting moods where he gives me a look that says You-exasperate-me-to-the-point-of-suicide.
I love his sarcastic, smartass moods where He exasperates me to the point of suicide. 
But most of all, I love having him in my life. He is the most precious gift my parents gave me. 

And today, when I am 26 and he is 19, I think of all the times he's made me laugh, he's wiped my tears, he's been worried for his big sister; I think of all those days when coming home from school I knew I'd find this kid running around the house in his underwear, driving grandma up the wall and it still makes me grin that loopy grin.

HE is a forever memory, that scrawny kid trying to avoid a bath. 
That kid in the balcony screaming the stupid 90's songs at everyone on the street.
The kid in superman pajamas telling me about how superman has to be real.
And my favorite moment, that skinny 4 year old giving me the tightest hug and telling me I am the best sister in the world and he will love me forever.


My kid brother makes my life brighter. without saying a single word. He also makes me smarter because he shares his knowledge with me.
But most of all, He makes me smile, on all my blue days. 

This post is for my brother, who is also my best friend and my best playmate, and a very real, very tough intellectual opponent. 
This is for that person I lean on every time I need some support.
This is for the most precious relationship in my life, that of a sister and a brother. 

"Though I know I'll never lose affection 
For people and things that went before 
I know I'll often stop and think about them 
In my life I love you more "

B.L.U.E.

I thought that if I didn’t go and play
The sadness would get bored and go away
I thought that if I didn’t go astray
That all my pain would be in yesterday

But it’s true
I’m still blue
But I finally know what to do
I must quit, I must quit...........................................You.



I never know when to stop
I'm always too slow, too late
Too much, or too precipitate.

I know it's true

You said it too,

The sadness will stay, no matter what I do.

I'm still blue

And I finally know what to do.

and yet, I cant seem to quit, just quit, simply stop

Move away, whatever the words,

you know what I mean

I need to do, what I need to hear 

Is You.

But I'm still blue,

I must, I must, I must quit You.

Its Only Words

"Like a flower, waiting to bloom 
Like a lightbulb, in a dark room   

I'm just sittin' here waiting for you 

To come on home and turn me on"

-Norah Jones-

There's nothing you can do that can't be done"
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.
Nothing you can say, but you can learn
How to play the game 

.It's easy

All you need is love, all you need is love

".All you need is love, love. Love is all you need

-The Beatles-

"Russian Roulette Is not the same without a gun,
And baby, when its love, if ain't rough it isn't fun.

-Lady Gaga-

And I'd give up forever to touch you"
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's meant to be broken 
"I just want you to know who I am

-Goo Goo Dolls-

Ever wonder how important words are?

The wrong words, the right words;

The important words and the not-so-important words;

The sweet words and the sour words;

The soft words and the harsh words;

The written and unwritten words;

The spoken and unspoken words.

Don't you feel something more every time the words are just right?

Doesn't your heart leap when the words mean something to you?

Doesn't your soul weep when your pain is put across for everyone to read in words?

If Life is poetry, words are its essence.

Words are the easiest commodity to come by. And they are the least trustworthy.

They're believable and beautiful and sweet.

Especially when you really want them to be those things. Words fluidly become what you wish them to become. 

Its all anyone has to offer, to the people they love and to the people they hate; to strangers; to family and friends.

Words, they can slay, they can bring back life.

They can revive faith, and they can extinguish any flickering flames of hope someone might have.

They can make your lips smile, your heart sing. 

They can Make your eyes tear, your heart despair.

Simply words. 

Only words.

r.a.n.t.i.n.g.

Illness has a way of making things difficult for me. Bipolarity is always a problem for me, yes. But, add illness to the mix and you'll find me bursting into tears because of badly toasted bread, sadly brewed tea or because marley died in Marley and Me.

Women are always hormonal.. err.. emotional. But ill bipolar women are dangerously so.

February is the worst month to have the flu in esp for single people. 

Its not chilly anymore, the afternoons are perfectly sunny, the season's are on the verge of changing.

And supposedly, Love is in the air. 

Feb sucks to have the flu in. Because, all I want to do is lie in bed and watch tv. And the damned TV people play stupid romantic movies where people fall in love, fight, break up, fall in love again and have a happily forever after. I dont want to watch people all loved up. I am sick, actually sick, Im bipolar and hormonal and worst of all, single. and this one week in feb makes me miserable.

The dialogues.. " Shut up.. you had me at hello" ( err hello! really!!??)

The music... (the violin solo that makes your gut twist.

The tear soaked happy smiles? (Acckkk!)

And of course, the burnt romantics are the worst cynics, right?

And I am a burnt-to-a-crisp romantic. I used to be that sappy girl who'd watch these movies and feel good (imagine that! *eye roll*)

And I make an excellent example of the cynical, miserable, awful people who downgrade love just because they can.

 Watching the sappy movies makes me wonder about the sheer naivette of people. Every one wants the unselfish, unconditional love, so desperately(it  breaks my heart to see the stupidity).

You want it all, but don't wanna give at all. how does that work, eh?

It doesn't. and thats the point. 

Love isn't a feeling, its a bargain. 

(and february is the month of unhappiness. Especially because I have the flu! )