I am afraid…

I am afraid.

I am afraid of so many things, so I come to this realization.

I used to think the only fear I had was my phobia for heights and failure and the obvious one, fear of the unknown, but now fear encompasses my life.Taking the plunge of writing about my melancholic self is the one that carries the day,for now.Even as I type this, I feel the fear that is present just at my skin’s contact with the keyboard, it comes and goes, the music is helping.

Most of the people who live with me don’t believe me when I tell them that I am more melancholic than sanguine, that my bubbly nature is something that I learnt and practised it until it stuck, of how melancholy hits at such ill hours and I am forced to battle it out with my torturous tempestuous thoughts.Most of them do not even know come to think about it. Some believe that I am a hardcore, if anything and crying, tears, emotions are an alien thing for me and I understand them but I do not agree.


Crying. They say it’s therapeutic but for me,it has been all self deprecating,more like putting myself down. I did not even figure this out.I cry often times.It’s routine for me.Some nights are booked for that basically.Tears are quite something, not just fluids that leak from the eyes. It starts with your brain telling you something, especially the trivial ones but your brain processes it differently and all over sudden your gut is twisting and all your supper is no longer sitting well.The tears gush from the back of your head, at least mine feels like that all the time, and they don’ even flow,they pour, all the floodgates have been opened and they feed from the mind’s activities and you can feel the sobs coming,those loud ones that occur after silently crying. Once your whole body registers this, it doesn’t want it to end.It should not cease nor end,no it should maintain that tempo. Pain demands to be felt. The very thought that you will get better after this episode is even more disturbing and hurts like nothing you’ve felt, so you cry because of that and your mind goes to overdrive.

I hate feeling better after crying.I hate that I can feel better after crying.Not the tears you shed when reading a book or watching a film or those of joy.Not that kind.Why would I cry in the first place then if I am to get better eventually? I don’t care about the whole ‘respect the process’ at that moment because that kind of turmoil is not something that I would wish upon anyone.The greatest battles we fight are those of self, those that our thoughts carry out and when tears are involved, that’s a war going down.My notebooks are stained with watery marks.Raw emotions running untamed, words spiralling faster than I can write them down,faster than my writing pace.

[Enter Journal 002]

” …

I should be on the verge of tears because c’mon it’s you Joy.

Crying.Shedding pails of tears.So many packets of pocket tissues used.Then some more tears.I also pee alot when I’m crying, oddly enough.

At these times, my mind acquires this unknown strong force that ensures all my controls are not working.They all spin out of control.All the feelings that I had been harbouring about different things come to life and I even cry some more.I cry. I weep.I want to tear things apart,make a mess.It’s a strong urge that surges through my veins.It’s like the mind craves to have an outward depiction of whatever is going on in there.I want to turn tables.I want to break china plates and cups against a wall, new ones specifically. I want to see a once complete and beautiful creation come down just with one move.But I also want something else at such times, I crave comfort, I crave human contact but I don’t know how it’s done.I understand how people just break down to their close people,but for me it’s foreign.I am too weak at that time, too weak, too afraid,too scared to pick that phone and call someone.You put on a strong facade for too long until it creeps onto you and it stays there,stuck,that you can handle all shit that comes your way

But,but I am shattered glass,some too broken than others,yet to be glued back together.I am just but a little girl in an unseen hurricane.Every single day,I live and battle with it.To make it better or worse, I threw a huge opaque cloak to cover all these shattered glass so no one can see through.My greatest fear is pity, just the thought of the look people give you makes me feel nauseated, makes my intestines coil.But,there are so many open wounds that need to heal properly, these bandaids are becoming too many to replace regularly.I am afraid to be exposed,to give someone the gun and all the ammunition,all the freakin’ leverage.

But today, I am not crying as I write this.

I affirmed to myself that I am going to become a better version of me,that I am going to stop stagnating and stop throwing pity parties for myself,wasting so many essential body fluids…”

My journey has just began.Wish me luck.It was so hard writing this.

I was reading one of Rupi Kaur’s pieces and it struck something inside of me.I did not know the power of writing until recently when I embarked on a personal growth journey and I just want to share it to the world.I want honesty,I love honesty myself.People keep asking me what I write about as if I am about one particular thing.We,human beings are so complex and about so many things that we should not be tied to anything,if it’s not your choice anyways.I am still figuring things out, shifting my myself around until I become in sync with my self, until I feel everything click, baby steps.

∼love,peace and joy∼

Particular Creatures.

I don’t have a particular reason why I have not been writing really, leave alone posting on this small space I managed to create all by myself. I have tried journaling (I can’t call it that really, but close enough) I just pick a pen and it’s me spilling these unknown sparks that are electrifying really but I can’t put my finger around really, about a particular creature

These sparks come in waves, high tides and low tides at times but high tides most of the time and my mind goes into overdrive and it’s another universe I kid you not; of meteors and shooting stars, astronauts gliding through, stardust is your typical sand or soil if you like, at times I see unicorns galloping? I don’t know.I never once thought I would see this mythical creature that some beings called humans have a strong belief in, it’s a weird world.

My body is no longer my body, I can tell. It’s because I know this body so well having been its willing prisoner for the last eighteen years. I see this bare body growing cobalt blue wings instantaneously, wings that glow, that shine like all the stars put together and then blown over the wings, it’s a breath-taking sight.

It does not end there; barefoot, the feet tread barefoot softly, the legs, they are adorned with feathers in an intricate pattern, that go all the way to the torso, past to the belly and the two hills perched just where they are supposed to be, these feathers are of an exotic kind, crafted with dexterity on this body and on the head, a crown of daisies sits perfectly, white ones and there’s a whole trail of all kinds of flowers drooping from the ends of the hair- lilies, peonies, tulips, orchids, dandelions, daffodils, hydrangea and dahlias and then there are more,others are floating around her, these ones are different with shades of marigold and strawberry, with hues of lilac.They are opening and closing in synchrony as if they are warming the soul up,lulling it,soothing it,over and over.The face is invisible or maybe it’s the radiance from the face that’s too bright and shimmery that I can not make a perception.

When I say my body is not my body I really mean it, I mean flowers do not strike any chords within me but daisies are quite something else, don’t you think?But,I am so fucking exhausted of harbouring thoughts about this particular creature, creating and recreating, thinking and overthinking at times I want to literally pour a bucket of cold water to extinguish all these fires that are all over my whole existence because in my opinion, one cannot have one muse all the damn time.But the irony of this is that after having all these thoughts of shunning these little fires, either my senses flip over or they come to life and start adding coal and wood to these fires, causing bonfires to be lit all over, I won’t lie.I love that shit.

This particular creature is metaphoric, haha.Is it a friend? maybe Is it family? Is it a pet that I dearly cherish? Who knows? Or maybe it’s a boy or a girl? Take your chances!

What is your particular creature? One that makes your skin tingle and at the same time fire up,but because you lost control of a part in you to this being, unknowingly, you can not help it.Do tell.