Endless

Today I went down to take out my trash and some kid requested me to drop her off at her floor on my way back up. In order to not sound grumpy to a kid I thought of filling up the thirty seconds of silence with chitchat and realised I get social anxiety while speaking with kids as well. Maybe more even. My voice was completely alien to me and even when I was making small talks my freaked out mind was phasing out. As a result by the time the elevator hit my floor I couldn't remember the child's face or whatever the hell she told me.

Prior to that incident I was lying in bed and had been watching Elementary all evening in dark. As usual my mother made her customary call to check up on me. To be honest my mood was not good (when is it ever 'good' eh?) and I feigned sleep to cut the call short. This little act of deceit made me so resentful with myself that I decided to get some fresh air and hence I thought of taking out the trash. A peaceful and somewhat rigorous walk back to my fifth floor was cut short thanks to the kid I bumped into. But no hard feelings there though. However I feel kids should avoid me for their own good. Psychopaths are harmful to one's mental health even if I don't exactly pose any physical threat. YET.


Anyways. Every time my mother calls me up I somewhat start questioning my own existence. I see other people. I see their proximity to their own folks. And it sickens me. Why have I never experienced that myself? God I do not want to experience it either. If I had a chance I had lost it long back. When my brother was visiting me I locked myself in my room most of the time and barely made conversation. Rest of the time it was awkward and forced. The same feeling that goes through me every time I sit in the same room with my parents. Forget about other relatives. Even phone calls seem tedious and uncomfortable.

Few days back one of my 'friends' who had gone into oblivion suddenly turned up and made quite a moving remark. Mercury retrograde it must be. I always feel those nasty periods in my bones. They come to fuck up my already fucked up life. So I saw this long gone friend's comment and I was left in a huge pile of confusion. Should I feel happy? Should I fucking ignore? Why the fuck should I trust people? Why the fuck should I let someone in, again? Should I just be nice and shrug it off casually? I couldn't decide. So I ended up writing her a sappy reply. Obviously I was hammered. Confusion came back with sobriety next morning.


I'm always confused when it comes to people. I'm always torn apart in the tug of war between humanity and the volcanic surge of hatred I feel in my bones all the time. I guess I hate people for no reason. It's a fuel that kind of keeps me going. On my better days I feel a vague sense of self-centered comfort and tolerance towards others. Rest of the times I'm just locked up in my own prison of hatred, angst and despair. The only animate objects I feel remotely connected with are animals. No social anxiety there. No croaky voice. No lack of things to say. No discomfort with physical contact. I'm more at home with a mangy stray dog than I'm with a person.

Lately I have almost stopped blogging. I don't know what I feel anymore. I am always shrouded by such deep confusion that I no longer know what exactly I believe in. Life is a meaningless shit when you have nothing to fight for. And I have none. Not a single reason. I have no one's side to take. No one to really hold on to. I'm just a very lonely person with no direction whatsoever. And yet, just sailing on. Hoping to find some land at the end of this infinite voyage.


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