Random Musings Series / 10

It's been a while I posted a random musings blog, exactly one year to be precise. Two different years. Similar situations. And yet they are not so similar at all. If 2020 lockdown had turned me into an upper class Victorian housewife, like Rebecca, conveniently lost in my slightly gothic fairytale universe where I would be comfortably yearning for something not so tangible in a sense that is even clueless to me. But 2021 is a different story altogether. With it's mutant virus, a much higher mortality rate, and an overall vibes of doom and despair looming over our nation. The politicians, the so called celebrities, two bits journalists -- everyone is out chasing after some cheap agenda of their own. It affects people like us. The sensitive ones, the empaths. We are not among the majority that watch the news then touch the ceiling of their cakehole cavity with tip of the tongue to make that annoying tsst noise and move on. Not us. We don't move on. We sit in our bed in the dark and weep. Weep until the thick tar-like darkness outside of our window lightens and the chirping begins. But then words never pour out of me until I am hit by some dull throbbing faceless melancholy. Happiness has a way of turning me into a shallow creature. I seek it and feel repulsed by it at the same time. That's my curse.

I love how random Mother Nature is. They say justice lays within it's ruthless randomness. The pandemic is something the mankind deserves. Truly deserves. Given how rotten and hollow and cruel and mindless we have become. In a way perhaps we have always been. Survival cannot be achieved without cruelty. But it hurts to see how arbitrary the picking is. In my head, where everything is just and ideal in my way, pandemic is claiming the souls of corrupt politicians (one fugly skank is at the top of my list), Bollywood mafia gang of Khans&Johars&Kumars&Kapoors&Bhatts and other white collar terrorists, Sushant's killers, the woke gang, Spiltsvilla/Big Boss hosts & participants and so on. But then to quote my forever favourite Severus Snape, "Well, it may have escaped your notice, but life isn't fair."

As for me, the worst part about recovering from covid has been the chest and throat infection that is taking time to heal. But I am impatient; my 21 days quota isn't even complete yet. The inability to go beyond ga is throwing me into the pit of catatonic despair. I know, when an entire nation is fighting to just breathe properly I am whining about music. But you see, different people live on different lifelines. And trust my every word when I say this -- on some days the remnants of my sanity hang by the thread of music and not just listening to it but those long lonely sessions of singing. I sing my sorrows away. I sing to put my demons to sleep. If I cannot sing they won't let me sleep. And god knows I have a lot of demons to call my own.

Talking about my demons, the past two weeks have been the lowest point of 2021 for me, yet. Touch-fucking-wood. And it's always the same story. Something trivial, absolutely minor works as trigger. I am sitting here, minding my own business, sharing memes. One tiny moment of discomfort. Few rapid intakes of breath. Clenched jaw. White knuckles. And there it is. That swoosh. That sharp fall. Suddenly I am out of my inner organs. Just a big void instead. Endless darkness. I brace myself. I am falling fast. All my demons are awake. Intrusive thoughts. Self-loathing. Abandonment trauma. And that blinding rage. All that piled up accumulated rage of every disappointment, every hurt, every inappropriate touch, every single abuse done by all those whom I wish to strap to my chair and return the favour.

Anxiety is a terrible terrible disease. So is PTSD. And all that comes free along with. It feeds your mind terrible untrue things about people, situations, and not to mention yourself. I have been battling them for so long now it's a way of living for me. The worst part of it is that it sometimes makes the good people look bad in my head. Then fear takes over and I push them away. I know I shouldn't. But I do nonetheless. When you have lived your entire life on survival mode you just don't know how or whom to lay your guards down.

When I am too sad these days I practice Tonglen. A Buddhist meditation technique where you imagine yourself inhale the sorrow and suffering of others and exhale healing and love. Sometimes I end up crying profusely while doing this. Mostly I just sit and contemplate how pointless everything is, including life itself. And the sheer tragedy/comedy of living it with one inevitable endgame. Hilarious.

I don't trust people in general. I am a misanthrope. 8.5 out of 10 times people have screwed me over in return to my undivided loyalty. But that doesn't mean I like to see the whole world suffer. The HSP empath in me has to bear the burden of the collective gloom and it does not feel pleasant. So I pray. Pray for a better time ahead. Nothing lasts forever. Hopefully our sorrows won't either.

Next time you find yourself in pain you may imagine me inhaling all your sorrows away. That's all I can do for you.

Stay safe you all.

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