Today I realised that somewhere through life, I have stopped helping myself. That somewhere I have started being really harsh with the way I deal with myself. And how much that has made all of me hurt.
Today I also realised that I am in love with a non-person. Someone who made me aspire to new dreams but had no intention of seeing them fulfilled. Someone whose very kindness was calculated. Someone who was just about strategy and the heat of the moment and keeping face at all costs. Even when the price was not his to pay. And how much I still love him and desire his presence in my life. O how that hurts.
Today I was told by an absolute stranger I bared myself and my problems to that I am amazing. That there aren’t many people like me in this world who can do what I do everyday. And I just stared at her. Unmoved. Unfeeling. Slightly perplexed. It hurt. My inability to feel anything about a statement like that. No pride. No faint blush of pleasure. Not even embarrassment. No nothing.
Today I realised anew how all my ideals and dreams have sunk; how much my health has failed; how all my relationships are tainted now with distrust — who will hurt me and make me feel that terrible blue funk again next?
Today I am trying to be kind. I’ve spent all my life trying so hard to be true to myself and my ideals on how a life must be lived, that I forgot to be kind to myself. The only redeeming thing is that I have been kind to the others around me as far as possible. Maybe too much. So much that I have placed them first always. Including the time I stopped mid-sex to take a phone call from a beloved friend who was going through a break up. A man who has since disappeared from my life never to keep in touch. And today, I feel I went a bit too far in being so giving of myself to others. And others don’t matter nor do they help when your self is wounded.
Today I have been told to cry and let myself feel for myself again. To love myself like one would a baby, to not judge or preach or intellectualise, but to just embrace myself. To accept that I am tired and ill so I can allow myself to heal. It sounds like psycho babble but since I’ve been working on it, I feel lighter. Still hurting. Still in more pain than I know what to do with, but better. Somewhat. I have dedicated today and the rest of this week to just cry. Whenever I manage to be alone for even five minutes, I weep now. I have been crying all day for the intense loss I feel because I have forbidden myself to communicate with my non-man. I have been crying all afternoon for the loss of my once enthusiastic and happy self. I have been crying because I realised I haven’t cried enough. I have been crying because really my life right now is just such buggering bollocks and I don’t even look sick. You’d think a disease that painful would at least have the decency to cover you up in ugly looks or something so others might keep their distance and be helpful. But no.
Today, I would urge you to do something you love for yourself today. Sorry to get all didactic on you, but I am writing this because somewhere you might be doing a grave injustice to yourself too. And if you are, stop now. Before it’s late. It will never be too late. But why wait?
Today, this is what I did. I played Dev Anand songs over and over again and mourned.
Today, I lamented the loss of a relationship and sang along with this one and cried.
Today, I sobbed at how the promise of this was never met; wasn’t even really considered in spite of the words that were used.
Today, I treated myself to paani poori.
I am an open, raw, bleeding wound that is on fire.
I hurt so much that you would cry.