Low

I'm feeling low, exactly low and nothing other than low, just in the way the word might have been first coined to precisely mean, I'm feeling low like that. And this feeling, the setting of almost everything in my life at the moment is almost exactly the same as a few years back. All that furore and I'm still just where I was, just as alone, just as disappointed, just as closed in my heart. I feel for a moment as if my heart has shrunk and shut and all the warmth and affection in it has evaporated. But I know better, for not all love can disappear. Yet I feel nothing good alive inside me and it's a dangerously dead feeling. I could be dead or alive and it would make no difference. I'm not hysterical or weepy, that's one bad habit I've largely managed to put under some serious check and I'm glad for it, but this peaceful blanket is unnerving for the sheer silence of it, for the sheer immunity it provides from everything around, and for myself.

I feel so terribly inadequate, and that insecurity does not arise externally, because I feel inadequate for myself. Yes, I feel cheated and angry and disappointed with a few people, a few things. Being ignored angers, but being ridiculed without deserving it makes you cry without a whimper. It's amazing how little you mean to anyone and anything, esp when you thought you should have meant something. It's amazing how easy it is for people to walk all over you even though you were there for their need not that long ago. It is a feeling that threatens to kill all kindness and all care inside you, which is a really really dangerous thing. It hurts to deserve something and not get it, but it hurts a lot to deserve a little respect and get a lot of ridicule. After so much...God knows I'm tired of the brickbats, and no I don't want any bouquets.

The reason why today reminds me of those days, those times is that I absolutely do not feel I need someone to share all this with now.(A good rant is a different thing, and this post is getting so long hardly anybody would read it, so this is essentially about talking to myself, and I like it)Nobody feels close enough and right enough any more to open up to, and in a way that's a liberating feeling because the habit and expectation of being taken care of makes you postpone sanity and self-care a little longer, and because it hurts much more when nobody shows up when you need them. It's an awesome feeling to not need, to feel low and be okay with it and to remember to fend for yourself. I grew up like that and it's good to see I can still survive like that. The good thing about these days, these times is that everytime they seem unlike those days, those times, someone comes along to gently remind you that 'hey,it's your problem, don't bore me with your stories and just do what you want' or 'hey, you're supposed to fix my problem instead and understand what I need and walk off, thats your job'. It feels nice to have a place, after all, wherever it is. And just like those days, anybody could count the objective 'parameters' in my life and claim it's a good life, but nobody would want to be in it, nobody would want to be me. Except me, of course. I like being me, esp this illusion-shattered me who knows her problem is her chronic disease of investing trust everywhere, but wouldn't do a thing about it.

So much has happened in such little time that I don't even know what all has. my will to work, to study, to fight, to even try is awfully hard to find. I wish I could crib, "why me?", but I know better. In some instances, I wish I could also complain "why not me?" but I know the futility. You know, you could do so much and still fail at it, just like those times when you do only a little and luck helps you incredibly a lot.

This last year has been so so harsh. Such little good has come out of it. People have come and gone and come and gone etc, life also came and gone and came and gone and toyed with my spirit, my resilience till it got tired of the mochery. And now, I feel so empty, so numb, so...finished. And not even in a depressing sort of a way, just completely matter-of-fact empty.As if my job here is done.And although I still have to live,which I have no clue how I will and my head goes into a frenzy trying to look for a point to it every single time, I don't feel I have it in me to live. I will survive, eventually, because there's no reason to just quit, but really, in life's journeys if you eventually come to the same point as you started, why do we even move? Why do we even try? No matter how much you do, how much you slog, how much you love, and how much of yourself you kill and sacrifice, how come it's never enough? Why should I go on?

PS: I may be low, but I'm perfectly sane. I will take care of myself, thank you