Sisyphus

18^th November, 2017.

I have seen that my past few rants here have been nothing but of anguish and desolation and despair. Most of them are dark and this has developed quite recently. If I didn’t know myself any better, I would have made an observation and would have concluded to be in a depression. But then again, that would be belittling those who are actually battling this chronic disease.

Only when I stop to think about it, I see that it’s just that I have conferred a good amount of value on something in haste and now it just has become a sort of noose around me. And the more I try to leave, the more it ensnares me and hence all these blithe and vitriol. I don’t know if I shall blame myself for this or not, the idea is not out yet.

I have held this view about myself, that whenever I touch something, I tend to burn it to ash and dust. I believe this because I have seen this happening over and over again. This is such a recurring thing with me, sometimes I do doubt if there is something wrong with me, this cursed touch of Midas in me seems to devour everything I hold too closely.

Thing is, I do believe that no one wants to be like this, broken, tired, lost. And I am not exaggerating here; I am going through a time which I thought I have left out of my life couple of years ago. Every morning, since September has been a constant battle between me and the last shred of sanity, self-esteem; it’s been a while since I could hold my head up high. I wake up with an empty feeling in my head and that makes me disgusted towards myself. “Accept what’s what, move forward, denial won’t help”, I have written this on a sticky paper and stuck on my whiteboard. It had helped for a while, but this seems like a relapse, into the spiral of broken dreams and sincere fantasies of what should have happened and how I deserve it, but it’s not mine.

There is a constant static in my head; I somehow carry through the day only to go back to sleep and I keep on hating and hoping, that tomorrow will be a better day, tomorrow I will be better. But this seems to be too tough as of right now. The only time I felt better was when I had a drink, because why not, the clichéd idea of alcohol replacing the pain with something numb is not totally a fallacy there.

I don’t know really what wounds are these, how do I heal these? Hilariously, whatever I am writing here, it won’t be spoken of in public, not in front of those who are responsible for this, or rather those whom I hold responsible, which makes me even more distasteful towards myself. I used to be a good person, I used to be alone and I was good. It happens when I started getting people around me when I started putting effort and in turn, got nothing. No, sometimes we do and should expect something in return. All I get is nothing. For all the things I do or am willing to do, I seem to completely fail at it.

I am just tired. Invisible is good, but this sort of invisibility is not just painful, it seems to crush us under our own weight.

Only if letting go was easy. Only if I was given the moment of happiness I really deserve.