This morning, as compared to most other mornings, has been particularly hard. The routine is the same, to wake up and feel extremely guilty. I am supposed to be dead right now….
The ‘Survival of the fittest’ test that all human beings encounter everyday, I was supposed to have failed it last year, October 2019. Or maybe, I should have started failing back then, but by now, April 2020, surely, I should have failed.
‘ “TB is like living with a bomb in your lung.” Buddy had written to me at college. “You just lie around very quietly hoping it wont go off.” ‘ – Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar.
So I decided, to be dead. I silently resigned from everything, from everyone. Every morning, I stare at myself in the mirror guiltily, because I know, I don’t belong here. I have not written anything I am proud of from December 29, 2019. In fact, I haven’t written at all, though my mind seems to be bursting with ideas. I don’t have the courage. I want to write about all these emotions, but I cant seem to bring myself to talk about this.
The other day I almost fainted in the kitchen. It’s a funny feeling, to faint. You feel weak at your knees, sweat trickling down your neck which feels….empty. Your ears close up with immense pressure, your head seems to be jumping up and down…like your soul trying to escape, but your entire body is nailed to the ground, you stop smelling the bananas being fried in fresh coconut oil. You feel like a soda bottle that has just been popped open, as light as the gas that escapes, but your head feels heavy, like a huge soda bottle weighing you down.
I am unsure of how to justify my body’s failure to myself. My mind seems to be stuck in a very toxic loop, sometimes I want the soda bottle to shatter on my head, glass splinters falling, slicing my already once sliced neck….
Sometimes, I just want to write about these feelings.
I’m glad I chose the latter.