Gloom time – FreeRovingBovine

I Have A Couple Of Things To Say To You, Actually.

You don’t look good in that cap. Remove it this instant. How could you ruin that beautiful head of hair? How could you mess it up so badly?remove it.

I lay in bed all day today and yesterday, and last week- when I could. Then I gathered the energy I found in tiny crevices that had been sealed away from you (yes, there were a few- and thank fuck for that) and walked to the supermarket. I did the most purposeless grocery shopping that there could have ever been, choosing apple after apple with the utmost care. I picked only the most perfect ones. I wanted not one scratch, not one soft spot, not one discolouration- perfect.apples.only. There were only 4 of such. I gathered them into the bag and left.

I ate the meal we ate long ago on February 14 in another country- masala dosa that could never match the one we had and filter coffee that didn’t seem to find the sugar.

Then the waiter told me he had no sweet for me. Not badam halwa, not any halwa. So I sat there wondering why I put myself through all that spicy chutney. What was I looking forward to?

I teared up, but didn’t cry- I can handle some amount of spice after all.

Now I am home. I have realised I have been breathing in something that could be poisonous, that could be fatal. I should be worried, I should be making plans to move away, but here I am, upset and losing myself because I see you, in another country, slowly but steadily moving away from everything you used to be. Doing the things you said you never would- being the very person you detested.

We are both inhaling poison, I guess- you by choice, and me by lack of it.

I have never felt so betrayed. If there was no badam halwa, why did I put myself through all the spicy chutney?

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.