(Note to the reader : Dear reader, please note the edit done at a later date, at the end of this article, which is perhaps the most important part of this article.)
I tried thinking of many names, and which one of them would I call you by, as I speak this to you; for taking your name is something I’ve been consciously avoiding to avoid feeling that pang of love I’ve always been feeling. I thought I would perhaps call you by something other than your name. From ‘the-man-who-broke-my-heart’ to ‘Dear love’, every name that I thought of calling you by, felt so very pretentious, so very exaggerated. So finally, I decided on calling you this.
I wonder if you ever did love me. I can be sure about my love though. Still, there are times I wonder if I have ever loved, if all that I’ve felt till today or will ever feel, or what anyone else has felt for me till today is false, if everything is just pointless and I’m just living a lie. It doesn’t help that I still think of you every day and night, It doesn’t help that if you ever do ask me how I’m doing, I lie to you that I’m okay, because there’s no way you will understand what I’m going through. It doesn’t help that when I’m texting you, I’m actually hiding behind something that effectively hides from you my tears, the ones I’m shedding incessantly all the while that I’m talking to you. While I know my tears are futile, that they hold no value for you, that you will never understand, still I can’t help but shed them to at least lessen the burden on my heart that loving you has placed. The immeasurable burden that I’m unable to lift off, that’s stopping me and shaming me away from loving anyone else the way I’ve felt for you. Is love fatal? I don’t know. I just know that your rude pushing off of my love has killed something inside of me, something I’ll never be able to bring alive again.
I’m perfectly sane. I’m the most career oriented I’ve ever been in my life, more than I’ve ever been before in my own attempt to be determined to move on. I perfectly understand the repercussions of such a love, and what might be of me even if I do get to be with you. I fight with myself day and night to push you off my mind, telling myself you don’t deserve me. Then why do I get insanely lost in your thoughts every once in a while, remembering all the good times with a bitter smile, and cry bitterly into my pillow in the darkness when, I know, no one can see me?
I have no idea. I’m clueless.
I try with all my might to forget you, to burn all that’s left of the remnants of those memories, and strew those ashes all over my heart, painting it a myriad shade of grey. But no matter how hard I try, those tears just won’t stop coming, and they wet those ashes with remorse, making my sorrow run black, all over my heart, all down the walls of my heart.
Do you remember the time I had posted a picture of myself with open hair, with kajal in my eyes, smiling a mellow smile? My hair was beautiful back then. Wavy and lovely, with just the right softness. I remember the ecstasy I had felt when you had asked for the picture, and the joy I felt when you said you loved it.
I don’t remember now, though, the last time I had combed my hair. Today, I sat myself down to comb it, to remove all the tangles in it unlike what I’ve been doing for many weeks now. For the past few weeks, I’ve only been running my comb over the top of my head and tying it into a messy bun, quite ashamed of its unruly nature. The last time I had washed it, I didn’t even bother to disentangle my hair or oil it for the matter. I don’t remember the last time I oiled my hair.
Today, my comb tugs at my matted hair painfully, jerking tears into my eyes. At least there are tears in my eyes now. Since a long, long time, I’ve been so enveloped in the numbness of my own depression that I’ve been unable to feel anything, let alone cry, and have found it more comfortable to put up a façade of smiles and giggles to avoid confronting the deep, dark sorrow seated in my mind. However at this moment, it comes hurling itself at me with more force than ever, and in the mirror I see my eyes smarting and turning red from the tears. Will you acknowledge what’s happening? Will you ever understand my feelings? Or will you just mindlessly push off all my feelings as drama, as you have always been doing anyway? I’ve stopped expecting you to understand anything anymore. I’ve stopped trying to explain. Only if you could read minds. You could see for yourself what you’ve pushed me into.
I try to separate my hair with my fingers first. As I can expect, it is painful. And messy. A lot of hair comes out into my palms, as my body has to decide between keeping me alive, or the roots of my hair alive because of the limited reserve of energy that’s left in me from being depressed and having an overworked brain all the time. Of course my body chooses the former, because there are always priorities in life, just like the ones you had because of which you pushed me away.
I comb my hair slowly. Yet another mass of hair loss. When I twist all that lost hair together, it’s roughly one fourth of my palm. I feel light headed. That’s a huge quantity of hair loss indeed, given the number of days I haven’t cared for myself. If I would say that to you, you will simply say that I’m doing an injustice to myself by not caring for myself. By not thinking about my career. What you don’t understand, and can perhaps never understand is that I don’t have the patience or the energy or the resilience now to push myself to the extent of doing something or caring for myself. You will perhaps never change, remaining the emotion-hiding practical man, annoyed at practically anything and everything I say. Which is why, if you have by any chance noticed (why do I even expect you to notice anything about me), that after the night I confessed my feelings to you for perhaps the hundredth time and you rudely brushed me off, I reduced my interactions with you altogether. I’d rather exist with a broken heart than be tortured by your rejection every day. If my feelings for you have been ‘dramatic’, then perhaps I should stop feeling anything at all. If my all too frequent mood swings are frustrating for you as an onlooker, can you imagine the effect it must be having on me, now that I’m going through the same? Would you react to those mood swings in the same manner if they would be happening to a loved one of yours? Would you still term all that pain and confusion as ‘drama’? How much maturity do you expect anyway, from an eighteen year old for her to deal with her emotions? I am as confused and frustrated as you are as to why I’m facing such mental instabilities. I need love and understanding from someone who would want to stick by me in the most difficult of times, and not annoyed preachments as to what behaviour is right or wrong, because, honestly, even I sometimes have absolutely no control over my overthinking, overworking mind.
I will not tell you that my hair fall is chronic, which is due to and very much like my depression and the frustrating, stressful highs and lows that my feelings keep on going through. I will not tell you that my fidgeting and overthinking is because of my constant anxiety, which for me is mortally exhausting itself. I will not tell you about all the other struggles that I always face and have to conquer every day. I will not tell you that despite all my struggles with myself, I’ve chosen to love you as wholly and openly as possible, accepting you wholeheartedly and not judging you in any way for what you are. I will not tell you, because my words will be futile if they fall on deaf, all too practical ears, and I need to be assured of complete understanding before I tell anything more about that.
Remember the first and only time you held my hand? My hand felt so small in yours, and your hands felt so big, warm and protective unlike my tiny, cold hands. You held it tenderly with the utmost dignity, with absolutely no trace of lust, as if it were not a hand but a delicate, fragile thing of pure emotion. The introvert that I am, I feel shy of any eye contact with any human at all, unless I can really trust someone with myself. The moment I looked into your eyes and saw you smiling benevolently, I felt safe and comfortable. At home at last. Had it been someone else, he would have perhaps taken advantage of my emotions. However, the dignified responsibility of my feelings that you had taken up at that moment was pure bliss for me. I could go on holding your hand forever. But it was not meant to be. I sometimes do understand why you were being so rude to me later on, perhaps in a desperate attempt to push me off before I would start having stronger feelings for you. But do you realize that once ensnared in your charms, there is no way out for me? No, I’m not expecting you to understand that anymore. I’m trying to learn how to live alone, how to live without you – or any other man for the matter- for if somebody doesn’t want me, I have no right whatsoever to force him to be mine. I hug my pillow if I cry, and watch videos of stand-up comedy, and music videos, and makeup and nail-art videos, and videos of babies and cats and kittens and dogs and puppies. I try to get myself engaged in writing poetry and doing craft and embroidery. I have many hobbies to distract me from my sorrow, many things to busy myself with when I feel like just giving up. Unlike your dislike for cats, I do have a liking for kittens alongwith a liking for puppies, because their huge, innocent eyes speak only love. The love that I crave for at times, which I keep seeking in those videos of warmth and peace.
But apart from you, there are definitely many people in my life whom I love, and who love me, and who will never give up on me, no matter what. They are my support system, and they are the reason why I smile and laugh. They are the reason why I see no reason why I should break my heart over a lost cause.
Maybe for the time I’m heartbroken, but no, I am not broken. I will give you neither the authority, nor the power to do so, because I am in complete ownership of myself and my emotions. For I may bend, but never break. A girl is always conditioned by this society to depend on a man to come and rescue her. She is conditioned to be the damsel in distress waiting for her Price Charming. While being exposed to mythology, she is subconsciously given the examples of women like Draupadi or Sita who waited patiently for their husbands to avenge their dishonour. I wonder if they couldn’t have just done that themselves instead of just waiting around for the man to do it for them, for I suspect them to be superhuman and supernatural women who emerged from highly unnatural births. I wonder why the woman in our society is conditioned to be the princess waiting for her Prince Charming to come and entrance her, instead of being encouraged to be the fierce Warrior Goddess who can fight for herself and hold herself in high esteem irrespective of the presence or the absence of a man.
It was my choice to love you, and it is my choice to go on loving you. But then it was also my choice to pick myself up and walk straight after I fell down, after being pushed away. You cannot be assured either, that I will go on loving you forever, for ‘forever’ statements like those are mere lies as every moment changes something or the other about us. Yes, I had, like any other lovesick girl, expected you to come to me magically with a flower bouquet in your hands and sweep me up in your arms and then, I had thought, all pain would be forgotten and it would be a happily ever after. But as you had told me repeatedly, and which I myself understand now, is that it is futile to expect anything. They say you get that what you want the most when you’re least expecting it, but I’ve even stopped expecting to get anything out of not expecting anything. I have stopped expecting, I have stopped hoping. I didn’t know how to pick myself up after all that pain, but I guess I somehow figured it out. Being able to get over you or not is a different question, and my dignity (which I was for some reason stupidly keeping aside every time I was pleading with you) is a different thing altogether. You lost me the day you rejected me for the umpteenth time, and the day I will decide out of final frustration to turn away from you, it will be something irreversible, for I am a very generous person when it comes to giving second chances, but once I’m done, I’m done.
I will not give in to my pain, if that would be of some comfort to you, for I’ve always known and appreciated that you’re a good man with your own happiness and struggles in life, and you’ve always had my best interests in your heart. I will cry a million times, but every time, as always, I’ll wipe away my tears, stand up again and live my life gracefully. I should perhaps thank you from the bottom of my heart as well, for when you left me alone is when I discovered and realized the endless well of strength that lies within me. As of now, I’ve decided now that I am not one to give up. I will defend my own honour, and I will be my own Warrior-Goddess. After all, why be a queen or a princess when you can be the Goddess?
Edit: (04-06-2017) The Author is successfully over the pain and frustration this attachment had caused her, and has happily moved on now, after knowing certain startling revelations about the said man, who she was desperately in love with. She is definitely more skeptical about love now, which unfortunately happens because of such unworthy, manipulative, self-obsessed men that fortunately or unfortunately cross our paths to teach us lessons when we need them. The Author, in no way, speaks against the existence of good men or holds good men as a myth. She has just realized how rare good men are, and how easily it is to be duped, and how beautifully some men can act out love without meaning anything of it at all in their hearts. The Author prays that may God give the strength to her fellow sisters who are undergoing or have come out of similar situations that have threatened them with losing their sanity or self-esteem (as has happened with the Author). If you are in love with, or in a relationship with any such man, it’s the wisest to just LEAVE. That’s the best thing you could do for yourself, which the Author can bet from her self-suffered experience. Much peace and love.
(This article was originally published at www.silentspidersilk.wordpress.com)Published in