Friday, May 15, 2009

I’m tired; these two weeks have been emotionally draining.

Having things thrown at you in the face, realizing things, coming to terms with things and having memories that you thought you had locked away forever coming up to haunt you. I wonder now, what is it that I am working towards, what am I searching for unconsciously. It is just pain and more pain, isn’t it? And its pain that no one can take away, pain that take you by storm and shatter the world that you know. Reality is incredibly painful.

I sat myself by the window, my eyes brimming with unshed tears, really this is getting silly. All I had wanted was to live in a world I could call my own, but even that is taken away from me. And I hate it when I can’t even voice it out, when all I can do is shake my head dumbly and repeat that I’m okay. I’m not okay, but what can I say? Do you know how much I resent you now? I hope you somehow realize that your newfound delight was paid with my pain. I didn’t want to be bitter, but with or without me in the equation it’s still not fair. But then why am I even holding on to the concept of fairness? The entire falsity of the situation is resounding in my mind. You disgusting soul. Because of you, I can’t even smile for my friends who are hurting because of me. I hate you.

And its another slap to the face, when everybody I care about seems to defend you and is in your side, despite denial. I’m sorry. I usually don’t ever hold grudges for so long but this time, I really cannot see you through normal eyes anymore.

This is one of my favourite poems by the late Sylvia Plath.

Mirror

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.

Whatever I see I swallow immediately

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

I am not cruel, only truthful-

The eye of the little god, four cornered.

Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.

It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long

I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.

Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,

Searching my reaches for what she really is.

Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.

I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.

She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.

I am important to her. She comes and goes.

Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.

In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman

Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.