Musings

Waking up anxious is a regular pattern all my life. These days, sometimes I wake up bitter too. Angry against the world, the people, the blank noise in my head…it could be anything. I want to break things…like smash a couple of glasses and plates, throw somethings down the terrace… you get an idea.
I try yoga. God knows if it helps. And I come back to my table to write something. Mostly in my diary or in a spare notebook I keep. Very rarely does it spill on to my page. Specially because this page restricts me in my language. There is no reason to…but humans are creatures of habit. Most readers are quite startled when they see some English post on this page. Also, the act of writing with a pen is calming to the nerves, while the sound made by typing, however soft it might be, fires up my anxiety, even further.
I write in English when I am a bit bamboozled. Angry too. English is the language for anger and confusion. Sometimes the words are too convoluted and do not fall straight. They keep bumping off the walls of my mind like some crazy, drunk driver driving a car. It reminds me of those game areas where the cars were all having air-filled tubes around them and people used to bump each other. I rode them in Essel World in Bombay for the first time, if I correctly remember.
Every such morning, I ask myself a why. Is there something wrong with me physically? Mentally? Because my diaries go back to 96 and even then I find the word depressed at one place. When I read it, I laughed at my naivety. Maybe I didn’t know what it was like to be depressed. Maybe I knew. There is no clear way to find out. But I do know that the world was always overwhelming for me. I was always overtly curious. And since forever, people have let me down.
On such days I know. There is an ancient hurt in my soul that all the love of this life cannot cure. रूह को कलपा देने वाले जन्मपार के दुःख। जिनका कोई इलाज नहीं। जीते जी कुछ ही बार हुआ है कि किसी ने लगाया है सीने से और मैं भूल गयी हूँ कि कुछ दुखता भी है।
What do I seek? Every morning I ask myself this question. And the reply is still ‘escape’. I still want to run away from my life. Start over. Clean slate.
I want a life in which I do not wake up anxious. In which I wake up and breathe normally. I write about happy people. Suicides and such other stories do not find their way to me – in story, movies or television series.
It seems like they have injected a happiness inhibitor in my system. I don’t remember the last time I felt happy. Or the whole f***king problem is, that I remember too much what I should forget. And I forget what I should remember. That there is actually no problem in my life. I am loved. I am financially secure. I live in a beautiful house that has a terrace, I bloody have a sky of my own to look up to when I feel like. I have a Royal Enfield that has my name on the RC. What else can a person want?
Conversations. That’s what I miss. The reason I write. And the reason when I first started blogging I was happy to see, there were a few that felt like friends. Those who would understand the rambling about why and how paintings talk to me. Why I can stand in front of a Monet painting and almost be reduced to tears.
Too much darkness in my soul. Too gloomy a morning today, no sunshine.
I should drink some hot chocolate. And I will be posting this on my blog. But also here. And anyone with advice on this post. You’ve been warned. I am a in a seriously bad mood today, don’t cross me.
#rambling #randommood #earlymorninganxiety


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