Like a December fall
Your breath collapses on the edge of my collar
When you crawl up to me and hug me tight.
I remember in school how you came near my bench
To calm the storm in my head
By putting your hand on my shoulder, patting patiently
After you saw me run into the washroom
With a red stained skirt for the first time.
You were sensitive.
Sensitive enough to understand the nuances in the closeness between two people
And so, I held your hand which was trembling and sweating
Just before you kissed me while watching our favourite art film.
But today, as I sit in this dimly lit room of yours which has nothing but smells of depression emanating from the flowers of anxiety,
I see pictures
Of you and me.
It all comes back to me
Of how you loved me
Of how you held me close like a baby as fear and hopelessness had clutched your throat hard.
Of how I saw you dead.
Right on that bed.
With a letter which poured out all that was in your head.
It read –
Detection of the following symptoms:
Feel of lethargy. Having zero energy to pick myself up and do something.
My lips are dry. My skin, oily.
I feel someone grab my throat hard.
As if punishing me for all the mistakes I’ve done.
I feel like sleeping.
Sleeping for the entire day. And the entire night.
And the following days and nights.
Everyone seems to target me and ask me questions that drain me.
I sometimes pluck the protective layer on my wounds and let it bleed afresh.
The same layer that was healing it.
I am tired
I want to sleep. But I can’t
Because my mind won’t let me.
It lets me cry though.
So, I physically exhaust myself in the hope that I sleep well
Even when every cell in my body is crushing from exhaustion.
My Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder keeps kicking in whenever I try to be calm.
“1 hour of worry is 4 hrs of physical exhaustion”
And hence I worry. Funny how it comes so naturally to me these days.
I hope this badly worded letter whispers in your ear
How confused I am about my life
And how much disquiet I am carrying within.
I wish I could just vomit.
Vomit all the desperation and anxiety in my blood.
I wish I vomit blood.
Because what else can be more toxic?
So, I planned a detox.
As perfectly as I could.
And the fact that you’re standing in front of my dead body now,
I think I triumphed.