When the monsters rush in and die.

It’s Winter and I love Winters. I love the aesthetic breath gnashing out and die in a ghastly trail, the sun cloaked in crisped grey blankets, the sunlight draped in fever, sanction of the fog, the silence that masquerades and absence of the birds chirping.

The tranquil tunes in with my inner world. Yet- My inner world has a will of its own.

It’s not always peaceful. There are times when the refreshing chill and the icy air becomes the gust of frostbiting reminders and painful memories, blizzards locked behind metallic doors. My mind in its never-ending pace would smack into one, the ringing sets in, a trap sprung and unsteadily the adrenal shots surge out. Slowly I’m wrapped in the fog of the past.

It’s a strange thing- They’ve come up with so many terms for them. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, General Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder- Depression etc, yet only now just a century under they have come to see the light of recognition. It makes me wonder that for so many century people must have suffered. Called out, biased and labelled, did they manage to live out their lives being acceptable?

Did they hide their suffering for the risk being labelled unfit? Or did they just ignore it altogether with the thought that they were so insignificant that they were not a part of the world they lived in? I contemplate a lot on what it means to be normal- and I’ve been told I shouldn’t. Yet sometimes I wish I had someone to listen instead of being told that I should get up and take a walk every 15 minutes because then I’m over thinking.

I do not ask for much I just need someone to listen- It’s okay if they didn’t understand- It’s okay if they couldn’t feel it- Heck It’s even okay if they couldn’t feel sympathy but remained silent- for a moment or two. And It super okay if they judge but keep it to their thoughts but beyond that they would be asking for piece of my mind.

You’ll see that, it isn’t so easy-

When you’re in the comfort of your bed- wrapped up in warm and fluffy blankets, asleep- A hot cup of tea or milk before that unfathomable moment of bliss, coiled up in arms and thoughts racing out of time, the music in your headphones fading and your mind giving out, when you reach everywhere in nowhere sawing logs. You’ll wake up in the cold night shivering like a wet dog- your ears waiting for those terrorizing screams but all you’ll hear is the silence ringing and the weight of your life.

Your body will bounce in rhythms, your eyes will dart unsteady trying to focus on the 2 o’clock, You will try to and you will fail to breathe from your nostrils instead of your mouth. You will look around helplessly as you’re woken up to your own drowning, and there is no one alive that you could reach out and hold. Your mind will try to tell you its okay but your gut won’t believe it; Oh no- you’re going to get chewed on by that very same beast that nearly killed you once before, and in that moment you will run and dash to turn the lights on.

When the next morning shines and underneath of your eyes are dark, you’ll be afraid because you know somewhere in the following day you’re going break down. You might see your parents, your siblings, your friends or a stranger and one of them might catch a glimpse through your mask and if one of them will ask you will linger on the possibility to tell them what you went through, but you won’t.

You won’t because it’s not just that you don’t trust them it’s because you know you don’t have that desirable value. Because their response is conditioned to your value, the value of your grandeur and your money’s worth- before it you’re nothing but a sack of meat and bones with a name. So even when they’ll ask you “Why the long face?” It wouldn’t matter if you respond with lie or the truth, because that would be the end of it. And it is then you’ll give birth to the monster that will chase you in those racing thoughts before that unfathomable bliss-

“Am I alone?”

You’ll see, it isn’t so easy-

When you’re walking back to home and you see a homeless living being called human. Shivering and begging in the cold, with ‘his’ caveman hygiene and ‘his’ helpless eyes you will be reminded of the dreaded homeless nights you had where you were kicked out in the cold in the middle of night with no clothes and you began to wonder if you were going to be alive by the next day. And when the next day came and you confronted for that which you were worth- You realized the awful truth, when both of them say you were just an accident they had put up with.

“Am I wanted?”

You’ll see that it isn’t so easy-

When you find someone who eventually starts treating you like a normal person and then something even more terrific happens when someone falls in love with you and it’s all gold- but as soon as the storms strikes you’re everything no one could even think to wish for, and in those years dancing on strings you do realize your worth is indeed flesh and bones when the ones that claim to love you, miss your skin more than your soul, You realize your worth is as meaningless as the forgotten names of strangers when you’re sick and no one’s there- that your sacrifices or your soul mean nothing unless you’re standing on the grass that is greener, and all at rest in the end you’re just a subject labelled a ‘pain to whom wanting back is not okay’, a cocktail and mix of everything wrong with the world, and all you’re left are the lines of the curses from the exit cue.

“Am I  loved?”

But you see, It isn’t that impossible-

Because it has been a privilege to be alive- It has had its beauty. Because everyday when you wake up you wake up with an identity and it’s been a pleasure to know how much I’ve went through and to find that I am still intact- Because I am sure I would have never felt what I feel nor would I have realized certain truth that I did and I wouldn’t give up my identity.

And It feels amazing to know that I am not a figment of someone’s imagination, that I am not a part of that bestseller that never lived- No, I am as real as the Winter I love. And I have faith in that I can stand up to much more than I have, that no imagination will dare to comprehend.


About Haris

I've never seen myself as a writer but sometimes words just flow out of my fingers.
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