Time made it worse I think. It wasn’t what I used to feel before. Just this hollowness aching to be filled. Filled with pain or love. I looked back and saw happier days. A different kind of happiness. A happiness coated with expectation and desire. A happiness painted and varnished with an overflowing, unending and unattainable love. I looked on ahead with desperation, with patience, with kindness, with my whole heart. I decided to take the decision to love the forbidden and was met with the expected resistance. But that resistance was so sweet that I kept at it. I tried to hide my growing desperation. Failed miserably. I was laughed at, mocked at. All discretely of course. But would any of them understand, would any of them realize the sacrifices I had made, the painful decisions I had decided to undertake. It would all be my fault anyway. The end would be as envisioned. Broken, dead and cold. It is exactly what I turned out to be. I knew I was beyond repair because I had been broken in a different way. No one had the cure for that. I was dead but alive. I could see life going on. I could feel the wind on my frozen face. But I couldn’t feel what I use to feel. I couldn’t find that kindness anymore. A certain fear gripped me. I was terrified that if I went back to being that person I would inevitably face the same dreaded situation which I wanted to escape. I became the opposite of my reality. I created an image that masqueraded as a new changed me. No one realized anything, no one understood the reason for the difference. No on cared. I went on living the lie. I became the lie. I couldn’t revert and that cemented my fate. I look in the mirror and whisper, “Mirror, mirror on the wall. Do you know who I am today?” The refection shimmers and I take a split second to decide what I want to be like today. “I’ll go all black and act like a bitch.” I didn’t understand what was happening. I was allowing my non reality to live. I had given up my essence to something that didn’t really exist. I wondered, if I knew this non reality didn’t exist, what the hell am I??
The mirror. I held it up to take a closer look at myself. Every line, every mark seemed foreign. I couldn’t understand my own black eyes. The coal depths seemed to stretch on deep, evading detection. I blinked. Still the same foreign face. I decided that there was nothing I could do about it. Besides my very disturbing, internalized foreign-ness, a friend of mine had started taking a certain dislike to me. Dislike is the wrong term. I think that person just finds it amusing and eternally satisfying to see someone else grovel and feel ashamed. I think that person would rather see me humiliated than happy. It hurts when you realize this. I cannot understand what to do or how to react for that matter. I just feel an intense need to get away from everyone I know. I feel the need to cleanse myself, to become a new person, put on a new identity. I want to be able to be someone else, to live my alter for a day, a week, a month, a year. Whenever I feel like it, whenever I want to. I don’t want to be constrained by the boundaries of my friends or society.They keep changing, faster than the weather.
I just need some inspiration, some form of external encouragement. I looked around my room hoping that one of the pictures may induce some memory that may eventually turn into a worthwhile story. But no. It didn’t happen. The posters remained as they were; A3 rectangles with colours and words. They say that the things you wear, the words you speak and the friends you have are an extension of your character. I think they are the extension of your alter ego more than the reality you have been made to believe.