Ricochet

Ricochet

It’s not your fault. It never was. It’ll never be.

You only fell out of love. The love that never was. The love that I thought you felt for me too, but I was wrong. Pretty much like always. I was just so wrong.

You wanted to be a stud, live your life a little. You weren’t wrong. Everyone has needs, everyone’s got fantasies. I didn’t know you well enough, I suppose, as I went with it. Indulged in all your whims. I was okay with being pushed to the side because I didn’t make the cut on your priority list.

They said it takes no time to recover and be shiny and new again. Trust me, I gave it time, I did. But those wounds, they never seemed to heal. You broke me – no you didn’t break me – I broke myself, believing you as you lied through your teeth. I often sit by myself and dig deep, and try to remember.

I let all the hurt you threw my way just bounce off of me. I thought I just let it all ricochet. But I didn’t see it all coming back hard and thick and fast to burn holes into me, tear at my composure and leave me to bleed out emotionally.

They say you take twenty one days to get over someone, scientifically speaking, but I will never get over what you turned out to be. All I’ll do instead, is be fake happy and tell the whole world I’m fine and just leave it at that. This holiday season, I’m gonna lie.

#LoveYourself

#LoveYourself

“It’s not your thing. You pick the wrong thing, every damn time. The wrong person, the wrong situations, the wrong thing to do. Give up and go back to being a nobody.” 

True. 

I remember the times I wanted to be loved, and only wanted to be loved. It was a compulsive need. A thirst, a hunger I couldn’t satiate. Always falling short, never giving up, believing in the next guy and living the broken heart story, over and over. I lost my self respect, lost my head. Before I knew it, I’d fallen out of love with myself. I despised what I’d turned into. A love-hungry monster. Every time I read my texts to him, which quickly escalated from being nice and sweet to desperate, I know now, I won’t lie. I was smothering the both of us. Investing in feelings that didn’t matter, really. While Taylor Swift made songs out of her heartbreaks, there I was – making a fool out of my heartbreaks. 
Someone told me you needed twenty-one days to recover from a burn like being spurned by the wrath of unrequited love. The burn of having being used emotionally, among other things: but then I realised that I couldn’t really blame anyone but myself. Why would I ever think that anyone needed me just for the purpose of needing me, and not for selfish reasons? And the dark well that I fell into was a nightmare. I was a zombie. Just alive but not really existing. It got so bad, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror anymore because the revulsion that rose inside me like vomit each time I looked into my own eyes, was too great. I couldn’t bear it anymore. But then I realised that living this way, not having lived at all, was a total waste. I needed to breathe, move on and leave the toxic waste behind.

So how did I come out of it? 

I forgave myself. Self-acceptance is the first step to everything. At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is what you think of yourself. Not what the guy that screwed you over thinks. Not what he discusses about when he’s done with his booze and pot and his hangover is messing with all his senses. Doesn’t matter what people say. Doesn’t matter if they slut-shame you, or try to hurt you with words because in the end it’s all just words. As long as you love yourself, a man’s opinion on you doesn’t matter. He may be all over your ass like a fat kid eating cake but talk rubbish behind your back when he’s with that other girl, but that doesn’t matter either. It’s on him, not on you. 

That’s all you gotta do.

You do you, because you’re awesome and beautiful and pure and nothing can take that away. Love yourself and it all goes away. Sometimes all you need to do is stay strong, and believe in yourself. 

Have a little faith.

You gotta love yourself. 

Dark Diwali 

Dark Diwali 

Diwali is the Hindu Festival of Lights. People love Diwali. It celebrates the victory of good over evil. With a lot of noise and air pollution, I might add. While everyone else loves Diwali, I am not really a fan of it. For starters, it’s never been bright for me. It always brings back memories of that time my boyfriend left me for another woman, who he’d been cheating on with me. Good for her, bad for me. I’ve never lost too many battles in my life – I haven’t fought that many to begin with, but this defeat left me pretty broken. 

I think that was where my depression really started. I haven’t been able to recover. I’ve tried, oh boy I’ve tried. I’ve had rebounds, I’ve had solid relationships after that, but my faith in myself was gone. Now, I’m not a crier and I get over things pretty quickly. But this nagging little constant reminder that I wasn’t good enough to invest feelings into? It got me, you know. It got me pretty bad. I guess I need to get this out, and talk about it because trust me, I’ve been to the shrink. I’ve tried retail therapy. I’ve tried killing myself and my self respect still hasn’t come back. 

I’ll admit, it was all my fault probably. Later on when he blamed me for the whole mess, he said he was a guy and he’d obviously want to get into my pants and that being a girl, I should have had a control over things, I’ll admit it gutted me. Everything he said hurt. But there was also truth behind his statements. Here’s what I didn’t understand though: if he already was in love with someone else, why would he carry on with me? Because that’s not love in my book. When you love someone, you don’t kiss another woman and tell her you love her. And he did. Oh, plenty of times. Between kisses. Between cuddles. Between feeding me dessert off his fork in public. I didn’t see the red flags. I didn’t know. I’d go over to his place when he needed me around: back then I didn’t know these were what booty calls looked like. 

When he told me he loved me, I believed him. On a staycation with him, he made me fall in love with what a good person he seemed to be. Holding doors open. Holding my hand when we’d cross the road. Pulling out a chair for me every time we went to have a quick bite at cosy restaurants. It was – is – the best holiday of my life. Things started to change after we came back. He’d ignore my calls. Never text back. I let him because I thought he was busy with work. I was too naive to see that he was trying to shake me off for good. He had me delete all our photos together from my phone. I thought he was being immature but in reality he was not. He was just getting rid of evidence. 

The morning after his last birthday with me, as we lay in bed together he told me he felt guilty and turned away from me. He didn’t look at me the whole time. Later, he basically threw me unceremoniousy out of his apartment. Pretty much how you’d throw out a hooker so nobody would know you were boning one. Only difference? I wasn’t getting paid for my “services.” I had to go home for a month but he never came to see me off. And that’s how things ended. No closure, no goodbyes. 

That Diwali, which came around a week later, he dumped me over a text message and told me to basically fuck off. I’ve never spoken about this until now, but the #metoo has given me the strength to talk about it. It is never okay to make excuses for someone when you know you’re losing your self-respect. Once you start making excuses for him, you need to know that it’s not love anymore. It’s something evil and twisted and it exists to only suck the life out of you. 

I was lucky I got away. There are many women still stuck in toxic relationships and unable to do much about it. But I implore you, try. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve to live a lie. 

Meanwhile… 
Happy Diwali. 

Walls 

Walls 

Weeks of trying to block you out 

Weeks of trying to move on 

Weeks of trying to forget what we were all about 

Weeks of being done with holding on 

All undone, within seconds of your single text, saying “hi”

You and your incorrect grammar and sad spelling mistakes 

You, that left without a goodbye 

You, that gave me nothing but a million heartaches. 

Don’t you know that my walls aren’t strong yet?

That when you come back each time I just give in 

Believing you every time, just caught in your net 

Of lies and deceit and I still love you, right from your shoes to your stupid grin 

You’re toxic, this is toxic, we are toxic and everything about us shows it 

You’re passive aggressive and I’m crazy 

We weren’t meant to last and everyone knows it 

Why won’t you stop coming back, and slowly killing me? 

My walls aren’t strong, not yet, but someday 

One day when they are standing tall and proud 

And you won’t be able to get in and you’ll miss me, bad, 

Your pleading voice will go unnoticed, no matter how loud. 

The Root Of All Problems 

The Root Of All Problems 

The other day I was listening to this guy talk about how we always look for happiness and never end up finding it, and how we should become happiness instead. 

It made a ton of sense to me, and made me wonder why despite being well into my mid twenties, I still manage to lose myself in translation several thousand times a week. Scratch that, several times a day. Ever wonder why relationships go through several fractures over the course of time? And why fights happen? That’s because we play the blame game way too much, and we expect way too much. 

I had this wonderful boyfriend once. It was a beautiful thing, our relationship, but it burned bright and ended fast, within a few months. Back then, I gave him mad hell for pulling away from me after we were done cuddling, shutting me down before I was done talking, and never taking my calls or replying to my texts. I had one expectation: to be in the know. I wanted to be regularly updated about what he was up to. Didn’t really expect a lot of textual conversation, or even phone conversations, but I did want to stay informed. Despite knowing that he didn’t really do technology that much. Hell, he didn’t even use Facebook much. At some point, I became clingy and texted his friends when he would give me the silent treatment for days. I managed to annoy his friends too. All the while blaming him for subjecting me to such a bad, toxic relationship. The day I said goodbye, he had me delete all our photos together. He never came to see me off at the door. I left hoping he would still tell me he needed me and loved me, but no, and that was it. 

I’d look through the photos that I still had secretly saved and cry to myself. Talk about how much he broke me and that I would kill myself, while a little voice in the back of my head kept yelling, “STOP. This is not his fault!” Stop one day I did. And now that I look back on it, and all the things he said, I realised he’d left me with great advice that would help me eventually: 

  • People need their space. And they’re not always in the mood to indulge your whims. You need to learn to be considerate. 
  • Possessiveness never gets you anywhere. At this point when I’d texted his friend, he went all sarcastic and said, “Why don’t you text my family instead, ask them where I am at, and if I’m okay? You’d get better info.” This being a really rude thing to say, because girlfriends in India don’t really call up their boyfriends’ families or text them on Facebook. 
  • Stop discussing your relationship with people. If you value him, keep him to yourself. Keep the memories to yourself. Some things aren’t meant to be discussed about. 
  • Love fades: it does and it’s entirely your fault. Think about what changed. And how much you’ve changed. Go back and replay those memories in your head, and think of why he no longer loves you. Once you realise it’s completely you and not him, you’d have a much better understanding of yourself. 

See, there’s stuff to learn from everybody; and if you want a strong relationship, don’t change from the person you used to be. Don’t pull the Crazy Bat Lady act on your guy, and you’ll be fine. Learn from your mistakes and become a better You. 

And dear Ex, thanks for telling me stuff I never knew would come in handy. 

Never let go of something you can’t reclaim later.
Unrequited 

Unrequited 

I get chills you know. 

I’ve changed my phone since but still have his texts. The Whatsapp ones. Every little kiss emoji he sent stills feels so damn fucking real. I keep that beat up old phone around just so you can read them and reassure myself that yes, memories that I have of him from a while ago aren’t something cooked up by my stupid head playing tricks on me. I love him. I’ve loved him. I always will. 

Ever loved anyone so much it ended up consuming you? 

Ever given someone the liberty to hurt you because they know you’d be around no matter what? 

Ever just stood there, loving them more, while they slowly hacked you away, bit by bit? 

Well, I have. 

It always starts the same way. One of you changes. Maybe both of you do. He starts off as the caring, sweet kinds, always checking in on you. Asking if you ate. How you were doing. If he could come see you. He leaves texts if busy just to let you know he’s with friends and he’s okay and he’ll totally call back later. And he totally does call back. But then three months go by and he doesn’t even remember your birthday, he doesn’t text unless he absolutely has no one around. And the downward spiral of your self-doubt starts building up again. 

Always the same old story. 

The same unrequited love. 

While you love him to the point of exhaustion, making excuse after excuse for him, he slowly starts blowing you off and you’re suddenly at the bottom of his list. That is, if you’re on his list anymore. Maybe at some point you’ve given him sex or given him head and he’s realised you’re not even remotely satisfying to be with. Can you put that crushing feeling into words? At this point, I cannot. I don’t think I ever can. So while you’re being scheduled for calls, he goes to try out his new bong with his new junkie friends. He forgets you exist. 

That’s how it ends. Fifty shades of straying away. 

Flashback Friday: Blurred Lines 

Flashback Friday: Blurred Lines 

I guess I’ve overdosed on caffeine. Again. And I won’t be able to sleep tonight. And I’ll wake up at 5 in the morning after like ten minutes of sleep, and carry on with my half assed run. I’ll probably wear one of my socks inside out. I’ll probably trip and fall and people will come running to see if I’m still in one piece… and here I go again, overthinking things. 

Ever get that strong feeling of déjà vu

I’m experiencing one right now and it’s hitting me harder than a couple of punches to the gut. Making me want to throw up. 

See, most people have that one thing they want the most. Even the happiest of people, and when asked if they’re truly happy, they’ll often lie to you. Me? I got everything I need right here. But then I can’t shake off the feelings that latch on to me at times. I am unable to get over the flashbacks. I realise now that I can be a constant nag. A jerk, a pain in the neck. Back then, I didn’t realise any of it. And I kept pushing. And pushing. And I didn’t realise it was me driving people away. Probably still don’t realise it much. 

I met a boy once. And fell in love. And as all of my love stories go, it was one directional. I loved him with the intensity of a thousand bloody metaphorical suns. And he was as repelled by me as two like poles of a magnet repelling each other. So it was a great arrangement, really. He had emotional access. And I had arms to cuddle in. Till the day he told me he didn’t like me very much. That he didn’t like me being the same way with him the way I used to be with my ex boyfriends. Meaning, he found me just bleh and not good enough for a serious relationship; also meaning he though I was just good enough for a fling. And boom, my walls came crashing down. Roles reversed when it came to the next relationship: I was the cold, unforgiving, frigid Medusa. And the new guy was basically the old me. 

Looking back, I realise I haven’t really learned a thing. Not one. I’m still that same old nag. The same old moron and the same old little reject still looking for love and never getting enough. 

How do I stop feeling this way? 

Isn’t this true?

Sidechicks

Sidechicks

Sam was hot. There was no other explanation. At least none that Simone could think of. She just knew that she had to have him. 

Simone was always this good girl. Goody-two-shoes, funny as fuck, nice tits. Maybe that was one of the reasons her boyfriend Pete asked her out in the first place. They met at an Ed Sheeran concert- Pete and her – and that’s how it started. 

Simone hated busy spots. She hated hanging out with more than three people at once and she definitely did not want to go to the concert that night. But then, you know, Ed Sheeran. She pulled on a blue halterneck romper and her trusty white Nike sneakers, ignoring the eye-roll from her roommate. 

“You do know that your attachment towards your stupid sneakers is kind of sad, don’t you, Simone?”

“I know, Dre. Look, can we hurry now, please?”

The concert was crazy. Thousands of people. Somewhere she got separated from Dre and Kevyn, and as she desperately looked around for any signs of Dre’s flaming red hair, Simone thought she felt a panic attack coming on. That’s when she felt an arm on her shoulder. It wasn’t Dre. It was an awkwardly tall, bumbling dude with the weirdest hair ever. He was saying something but Simone had this weird buzzing in her ears and she thought she’d die. Then everything went black. 

When she came to she was in someone’s room, on someone’s couch, a fuzzy blanket thrown over her. Welp, she thought, where am I? As if answering her question, someone said, “Please don’t panic, you’re safe. Your roommate called. She’ll come get you, I gave her perfect instructions.” Simone looked around and it was the tall bumbling dude. He said his name was Pete and they sat there awkwardly for a bit before Dre came to get her and the two girls left. 

It transpired that Pete actually lived round the corner (with an elusive roommate of his own, elusive because nobody had seen the dude much) so Simone started hanging out with him. One thing led to another, lots of steamy kisses and before long, they were ‘going steady’. Or so she thought. 

One day she happened to be lounging around Pete’s apartment alone when he showed up with Sam. When Pete kissed her hey all she could see was Sam. The elusive roommate. Where Pete was skinny and basically looked like a bag of bones, Sam had these broad shoulders, and his smile was so radiant it hit Simone like a physical force across the room. 

“Baby, meet Sam. He’s been my roommate for a while now. Did you know he plays the guitar?”

Simone wanted to say a bazillion things, including a lot ofkiss me Sam”s but settled for a meek Hello instead. The guys ended up playing COD while Simone sat frozen trying to quell the sudden lust threatening to burst out of her, while occasionally flicking glances at Sam and his amazing lips and what she wanted to do to them. Little did she know how suddenly that moment would come…

Two days later, Pete had to rush home for a couple of weeks because his single Mum needed surgery. Dre was away with Kevyn on vacation; and Simone, bored out of her skull, decided to take a walk round the block. And ran into Sam. Who looked as pleased to see her as she did him. And this hanging out thing became a routine. Between work and gym and no Pete and Dre around, Sam and Simone bonded over the weekend, watching pathetic box office bombs which they laughed themselves silly at. The occasional arm brushing turned into full tilt hand holding during accidentally watching The Exorcism of Emily Rose, and things progressed faster than a speeding train. 

Neither of them had any idea how they ended up in Sam’s bed, his hands on her waist, kissing like depraved jaguars. Between kisses, Sam came clean about having a girlfriend back home. At this point, neither of them cared, not really. Nearly blind with lust, Sam kissed Simone’s perfect lips till she couldn’t taste them anymore. Shirts came off, and then Sam expertly undid the clasp on Simone’s bra in under three seconds. Pete had made love to her before and Simone remembered how much she had to fake it but Sam was knocking it out of the ball park, his wet lips leaving behind trails of fire on Simone’s flat stomach, and further down till she couldn’t feel her legs anymore. Afterwards, sitting in bed with Sam holding her while he played Ed Sheeran’s Shape of You, Simone thought that making love to Sam was like embracing art. 

So this became a routine for the both of them: Work, gym, fuck, repeat. Funnily enough, none of their partners called much. Which was a big relief for the both of them. 

On a lunch date with Simone one day before Pete was due to arrive home, Sam noticed Pete walk into a Starbucks nearby. 

“Simone, don’t look now, but I think Pete’s back.”

“Holy. We’ve gotta hide!” 

So they snuck out, and sure enough there was Pete, walking hand in hand with someone who suspiciously looked like… 

“Sam, isn’t that your girlfriend Mia?! Who’s supposed to be back home?”

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. It was her. 




I Maybe Actually Dying

I Maybe Actually Dying

Today’s been the cherry on top of a fantastic month. Wow. I believe I had a near-death experience. As per my usual blunt style, I’m gonna just tell y’all what did happen. 

So I woke up at my usual time, maybe earlier. Put on my glasses and turned on the lights. Couldn’t see anything. At first, I thought it was a power cut or something. But I could hear my fan going. So I thought maybe my lights weren’t working. Reached for my phone and still couldn’t see a thing. Now, I’ve had blackouts before but nothing quite as bad. This was full-tilt utter blindness. At this point I think I felt really nauseous and passed out. 

When I came to, thankfully my eyes were working again. I was lying in a pool of sweat. When I tried to get out of bed, nausea hit me again, pretty much like a speeding train. I live on my own, and the first thought that crossed my mind was, “Who’s gonna make my funeral arrangements, because I don’t want to die forgotten?” So I calmed myself down, and tried reaching out to my parents. And couldn’t get through. Ah, lovely. 

I believe I’m dying. I’m not kidding, because my health has been failing for quite some time now. I don’t talk to anyone about it. But this bottling up of things is making me rantier than my usual ranty self. I’ve been snapping at people unnecessarily. Been spending too much, going into debts because YOLO. And giving people reasons to believe I’m a pathological liar. And I’ve been trying to hide what I’m actually going through under my huge sarcastic personality. When all I really am is just really, really sick. Maybe dying. 

I’ve got tachycardia (not important) and depression (oh fuck it, she’s lying and depression isn’t gonna do Jack squat) and hyperthyroidism (blah, she won’t die of that shit). All diagnosed. My retinas are super weak and I’m at a huge risk of tearing holes in them. Prozac isn’t helping me, either. So please forgive me if all I want to do is live a little. 

I don’t expect you to understand, and I definitely don’t need your pity. This post was meant to be for those readers of mine who seemed genuinely concerned about my MIA status. And a huge shout out to my friends who are psych majors for being so… extra. If only you’d used your degree and applied it to me and helped me get through my issues rather than doing whatever I made you do. All my fault. 

Anyway. So this is what’s been happening with me, and I just needed y’all to know. 

Pink Blues

Pink Blues

Dear You,

I know I write to you every Valentine’s Day and crib about the same thing, over and over. Begging you to come find me. And then begging you to stay. This Valentine’s Day? Not so much – I guess I’m probably on the fence and that I might change my mind come February 14th but right now? I don’t want you here. 

I just want you gone. Whoever you are, whatever you pretend to be, whatever you led me on to believe. I can’t do this. Going to extremes to convince myself that you’d show up one day and sweep me off my tired feet when we both know you won’t. Valentine’s Day pretty much sucks and I’m tired of waiting. It’s a struggle, trying to hold back your tears and not cry when you feel like there’s an elephant sitting on your heart and it might explode anytime. 

I see you. I know you’re in love with other things. I will never make it to your priority list. You’d never buy me flowers, let alone take me out to dinner. I don’t deserve that is what you think and I don’t even want to know you anymore. You led me on to believe that I was maybe worth a shot and then you just left me hanging in there barely. Just by a thread maybe. Well, guess what? That thread is now fraying, and will give away before you know it. 

I don’t believe in you anymore. I don’t believe in love and most importantly, I don’t believe in myself. 

No longer yours, 

Me.