20 to the 1. i feel old-ish.

i haven't had sucha great birthday in sucha long time, and the fact that drug is right beside me sneaking a read is twice as special :) .

more later,
-eeda  :)

darr

.

its become scary even to close my eyes and be alone 

with just the music and me.

i listen to songs wide awake.

ever felt paranoia like this?
someone will stab me while i'm still in the dark, and all I see is crawling crawling crawling hands. 

-eeda

'I love you more for the things that you think are wrong with you, than for the things that you think are right.'

like being your pepto-bismal?

<3

-eeda

Least words speak the most.

-Sy

<3

 we keep running

round in circles.
Time after time,

hello, goodbye.

-Blue.

 


Everything feels old, now...decaying.. It feels like it's autumn all over again, the season of loss, and not spring, of re-birth. I feel i can't bring myself to be reborn again, reincarnation is no joke. Everything feels stale.

You and I have become collateral damage too, whether you see it or not. The same repeated lines, vows of love and goodnights, no in-betweens. I miss the silly surprises, the secret notes, the messages, the care-packages and the unexpected letters. Not this, cycle of repetition and monotony, i love you jaan and i love you too.

Caught in a spiral i feel like i'm spinning,wrapping myself again in a cloak, bandages, feet dragging loosely behind and the burden of air dragging me forward. A silly mantra, keep going keep going keep going, like an ancient dull chant the only reason i blindly surge forward. Like you said, throwing darts in the dark, no yellow brick road maps of any kind.

It is all so old, so old, so well-rehearsed and repetitive, replayed.







Give me something new to sing about, S.
-eeda

blurts.

1.

'cuz my skin's not the color of ivory,
maybe caramel, mocha...a little ebony.
i'm not the average plain jane who'll break your heart.



2.

you say all these pretty things that make you cry and me, smile.




3.

i wasn't born with an instruction booklet,
and i refuse to follow your manual,
i'm my own girl, damn you
don't try and get me to change.




yeah.
-eeda

If I could just see you,

Everything would be alright.

If I'd see you,

the darkness would turn to light.

The most painful thing is to tell someone you love them,

and not hear it back in return.

the distance might not bother you, but it bothers me. Immensely.

And it bothers me that it doesn't bother you at all.

-eeda

the unintentionals.

There was a time you knew how to breathe life into my dead soul.

Now you only know how to quell the fire

again,and again, and again.

The absolutely saddest thing tho, and the most hurtful,

is that i know it works in vice-versa too.





.

The path to recovery is often unanticipated, and pops up when you least expect it.
In fairytales, and sunshine. Chocolate cake and friends.
I've been bitten by a happy bug, the kind of happy that I used to have when I was 12, and had yet to go through college, long distance relationships, my uncle, and other heartaches.
I know this is short-lived, but I want to dwell in this moment, and I thank God with all my heart I've had something like this, finally.

It's not that it's forgotten, I've chosen to let it be over.


Ironically, this revelation comes on the even of visit #2 with the psychiatrist.
Sometimes, just the talking can help too.

:D hugs all around,
-eeda

.

this is the what a breaking heart feels like,

outside of the movies and novels and cliches.

 .

weird coincidences lately.

i see the trailer for coco after chanel and then a chanel poster pops up on facebook somehow under a friend's profile and then i am in candice's room looking at a poster of john lennon on the wall it has the lyrics to imagine and then goldie puts up imagine in a different languages on facebook and yes its a mircale everything is so coincidental.

the restlessness stems from some corner within my stomach behind the navel like a rusty anchor pulling upwards through my open mouth pushing its way to the ground the gag reflex is counteracted by peace the feeling of being grounded or is this transitionary too? i feel like vomiting ants maybe if i scratched arms and fingers and every tingling surface of my skin i could rid myself of this is kinda like how you get when you forget something and can't remember it or like a word on the tip of your tongue but not in your mouth lost in chaos is how i feel.

just call me again please i need to hear your voice to find the calm so i can finally sleep after countless hours i have lost track of waking eyes and a screaming mind.

.

I've been on the run

My shadow weighs a ton

I know I found a recipe, for me

                       But I can't really make you love me                      

No I can't really make you love me.

 

-I wish I knew Natalie Portman.

.

This one's about the journey.


Part 1.

Momma told me to go get fixed, child. stay happy.
except happiness was not the cure.
So i went to see the shrink he said it
would help if i wrote.

It wasn't the cure, but I
plunged hands into my mouth and removed wads of
paper and tissue, old cardboard, magazines no one
wants to read anymore,
and still the words wouldn't come.
what came instead was mind-vomit florescent
green neon blue and daisies
in pink with frills.
think happy child, they had said.

i want to read she said
the cure, holding onto Pamuk, Ondaatje in hand
and Eliot leading the way across
vacant lots with newspaper scraps i am
an old lady. My soul is stretched tight
across the skies. Nut in blue, silver
stars i am afraid of the night it
reminds me of Him.

Part 2

You
used to tell me that our
relationship was based on no judgements and yet
you tell me
i
am a *****, my clothes
too innapropriate for your taste i
am no longer the person i used to be.
maybe.
things change and so have you and as have i
trying to find the cure.
it is not in your words.
anymore.

i used to think that
you
of all people could heal
maybe.
maybe, as i went alng and tried to find
myself, you would wait. maybe,
if and when i failed, you would
welcome me back with open arms let
me subside in your embrace in tears.
you have
done nothing but issue further rules
of how unhappy you were with x,y,z and
me.
i broke no rules, i'm living
by everything i set for myself.
all i wanted was to search, explore, find
what it is that makes me happy.
you, are violating my space, you
judge me, issue regulations, declare
i am not at par with who i was,
i
have failed you, You,
put me on a guilt trip. It
is not the cure.

Part 3

the concern pours in from unexpected quarters
moves me to tears.
She cares, despite all.

and no one knows how to help.

Part 4

Mind-vomit.

dance the tango tango tango baby the hemp fadango the super shawty ittle bottle baby ur mine when i was divine u loved me nought like black silver spanish maiden heaven made in china i am an imitation of everything i see u and me we were not meant to be for u wanna be me while i want to be thee i cheat is it deceit when i imitate my fate is sealed not in my hands contraband slipsand once twice and again cuz girl i loved u so, and its so sad i dont wanna let go i dont wanna let go hey girl, im so happy cuz nappy hair is whut u told me black curly ugly like how i used to be ill go back to pre-me untill i find a savior again my personal Jesus freeze us into memories baby call me im a call girl rememebr u said u said u said i wasnt good now that's what i understood, that's understood.







you used to tell me my voice alone was enough,
now even a complete annihilation of self is insufficient.
i don't know how to make you happy anymore.



Part 5  

seeking normality. if found, please return here.


(tbc)

All the king's horses, and all the king's men

couldn't put Humpty
together again.

My baby,
I wonder what nightmares darken the insides of your eyes
enclose your eyeballs with
swirling black anguish.
I watch you for hours, scrunching
eyelids tight,writhing
in white bedsheets as if you
unconsciously wrapped yourself in bandages
(before the war even began).
And I
too far to calm you with whisper
voice, or touch.


My darling, I wonder
what grotesque, appalling ordeal could possibly
make you whimper, so.
Your barely audible moans
chills the marrow in my bones, stiffens
fingers, blood. 
And I
too far to translate
screams to symphonies, laments
to lullabies.


My love,
you say your nightmares involve
me.I wonder what you mean.
Could love horrify the soul
into pieces, asleep? I
will not leave.
Do not allow absences to frighten,
fracture souls with fear.
When I
too far to suture pieces together,
Too far
to remedy,
repair.




Sometimes the distance can make you so utterly helpless.
Do not taint your peace with your concerns of me jaan.
sleep well.
-eeda.


p.s: this cud've done with a better ending, suggestions?

I miss writing on paper.

The sense of excitement I used to get looking at a blank white sheet, the power to know that I held total control over it, to write or to scribble, to draw or to vent, which for me was often the same thing, and knowing that whatsoever I chose to do with it is how it would always be, memorized in the crevices of the page for eternity,and then of course the smell, stiff arched whiteness, high-collared queen, a flicker of innocence in the blinding austerity.

Now the closest I come to it is the sight of the flickering cursor, and an electronic page that can be written over, erased, re-written. Things have changed with time, technology has made everything feel more and more lifeless. Relationships are a lot like electronic blogs now too, they have scope for editing, erasing, re-writing. Nothing is stable, nothing is set, written in stone. I miss the days of stability, of promises that were kept, of relationships that weren't as frail, delicate.

It is odd how we keep trying to make things more convenient, things that don't hurt, but in an effort to do so, we end up defeating our purpose. An electronic page has no power to hurt, for it can be swiped cleaned and altered according to however you wish. It is completely submissive to your desire. I miss days where my fingers bled from paper-cuts, days when writing took me from me as much as it gave, like my relationships at the time. They had the power to give in abundance, but also to hurt, except that power was never exercised unless by accident.
Relationships now are bandaged over and over in cling-wrap, bulletproofed. Rules, and regulations of decorum, things that can be said, and things that cannot be said. At all times we try and stifle the power to hurt within ourselves, put on a plastic face and tiptoe on eggshells.. Except the more we do so, the more we end up hurting. More relationships fall apart, lives go awry, love fades to waste.
That is the power of the Unsaid.

So things evolve, and people celebrate change. People celebrate advancement, call it success. I think the more we're going forward we're actually going backward. Everything is plastic. Intangible, cold, safe. I miss the inconvenience, the proximity, the Humanity, I miss the organic life.

As I started out to write this, I had no idea I would end up here again, at You. I miss you and your ability to make me feel alive, human, in ways I cannot anymore. I miss that the most perhaps; our humanity, the organic...... your presence.

Your presence, the touch of your fingers, feel of your hands, warmth of your embrace, sound of your heartbeat, heat from sleeping too close to you. Knowing you have the power, but it would never be exercised. Knowing that the more reasons I had to feel threatened, the more I felt safe. The comfort and the utter surrender, despite the unknowns. That is perhaps what is most remarkable, there was stability despite of the unknowns, or maybe, because of them.
I hate how it is now, almost as much as I hate typing on this electronic page. The continuous strive to reach a state of predictability, to set things in stone when things are continuing to evolve. To attain goals in the future with ways of the past, the consequential inconsistencies, the resulting heartache.But more so, more than anything, the impersonality, the distance, the surreality. The complete absence.

It is tough making do with electronic tools.
I miss the old days, how it all used to be.

So take me back to the start  ?

-The Scientist.

.................


this is the official end of the post. no really.






ps
It's funny how when I started this, the aim was to vent. Somehow somewhere along the way it ended at You. It's funny how everything else I set out to do does the exact same.

This, to another 7 am.