In the awe of betrayal

Betrayal . Doesn't it sound so awesome ?
To me , it's what makes me sick to my stomach.

In a time of it's own, love and apathy will strike will the loudest of blows and all u will do is get injured and lay there barely alive with a lot of blood ; hot blood and scars of all the scratches and marks that nothing will erase , no surgery , no crazy accident ; not even death . I sit and try to tell myself that it's fine and apologize and say it's all good and sun shiny . I just forget that nothing will come to me forever , I'm meant for hatred and betrayal . I know, nobody is content . I will never forgive anyone for all the times I've fallen on my nose . he's been there, all goody and nice but behind the mask sat the audience of more who only wanted separation for the unhappiness of their repute . Godly figures , beautiful . In the awe of my life support system, I kept on ignoring the blows to my face and mind. I sat their and always marched to my values . All I got was a lot of betrayal .
I'm so numb right now that I cant think straight or understand anything . All I know is this is going to be unforgiven and I will stomp out . Maybe I'm just so upset that I barely know what I'm doing .
This is so annoying .... 

“I never felt like that before. Maybe it could be depression, like you get. I can understand how you suffer now when you're depressed; I always thought you liked it and I thought you could have snapped yourself out any time, if not alone then my means of the mood organ. But when you get that depressed you don't care. Apathy, because you've lose a sense of worth. It doesn't matter whether you feel better because you have no worth.”
― Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? 

Pottery

When I was young, Ihad developed a liking for pottery from a summer school course . I loved making pots and painting them in my own vivid colours . I made pots . Many pots and they beautiful because I was only a child and I had imagination and time at my disposal . I mostly gifted my pots to those who liked my work and always was told that I should save it for my private collection ; however, as long as it made some one else happy , I would go on doing that. But, I never gave away the first one I made ; I could just never do that , it was very dear to me .
Once I met a guy , I liked the way he loved my art and gifted him my first handmade pot . He were delighted as thought I gifted him a pot of gold  . A few days later he returned that and sent a note saying - this is damaged with a crack , thanks though.
like pots we are, damaged, broken and fragile can never look the same again once broken .

Now I dont want to live, breathing itself is too much

I want to run. I want to run faster than I ever did ; away from myself and people in my life . I just hate the way things are, a little bit of hope and then the knowledge of illusion in another split second. Now, I want to go , away from distances; bad memories ; sufferings and loneliness. I hate who I am, I'm starkly in the emotion of a wounded princess . A woman who will always be incomplete in the sickly moment of heart break .
Das Vidanyian  

Gold Tarnishings

“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.” 
― Anaïs Nin

This is certainly my favorite quote , not because it means the death of love (  for the spouse ) but the process it goes through for anything u have lived or have breathed for .
I sit . I sip tea and think about the last few days, months and moments of him . I thought he was going or had gone with a note left behind but then like me ; he too doesn't have the heart to say that he has to go ,for the future of his financial successes .
I will let him go. He needs to . I'm the obstruction who stands here . I will go.
I will banish him from my mind , his memories , his promises to my smiles ; everything that I breathed into for the last 4 - 5 years because there is no cure for the apathy of human beings ; not for me at-least...
I will put this exile into the place where it's neither indifference nor despair ; it's in-between everything  . I will live in the other half of death ; indifference for desire is the half of life and indifference is the half of death . I will fight , till I breath and even after that because I have to , I will do this for him .

 "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable." 
— C.S. Lewis (The Four Loves)

I'm the the loneliest person on this planet .

Things have been breaking away from me , far ...very far . I see them , I try to hold them but I end up staring at that distant sight of that piece being gone. I might be in my most better of times, but I'm completely heart broken . I feel lucky to have a family  but I feel lost in the buzz of domestic and social affairs . This place is a place where it's just me and i'm lost in it. I sometimes wish I could stop for a minute and set things right . I wish to stop having pills, not gain weight while I eat and be loved madly like a baby .
Baby . It's only in baby days that u deserve all the love and care ; then u grow up and eventually u become the loneliest person of this era. U meet people, become acquaintances, become lovers, become spouses, become friends maybe . That same love will abandon u so gracefully that even the loudest of places will seem dead and noiseless , that mind of yours will be soundless in that noise of pop rock. I sometimes wish I died and then looked at everything that happened after I had been gone. I know I 'll hurt a lot of people but I also know that I survive each day through tremendous pressure and breakdown each night . Most often I breakdown to my closest man but now even he has lost the conscious nerve of pain . I cry . I cry even more. But he stays in the dead . No heed . Nothing . Nothing like stop crying . Nothing like I feel loved like before. He's going . Maybe he is. I'm  reckoned for the loser . Loser . It rings my head how the loser sounds like. Like the dead of the night with a streak of screams passing by.
I sit. I cry . I hit my fist . I cry more. I get drunk and say - "one day i'll jump off this place " and return with the most horrifying pictures in my mind - " if u do this again , I'll go away . "
Maybe this is why this is happening. My suicidal tendencies . But I cant work them out, I've to . I'm alone. More than ever before. It Pains me to see the happiness through the eyes of another person but I've numb spot for happiness and I've never felt it. My happiness is the annoyance of another . I'm annoying . I'm very Pissed right now that I feel like hurting crying my gut out . But I'm dumb and immature for doing that .
Nothing raises my spirits now. I live a lie , shall live one all my life.
I used to think I knew everything. I was a "smart person" who "got things done," and because of that, the higher I climbed, the more I could look down and scoff at what seemed silly or simple, even religion.But I realized something as I walked home that night: that I am neither better nor smarter, only luckier. And I should be ashamed of thinking I knew everything, because you can know the whole world and still feel lost in it. So many people are in pain-no matter how smart or accomplished-they cry, they yearn, they hurt.But instead of looking down on things, they look up, which is where I should have been looking, too. Because when the world quiets to the sound of your own breathing, we all want the same things:comfort, love, and a peaceful heart.God alone knows if it exists, I just am tired of my cure less dark bags around my eyes. My hidden sorrow . I'm losing my mind and I know , till I finish my quota of life ; I would have lost everything. I'm only lucky to be born to my mother, to dad , to my baby sister and my husband ( F.C) . No , I'm not married, but I live the life of an old traditional widow girl .  I'm a childless girl . No, not the mother but the girl ; me . I'm dead , my hope is dead. His indifference is so neat, I think he wants to me verb it now. He . my life . My soul. He's is going. I made his go. I'm a horrible girl .  Bomb squads always wore suits , one didn't and once said - when u have dealt with most demanding of situations in ur life and have come out alive then why must I wear one to get away from death; i'll come , it has to . Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.An you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about. 

I want to go , not return and stay in a form of never being around ; I just want to leave early to avoid the rush . 

Bully

Dear reader ,
Something had died in me , something had been dead for long and smell of it been gone has infused strongly into my senses . I had no urges to be who I cannot have been without working it out piece by piece . I never made friends , I never was a fashion magnate , I was never the nerd . I was always this regular girl ,  no anger to shed .  Off the Indian ethnicity for years and then pushed back to the same old tedious task of being the good indian girl .    I fought. I feared . I fought again.
Eventually I realized that my dreams were not realistic because they were only dreams not real thoughts . To come in terms with the real world is probably the most difficult thing for an indian girl . She's always taught of how to behave because one day she will be the mistress of her husband's household and then nobody will teach her how to love or be friends or cook . This era might have changed , girls meet boys , become friends and fall in teenage love and eventually dig deep in trouble trios but have we - creatures of emotion changed ? Not really I suppose . How would u react to a teenager committing suicide ? Maybe angry or pissed or sad? The emotion there is - it's just getting to much , I can't take it anymore . And here it's - part of growing up . In the midst of this 'kumar avastha 'troubles  for an indian girl , her parents face the worst of their little women and their education to being  chaste women.  Sometimes it's annoying , makes reach the brink  of  madness but then in the end of the day only those who just live their life for their families win the hearts of the members of their family and those who learn to live are women called the unchaste and black sheep . A society where no matter what happens , u have to live . If u try to commit suicide, ur man will call u weak , if u want to  break the rules the society will call u stupid , if u want to breathe , ur conscious will call u selfish . For some people this might be a nightmare , for me - it's a way of life .

Love
the bullied grown up  !