I have been fighting with myself since ages unknown. What for, you may ask me but unfortunately I have no reason per se. It’s just that I am on fighting terms with myself and with people other than me. Every new day is in fact a commencement of a new fight. A new terror which stealthily creeps into my soul and storms the very existence of this stuff of ‘flesh and blood’ to which people call by a name ‘Nicky.’
I am what I am. I will never change. At least, never when they want me to. Why should I? Do they change for me? No! Nobody does anything wished or liked by me, then why should I be whipped time and again for their norms and etiquettes.
They say I speak foul. Yes, I do. I do so when I am enraged. When I am out of my senses and when I am not able to grasp to the reality. Reality, whose? Mine! Who drives me crazy? Who drives me to such a point that I fail to recognize my own voice? What happens that I cry in such a manner that at a certain point of time I am scared to look into the mirror because my eyes frightens me.
What drives me to pull my hair as if I am a loon pelted very often by stones while treading the stubble paths of my life. Yes, I am being pelted. Once. Twice. Thrice. Many a times! One day they had sharp edged traditions and the other day they had those heavy rocks of social norms. And, the best of all these weaponry is the emotional backdrop that keeps pricking you every time you think you are relaxed and have nothing to fume over. Suddenly a needle comes from nowhere and pricks at your bottom, in your sides, on your arms.
Do I ask anything except-live and let me live?
Why I am a scapegoat? Why me? If any vengeance has to be unleashed then I am the best target. Why the hell no one reacts to what happens to me? Everyone is so busy sorting out their lives. I seriously, have no qualms. I am very much fine with what people want to do with their life and themselves. I have issues, only when they question me, when they stop me, when they force me to something I hate from the depths of my heart.
I hate relations and relatives; they have never given me peace. And, what doesn’t let me smile, I hate. I hate myself most when I am not happy. It’s so unbearable to live with myself when I am out of happy. How to tell? I have no words to explain , how much I am scared of myself.
They say, I am happy when I am not with them. Yes, I am happy when I am not with them. Actually, I am happy when I am with strangers. Strangers and strangeness provides me solace which no other company lends to my soul.
I crave for solitude when the solitude and loneliness is what all I have with me…Last night, lying down on the floor (I have spondylitis so I sleep on floor with no pillow) I couldn’t get sleep which I usually am not getting since long still I have always been trying to sleep and will keep doing so. I wondered, lying thus, how many of them need me. Or anyone can ever need me? Does my absence makes any difference to them?
Sometimes I feel like running. Run till the end of the earth.
ü I want to live but how can I when I am so much perplexed.
ü What to do and what not to do