People die. Invariably. Indifferently.
I had a fascniation of reading obituaries when I was a kid. Since kids aren’t the target of dailies, the Young World only appears on Saturdays. So the Old World filled with everyday events didn’t bother so much with imagination. It carried facts. About who went were and fought whom. Who won and the tally of it. Be it politics or sport. What sought my attention was the broadcasted show list on TV to find that my favourite cartoon will still be running on the same time when i return from school and the retelecast of the movie that I had watched already like five or six times. But that does nothing to feast the mind. But Obituaries did. And Anniversaries. Of death of course. Their family misses them. His company is his leagacy. The kid’s death was really unfortunate but it was almost 6 years back. The 40 year old man dies of aneurysm and the widow and his kids are mourning. Loving Mother of 4 and Grandmother of 12 who has nothing else to say about her life. The new born that never saw the light. Grief. Boundless. There mentioned in words within boxes. Are these the only people that died yesterday? Or just the worthy enough to be mentioned? A measure of wealth (or reverence) by the real estate of the page. But what if I died today? Will I be worthy of rememberence?
Things have not been great ever since cognisance developed. Alike any other human troubles abounded my life as well. But I wasn’t well adapted. To life or otherwise. I should have been a narcissist but alas I can empathize. So self interest took a backseat but fear of failure didn’t. Due to inactions on my part in various spectrums of life, I have failed spectacularly in all. So I’m panicking into my 38th birthday this year as living example of how bad I can do. I don’t want to be remembered as such.
I started writing just so I thought it would improve my mood. A sense of accomplishment is necessary to pass the day without a breakdown when you have nothing else on your day, or week, or the calendar. But again it was all pointless shit of self loathing and pandering. It is a wonder that I got through the lockdown easily but my life since then been worse. I realise that a menial work and regular paying job and people to love and care would do great things for ones mental health. I’m just not fit enough. Because I have never had so much thoughts of self harm since I went back pursuing the vocation I dreamt of.
Family is easy. They don’t have a choice. But friends are tricky. It is hard not to be antoginizing everything that someone does when you were betrayed young. But still you trust the process and build trust and relations. But again the slightest hint of betrayal sends you down a spiral. Betrayal has many faces. Hate casting a shadow of love.
I do not think less of you. If I think less of anyone I’d be on the top of my list. If I’m smiling, it’s purely out of my indecisive anxiety. Rarely it is because I can grasp that you are not any better. But I know I’m definitely not.
I don’t know how long I can push through. But I’ll try. Like all things this will die eventually. Me as well. You as well.