So this is the end of the roller coaster ride. But then again, "there's nothing called end," the author would argue. It took me through the toughest ride, this book. It started with the line "...your life is a story told about you, not the one you tell. You pretend to be the author. You think you're the painter, but you're a canvas." It left me speechless. I pretend to be the author when I am just a character. I pretend to be a painter when I am just a canvas.
The author talks about mental health and loss in such a way that it left me shivering. Shivering and grateful at the same time. I always wanted to talk and describe depression, anxiety, and panic attacks. But language always failed me. I always thought I lack the skills to describe, but it is just this - "Virginia Woolf wrote: " English, which can express the thoughts of Hamlet and tragedy of Lear, has no words for the shiver and headache. The merest schoolgirl, when falls in love have Shakespeare and Keats to speak her mind for her; but let a sufferer try to describe a pain in his head to a doctor and language at once runs dry."
You see a depressed kid, see him lying on the bed, think that he loves it that way, that it is all in his head. Like, he CHOSE it. Just because he can not explain it. You can't see how he struggles with his every cell, to NOT be that way. You see anxious people, see them trembling, think that they're overreacting. But you can't see the struggle to breathe, how they want to NOT react, how they want to be normal. You see people with OCD's, see them washing, checking repeatedly. But you cant see their inner turmoil, those "invasive" thoughts. How they rule them despite their choice.
As language failed us, "maybe we invented metaphor as a response to our pain," says the author. Not only for the pain but for everything that language itself failed to describe. I'd say ceaseless thoughts or abyss of thoughts and you wouldn't know the intensity. And so the author says, "Thought spiral. The thing about spiral is if you follow it inward, it never actually ends. It just keeps tightening, infinitely."
"And the thing is, when you lose someone, you realize you'll eventually lose everyone," this hit me in the gut like tons of bricks. I lost someone important in my life and now I look at the next important person and think, "I will lose her too." And let me tell you this, the pain will almost kill you. Daily. Another thing about losing someone is, you will lose them daily. You see their memories fading and you cry because you no longer know if those are memories or just imagination. The dead will be dying, a slow death, a little a day, as our memories.
Okay, I can go on and on if I have to, but I will end this or rather stop this here. But before I stop, let me quote a few more -
"It is turtles all the way down. You're trying to find the turtle at the bottom of the pile, but that is not how this works.
" Your now is not your forever."
"You are not ONLY crazy."
You are not your thoughts."
Honestly, this app is like an e-journal for me at this point. No one actually reads except me
Lately, I was being off. And the sign I am off is, I either write a lot or not at all. But the other day, I wanted to break this spell where "I cannot write." I wanted to write how broken I was, how it hurts to breathe, how my thoughts are slaying me every second. But I ended up writing more complicated shit. Him. Us. My life would be falling apart, and I'd still be thinking about him. And, yeah, I am not proud of it.
It hurts, not in a good way, to be left behind, and him moving on. I want him to move on, don't get me wrong, but it doesn't hurt any less. We have no future. True. But that is not something new. We knew from the start. What hurts me is, someone who chose to fight, in the beginning, gave up, maybe not easy, but surely, and here I am wondering, what made him change his mind. It would be fine if it were circumstances. But we both know, or so I assume, it is not the circumstances.
He always questioned my love. If I weren't naive, I would have known that is the sign. He gave me a date for our "breakup," again, if I weren't naive, I would have seen deep through it, not "misunderstanding" the "truth." Maybe it is his smile at the end that deceived me to believe something that ain't there, or simply my stupidity. And here I am, when it is time to question my life choices, questioning my sanity.
//I want to see you smile, one last time, so it'd break every single piece into a million more, so they wouldn't know their way to your heart.//
//I preserve the things that remind me of people I love.//
I kept a stone, which is of no worth, just 'cuz my mom gave it. I kept a dried and dead flower, in between pages of my favorite book, a flower he gifted me. I kept the playlist of his favorite songs, just because I live on the pain and melancholy they cause. I kept the poem my crush wrote, not about me, but her. I kept the books my mom wrote, not to read but hold close to my heart. I keep every word my sister speaks, deep inside, 'cuz they remind me to be kind.
A drop of tear Slowly steer Through the ridges of my cheeks. Carrying with it some guilt, few memories. Maybe some sufferings too. A drop of tear like a silent waterfall moves slowly but hesitant to fall. A drop of tear splashes on the ground with no fuss or sound. I wait every second with abated breath. Ready to embrace my soul's death.