the window and other coping mechanisms.

i was supposed to send this to her on the 3rd of june. 

maybe that's when things went wrong.

that's when time decided to swallow her. and decided i needed to sink in my own solitude to function. 

maybe with me, that is how all my stories end. 

with a teaching that,

you can't keep people. you change people for the worse. you are better off

on the other side of the window.

-

the hunger has never been for food. 

it has been for an unconditional love.

both are very expensive

and both when given, my stomach is already full. 

-

it is always late when i realise i got too heavy.

and it is always me that sees the weight forming on my shoulders.

on my ears

on my eyes

like a dark dark blanket. 

slow

dark

like a void

she doesn't like how i write anymore. she says

you write very well

the weight on my head is heavier. i could faint now. 

none of the breathing or the meditation works.

the weight increases and a mountain sits on me.

now i cannot breathe. it is difficult to move.

i think in this whole world, there is no one i hate more than myself.

i hate how i love.

i hate how i cannot let go.

i hate the panic.

and i hate the aftertaste.

i hate everything.

i hate my writing too.

i hate that goddamn electric shock to my chest every time i'm afraid to be let down.

i hate my amygdala

and i hate it.

i hate being a patient.

and i hate being impatient.

but the only thing that i don't hate in this world

is her.

-

you know when you're with someone and you're afraid to ask because the answer might be worse than the feeling right now ?

and things aren't right ?

i think that's how our phone calls felt.

the distance made it harder. 

maybe if we lived next door to each other, i could show up in the middle of the night with chocolates and we'd hug and things would feel a little better.

but we don't

so we lay in our beds, listening to static. waiting for the other person to wave a wand to make it go away.

and one day, we had nothing to talk about anymore.

when the clock struck 2, she said she had to go to sleep.

-

we both knew something was dying, but we didn't know what. or how to fix it. or how to move past it. but it was.

i've seen too much of death to recognize it. she has too. 

so,

we tried in our own way to keep this being alive. 

she was tired already. i could see it in her eyes. but if she let go, i'd fall to pieces. 

that's just who i was.

i think i was scared that she just stuck around to save me from dying.

i wasn't the strong one. she always was. 

i would be the one curled up in bed sick, and she'd wait for the poison to leave my body only for it to happen again. and again. and again.

because that is what i had lived with all my life. the ferris wheel of good and bad.

but sometimes she didn't understand what i was feeling. even i didn't.

but she tried and tried and one day

she burst. 

-

there was one day i stood in front of her mirror and i was putting on some sleep lotion, or whatever it was. the memory is faint.

-god what are all these things 

- don't touch them! (slight worry)

(a happy quiet)

- you're looking at me godd it's making me conscious !

- so what ? i will sit here and look at you

- nikku please go back in the room don't sit on the commode

- no (grin on face)

- uff 

- you look beautiful 

- goddd (a slight tint of red shows on the cheek) you know what, here

(a dollop of sleep cream is put on her nose)

- ahh no no i have sensitive skin god don't put the products on me

- (laugh) accha wait 

(uses the teeshirt to wipe away the cream and gives her a soft kiss)

-

when i open my phone it is like sitting in a cemetery with her name on every grave.

she's tired. she needs time. she needs time away from me. sometimes she can't stand me.

i sit on the grass and it feels like i have blood on my hands.

the clock keeps ticking. the earth keeps spinning. but i can't leave my graveyard.

i don't know what chains me there.

would i have saved her the pain if i never 

left the other side of the window ?

-

i don't like telling people i have bipolar. it sounds like a label they'd use against my name. like hey yeah this is xyz, she has bipolar disorder by the way. 

this isn't a quirky character arc i carry and put on a billboard to make myself interesting. it fucking sucks. 

usually, they find out on their own.

usually i'm a happy-go-lucky fairy on weed. and i do my shit. and i do it well. and it is amazing. and everybody fucking loves me. i'm the mascot of awesome,

but then

i shut down. i disappear. sometimes for days and sometimes for months. 

and it is absolute hell.

imagine being paralyzed for a week. being fed mashed food because you don't have the energy to chew. to eat. to do anything. 

hah, sometimes even to piss.

that's when i'm no longer fun.

she saw the worst of it.

i don't think i blame her for anything.

it's always the weight and sadness and the cascade to nothingness.

i shut down. and it felt like i shut her out.

i don't think anybody will ever know how fucking miserable it feels seeing someone you love call over and over again, and you can't even lift your hand for water, let alone pick up their phone.

i don't blame any of the people who couldn't stick around.

i blame myself every time.

maybe that takes some guilt off of them.

please come back

don't come back

please come back

please come back

-

my therapist told me it would be a good idea to write this down. make amends to people who my disease affected. 

"it would give them closure. help them process things. feel a little better?"

i really hurt this one person. i didn't do it on purpose, i just tried to go on and on and thought that would solve things. i thought i know how to solve things. like, i don't know.. i've never got things wrong?

"in the space that you were trying to solve issues, did you consider the other person and how they process things ? do you know how they work through these similar issues?"

no. 

i just assumed i knew. because doing that made me feel better. i needed to unload and i didn't know where to put it

"you have a tendency of idolizing yourself and what you think is right. maybe that doesn't fit with people? maybe you don't hear their side of the story?"

oh.

"you really do seem to idolize a lot. whether it be you, or this person, or anybody else. why do you think you do that?"

i thought that maybe if i fit myself in an ideal mould, they would care.. love ? me more? stay ?

"did that turn out to be the case ?"

no.

"heeya, the only way people will ever understand you is if you come out of this readymade mould, or idolized higher self that you call being 'behind the glass window'. you constantly disassociate from people in order to protect yourself. because you can't be consistent with your persona. because it doesn't exist.

to people you'll be a different character every day.

and the minute you sense your protective barrier is being intercepted, you get scared."

why does everything have to be this deep ?

"well, it's not that deep. i could simplify it for you."

please do.

"stop being a self absorbed asshole and actually listen to people around you like they're people. not subjects for analysis. connect with these people without constantly having the fear that you'll screw up. because as far as i can see, your screwing up isn't as bad as you solving things.

you're not good at solving things heeya. none of this has to do with your bipolarity."

what about her ?

"give her some time. if you are really sure you want to keep having a relationship, then there is nothing you can do but give time. of course it isn't all your fault. but as you said, she's also busy.

give her time to reconsider if she can allow herself to give energy to you. if she loves you and comes back, be careful with it next time?"

what if she doesn't ?

"then you will be okay. everything smoothens out, and we'll practice how to manage your separation anxiety."

i don't think you're allowed to call me an asshole

"what?"

you called me an asshole.

"i meant it, heeya."

-

when she got angry at me on the phone, i imagined her hands trembling. like they do. it's a lot like how leaves tremble in the wind. 

there was an old wiccan tale that said, when you are nervous or unsure of something, sit near the trees and let your hands tremble with the leaves in the wind. the tree's energy is supposed to calm you down.

even if it's a load of crap, i like thinking of it like that.

when her hands start trembling, she tucks it away. she has never liked people seeing her weakness. 

it happened in front of me one day,

and i sat next to her

and i held her hand

and i felt it quiver

but i sat and i held her hand.

and it felt like it was just us against the world.

later, she didn't let me hold her hand anymore. she tucked her hand away. and i crumbled a a little inside.

she is like the wind.

nobody can hold her down.

not even me.

-

i lie down and all day i can here the grunts of the shabby air conditioner. 

i have not moved in two days.

and i realize how parasitic i have become to her.

my eyes barely open and everything is loud.

she is angry. she wants me to go away.

and i plead. like men plead for food, i plead for her.

she is disgusted at best.

everything is loud.

there are too many people.

too many not-nice words.

and i fall off the cliff

now there is red under my head.

it is a coca cola shirt.

and 

a huge black tarantula sits on my wrist.

i don't like spiders very much. unless they're the light ones walking across the fingers.

-

as i write this, i sit in the aftermath of a badly fought war. the houses are burnt, the people are exhausted and the winter has been cruel. i feel like hitler, except i don't have the gun to conveniently escape the situation.

you don't understand how you affect the people around you.

when my mother says that, i don't know what to do with it. i could kill myself, and then the pain inflicted would be gone. there would be relief.

i could get a lobotomy, to get my brain fixed. 

i could get other therapies like electroshock. so it would fry my brain.

when she says that i look at her and i stay shut. 

i learn that speaking, correction, my speaking has never helped.

i am eager to learn how i can help now.

still, i say very softly under my breath so only i can hear it,

if i could be different, trust me i would. if it were in my hands, i would take all of your pain and her pain and the pain i have given people, and die with it.

-

this was supposed to be about the love of my life. for the 6th month mark.

now,

she doesn't look at me anymore.

my dog doesn't.

my mother doesn't, unless she's serving dinner.

i was supposed to send this to her on the 3rd of june.

it has been 11 days since.

i have caused destruction in 11 days.

i was 11 when i got my first period.

                                               The Lonesome Painter - Fadilah Karim (2015)

                        

(i wish i knew the way out of this maze. everytime i think i'll be happy, it goes away. get me out of here)