It is like a punch in the gut, when I realize, that I cannot voice out my thoughts with clarity or openness any more. When your openness is mocked, when your voice is mistrusted, why bother?! I chose to let my voice quiet down and let it be and now, it sits dully in a corner, choked of exuberance, choked of life. Now, it’s pathetic existence is a constant reminder of what a stupid choice that was. It is important to have a channel to get things out of your system. Be it a thought that is a word or a sentence or even a complex verse, at that very instant. It is important to get it out, if only to acknowledge to yourself, that thought. No one, no matter how good a listener they are, can respect that thought nor listen to it as well as you do. I sometimes think, I should perhaps consult a shrink, just to be able to voice out what is inside me. But then I ask myself, what makes you think you can trust them to listen? Trust, such an elusive mistress. Despite forced to trust, there is a cloud of mistrust that hangs around it, that makes trust just another punch line.
I stopped thinking. I stopped even making an attempt to think. The mundane routine is what I seem to be satisfied with. Some days, when I force myself to think, it is easy to push the blame away from me, to the surroundings, to the current responsibilities, to the society I live in. Then comes the hard part, accepting that I “chose” all those factors. And then comes even harder part, when I ask myself, are there no success stories in the so called society I live in. Environment is vital for survival. When the environment is laid back, when success or failure matters little, when responsibility is used as a punch line, it no longer matters whether I am smart or not smart, whether I have the ability to make a difference or no.
There are all these aspirations in me, with no clarity of executing them. Some very independent people out there tell me that it is in me to fulfill them. Some not so independent people mock me with them. Some people whom I should supposedly trust, laugh at my aspirations. No one can belittle me without my permission, I understand that. But, when I have to work with restrictions on my head, I get frustrated thinking of the limitations. Life is just a drool worth spitting out. As a person who innately seeks change to survive, this little to nothing mundane pushes me to the edge of despair. And perhaps, when pain reaches the edges of despair, it is easier to switch off the thoughts that question me than to work on the things that need to be worked on. Life, it seems requires a constant love that you can shower on it. Else, it picks a fight and like an opponent too coward to face a battle, I wither in the whimsical amusement.
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