Ramblings… Part 1

I am in my room. On the mattress. With a stomach that behaves strangely these days. I haven’t had proper food in months now. I am a simple man. I go to work, eat there, on weekdays. On weekends, I eat at food joints. I am lazy. I want to fix my career, which I feel is severely broken. But I can’t really help. Because a job is, in fact, keeping me away from suicide.

The only thing (I don’t know how my brain is getting degraded, I got confused between think and thing) I can feel is, my body getting degraded from the inside. I can feel my stomach, my heart, and my head. More often than I should. I am alarmed. But I avoid hospitals. Because, I am avoiding suicides anyway. The strange truth is, I know my body is degrading. But I am helpless. I am already strangled into gratefulness. Already, that I have come to realize that my life is no longer mine. And if it ends, so be it. It is better. I am trapped in the gratefulness of my parents, and their struggle to raise a kid like me. Through a time and place and people so unsupportive, a weak soul like me would suffocate and die. I am grateful, for what I have got. Because I know that there are many who don’t get even a fraction of what I do.

I have come to terms with all of this long ago, I guess. And that’s why I don’t try hard enough. Because I know that my dreams will impact others. And at this age, others are not in a situation to get impacted. I am sorry, my dear parents. I’ve been troublesome. I know times have always been hard. And my arrogance exists because of the freedom I’ve got.

I have, virtually, given up all my dreams. Really, may be after a couple of months or years. But eventually, I will give up. Physically as well. I have no strength or plan left. I never really had a plan other than just to carry on. I will, simply, carry on. There is no plan. I am just grateful, and thankful, for what I’ve got. It’s enough. It’s an easy life already, isn’t it? It is fine, isn’t it?

I need to put my clothes in the drier. That drier isn’t a full-fledged drier. It’ll spin the wetness out of the wet clothes, and leave them damp. So that I can clip them on a clothes line, and let it dry completely for a day. I can directly clip the wet clothes, but I’ll end up wetting my flat. Because I’ll have to carry dripping clothes through my rooms. And clothes will take longer to dry.

This is my life. In this big city. I came to this new place thinking it’ll be good if I come close to office. It hasn’t really helped. I had to save money because I didn’t want to spend too much on rent, or else I’ll not save a lot for myself. But since I stay in a place without any proper food arrangements, I am spending a lot on food, eating outside. There is a lump beneath my left rib cage. I can feel it. It is a symptom of some kind of a gastric problem. My parents are doctors, they think it’s muscular. But there’s something wrong going on inside as well. I haven’t been vocal enough. I realize, I have never been vocal enough, in my entire life. Because, either I was afraid, or I was incompetent, or I was grateful, or I had no clue how to communicate my problem.

I am fearful. Is there anything, anything wrong about that? Anything at all? I don’t want to cook food, I don’t want to drive, I don’ want to read, I don’t want to work. I want to die. But I am afraid of dying. Damn it, just damn it! What is the purpose I am solving? Why was I born? What should I do? I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know!

There is no place on this planet I can go. I am sure that there is no place. I have been to places, and there is no home. There is no place I can go and say I am fine. I am not fine. I was not fine. I am carrying on and on and on. I hate waking up in the morning, and I hate going to work, but if I don’t go to work there is no place where I can eat and be fine. A holiday sucks because there is no place I can eat, because office is closed. And it is still far off. And I have committed one mistake after another. And I commit the same mistake, one after another. I want to stop doing each and everything, but I can’t! I can’t because I’ll let my parents down. I can’t because there is no other place to go! There is no other place to go!

This life slips out of my control and I am held up, I do what I hate, I eat what I hate, and I am not healthy. I can feel the insides of my body. I count the words I write and I know they are not enough and I want to write more because there is no other thing I can do at the moment. Yet, I need to hang my clothes to let them dry. That’s a necessity. Each moment of my life drifts away from my wants and needs and tires me. It tires me to the core and I hate being alive but I live to avoid causing pain to those who took so much pain to raise me. At a time and place full of people so against everything. I am sorry, my dear parents, I can’t. I can’t live.

But I will live. I’ll cry and let this monster decay my insides to the point the damage is irreparable. No one hears. No one will ever hear. There is no body who should listen. Why should someone listen, when they’ve got their own problems to deal with? And I’ve got to hang my clothes.
I am getting old. I skipped my dinner today. It doesn’t matter if I am a few months away from completing 26 years of my life. I get angry if I don’t eat. All the materialistic pleasures people of my age feel, like sex, parties, and self-centric celebrations are now becoming needs. All this is useless, I know. This fucking Microsoft spell check keeps suggesting me grammatical enhancements. I accept them, and move on. I need to keep writing I guess. I contemplate suicide, otherwise. Better to die of age rather than suicide. No body to mourn is better than a tad too many cursing. I was talking about useless materialistic needs. Whatever.

My life, is a bunch of mistakes. My own mistakes. I should’ve never accepted my first job. Life would be another set of mistakes then, maybe. But the thing is, in this permutation of fate and this universe in which I am living and cursing and breathing, I accepted my first job, which was a mistake. Then, I chose the work location because of my friends, which was a mistake. Then, I didn’t try hard enough to fix my life after all of that, which was a mistake. I never wished to do what I did during my first job, so I hated it all along, so I left that job. And I took another job, which was a mistake. To quit my first job, I had to pay that company, a good amount of it. I didn’t have that money, so I asked my dad to give me. So he did, happily. Should’ve realised that was a mistake. But anyway, at that time I was basking in the glory of getting a new job. Oh, the drier of my washing machined quietened. I’ll hang my clothes and resume.

~

Hanging clothes cools you down. I am out of anguish now. So I’ll stop here. Some other day, I’ll again skip my dinner and I’ll probably be full of agony again. With some other shit to spare. Will talk then, and dump it here.
And oh, suddenly I thought I should add a line here. My boss in my current job sucks. So bad, that it’d inspire an all new set of Facebook memes. Sometimes, I just control the monster inside me from beating the shit out of this motherfucker. Or else, I’d be in jail by now. For an attempt to murder charge. But this boss is an asshole of the first order. If a man can inspire a team to be as horrible as it is right now, and my life be as horrible as it is right now, then this’d be the deepest asshole you’d ever come across. But my situation is not my boss’ mistake. Things worked before I joined his team. Things will work after I’ll leave this team and place. It’s my mistake that I didn’t try hard enough to fix my life, and I’m committing the same mistake over and over and over again. So I’m bound to suffer throughout my life. I just wish that I don’t harm others for the rest of my life. It’s a much better situation to live alone. I don’t harm anybody. I am happy. That’s the biggest charity I am doing. But seriously, my life and I solve no purpose. I shouldn’t have born in the first place.