Wandering the night ceiling

Things have been dead hard this year. I’d call it the year of epiphanies and heartache, reality like two bullet trains traversing in the same direction collide and create havoc. I didn’t know and still don’t know why I chase after people even when they may turn out different from what I had envisioned and sometimes I cross the road to avoid them despite the fact that I’m dying to see them.
Can there be an alternate or parallel universe in which I’m bold enough to confront my feelings without the fear of rejection? Suppose, there was. And, I’d done beautifully. I’d climbed up hills, spat poetic verses,didn’t cross roads, instead went straight barging into their house and grabbed them by the face and told them all that I ever had to say.
Now, that I think of it, doesn’t seem so difficult but Imagine I was outside their apartment. I would feel as if my heart had fell 10 feet beneath, my hands shivering, blood pressure and adrenaline top of the scale, heavy breathing, panic and distortion.  A mess. Wreck. Lunatic.  Impossible, it’s never going to happen.

It’s dark, curtains closed, away from city lights, bed lights, room lights or whatever lights- as long as the brightness doesn’t invade my sanity at stake. I’ll be honest, I hate light of any sort especially when I’m indoors, contrary to the fact that I was born during the day or maybe it works the other way around. You were born in the light so you fancy the night. That’s also one of the reasons I carry an umbrella around with me during summer, trust me, it’s a fucking sauna in Dubai, no space. Humidity greases and curls my hair-ah! Monstrous, sunspots, crazy tan, hot showers (why do I have hair fall) and steamy everything. Right now, I’m huddled up in my blanket writing by an uncomfortable Samsung keypad. I just finished two by third of an incredibly lengthy psychology chapter which took me about four hours in general. The ceiling holds my breath, beneath it swirl streaks of conditioned air.

Speaking of conditioning, psychologists like B.F skinner and Ivan P. Pavlov used rats and dogs to explain types of conditioning, which I conclude is through cruel choiceless manipulations.  Starvation, harnessing, isolation and lack of humane, but these experiments in various laboratory settings were necessitated to decipher the process of learning developments and associations under a given situation. Throughout history, sacrifices had been made, cruel methods were adopted, animals and organisms were harmed to explain and understand the human life; evolution, physiological functions, environmental occurrences, cognitive processes, etcetera.
There’s nothing gained without sacrifice.
Like they say ‘No pain, no gain’  this brings me to think of criticism towards non-vegans or vegetarians. Meat eaters did not choose to eat meat right from the start, they were brought up in such a surrounding, emulating their behaviour and mannerism upon influence. Of course, later on, they can choose differently. But, the question I’d like to ask is that

‘Are plants any different than meat providing animals like cow and goat just because they don’t seem to appear as living beings and wail when they are cut?’

Rather than the visual shrewd cruelty. People should also evaluate the nature of our species or any species for that matter where survival occurs through feeding off of the weaker and more vulnerable organisms. We’re animals after all so why criticise and make faces to meat lovers. Is killing plants not considered killing?

If carrots could run and cry, would it be that the goat were its friend?

What I’m trying to say is, in certain biased backward civilisations and remote countries, people still have stereotypes because of the source of food different individuals have.
Anyway, aside from all that, I’ve regained myself from an episode of nothingness I should say. I’m proud of the me who picks up the pieces from the cold marvel. The one who walks glamorously and smiles like an idiot. I profusely admit, I frantically OCD, overthink, fantasise, stress, am emotionally sensitive deep inside though appear to be quite tough, emotionless and all bearing. In the movie when Marnie was there, anna in the first scene speaks about an invisible magic circle, those inside are indubitably called ‘the insiders’ and those not ‘the outsiders’. Outsiders can identify themselves, like her, like me, we don’t belong anywhere.  We’re lost. In constant search for something. We were born in the wrong time, place, with the wrong people- everything scratch zero. If you plan to watch the Japanese anime movie please do, it’s a wonderful story about a girl who meets a mysterious English blonde. Anna opens up to Marnie ‘the girl trapped inside the blue window. Marnie’  she was so beautiful and lovely. Also, please never consider watching it in dub, that’s the worst decision you could make to such a piece of work. It ruins originality, character presence,scene representation, voice inference and over all it’s so fucking annoying and a mockery of any anime or anime movie production. Watch sub. All the difficulties you think would happen are just in your head, there’s no need to stress on reading and watching simultaneously. It shall come naturally as long as you focus on listening to the voice of the characters.
Oh look, I’ve strayed off topic. Me and my rambling. Back on track,
This is what I had texted my partial best friend a week ago.
The reason I call her that is because we never meet up, I don’t want to
give in myself completely- expectations kill me, it always does.

“Ok, so listen.
I’m really tired. Physically and mentally.  I can’t concentrate in any of my classes, can’t follow study schedules, or diets, or anything. I don’t feel anything. I can’t think of anything really. And I’m so tired.  I thought it was just a phase, that it will pass but it’s been going on for a while now.  I realised it became serious and critical when others started to notice. The other day, my teacher called me to the staff room telling me that I’m so weak, frail, tired that she felt bad to watch me as she taught me. She asked me what was wrong, my sleeping patterns, and that if I needed to see a doctor. Speaking of sleeping patterns, I can’t. I just can’t.  I can sleep. I can fall asleep but I can’t stay asleep. I’m half dreaming, half awake, half agitated, half aware and there’s just no goddamn peace. I know who’s coming in, when it gets bright, I keep thinking inside of my head. It’s more tiring to sleep than to stay awake in that case. It’s a hassle. There are other things too. The shivering. I thought I only shivered if I was public speaking a little but these days my hands start shivering when I talk about what I want to do or did like for ex: my ideas of a project, how a competition went and when I really talk about my feelings. 
Most of the time, i’m really anxious, isolated or excited and talkative.
Also, when I don’t feel anything. It’s just an empty sinking feeling. Like my heart feels heavy and I get feverish. And, I look so sick, pale and my dark circles might go down in history if they became any bigger.
And people. I don’t like people. They’re so selfish and cruel. Not that I didn’t know that but it’s too much to bear. How can they be so narrow minded, ignorant and cheap, I hate it all.
I thought that if I believed in me, that I could survive, that if I choose to live and bear it all, I could do anything. But, then they come and ask ‘why are you so depressed?’ ‘You look so tired’ ‘are you happy?’ ‘You’re not happy’ ‘what’s wrong?’ ‘Why don’t you talk?’ ‘You should try and mingle more with others’

I had to actually look at this text again to recall what I was going through. It’s only been  about a week and it already feels like this was ages behind. And, I’ve put it all behind me. I took a leave, slept all day, did grocery shopping, went out to the sea, listened to music, watched movies, wrote stuff and gave myself me time.
I still am recovering from a massive blow, it may take time but I’m beginning to love and accept myself.
It’s me who was there holding my arms when I cried on the back of the door. It was me who always told myself how beautiful I was when I left the house. It was me who sang songs when I couldn’t sleep.
It was me who winked at the mirror.
It was me who said it was okay to be ignored, that I deserve better and walked away. It was me who loved me. Only me. I did all that. I give myself completely when I love, so fully, that drowning was not worse, I wish I loved me back then as much as I loved others.
I wish to avidly feel the universe, the trees I’m envious of because they
dance along the wind so happily, the waves that hit the shore and pulled by the moon, strangers with kind eyes, the flock of birds when the morning dew hits the green leaves, the calm blue sky we adore, the little pebbles that scatter on beach sand, the smell of the rain like dawn of a new beginning, marvelous movies and dramas, applauding theatres and plays, musicians who sing in the corner of the street, the black cat with neon eyes who strolls the nightlife,  the radiant winter sun (only in winter), newborns chuckling laughter and lastly but not ending, you who fill me far off in the distance amongst the tall alpines.
I’ve ranted enough for a night. It’s nearly 4 am, I’m still awake because I drank too much coffee. I’m still waiting for miracles. Waiting for me to create one. I’d like to say out of gratitude that if you have read so far, you’re most truly a gift from god, a blessing, a brilliant mind.

13 thoughts on “Wandering the night ceiling

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