The Struggles with the Black.

Desolate, desperate, broken!

The words that sum up all that’s common to be felt, when expectations deride reality. Hopes battered into corners of desolation, tears are what light the joyride to doom or that’s what all of us want. The wise say not to expect, but expectations are what provide rails to the train of your dreams. Failures are one thing, but when your life sways every night to the tune of the voices in your head, all you can do it moan in agony. Darkness around me is a pale reflection of what I am inside. All but a laptop screen in this chilly room are dark, mocking the hope that light carries.

There are moments, when all you want is a teardrop to trickle down your eyelids, relieving you of the heat that churns up when your emotions battle each other. Sitting in nothing but a tee and a lower, the chills down my spine are triggered more by the broken promises of those Saged Voices, than by an 8 degree Celsius weather. The world seems out of place, as is my life. The emotions have stopped responding to the calls, as have the tears. With a pale skin and even paler set of thoughts, the numbness is all that seems to grow on me, like a parasite, sweeping in it the expectations. The world is all but walls closing on me and all I want is this bleak dream to end. The desperation to end this all and run away from everything is the thought that dominates it all but to the fighter that I like to project myself as, it would be an act of cowardice, a cowardice that I am too coward a being to inflict on myself.

The reasons that trigger these thoughts may not matter, but the fire ablaze in my chest, making it all the more uncomfortable to be seated, and not surrender to the heart-wrenching desire to end this once and for all put an end to all speculations, do. I even doubt, if anyone would notice my absence in this world. These raw words,  are the first thoughts that greet me in the thoughts of turbulence, but being alive and alone, passing the course of these thoughts seems to me a victory in itself.

But am I strong enough  to make it through? Always? Can I trust the spirit that reminds of the people who have been by me always (and those only includes the couple who own me, quite literally -my parents and not a single soul apart from that.)? Can I always trust the strength to persevere and not succumb to it, given my fondness of inflicting my anger on myself? Maybe this line would come as a surprise to those who think they have faced too much, the wrath of their incumbent misfortunes, the wrath of my anger, you’ve only seen been struck by the tip of the iceberg, the base of which crashes on my skin.

Though I’m not the one to be moved by people’s opinions, but they say, “Every cloud has a silver lining” and “Also the night is darkest before the dawn”, but what if there aren’t any clouds, no night and day, but an emptiness, a black space beyond the atmosphere of normalcy? Would there be a dawn or any silver and golden linings too? Or would it be like its been 13.6 Billion years? Cold, dark and unoccupied by anything apart from gigantic meteorites that come now and then in an attempt to hit you.

 

 

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