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[dumbviolet]

I am a Liar!

I Am a Liar

I am a liar. I started lying when I was far too young to know the weight of truth. But don’t we all? Even a six-month-old wails with fake tears just to feel a little warmth, a little love. Maybe I never grew past that — Still that baby, crying hollow sobs for a drop of attention.

I’ve lied to everyone I know. Because I’ve never been able to stomach a big, fat no. So I manipulate— I twist words and hearts, Make even the kindest feel they’ve wounded someone close. I force guilt into their bones and sorrow into their chests, because I needed something— anything— to tether me to them.

Sometimes the tears were real. Sometimes I did cry out of heartbreak, Out of feeling forgotten or betrayed. But that’s the problem with me— It was always just a feeling, never a fact. Maybe I feel too much. Maybe I bleed from paper cuts and call it heartbreak.

I lied to my mother. Told her I was just fine. “Oh, school was great today, Ma— we laughed, we played, we learned, we shared.” But the truth? Her daughter spent her lunch hour staring holes into those brown little shoes, because looking up meant showing tears dragging defeat down chubby cheeks. While inside— a storm raged. “Why me?” Why was it always me who got pushed out of the group when Gayatri had a bad day? Why did I always eat alone,

under the silent, scorching gaze of everyone’s pity? Why was I laughed at for failing to hit a ball no one ever taught me to play with? Why me?

I lied to my classmates. God, I lied so much. Spun pretty little tales— crafted stories stitched from envy and hunger— to be interesting, to be someone, to not be ordinary. I was desperate. Desperate for someone to eat lunch with, to share dumb jokes, to have someone laugh with me instead of at me. Just one. One friend. So I lied. Told them I had a wild, happening life. That I was cool. And the more I lied, the more of a clown I became. But I was young. I didn’t know better. It’s in the past now, isn’t it?

…There goes another lie.

I lied to my friends. Yes—my real ones. The ones who actually care. I lie about the guys— the ones who show up just to chip away at me, bit by bit. I lie about them because the truth is embarrassing. Embarrassing because what they did, what they took, I allowed out of nothing but sheer, pathetic desperation. So I dress it up. Say they adored me, Say they gave me forehead kisses, called me beautiful in the mornings, wanted to date me. But really— they ghosted me, used me, forgot me. Because I was never really wanted. And what could be more humiliating than that?

So, I lie. Because the truth is so. damn. embarrassing.

[dumbviolet]

Unlovable

I'm just 21, but oh lord I'm already tired,

I thus declare to quit this plight of finding the one that's mine,

Go ahead and call me a coward.

I feel emotions a little too much they say, it's too overwhelming for them to handle,

I quietly assure them not to worry anymore As this bodily container of mine that once was full of the liquid of a cupid is now drained to the core.

It has happened so many times more that I've just lost count,

Chipping away at my heart piece by piece, makes it brittle, making it even more bitter.

Every other time that I trade my body in the hope of feeling that tender touch of love, The brutal humour of destiny turns my perception of you into an illusion,

Leaving my heart a deflated balloon of delusion.

Perhaps I missed picking the element of being lovable while others queued for their share,

I shoved myself too deep into the poison of desire,

Filling my cup till it brimmed with a dangerous fire.

I really wish that I could master the art of waiting and be one of the greater women,

But the anxious attachment embedded in my soul makes the thought of letting you go even unable to fathom.

What was so hard to give that I demanded really?

A question I ask to the divine every time I lose that I never had, repetitively!

A bunch of lilies and handwritten letters,

Someone who is keen to know my interests,

Someone who would consider it leisure to spend the whole day just lying with me in the sheets,

Listening to my silly rants while holding me close enough to learn the rhythm of my heartbeats.

Nevertheless I'm glad that it is all over,

The heartache, the butterflies, the shared laughter.

Now I just need to figure out how to get rid of these lingering memories, the longing for the stranger who was never truly mine.

I shall no longer endeavour to seek this futile fued of redoing the prophecy,

After all, my body has been begging me to stop being reckless with it, I've understood that acceptance is the key.

I've finally accepted the wretched death of my teenage dream, oh lord I'm really tired.

[dumbviolet]

The Irony in my beloved form of indulgence.

Nowadays I've started to have this weird craving that never seems to reach its satiety.

I'm growing fond of watching the crimson liquid cascading down the hand,

Whether it is a continuous stream or a few droplets trickling, One by one.

Oh, how the pungent scent of iron makes me wanna cut deeper.

A scent so enticing, yet as familiar as the autumn in the air.

It amuses me to watch the crimson in this bodily fluid reach a deeper & darker shade as it starts to get thicker.

This pleasure of cutting, puts me into a trance.

However, when the cuts become visible to my loved ones,

They plead me to stop & always end up giving me the one last chance.

But who will explain this to them,

The fact that I, myself have given numerous last chances to stop myself from this mockery,

Turning the tattoo on my hand into nothing more than a sarcastic humour.

I'm usually pretty cautious, putting up a well-crafted mirage,

Ensuring that the world thinks that I am as normal & mundane as they are,

Weaving an intricate yet silly montage.

Nevertheless, every now & then someone peeks a glance,

Pulling up the cover from my scars.

Some of them get terrified of my monstrosity,

& some shower me in their unsolicited pity promising to draw stars.

Once they sight my apparition though, they question my sanity,

Maybe their claims are true,

But my question to these folks is,

If I'm the only one bleeding, then how is it cruel?

[dumbviolet]

Desperate

Desperate: having a great need or desire for something. If I were to add something to this definition it would be... Having a hopeless need to feel the feelings that you have always romanticised while watching other girls your age getting all those things so easily.

Yes, today I was called desperate by a guy just because I confronted him about his intentions with me. But I don't blame him. I blame myself. It was my mistake that I wasn't attractive enough, I wasn't pretty enough, My eyes weren't beautiful enough for someone to get lost in them... Maybe because big glasses always covered them... I wasn't skinny enough.

I always knew that I was desperate to just get acknowledged by some guy, I was desperate to be appreciated by the male gaze, I was always desperate for some guy to just go crazy for me, I was desperate for some guy to just admire my existence and be grateful that I walked into his life by some divine coincidence, I was always desperate for some guy to be eager to listen to whatever thing I am ranting about and forget what I'm talking about because he is just looking at my eyes, I was always desperate for some guy to think of me as his partner. But maybe I'm just not pretty enough to experience all those things.

He said he was afraid of commitment and he was not ready for a relationship. And I was afraid that this guy would just treat me like another talking stage and walk out or run away because well... I'm just annoying.

I'm annoying because I pester the guys I'm talking to if with the question "are you mad at me" when I feel the slightest drift of energy, I'm annoying because I immediately start imagining them as my partner and make it really evident to them, I'm annoying because I show throught my actions that I'm attached to them, I'm just annoying.

And maybe I'm the way I'm because in the past my own bestfriend my biggest bully made me feel that way, I lived in the fear that what if she gets angry at me today because of some reason and deserts me and tells all the kids to not talk to me, I constantly thought that every whisper I hear behind my back is about me and those girls hate me because of my size and probably making fun of me, I always knew how dusty the ground was because I could never look up in the eyes of the guys in my school or college because I was so afraid to see the hate and disgust they had for me in their eyes because I was just fat. I locked myself in the house on valentine's day because I didn't wanted to feel envious of the girls who got all the attention and admiration I craved for so easily just because they were skinny. I thought that all my fears and problems and self hatred will disappear into thin air when I lose these heavy layers of shame off my body.

But now when I've finally lost it and I try to get all those things and feel those feelings that I craved for in my teenage when everyone was experiencing their beautiful firsts...I just end up being called desperate. And yes I admit that I am desperate and I hate myself even more for that.

[dumbviolet]

My pink sandals 🩷

My sandals are like the glimpse or variant of the situationships I've been through,

They made me happy at the first glance because they were pink, and when I got them they hurt me a lot because they were plastic.

Finally when they are not hurting me anymore and I finally got used to the numbness from the pain...they are breaking apart and just like that I'll have to throw them into a trash can.

[dumbviolet]

I'm a loser Hopeless Romantic!!!

So.... Every time a guy treats me like just a body he can play with whenever he wants or every time a guy makes me feel like a used ragdoll, I decide, I tie a knot with the veins of my heart that I'll never ever get my hopes up for this love bullshit. I always try my hardest to convince myself that love is a lame thing and hoping that someone will magically appear in my life to love no one else but me is pure load of bullshit BUT, this stupid BUT always Butts in every damn time.

Last time when I heard these words " it was just a hook up" really broke my heart. So I decided to never ever engage in this shit again. But there is this growing, throbbing question in my heart that WHY, WHY AM I SO DESPERATE TO FALL IN LOVE?

Why do I get excited when any guy does any nice thing for me? Why do I get butterflies so easily? Why do I do all these overly sugary sweet things for these guys who don't even deserve my attention? Why am I ready to shower all my love and affection over guys who don't give a damn about it?

JUST WHY???

Maybe it's because the awkward teenager in me who saw all of these stupid lovely things happening in front of her to everyone else but her is still waiting for those silly little things to happen to her, Maybe because she never felt worthy of being loved by anyone when she was in that stupid age and now after finally feeling worthy of being loved she is just being used by the people around her. She feels hurt, Maybe because no guy ever genuinely gave her just a flower or a chocolate, Maybe because no guy ever took an ounce of effort to meet her or make her smile, Maybe because she was never anyone's crush.

Maybe she just wants to feel what it feels like to be someone's special person, Maybe because she has a lots of love in her and she just knows how to give it and just once wants to feel how it is to being loved for a change, just for once...

[dumbviolet]

I was never pretty enough to be receiving roses and getting asked to be someone's valentine.

I yearned for these red little flowers with thorns for years,

And one night when I lost consciousness and control of my pride, I begged for them.

And when received out of pity I now hate them more than anything else.

[dumbviolet]

Coz I was the GROUPIE!!!

The biggest fear of mine is being called an "Attention Seeker" or a "Pick me girl". It's hard to not be afraid when your own mum calls you that(P.S. She's the loveliest mom and people do mistakes) When I try to analyse as to why I am afraid of it or what me think of myself as such a person,this is what I reflected upon: A] I always think that I'm annoying or bothering someone just by asking for help in always up for being an emotional support for someone else but when it comes to my feelings I always refrain from sharing them with anyone, not even the closest people. A sense of dread and shame washes over me whenever I try to open up. As to I'm in this situation in first place due to my terrible or dumb decisions. Well it's hard to not do so when you have a tendency of repeating your mistakes again and again. So what happened of those feelings? They bottle up and then burst into a random ✨Tuesday afternoon mental breakdown/ panick attack cum crying with your knees pressed to your chest, muffling your screams kinda session✨ So coming back to my question as to why I'm afraid of being called the A word, it partially relates to this habit. You see people like me feel that they are being a burden by sharing feelings or even crying in front of anyone. So... We want our close ones to notice that we are not okay! B] I've always felt ignored or like I was living under someone's shadow. I was bullied by my own bestfriend for whole of my school life and that gave my child self an impression that I cannot outshine on my own or can never be the spotlight and that I needed to be with her all the time to gain some interaction or acquaintance with the cool people otherwise I would be alone. But as I look back, I realise that this girl manipulated me into thinking in such a way. She made fun of all the good unique qualities I had. So I masked my personality and trained myself to adopt whatever other peers thought was cool and got them spotlight. ( Here's the definition of people pleasing) But I guess this pattern made me an Attention Seeker apparently. C] Lastly, my body dysmorphia. You see, once I thought that every problem in my life revolved around my obesity.(spoiler alert: it didn't) This may sound pathetic but I wanted the little limelight from the opposite gender. (Now but me some slack here. Everyone was going through puberty and that bitch hit me really late) so needless to say, guys were nowhere around this THICCC GIRLY. But since I've lost the heavy robe of shame that I dragged for a long time I realised that guys are jerks anyways and so are some bitches. It's just that the skinny ones just have to tolerate a lot of them. (No offence to the 'boys' out there, but you too know the truth) it's just really hard to find those "golden retriever, eyes only on me" guys. Glad I'm atleast over with that part for good. CONCLUSION:- I've learnt following lessons the hard way. 1. Sharing your feelings is not being a burden on the other person. It's only the matter of choice of your inner Circle and if you find those right people fortunately then those people will never trigger such thoughts in the first place. 2. Never kill your own excitement about ANYTHING whether it be the smallest of all. What makes you happy, MAKES YOU HAPPY!!! and no bitch's opinion should matter. If anyone says you are being over, just fart away from them. Stay weird. 3. The opposite gender attention is not everything in the world. When you are happy with your own company, your happiness radiates which automatically attracts genuine people. So first love yourself to be able to love another human being. Now, it's not like you always have to be the bigger person and behave in the above specified manner, you can be petty sometimes and send angry death threats to your hate interests(I'm kidding don't do that or just block that person right away and forget you ever did that) you can send cringe texts. But those are the things for "sometimes" This was my guide to "How NOT to be an Attention Seeker" Signing off.

[dumbviolet]

Why I love writing....

As a person who finds it quiet hard to express myself through conversations, writing them down, the feelings (a whole lot of them) makes it a little easier.

I'm sure there are many people out there like me who have the same problem. Well I wouldn't necessarily categorise it as a problem but maybe a personality trait... Yeah it is better like that. See you can kinda sugar-coat things while writing which might come out a lot worse or harsh while speaking in the heat of the moment. There's a lot of thinking that goes in while writing down whether it is a response, an argument,a confession or even as trivial as an excuse. So... That's why where I feel the situation is important where I need to consider the reader's pov, our relation, revisit the moment, process my feelings and thoughts... It's always better to resort to writing.

Writing forces you to THINK...A LOT. You don't have the fear that someone might judge you on how you talk, what you talk or to whom you talk. It's just YOU. It's like you are writing and thinking hard what made me write this or maybe how I was wrong or how I could have done things differently. It's an ultimate way to reflect on yourself and dive deep in the vast ocean of your feelings and thoughts which are free from any impurities or adjustments by the outside world and patriarchy. And also bonus benefit, you do remember such important things as it's on record... Coz this bitch can't remember shit;)

Also, writing and expressing your feelings for someone makes that person feels special. However this doesn't means you have to be like really good at it or something... Coz you know, it's really not the good writing skills that really matter,

"It's about the genuine feelings the love the care and the respect you have for that person that pours out from your heart through ink into a beautiful and meaningful little letter"

So... Maybe next time pick up the pen and paper and get those feelings inked!

[dumbviolet]

The castle of imagination that fell apart

Its always the good moments of a relationship that haunts you at random points of time. Because after all those people who congratulate you on your breakup and those who help you feel that it was the correct decision mostly were not present when you shared the happy moments with your ex partner.

The moments where you can still remember the sound of both of you giggling at stupid stuff, when all the cringe stuff felt cute, when he folded your long pants so you don't fall coming down from stairs, when he got his own shoes for you and carried your heels so you can walk comfortably, when he always found a way to hold your hand even when everyone was looking, when he sang songs for you. So you thought it was safe to assume that he did liked you truly! Funny right?

          But at the same time as you are reminiscing those joyous intimate moments the rage starts rising. It reminds you of the desolate promises made by that person which were never fulfilled. The betrayal when you realised that the whole time those songs were about someone else really close to you. The resentment of being disrespected by the same person for some another woman weighed heavier than the significance or mere existence of those few good moments of the relationship where most of those were fake anyways.

        But that little girl that little brat of a hopeless romantic didn't had any idea about this show, she just knew that her feelings and whatever she did was real and true. The most pathetic part of this you ask? The most pathetic thing is despite of all the rage and hurt and the logistics your heart still dares to miss all those moments. Don't get me wrong. I know we hate that person. But what we miss is how special that person made us feel,how we felt like the day couldn't get any better, how we wished that we could live in that moment forever, the image that we made of that person or how we wanted that person to be. What we had imagined with that person, all the firsts we shared with that person, how we wished to grow with that person, how that person made us feel safe and loved at one time.

            So.... Even if we move on and get over anyone, as the castle of imagination that we built in that relationship continues to break apart and wither away. It still hurts a little and trickles down the cheek in the form of a tear and the hurt resurfaces as trust issues and difficulty or very low to no willingness to indulge into any of such relationships again.

        However, this doesn't means you are not allowed to love again. Eventho the hopeless romantic in you momentarily disappears due to the hurt and disappointment it doesn't means that it will never make a comeback again. And whilst it is gone you can work on making yourself more capable and rather loving yourself more and paying attention on healing yourself rather than blaming the world and wasting your energy.

Someday,

someone will come into your life and will love you the way you've always wanted. Until then be that 'someone' for yourself.

[dumbviolet]

जाने क्या बात है ,जाने क्या बात है 

         नींद नहीं आती बड़ी लम्बी रात है!!! 

 I laid on my bed humming this song and asking the inevitable question to myself .Maybe this is just a phase that has lasted for quite a while for now. The feeling of lagging behind of my peers. I mean yeah sure there might be people who are behind me but this self realization that hits out of nowhere that I'm repeating the same mistakes again and this might cost a little more than the last time & then calculating the cumulative damage that its gonna cause to my mental health & my career & my reputation. It becomes a lot. Just a single thought then starts attaching a chain of them & the next thing you know is that your brain is so overwhelmed by these thoughts ,it starts to find a numbing resource or anything to divert the attention from those thoughts whether it be healthy or in a really toxique downwards spiral.   

         These thoughts are of many shades...                                                                                                         Blue-The gloomy feeling because you have missed a lot of things.                                                                            Red-The anger on yourself that how come i missed these important things.                                                               Violet-The jealousy from those people who seem to have it all under control.                                                             Yellow-The anxiety of the consequences in the near future.                                                                                    Green-The guilt from committing the same mistakes over & over again.  

      Then after some time this starts to overpower the brain & in search of a stimulant it sometimes finds something sharp or something sultry & as the vital fluid drips or the skin sizzles the sensation of the pain elevates & calms the ongoing storm of thoughts & all of its shades are dissolved together to become a plain grey. This also gives one the  false relief that atleast I've punished myself for being such a useless person that I am.                                                But once the andrenalin & the pain flushes down & I realize that one moment of weakness has left a permanent scar on my body that will forever remind me of whatever led me to do that & the guilt trip once again takes the lead & continues for what seems an eternity...                                                                                                               I was so deeply stuck in this painful  periodicity of self harm that I didn't even realized how much I've blemished this beauteous & perfectly functioning body of mine.                                                                                   Nevertheless, this was about to stop. Not so long ago I met a stranger who coincidentally turned out to be my classmate & ever since this benevolent, 4ft creature has been unknowingly taking care of me . { I would just like to pause for a bit & admire the female friendships . Those who have them should always be grateful and  treasure the same} So this girl hatched a scheme with my favorite teacher & set me up for a free & most helpful therapy session of my life . My teacher to whom I'm most grateful to talked his way to my issue of self harming & as he glanced at my fresh outburst of the colourful thoughts{ as I like to call them} just said these words that will forever be embarked on my heart "Mam, whatever mistakes you make, I will still respect you, however harming the body that universe has lent to you & which is not yours to own & damage at your free will is simply committing a sin".                     As his words sinked in I realized how much I've sinned until now & then firmly resolved, not to commit another one ever. Its true that its not an easy job to snatch your brain's favorite stimulant & calm down the storm of the ugly thoughts by yourself but I've been endeavouring to indulge in some other stimulants such as singing ,  mehendi or as easy as making a paper butterfly                                                                                                        My battle isn't over yet as eventhough I've controlled  myself from executing the action of self , totally deleting the very command & the resource is gonna be the real challenge!!!