What is worse than getting hurt?
It’s the pain of carrying the spilling tears all the way through your transit to hit the confines of your home to cry your heart out. That throbbing infliction makes you sigh even with your mouth closed and you try to fake the sound by coughing. You don’t want the taxi driver to know that you may be way beyond sobbing. If covering your face with your handkerchief didn’t give way to what was happening at the back seat of the car, you jab the ear- plugs into the recess of your brain openings those were bruised only moments ago. By the time you reach home, your tears are dried out.
One of the things I have mastered upon over the period of years is faking it all. Then again, it’s not by choice.
There is something awfully strange about me.
When really sad, I tend to look at a different tangent altogether, making merry and celebrating life as though all’s very well at the least. I was having my food when Hemant called me up. He wanted me to watch “Lie to me” on Star World. 4 years of courtship, 3 years of abused wedlock relationship, 2 years of estranged relationship, despite staying under the same roof and with none of his family members to intrude or conspire, and another 3 since I walked out on him; he had wanted me to watch something in particular. Why did he have to suggest watching that particular show?
Upping the volume of the songs at the interval, leaving my food plate aside I had acted as though I had gone berserk. Perhaps I had actually! I danced like a tribal, screaming like a witch, throwing myself on the floor – not really bothering about sanity anymore. I lay there for sometime like a spent virgin or not anymore, crying, looking at the things around wondering why this had to happen if at all!
All stabbing moments had come flying by hissing at my helplessness. For a moment it was hard to decide what was more hurting. The time when my mom died, when I was thrown out of my home- twice, when I realized my marriage would be a sure shot failure or when I realized the man who promised me the world was another one of the losers trying to boost his ego or maybe I fighting my way out of all the mess and more?
He must have thought of me as a rude one, since I didn’t wish him while leaving; whereby, it was I who had craned her neck to see him pull his bag before pushing himself in from the left side of the car! It wasn’t intentional. I was way beyond hurt; I still am. I will live alright, but really don’t know if I would ever come to terms with it.
The way I am; I may put up a façade of having come to terms with it after all.
Or maybe not.
I feel sadly pleasured up in collecting this pain! Apparently, there is something that could hurt me after all- or is it a someone? A particular someone- who I let so close that he could affect my state of being after all. When was the last time that I had gotten so affected by- if at all? Why am I so hurt again? Is it because of him being so ignorant or I being so rude in response?Though unintentional but I lost moments of hugging him, kissing him an evening! Even though he had hugged me; I had stood stoned. I am still unable to decide- what was more hurting- his behavior or mine? Why did I let those moments pass by when I could have made memories of touching him- feeling him next to my skin like a part of my own body?
On a lighter note: Being high has its own vantage points. You can be how you wish to; yet get away with it without people creating a fuss over it. Little would they ever know that that is only a facade to hide away the hurricane whirling inside your heart!
My throat is soar because of all the mad screaming. Atleast something didn’t let me down- my vodka made me cry like it was the end of the world.
In a way it is..