To Be In The Clutches Of Fear

Of all the emotions that could rule us, fear is definitely the worst. A small seed is all that is needed. Once planted, it requires neither sunlight nor water. It has strong roots, and overnight it could loom high and above us. It has the power to play with our every move and decision, much like a puppet master controls his puppets.

Most of the times fear is attributed to a lack of strength. That if one has enough strength, they can get over any fear. I agree that is the case sometimes. But that is really not the solution every time. Nor is it that easy. Strength does help in conquering your fear and coming out the other side successful. But it really is not as simple as we make it out to be.

The worst are parents who think it is a good idea to teach children through fear. Scaring your child into doing something you want to or to listen to you is the worst thing you can do to them. They honestly should never have become parents in the first place. Because once you teach a child to fear someone or something; once they plunge into its cold grasp, they keep quiet. They keep quiet when they are hurt. Whether it be physical or mental or verbal or sexual. They will be quiet and in soul-eating pain. And believe me, the parent is the one to be blamed.

In fact, if you ask me loving an abusive parent like that is a form of Stockholm Syndrome if you really think about it. Would we still be amicable to a stranger after they treat us in a way that makes us feel so small and useless? Hell, the number of fights amongst strangers that we see on the road every day for the simplest of things. When we can’t stand being treated in a bad manner by someone we do not know or are merely acquainted with, what gives the ones we love the power to make us feel little or like we do not matter. I guess the answer to that is us. We give them the power. Unconditional love shouldn’t be doled out just because we are related by blood or because they have a place in our hearts. That cannot be the only prerequisite. They need to be deserving of something so pure and genuine from us. Just because we love them with everything we’ve got, does not give them the whip to do as they please.

When fear has played a big part in your life, it becomes difficult to let it go.



A Time To Think

Time is a fickle thing. Always changing, never the same. It is loyal to no era or timeline. Nothing grounds it. It knows no war or peace. Nor love or betrayal. It moves forward relentlessly, never faltering, on a quest only it knows of. Not an ounce of self-doubt it feels. Never having to face an existential crisis, it is focused solely on its purpose of moving to the next moment and the one after that. Forward and onward it goes, a spectator to the beauty and misery that is life. Does it merely observe or does it sympathize? Or more, does it empathize?

Time heals all wounds, they say. But does time feel any pain in return? Does it get wounded? What is this magical power it possesses that allows it to clean our wounds? Is this its profound selflessness or does its livelihood depend on our fall? Does nothing break it, does nothing stop it? Sometimes it gives us an illusion of stopping or slowing down or even going fast. But that’s just it – just an illusion. Come hail or storm; rain or sunshine, its will is too magnificent to change itself.

Close your eyes and shut everything out, you can hear time sing you a song; a tale of its own. And it’s never the same because it sings based on what life has shown and taught. And life shows something new every single day – time plays its game again. For that’s what it is, isn’t it? A game it plays, we its pawns – always sacrificed in the end so it could reach its final place. A game we are a part of, but know not of its stakes. Be gentle I’d say. But time doesn’t listen, it claims and takes.


Sometimes Suicide Means Freedom

I’ve been thinking. Suicide to mental illness is basically death to cancer. Just because you have the latter doesn’t mean the former has got to happen. Cancer has chemotherapy and all that comes with it. On the other hand, mental illnesses have therapy and all that comes with it. You can’t fault a person who’s got cancer for not being able to get better with chemotherapy. Nor can you fault them for dying as a result. You don’t say, “If only X tried harder to get over cancer” or “If only X thought about their loved ones and healed”. They’ve obviously given it their best. Nobody’s first choice is to fail. So shouldn’t mental illnesses be treated with the same care and attitude? Because guess what? They want to live as much as you do, despite dying inside every single day.

Everyone thinks suicide is something one chooses voluntarily. Cowardly. Selfishly. It really, really is not. When does one die of cancer? When their body gives up fighting. The same applies to any mental illness. Your brain gives up. Your heart gives up. Your soul gives up. Just because it can’t be seen evidently or physically in a manner of your choosing (like in an x-ray or something), doesn’t make it any less real. It’s not like they haven’t thought about their loved ones or that they want to put them in pain.

Suicide is a choice, I agree. But sometimes it is the only option that the little voice lets you see, and fighting that feeling every single time sucks the life out of you. All it takes is one time. One time for that voice to overpower us, and we lose. That is when we end up choosing suicide. Although, I do not see how much of a choice it really is at the end of the day.

I do not ask you to glorify suicide. There is nothing trendy or fanciful about mental illness. I’m simply asking you to accept that it happens sometimes. And it doesn’t mean everyone is headed that way. But just try not to blame those who do choose suicide because it really is not fair to them. The important thing to remember is that they fought as long and as hard as possible. That does matter in the end.

Everyone’s life struggles are different. Everyone’s will, strength and threshold are different. You just have to keep fighting now because you’re in this battle with the rest of us. One soldier falling doesn’t mean the rest of us are headed in the same direction. We don’t have to follow suit.


The Unconquered Woman

Sad, lonely and terrified
She tries to free herself from the shackles of her past, her blood and the society.

Crawling, broken and exhausted
Never underestimate her as weak, hopeless and defeated.


Strength – A blessing or a curse?

How many times have we or the people we know lost every sense of living, and decided to end it all? We’ve had our reasons for the same. There is no shame in admitting that. The pain. The suffering. The emptiness. It has consumed us to the point where we did not want to feel the utter sense of¬†hopelessness anymore. The alarming number of times death has crossed our minds is ridiculous. Not just crossed, but the times we have taken steps towards it. And yet, it has been at this exact moment that we have felt this newfound profound strength within ourselves.

This strength that seems to spring out of nowhere makes me wonder whether it is truly a blessing or a curse in disguise? This strength that is scintillating in its nature dresses up as our supposed guardian angel with its halo and wings, claiming itself to be a boon. But to me, it only seems to be a cruel plan to buy more time to instill pain. The succeeding heartache is simply inevitable. The strength I find, it powers me. Yes. But it is short-lived. One way or another; it is just a matter of time before I fall into the evil clutches of the agony within me. And somehow, it finds a way to push and destroy me harder than before, and in a way more brutal. It knows me well enough to drain me until I’m pushed towards the edge, but at the same time to leave enough energy to fuel the hope within. So, is strength really the shoemaker’s elves or is it another foot soldier of pain, just doing its dirty work?

There have been days that I know I should have given up. Days where I have stood on the brink and willed myself to take the final step to fall towards my freedom. But I could never do it. My will has always been too strong. This strength within me that I have grown to simultaneously love and hate.

So I ask myself for the umpteenth time, is my strength really a gift or the foundation of all my pain?



Atheism Isn’t A Crime Or A Disease

Every time I tell someone I’m an atheist, they give me a sad, pitying look. Some people even have the audacity to tell me that they’ll pray for me or that they hoped that I would have faith again someday. And at each of these instances, I want to laugh wryly and punch them in the face. Atheism isn’t about those people who have faced so many difficulties in life, that they’ve lost complete faith in God or whatever it is you theists assume. Let me clarify something for you.
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The Pressing Issue Of Sexism

Male chauvinism. This is a serious issue today, and most of us are oblivious to it. Men have always found a way to boss over women, to make them feel like childbearing machines, to treat us like their property.

It’s depressing to know that such uneducated and brutal mindset is still prevalent in the modern world.¬†

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