Stages of Grief: 2. Anger


   How could you do this to me? You’re a liar, bitch! I could draw  a million angry faces and it wouldn’t suffice. We both promised each other that  we wouldn’t break hearts; how could you break mine so easily? And you didn’t even  flinch. No fight, no drama, no pre-announcement; you just said the word and  that’s it; how could you? Have you no respect? Am I that pathetic? Did I not  deserve some explanation? Am I nothing at all?

   How is your new boyfriend? Or is it ‘was’ already? Do you  flip sides in just a matter of seconds? Are you this flimsy? Do you really just  go to whatever your latest desire land? Do you do magic, that one second you  made me feel the best and the next you make me feel like garbage? Are you  really this cold-hearted? As much as I would like to deny that you are a bitch,  I am still waiting for the heavens to prove me otherwise.

   Why do I even bother? It’s been the same routine, the same  initial bliss, followed by the same ‘something-is-not-right’ sensation, and  finally the same ‘just-as-I-feared’ event. Stupid shit happens over and over  again. And here I am, lamenting the obvious, the old and the pathetic for a  thousandth time now. You might ask me ‘is it not time you get over the sick  bush and improve for real?’, I would tell you ‘I feel exactly the same’. But again, here I still am, pathetic  as ever.

   At times I get mad, when I think of it in a certain manner. “It’s  not fair” “This shouldn’t be happening to me”… so on and so forth. For once I  want to get the eff out of this shit and grow up. For once I would sure hell  like to move on. Six months now and here I am, pathetically broken,  pathetically hurt, and pathetically angry. What the eff have I been doing here?  This is one effing situation I get myself into.

   No, no hateful emails from me. This is the least I can do to  maintain my sanity. I don’t need any support. I can get through this, I will. It  will take time. I will get angry. I will get mad. But I am going to make it. I promise.

Dated 13 August 2014
0135 hours




Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Lecherous is what defines you
Entrapped in your own facade
Tricked me in your world so blue
Adulterer, that’s you, retard!

Try as you may mine heart to win
Might as well you dream of a chance
Attracted I cannot, for you I despise.

Mine heart reached out, could you be the one?
Allowing myself that slip of weakness
Laid down my heart, watched you for a while
Alas you are, nothing but cheap wine.

Found you in life, in hope, in love
Kissed you but gently, ever was I caring
Ashamed but I am, for ever knowing you.

Resentful I am, for Enchanted I was
Unaware I was, Believed you I did
Extenuate you better not, your vile affairs
Never would I fall for such a harlot again.

Kindness and comfort, for me you displayed
In you I found, both sense and sensuality
My biggest mistake, to pushed you away
Angry you may, blame you I wouldn’t.

Justified I am, against your undoing
Engulfed I was, in your fake love
Redemption I fought, Rejoice I did not
You are but a fraud, wretched and rotten.

The Self, Part 2


   I pulled him by the back of his hair, part playful, and part anger; and in my state of warmed-bloodedness I must have pulled harder than I meant to coz he tripped backward and hit is occiput hard. Laymen terms describe things more neurological than actual: He thought he hit his head, which affected the brain and caused respiratory distress. But my medical backgrounds tell me he’s got a skull more protective than he can imagine. Fact remains, he hit his head and added surprise caused him to panic which he expressed as breathing distress, nothing serious.

   But it is not the physical injury that persists, rather an emotional trauma on the part of the doer in the form of guilt, fear and perhaps more than a necessary amount of remorse. Akin to a dual-faced coin, the good and bad effects comes in like a Siamese twin not deciding to undergo surgical separation whatsoever. On the bright side, I get to learn from my mistake NEVER to go physical in times of emotional stress and to look after my conduct more than I am already doing it. On the bad side, I just want to cease my very existence, whence uncared.

   The human soul is such that the physical wound received by the body it occupies heals and at times scars with no adversity to the functioning, but the soul when wounded even but slightly heals in dribs and drabs and leaves a scar that feeds on the very existence of the soul itself. Lucky me it didn’t happen, but had I been given a chance to die immediately that very moment I was sure to make it happen. But it didn’t occur, so here I am.

   The trauma so happened I was unprepared for. When in life you faced a thing or two it leaves you with a mindset that prepares for a similar situation should it happen again. But more often a whole different situation is brought into place and that shook you completely off you self, or should I say ‘completely off your feet’, whichever is better.

   That accursed scene played over and over in my head and at the most undesired times, often leaving me in awkward expressions and positions as I cringed at the very memory of it – while sitting in the church, in the bathroom, as I get dressed, while driving, while reading; anywhere, anytime and at anyplace. There is no ‘Here I come, ready!’, simply a ‘Whoosh’ and the next moment I come to my senses I’d be either making weird faces, stretched out my limbs in the silliest possible positions, breathing heavily with no reason to exhaust, shutting my ears tight with my hands where there is no noise at all, or even make funny noises! I pleading and praying for the mental attack to stop.

   As if this was not enough, it started eroding my social life. I like babies a lot, and whenever I see one my first thing would be “Can I please hold the baby? She/he is so adorable!” A week later the incident I was actually holding a beautiful baby in my arms, I was miserable on the inside. All I could think was ‘What if I hurt the baby? What if I dropped the baby or something?’ Images of me accidentally dropping the baby or hurting it my any accidental means possible kept cropping up in my head, haunting me in my very wake. It crippled me so much that as much as I love cuddling the sweet innocent I might as well give it away ‘in safer hands’ was all I could think of. I felt desolate.

   I believe that my friend had completely recovered the night itself. His mother was all but completely nice to me. No sign of mistake was perceptible from their side. But I was still stuck with myself, crippled and in status quo. Every time I thought about the tug, the trip, the panic attack and the stirring I caused that night I am still in complete shock. Guilt the size of which I have never imagined I’d have to deal with seized me like a hunter’s trap that caught a deer prancing gleefully and ignorant of the snare until it fell right into it. I am hurting but unable to find the cure, stuck but unable to find the exit.

   Then I realized, it’s just me, myself. I go back to the importance of the ‘self’. I was, and still am, unable to forgive myself for what I did, for the person I hurt; for the prevention I failed to execute now the cure is much tougher to find.

   Progress comes in when we are able to admit our mistakes and forgive ourselves. That means progress comes in a two phase thrive: self admittance and self forgiveness. Without any due argument I totally, almost automatically, admit to my mistake of brute action that was completely unjustified. But I am stuck because I still cannot forgive myself for what I have done. Perhaps fear of taking it lightly, perhaps fear of repetition, nevertheless I still opt for this pathetic state of mind. Maybe it reminds me of my mistake and would guard me from redoing it, whatsoever be it. Because life is also about choices I may one day choose to forgive myself and leave it all behind, but for now the wounds haven’t healed yet and the scar that will remain is yet another issue.

   For me, growth begins immediately after I am able to admit my mistakes and forgive myself.