Month: February 2015

Sweet Summer of Twelve

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Sweet summer of twelve standing in the balcony of my room
on the third floor of our huge house facing the gurgling river a few yards ahead,
I felt a touch of sky dropping on my shoulders.
Gods had given me a gift- the weight of the whole world rested inside my frail heart.

I remember it was the same fall of twelve, a few months later
I was standing in the same balcony,
only it was the sky that was gurgling. Pouring and screaming, clashing and crying.
I stood there in the middle of the night. Not quite in the middle; it was 2 a.m.
I hated the rain, and I wanted to die.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t jump, I couldn’t cut, I couldn’t overdose.
I was weak. I was brave. I was unhappy. I was not enough. I was never enough.

I stood in the rain to torture myself. I was scared of the thunder. I was controlling my fears.

I felt limitless.

I thought a lot about suicide that night. Sounds insane but I wanted a chance.
One shot at the power to control my life; even if it meant during my death.

Sometimes freedom is all you really need.

Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.

I moved places, I saw faces, I saw freedom, I saw more pain. The more you have, the more you need.

Freedom is to dive off cliffs and kiss strangers, smoke pot and watch the stars, sleep until you drift away into oblivion, wake up, pack your bags, and
move on someplace else because the freedom you have is not enough.

Freedom is to let go of such expectations, yet hold on to your dreams, embrace your sadness, turn it into a weapon,
feel every single breath your lover takes,
see the grass, see the sky, see yourself in the mirror, see what you really are and not look away.

Wild winter of fifteen, I stand in a different balcony looking at a lake
calm and vast, the weight of the grey sky turning it into a deep shade of silver.
It looks beautiful.

The same winter of fifteen, I choose to live.
Live while I’m alive, live after I die, my organs in the bodies of strangers,
my dreams in the minds of millions,
my sadness in the struggles of every depressed person,
my hopes in the insides of their hearts.

I cry. You cry.
I am depressed. My friend has social anxiety.
Another one is schizophrenic.
Another one told me he was seeing a therapist.

I am depressed. You are not.
Yet we are the same.
One day we shall realize that the borders we have
are just lines on sand
easy to create, easier to cross.
I shall donate my organs, you shall donate your hopes.
Hopes and organs and bodies and dreams and
hurts and fears
different for each, same for all.
The universe stops only at a full circle.

Band Aids and Bullet Holes

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I think this is going to end up becoming a depressive rant and that scares me because I haven’t felt an inch of sadness since I started my meds. But there are some kinds of pain that even medication can’t control. You try to cover the hurts with a band-aid hoping for them to heal, but what good are band aids when the hole in your heart is from a bullet.

I’ve been shot. I can’t explain how or why here, for the fear of being speculated and probed and incised by untrained surgical hands of my dear friends. I fear that I will bleed out.

I will nurse my bullet wounds, cover them up with band aids, and try to walk like no one notices the flinch on my face every time I draw a breath.

Social anxiety, my psychiatrist labeled my feelings.

Caution, I say. After all look where it got me when I opened up.

Eleven Days

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I haven’t checked in my blog in 11 days. Because since the last 11 days I’ve been on fire, and I needed some time to get used to the heat.

I started my first week trial of prescription meds (Vyvanse 20mg- now 30mg) and I am stoned.

The only thing I’d ever been high on was my ADHD- my mind was like a Ferrari (F12Berlinetta to be specific ! ) driven by wild frenzy of thoughts, the wind whipping my long hair as I rolled down the windows to look outside and tried to grab everything I saw so that I wouldn’t miss out, when all of a sudden I would realize that I was driving a Ferrari with bicycle brakes inside my brain and the only way I could stop was by crashing into the only thing in front of me – Reality.

These crashes knocked me out, left me irresolute and indecisive. I could not get the images of the things I’d seen and learnt and discovered while driving the Ferrari out of my mind, neither could I see what was in front of me clearly enough to focus and work on it. This made me anxious and stressed out, a little neurotic at times.

For the last 11 days my mind is driving on a train. Fast, and focused on my destination, I know when to get out on proper stops and take a look around me and get back when I have to, so that I can fulfill my appointments on time.

The high that I get from my medication is a different high. I haven’t had a single depressive thought, my dopamine levels are shot up and I feel positive and happy. I’m euphoric but calm. I can control my thoughts, put brakes on my distractions. It’s like watching and collecting your thoughts in a slow motion, only picking up the ones that are of primacy, and pushing aside the inconsequential ones.

I never knew what it was like to be level headed and relaxed. I feel like Master Shifu in Kung Fu Panda, I am finally in peace because the dragon warrior inside me has finally found its way towards becoming the chosen one.

Next post when I finish studying for my midterms. Because priorities (and medication :p )

ADHD is a neurobiological disorder caused by imbalances in neurotransmitters in the brain. ADHD behaviour is not a choice and it is best to be diagnosed by a trained health care professional to gain closure and start on treatment plans.

Vyvanse (lisdexamfetamine dimesylate) is a prescription medicine for the treatment of ADHD in patients 6 years and above. It is used to control ADHD symptoms by balancing the levels of dopamine, norepinephrine and other neurotransmitters. Should be taken as prescribed only. 

Source: http://www.vyvanseadult.com/default.aspx

My mind is on a roller coaster !

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I use Facebook, retweet tweets, laugh at crazy Buzzfeed posts. I fill the void by surrounding myself with people filling their void. I have a large social media following, my poetry blog is a hit, yet I cannot talk to a person without forgetting their name.

You, my lover are the only piece of color I see in my world of infinite grey.

Is it grey or gray? I guess it doesn’t really matter because the color itself is drab and bleak; it reminds me of how I imagined the drapes of the veil that Sirius Black went through and died. It was the first time I cried over the death of a fictional character, and it wasn’t until much later I realized that I was wrapping those drapes around me and making myself grey.

I am sitting here in my lecture hall, typing this out. I’m sure my neighbour thinks I’m typing out the notes, and I smirk thinking how wrong she is of me, how wrong everyone is, until I realize that maybe she isn’t thinking of me at all, and I glance at her just to see that she is sleeping with her eyes closed. We are all so tired (sigh).

I am typing what is running through my mind with no filters, except that is a lie because I can hear my prof talking about phosphate esters and his voice rings through my head and I can hear the guy sitting three seats ahead of me munching on a granola bar and I can hear the typing on my keyboard and my own voice as I’m reading this out in my mind. The noises in my head are like hearts beating in different paces but all at once, so loud that I can feel my own beat getting smaller.

I am supposed to be listening to the prof. The worst thing in life is knowing. Knowing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing, but not being able to control it. My mind is on a roller coaster and I am ranting about insignificant things in my blog early in the morning. I started to write this post yesterday, but it took me over 24 hours because Izzie Stevens has brain tumour in Grey’s Anatomy and saving her life is more important than anything else.