Sunday, 28 November 2010

As cathartic as I get..

I find it absolutely strange that when you worry about someone, it's called caring and feeling concerned and being a human and things, but when you worry about yourself, it's self-loathing, self-hatred and you need serious help.

Why shouldn't I have the right to treat myself as I'd treat someone else when it comes to handling emotions? Why should I depend on someone else for something that I am perfectly capable of doing to myself? (That isn't for what you think it is, focus now!) Hypocrisy? I think not.

That said, I'd go out of my way to lend an ear to anyone who wants to just vent out stuff. I don't care that people don't bother to reply to, frankly, what I consider to be a favour, albeit a small one. I don't expect them to, not of late anyway.

More often than not, I spend my time wondering why I feel the way I feel. Why I feel this certain trite and disconcerting feeling that makes me wonder if I am in the bottom of a huge and inescapable pit. Days or even weeks later, that feeling disappears, some fleeting moments of joy happen, which I happily exaggerate and tell myself that it is great that such things are making me happy. Like that day, when I felt uncontrollably happy just because I had, by any normal human's standards, a decent day. I told myself that that particular day was the best I had in a while and the best I would have in a long time to come. That made me feel good.

Am I ok with lying to myself? Not quite. But then again, I know it's a lie. A lie ceases to be a lie when it fails to evoke the false emotions it's supposed to. I try and treat this not as a lie, but as an excuse. After all, I do have the right to feel happy. A right that I seem to take for granted. Is happiness supposed to be earned? If so, how should one go about it? Are ten days of feeling absolutely dejected enough to grant you a day of happiness? Is that how the balance is supposed to work? Give a bit of this and get a bit of that?

Questions. So many fucking questions. Questions that make me want to break my head into a billion pieces just to render the questions themselves extinct. Why do rhetorical questions exist?

Either there needs to be an earth shattering situation/event/occurrence that'd permanently pivot my life or the status quo continues. Faith isn't an argument. It can't be. The thing is, I am happy with my current state of existence. I wouldn't call it survival; I'd have to be fighting something for it.

Probably the only thing I'm fighting against is that happy taboo, then again, everybody is.