Pornographic Ditties

No matter where i am, i find my way back to you.

Urge to purge...without speaking. How long can i manage? It's like a cancer of the soul, eating away slowly any chance of happiness- real or imagined.

Men at work are making light of my work...done after many sleepless nights. All my efforts. Just because it does not suit their ideological journalistic beliefs or may be just because they can. 

One of my teachers had told me that never be married to your work...i think i may have made that mistake. 
Their words sting...my ears are burning and my cheeks feel like they are on fire...  

i am so confused. These highly learned men, whose craft i would have respected had this not have gone down the way it did. My work does not define me...i own  nothing...my words are paid for, so why do i feel like this? 

i did not confront them. They are still talking over and around me like i don't exist. Comparing my words to porn. i did the only thing i could to not hand them the victory and cry...i wrote some more. Is it porn?
If my bursting heart is a phallus then yes, writing these words did massage it and i did climax, a tear-less, numb state of nothingness.

Hollow men, hollow lives
Big egos, conversations trite
Waiting to extinguish any spark of light    

i feel better. Let me write some more. 

Not the right shade of brown,
Not the right kind of eloquence
Not on the right side of right
The only thing right i can do is to just be

i think my black cloud has returned. The heaviness, the emptiness...and oh the guilt... so much of guilt. Because there's no reason, no explanation to why i feel the way i do.

The problem of melancholia is not just the inexplicable suffering. For me, the worst is the fear of something good happening. I'm so scared of any ray of happiness sneaking in that i let all of my chances, the shots at acing in life, just pass me by. Like a singer says 'oh sadness! I'm your girl.' i hate my job and i want to leave...i have two job interviews lined up for tomorrow too. But will i make it to them it's a big question mark. Would anyone believe that i just can't make myself do things anymore?

i am constantly thinking of ways to die... at my own hands, according to my own plan. i am not sure if i'll ever go through with it but just the thought of having an exit ready is like a warm fleece blanket and cup of hot coffee on a cold winter morning. It cocoons, shields and strengthens me... the thought that i can bring all this to an end on my own terms.
With everything going out of control, i just want to have something that's all mine... my life.

Maybe i'll get better, maybe i won't or maybe i'll see y'all on the other side. But for now... the black cloud is here to stay.

Don't

i have been having an extraordinarily bad spate of luck since September 2017 and if you don't know what happens when people are dumped with an unending series of misfortunes, let me tell you. 

When this world doesn't make sense, you turn to the other world - the unknown, the inexplicable...the void. i am no different. It all started with my dog, Jordan, getting paralysed in a freak accident and then slowly but steadily my life is withering away and i feel like i am writing my own destruction. 

Cause you're my religion
You're how I'm living
When all my friends say I should take some space
Well I can't envision, that for a minute
When I'm down on my knees, you're how I pray 
- Lana Del Rey, 'Religion'

i recently had an accident when my vehicle hit two kids on a scooter and flipped over. The driver and the vehicle were on the road, parallel to the ground and i was standing upright without a scratch. A bloody scene but a controlled chaos. At least no one was left paralyzed for life...
Just like the previous calamity, i have no recollection of how i ended where i was. i am shaken and i am scared...so very scared. But i don't know why i can't talk to anyone about it and i can't stop thinking about it either. 

There's no God was my takeaway from that night in September which has changed my life for good. Jordan isn't in depression and is his usual self most of the times. But, i can't. Just. Be. Normal. 

i can't 'Thank God' that in spite of paralysis his bladder works fine so that he doesn't need a catheter. 
i can't 'Thank God' that he has to stay away from me for the most part of the year.
i can't 'Thank God' for having great parents who have generously been babysitting him for me endlessly.
Most of all, i can't 'Thank God' for anything that stemmed out of this tragedy and that includes my high-paying but soul-sucking new job that I only took to afford his wheelchair. 

There is no God because if He/She existed, they wouldn't have put us through this while really bad people walk free. 
There's no God because no matter how many times and whichever angles I look at it from...it doesn't seem fair or right. And, if there's a God that has let this happen, I refuse to acknowledge his presence.

He isn't my God.  

Sayonara