A Rare Entry of Cribbing About Someone Else

You know, normally I don't crib much about other people in my diary. I restrict it to my own thoughts and pieces. But, today. Oh, today. Some people have an amazing talent to boil your blood with their disgustingly cold and pompous attitude. You know, those specific kind of people who lace their words with extreme sweetness to cover their repugnant personality yet, the odium leaks from the break lines of the cream coating. You can feel the stink and your souls shudders as soon as they open their mouth to spew dark clouds of unpleasant effluents.

It just gets you. So hard they make their way into your precious things. Like here in my diary, in my case. And whatever you do or don't do, they leave a mark on your brains forever. The ickiness, stickiness from their negativity lingers. And sometimes, it successfully dissolves to become a part of you as well. It is, indeed, horrid.

Shame & Inadequacy Are My Constant Companions

Shame and inadequacy are my constant companions.
I am never left alone.
My mind crowded with overthinking and blurring emotions.
Consistently shameful of every action.
Unwaveringly inadequate in every manner.
I sometimes wonder:
Am I just like any other person or is this what it feels to be an invalid?
People always say, be you. Be yourself.
But, who am I? What am I?
Who even am I other than the constant need to know what to do? What to think? What to eat? What to wear?
And obviously, all these questions are always unanswered.
It's been so long they have remained unanswered like an age-old riddle.
Whenever I seek for them, it feels as if someone is haunting me from within.

A Tumultuous Day

Inside the meaning of time the seasons' whisper,
Memories of longing emotions like a dancer alone on the stage,
Followspot chasing behind her twirling legs like months unwrapping season after season,
Her hands dancing to the tune of music like flowers blooming with colors.

Stealing moments from here and there to take a glance at her own reflection,
To taking moments to check for her beauty in the others' eyes,
Thoughts keep dwindling between self-confidence and self-doubt,
But the legs and hands overshadow the sounds of the dark thoughts.

- Oizys.

Will You Forget Me?

I always wonder. If I leave today, will you forget me? Who will remember me? I look at people around me. People I'm related to. People I work with. People I have studied with. And, I think, will they remember me? Will they think about me when I am gone someday?

Then, I remember those moments I stayed back and didn't go out with them. Those moments I ran into my room when they visited me. Those moments I stayed asleep while they waited for me. Those moments I said no to take a picture. And my moments of solitude, that I took by snatching from them and enjoyed thoroughly and guiltily, scares me now. 

It's scary to think that those moments of solitude that I cherished might have come at a cost. Did I miss out on building connections and memories with the people around me? Will they remember me for who I truly am, or will they only remember the times I turned down their invitations or retreated into myself?

- Oizys.

My Wistful Fantasy

We all fantasize. We all have some comfort fantasy stories to run to when we are done dealing with the day or when we are in an uncomfortable social situation where we are surrounded by aunts and uncles we know but we don't actually know. I have a thousand of them. A labyrinthine of daydreams and scenarios that I can escape into whenever I need a mental break or a pick-me-up. Some of them are simple, like imagining myself lounging on a tropical beach with a cold drink in my hand. Others are more complex, involving intricate plotlines and characters that I've created in my mind.

- Oizys.

Curse of Banality - A Poem

I have realised there's a curse laid upon me.
A curse of being banal.
A curse of turning anything I touch banal.
A curse of banality.
It took me a lot to come to my own.
And when I did.
I was disappointed.
But, I was not astonished.
Because the journey itself was also cursed.
A path of unaesthetic and unoriginal struggles.
A fight of idleness and illogic.
A yearn for nothingness and a sudden end.
A race between ignorance and apathy.
A curse of banality inked with prosaic language on my forehead.
Reminds me of a quote I had saved recently,
"...an unbearably tense and disorienting paradox that underscores everyday life in a working-class environment—on the one hand it’s an abrasive and in-your-face world, yet, at the same time, much of it seems extrinsic and is perpetually uninvolving. One is relentlessly overwhelmed and understimulated all at the same time.
~ Claire-Louise Bennett, Checkout 19"

- Oizys.

You, Who Reads Me

People who read me. Who read my diary. I want to share something with you. I am mostly on that side of this situation where I read diaries and letters. I am a huge fan of this genre. I love reading books which are in form of diaries, journals and letters. As you all must have seen from one of my previous entries, I had quoted one such letter.

A question for you all:-

I used to have an account before as well. I have some entries backed up and some other manual diary entries too. Do you want me to upload those old entries here? They are mostly diary excerpts, prose poetry, and a bit too much broken poems.

- Oizys.

Unspeakably Lonely

There are days I feel so much that I want to write. Yet, I can't find the right words. In search of those words, I read. I read other people's feelings. Sometimes, I end up getting distracted from my feelings and some days, I find words so appropriate, so accurate to what I feel.

"I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all." - Anne Sexton. 

- Oizys.

Tucking Myself Under Lies

I come to bed every night knowing everything is messed up and wrong. Yet, I come here because it is my only escape. After an entire day of being exposed to just life and anxiety, I come here to run away. I tuck myself under this heavy blanket to feel the warmth. A blanket made up of fantasy-woven stories and an unrealistically soft world. Lying underneath these layers of pies in the sky, a part of me keeps reassuring the others that we still have a few more hours of warmth until we go out to the cold again. I have built this castle so high in the air with pillars of angelic fables and myths. I sometimes move around out in the cold with my bubble of reverie around me. A very small part of me, aware of this hoax, sad about this lie, whimpers in hopelessness. She knows it is all a fabrication of dreams and yet she also knows except for this wool-gathering quilt, I am nothing but dust.

- Oizys. 

Ricocheting In Between

It's oddly unsettling, this body. It contains an urge to be happy yet an ingrained characteristic to remain sad. I prolong my depressed thoughts while I also try to look for reasons to feel pleasure. When I do find something that could bring me pleasure, I ruin it with my need to be dead inside. It's almost as if the feeling of sadness is the one that is pleasurable to me.

Sylvia Plath was right, "I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between."

I have lost it while bouncing between the two. I have stopped feeling either. I desire nothing anymore. I have absolutely nothing to look forward to. I have lost the shine. I have lost the thunder. Just a worn out ball lying in a corner.

- Oizys.