I always knew there was something wrong with me.
I just didn’t know what it was. It was there at the back of my head…..nagging…an itch…white noise…that wouldn’t go away. You know…that sinking feeling….except I felt like that most of the time. The times I didn’t I could feel intense rage rushing through every vein of my body. I was angry. And I kept it to myself.
But today I know what it is.
It’s been a few hours since I’ve been awake. I wonder where my parents are, where Anamika is. Where Rita is. I wonder where my friends are…or whatever was left of them anyway…Do they even know?
I know I don’t have much time left. I may have taken two years to repeat a grade, but I was smart enough to know that an overdose of benzodiazepines with a lot of alcohol was enough to fall asleep and never wake up again.
In case I did, the damage to my heart would be so severe, that I wouldn’t have much time awake, before going back to sleep again. And the best part was , it was all peaceful…heck, I even measured the exact percentage required to increase the probability of never waking up.
I was lucky. Most pharmaceutical firms these days manufacture shit that gets pumped out of your bloodstream within a few hours of you swallowing them.
It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. You’re body isn’t programmed to die forcefully. I felt like throwing up after the 15th pill …or somewhere around that mark. I needed tremendous will power to keep it in. And because I’d had so much to drink before I was sure to fall asleep the moment my head hit the pillow anyway. And in any case, if I regurgitated while I was asleep, I’d choke on my own vomit and die anyway.
Just like Hendrix. Except I was a nobody.
The last thing I remember was looking at a calendar of Vivekananda with the words “Whatever you think, that you will be. If you think yourselves weak, weak you will be; if you think yourselves strong, strong you will be” The Irony.
I was a failure alright. At the age of 6 my uncle told me to help him back the car in the driveway. I couldn’t see because of the big bush on the side. He reversed straight into the wall. He said I was useless. After 10 years, most of my family thought so. They never saw meaning in me observing stars through a telescope, and noting down the change in constellations with seasons. They never saw meaning in my painting.
That’s what I was, a useless good for nothing ungrateful wretch of a son.
I was no genius. I was not basketball captain in high school. I never rocked with the band on stage.
I had a girlfriend whom I trusted with my life and loved with all my soul. But she let something as baseless as distance break the bridges that I built with my own hands.
The ones I tried so hard to keep from bending.
But I was only human.
No matter how hard I tried, how many other women I slept with, she never went away. The memories still haunted me. And it drove me crazy. I loved her, and that is why I hated her.
Its now that I realize, that life doesn’t have any meaning. There's no purpose of life. You’re just given one and you try and make something out of it. It’s not about achieving your dreams or any of that bullshit. It’s all about survival. Licking people’s shoes and practicality.
I rather sleep.