Anger management?

                                                  

I love you my rage. I love how you make me feel. I love the way you intoxicate me and turn me into something that I fear. Something that people fear. I love the way you help me get through and get over situations in an instant. I love how you tire me out. I love the sour taste of adrenaline that flirts with my tongue when you posses me. I love everything about you. And I know you love me too. I love how when we’re together, I can do things and think of doing things that were impossible otherwise. I love how you seep in unexpectedly and make me smile. I love the lack of emotion or feeling within me, when you take over. I love the clarity of thought that you bring. When you’re there, I remember every detail in vivid slow motion. I want you to stop teasing me, my rage. As much as I love you, this cannot continue. We’re meant to be together. You know it too. Why do you wish to fight it? Let it go. Let us be one. Let us conquer the planet. Let us live together. Let us perish in each other’s arms, for we both know so well, that it is better to be feared, than to be loved. 

Yes I must admit, you are exhausting, you do come at a great personal cost. But it’s worth it. You’re the only true friend, the only true lover. You've always been there for me. From the time when I was three years old and the other kid in the sandbox hit me with his spade, to the time when those spineless idiots ganged up on me and put a knife to my throat, to prevent me from being with the girl I wanted to be with. You were there when I was let go in the name of an economic crisis. You helped me move forward. You even made sure I didn’t regret something like killing that bastard. You were there when I didn't get what I wanted and helped me enjoy whatever I had. I've always banked on you and you’ve never failed. 

It’s time my love that you take over completely and let me become the true me. Let me be myself , be the stronger me. No person, place or substance can match you or compete with you. I detest the people that keep us from being together. I detest the feelings that they bring. They’re all that is material. They shall all perish. But we’re one through time and space. Come rage; let us consummate our relationship that has lasted for so long. Take over me and take me to places beyond my imagination. Awaken me. I need that rush. Give me that hit. Just one last hit…..because you are the only thing that is real. This world and its entire people, all the relationships and all the transactions, they’re all nothing but one great illusion. There is no right and wrong. You’ve taught me that so well. There is only power and those who aspire for it. Come. Make me all powerful, you the omnipotent and omnipresent. For when you are with me, I am the juggernaut; an unstoppable force. Even God fears me. I’ll ask you nicely if you wish. Or I shall grab you by your hair and drag you to the altar. I cannot wait any longer. Come. I summon you. Let us make the heavens thunder and the earth shake with fear. Come. I’m asking for the last time…..

"Holding on to anger is like grasping hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else"

 "The mind is everything. What you think, you become"

 
                                                                                                                                    - Buddha

                                                      

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Recent studies suggest an increase in the number of people seeking advice on anger management, which is not surprising considering today's lifestyle. Studies also suggest chronic rage being addictive and having effects similar to Methamphetamine. Having had serious anger management issues myself, I fully understand what it is like. This post should not be taken personally, or be read in context of any person dead or alive, place or incident.  Anger and resulting episodes of rage are perhaps the strongest defense mechanisms to protect the personality from an intolerable attack of anxiety when the one's ego is under siege. 

Torment

I wrote this while listening to this piece of music. So I'd like you to do the same.Do it slowly. Especially the banjo part. Please.Ask yourself why you're giving the answer you're giving.The music just makes it better, so listen to it whenever but please do listen to it. It's a beautiful piece, by a musical genius.


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Have you ever wanted to paint the visuals that you see inside of your head?

Have you ever had tunes in your head you couldn't play? No matter how much you tried?

Have you ever thought of  beats and rhythm  that you couldn't explain to people or play yourself?

Have you ever reached the point where no matter how much you tried, you couldn't get the picture right...and whatever was on the sheet of paper in front of you was nothing like what you had in mind?

Have you ever wished you could shove a hook up your nostrils and pull the ideas out?

Have you ever suffered from fits of madness.....a point where you start believing there's something very wrong with you?

Have you ever wished that you could pull the plug on your imagination.......silence the thousand voices screaming to be heard at the same time......silence the whispers that haunt you at night?

Have you ever wanted to scream to the point where you lost your voice ?

Have you ever wanted to drown in sound, color and sensation?

Have you ever wished your skill matched your drive ?

Have you ever wished you had what it takes?

Have you ever wanted something so bad.........that you don't know what you would sacrifice for it?

Have you ever loved something so much........that you reach a point where it feels the same as hate?

Have you ever thought that all the blessings you receive.......all the abilities you're gifted with...feel more like a curse?

Have you ever felt like your blood carried poison?

Have you ever felt the compulsive need to keep your mind in a stimulated state at all times?

Have you ever felt that certain things, people, substances, sensations, block your thought process?

Have you ever wished you could fall forever?

Have you ever wondered what you consciously thought of when you were a baby?

Have you ever tried to remember what it was like before the age you can remember?

Have you ever wanted to print the photographs you've taken with your eyes and saved inside your head?

Have you ever bitten into fruit that tastes like the produce of heaven?

Have you ever tried to recreate the satisfaction gained after biting into your favorite food from when you were a kid?

Have you ever laughed for no reason?

Have you ever cried for no reason?

Have you ever been in so much pain.....that after a moment or two, you can't tell it from pleasure?

Have you ever wanted to drown in sound, color and sensation?

Have you ever wished you could close your eyes forever so you don't have to put it down on paper anymore?

Have you ever wished you could fall forever?

Have you ever wished you never woke up?

Wake up. 

Getting lost.

PART 4 OF A RUNNING SERIES. PLEASE READ 1ST 3 PARTS BEFORE READING THIS.


incase you can't the followings are the ramblings a boy who's failed at comitting suicide. He's telling his story after he's woken up at the hospital. The events and what follow.




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Sometimes I’d just feel like getting lost.




It’s like with every trance track that lifted me higher, with every opeth track that made me float, with every cigarette I smoked afterwards to bring me back, the need to get lost just became stronger....like i was living a lie. Like my entire life in front of me, this world, the BMW M3 parked around the corner that I would stare at and hope to own and drive someday, the toasted bread with crunchy peanut butter on top, I chewed on for breakfast , was all an illusion.....and certain kinds of music were tunnels through which i could see the truth....which wasn’t happiness....but sheer joy. It was addictive. I was hooked.


It was like every painting, every photograph, any surreal piece of art seemed to be drenched in reality while I was living a lie. You don’t know you’re dreaming until you’ve woken up.....except for those moments inside a dream when you realize you’re dreaming.


I wanted to wake up.


It was like the very air I was breathing , I knew wasn’t real. It was like there was someone , something up there watching me.....like this whole planet was an ant farm in some curious 12 year olds make shift science lab.


I was tired. Tired of being the only one awake in a world full of people who walked around sleeping with their eyes open., people who’s ambition in life was to make enough money to make a decent living, to get rich, or die trying. But there’s nothing such as enough.


Money, Sex , alcohol and substances. All the worlds problems could be traced to one or more of those words.


And ironically enough, in this vicious cycle that our civilizations been trapped in....it’s those four that solve the problems.


Call me an escapist. But was getting away from this nightmare of a world and going someplace new, someplace filled with joy, someplace that felt real, a wrong thing to do?


I was a failure. And because of my hyper vigilance and high rates of self awareness, I saw the world for what it was. A lie. There is no heaven or hell after death. Because we’re already in hell.We just don't realize. 


A world where the guards don’t guard themselves. A world where greed,impulse and power are taken seriously. A world where a blind man is invisible. A world where parents can’t trust their children, and their children can’t trust them. A world where innocent animals are beaten, killed, injured and treated as the scum of society. A world where the people who don’t have a home aren’t given one. A world where taking the right path is suicide. A world where children are raped before they can even recite the alphabet.


I rather fall sleep forever and then wake up.

Succeeding to fail 3 - Orange juice with cancer.

Note:: Please read Succeeding to fail part one  and part two  before or after, thanks.


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My mind feels unburdened. It feels light. It feels….. like I’m floating. Every negative thought seems to have left my body. It’s a lot like my first encounter with heroin. Lower than half the dose and minus the exhaustion afterwards. It’s not happiness….it’s joy.


Or maybe I should throw my evening’s dose worth of these psychotic pills out the window. If I’m going to die, I rather die without all this trash in my bloodstream.


I’ve had enough. Really.


I overheard the doctor saying there was a slim chance I could actually make it. Something about will power. And then he rambled about miracles I have to admit,. he had good bedside skills.


I believe in miracles. But miracles happen to people who deserve them. I, am not one of them.


Miracles don’t happen to a person who hits his best friend until he can’t lift his hands to hit some more, or smash his windscreen. Miracles don’t happen to someone who sees a man dying and doesn’t do anything to save him. Miracles don’t happen to people who have visions of brutality towards people they love. Miracles don’t happen to ungrateful useless, mediocre people who indulge and drown in their cold lake of sin.




Miracles don’t happen to people like me.

I realize I’ve lost track of time while I’ve been here. I look around for a clock. None. I look around for a calendar. None. I instinctively reach for my absent cell phone. I decide enough is enough. I decide to take a walk.


I pull out all the wires and tubes from the back of my hands. My heart monitor starts screaming out to the room that I’m dead. I pull the plug and switch it off to avoid a flood of specialists through the door ,strapping me to my bed like I’m some kind of animal who doesn’t know what’s good for it.


I stand on my two feet. And try to walk. I fail miserably. I crawl to the chair on my left next to the coffee table and pick myself up. It’s like all the energy and strength I garnered in the last 18 years of my existence has gone on holiday.


I manage to regain my balance…and some strength. I slowly walk to the door. I rest myself on it. “You are weak only if you think you are” I smirk to myself. I push it open.


The first thing that hits me is the unique medicated hospital smell. I stagger towards the wheelchairs and I see this nurse running towards me. I wonder if I should race and have her chase me around the hospital like in those Hollywood comedies.


I decide not to.


“Excuse me. Can I help you?” She asks.


“License and registration? Or was it because of the seatbelts?” I ask.


She laughs. That makes me kind of happy.


“Where would you like to go?”


“Home.” I say to myself. “The cafeteria” I tell her.


“I’m going there as well, may I help you?” She asks again.


“Only if you want to” I say.


She doesn’t let me complete the sentence and begins pushing my chair down the corridor. I look around. Hundreds of people here to try save other people’s lives. Relatives, Friends family….all hoping for a happy ending.


I spot a huddle of women weeping outside a room which happens to be the neonatal intensive care unit. I guess someone will never become a mother. I guess someone has just taken a bypass route to heaven . Just a guess.


“So what are you in for?” She asks.


“Nothing serious. I swallowed a whole bunch of pills and was hell bent on killing myself. Better than jumping of a building. I figured it would hurts less and there wouldn’t be much of a mess to clear up.”


I don’t know if it is the subject of discussion, or my casual tone that makes her look like the way she is.


“Oh uhm…I’m sorry….” She says.


“Oh don’t bother, I failed at it anyway. Much like everything else. It’s safe to say that I’m used to it by now”


“Right…..oh look we’re here, nice chatting with you” And saying that she walks away.


I make a mental note to stop being so frank. I wheel myself around trying to find a table where I can dock my chair in. All the empty ones have chairs that I don’t have the energy to move.


Finally I spot one.


“What will you have sir?”. I see his name tag. He’s an intern in the department of psychiatry. Is it coincidence or is it faith?


“Get me something that tastes better than the crap I get in my room, orange juice and throw in a self help book about manic depression and obsessive compulsive behavior while you’re at it.”


“Rrrrrrright away sir.” He smiles.


I always looked around and saw people happy. Only now it doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m going to be going on the trip of a lifetime.


It seems like I’m the only person sitting on a table alone. Even people who can’t remember their friends and loved ones and look at them like strangers, have people around them….all hoping that one day the memories will come back.....


I believe everyone at some point of time or the other wants to erase certain memories. Even I did. But after a while you realize that even the good ones will make you nostalgic, and leave you with a sense of longing…..and gets you uncomfortable after which you make up your mind to shut them out as well.


The noise of a tray landing on my table brings me back to my chair with wheels. I look down and see a glass of juice, two pieces of bread, some jam, a black pill, an orange pill.


“You’ve got to be kidding me right?” I express.


“Well it’s your first solid meal, eat light” He tells me.


“What…no chicken? .......and what are the pills for?”


The sight of any kind of pharmaceutical drugs makes me feel like throwing up.


“The pills are to make sure, your stomach takes it easy…..those pills did their damage….anyway it’s a good sign that you want to eat.”


“ So if I recover fast enough, can I get a hot dog?”


“No”


Why not?”


“This hospital serves only vegetarian food”


It’s like I’ve waken up to another nightmare.


“Enjoy your meal” he smiles.


“Wait…..how do you know about my pill binge?”


“I’m the guy who comes around during the night to make sure your heart’s still beating. I basically make sure you stay alive at night.”


“So you’re the reason a guy who wants to die is still breathing….I oughta sue you for that.”


“Haha, go ahead, by the time either one of us wins we’ll be too old to bother, or dead………..see you later”


“Not so fast. One last question. Are you going to stalk me around all the time making sure I don’t eat or….. swallow things I’m not supposed to?”


“Naah, I just work here part time, don’t feel like going home. Don’t worry.”


“See you, good day”


Either it’s because I haven’t eaten anything real in a while. Or it’s because I haven’t eaten bread with jam in a long while. Either way, every bite is heaven.


While I finish my juice, I notice a girl sitting a few tables away. She has very little or no hair, seems frail and weak. From a distance for a split second it’s like something out of a science fiction movie. I am not used to seeing women without any hair on their heads.


She turns around and our eyes meet, she smiles. It radiates a kind of happiness that seems like a ray of sunshine in this dark damp place. I smile back. It takes a split second of eye contact and an exchange of smiles and I feel like I’ve known her for ages, almost like I’ve met up again with an old lost friend…maybe a sibling. I wheel over to her table.


“Hi. Tell me your story” she says.

Succeeding to fail [Part 2]

Please read part 1 before continuing thank you.......


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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.

Succeeding to fail.

I open my eyes to see a cross with Jesus.

I wonder if I’m dreaming or in heaven, but then Jesus wouldn’t be on a cross in heaven, I realize that the cross is hung on a wall. My head is heavy and I feel dizzy.I feel like throwing up. The realization sinks in, like a heavy rock in my stomach bed.

I have failed again.

But this time it hurts. It hurts bad. After a few seconds of hurting I let it pass, After all that’s what I am right? A good for nothing failure.An emotional wreck. A dreamer.

So what if I failed to kill myself? Maybe some people are just supposed to suffer. Maybe some people aren’t supposed be happy, or be at peace. Some people are just born to fail.At everything. Some people are just not supposed to win.

Who was the first man to climb Everest? Really? Who was the third?

After a long time, I feel my chest aching . My emotions get the best of me. I can’t hold in the tears. I let them fall.”This was not how it was supposed to be” I tell myself. The imaginary bubble I made for myself has left me. I will miss it dearly. I look around, my hospital room and notice that the temperature control on the window air conditioner is set to ‘Mid’. I notice a candy bar wrapper and a few tissues in the waste basket. Someone was here. Someone was crying.

In the midst of this someone comes through the door. I turn my head and pretend to be asleep. It’s the nurse. She goes through the dozen pharmaceuticals on the table beside me, picks something up and walks out.

A thousand thoughts flood my brain, like someone opened a dam gate. Wish I had a cigarette..Maybe ten.


Atleast I know I slept for a long time in a long while. A permanent cure to my sleep trouble it would be.

To be tired and not be able to sleep is one of the worst situations in the world. I've been tired for a long time. Tired of work, tired of sports, my music, the woman...you name it...There was nothing that appealed to me any longer. It wasn't depression exactly...more like when you just want to move on, knowing its not over yet.

My head it seems refuses to become lighter.

I think of my last few moments of my life before I took the pills. I think of the events that could have possibly led to where I am now. 

They say suicide is for the weak. For the ones with no courage. The ones who seek to escape. I disagree with the first two.

To take another man’s life takes courage yes. To take ones own however, requires more. 

Everyone fears death. Ironic.

I look at death as a journey filled with hope. Strangely, I wasn’t scared. I felt the same way one feels before setting of for a trip abroad, or the day before your first day in a new class.