Maya

 Usually I write stuff because I find it therapeutic. Today, too, is no different. I must admit that I am quite distressed about many matters at hand, and swatting away at mosquitoes sucking my blood, on the top floor of my hostel is the least of my worries.

My mind is very tumultuous right now. For reasons which I cannot fathom, I am afraid. I fear something, and I do not know what. I need to find my footing and stop being afraid all the time, and to be honest, I do not know whether I am becoming mad, but I really do feel like I am losing it.

I will not beat around the bush. The thing that troubles me is this- I am scared, and I do not know why.

I possess an unattractive habit of shamelessly asking for help, and to be honest, see this article as one such imploration. I do not understand why I feel this way, and it greatly troubles me to see myself spiraling into the shriek of numbness. There is literally no other way to explain all these things happening within me.

I feel a sense of urgency. I am scared and afraid of the unknown, I do not know what of. As of recent, I have been having dreams wherein my feet are free to move, but my wrists are handcuffed. In another such nightmare, my hands are free but my leg is stuck in some sort of sticky quicksand. Worst of all, I happened to see one today, wherein my mouth is sewn together and people do not recognize me.

I feel limited.

Being the avid reader that I am, I tried to decipher my dreams the classical way- by reading of the reason behind it. Sigmund Freud definitely did not help me find a solution to this, so I turned to google, and frankly, I felt like I got a little more than I bargained for.

My mind feels all over the place- so disturbed that I feel like I will probably erase this article after I finish writing it. I do not trust my body to follow the actions of my mind anymore, nor do I trust my mind to direct my body. I feel lost, hollow and so utterly useless; like I am rusting away.

I find solace in the slight possibility of being next to my time of the month- Then again, that is not a very pretty topic to address about in your blog. Nor do I feel happy about the fact that I am just wasting away. I feel like even though I am no Einstein, my brain is at maximum potential energy but the Kinetic energy is zero. Maybe what I need is an unbalanced external force?

It is like I have to push myself to get off my bed every single morning. I was not that kind of person. I loved to start a new day. Now, to be honest, I am tired and scared of daydreaming about every miniscule thing that can go wrong. I am scared of overdoing or underdoing everything and anything. I feel vulnerable and panic. I wish I could feel pain, but I only feel numbness. Whenever I do not feel numb, I feel scared. 

I also feel tired. Physically and mentally. Perhaps I should consult a shrink? 

Maybe I am just panicking. Or maybe I hit rock bottom. I feel so insecure and weird. And numb.

Please help.

.

Later that day she fell asleep on a laptop. She did not feel like she had enough energy to address the sparking unicorn in the kitchen. Hot chocolate was not the answer, but it was better than cold coffee any day. Maya felt like days had gone by too fast, and yet they felt so slow that she could swear remembering herself wishing that she could fast forward time. Maybe it was a matter of perspective. Of maybe she was just letting her creative juices flow?

Stress was a buildup. Kind of like Yama. Sleep is also like death, but a short one. Death is longer, and er- more permanent.

What if the people around her die?

I guess she would feel the same way? She hated it whenever her inner self asked her this question. It felt like a challenge- like it was asking her to take the bait, to go paranoid. She felt cheated. By everyone and everything. Yet she knew that if anyone was to blame, it was her. 

Her decisions had been wrong. Always had been, Always will be. Maybe it is not too late to change them? Or what if she keeps changing them and losing her credibility?

What if someone realizes that her mind is not so sound as it used to be once? Oh the horror! Talking to herself? Unbearable! See a shrink! Why don't you retire? Take a rest maybe? And make it permanent while you are at it.

No. It would be metaphorical suicide. She would rather lock all her doors and windows and drink tang all day long, thinking it was cheap whiskey. Liquor is the best way to drown your tears- or so they say. Maybe that is why fish don't cry? because they are already in water?

(Sorry, I missed a few threads of thought there but you will catch up, reader.)

She just goes on and on as if she expects the rest of the world to understand what she is saying. It is more of a command, though. Natasha was bossy for a mere voice in her head. It felt weirder to have named her. One fine day, though, she stopped talking, and I thought that the silence would be the death of me. I cannot handle it- the silence. Anything else is better. Please, talk to me. Don't close up. It is too quiet, I said. In vain. I had to wait two days for a reply, and she warned me never to tell her to shut up, and I never did. I was too scared of the silence.

I bet you didn't understand anything. To be honest, neither did I.