I
have just woken up. Looking here and there for some time, I sit on my bed with
legs folded and palms wrapping my face. I want to cry, just that I cannot.
Tears have distanced themselves from me. I know, I have been wrong all this
while. I know why he walked away. It was entirely my mistake. I made it
miserable for him. The way I am, I know he deserved more of everything, I know
he has done the right thing. I still feel bad about him not being there with me right
now. This feeling of hollowness doesn’t seem to break me down, I'm just very sad.
I
really loved him, but he chose to walk away. What else could have he done,
anyway?
I still sit, not
knowing what to do. I decide to take a mini tour in my home. I walk through the
corridor, the living room, the kitchen and the study. Reaching the balcony, I
stop. I go into the fresh air, feeling the breeze against my skin. It’s cold. I
rest myself on a chair nearby and keep looking down the balcony. There are many
people, busy in their lives. Not even an ounce of what they feel is visible on
their faces. I’m trying to forget what had happened. Doesn’t look like I’m
succeeding, though. Whenever I close my eyes, the image of his smiling face
flashes across my mind and makes me feel a little more numb than before.
Am
I the only one who feels this hollow and numb?
I see a lady, waiting
for the school bus, with her son. She looks tired, early in the morning. It
isn’t even 8 a.m., the day hasn’t even begun. As the school bus arrives, her son
crawls in and waves a big goodbye with a wide grin on his face, and the lady
does the same, just with a flying kiss, too. After the departure session, she
gets back to her home, invisible in a fraction of seconds. There is a man
selling tea and coffee, too, down there. Seeing him, suddenly, I realize I need
some coffee too. I get up and go into the kitchen, and make a cup of coffee. It
gets a bit more than a cup, so I drink the excess in a rush, burning my tongue.
Why
am I so careless about myself?
I’m wearing an old
green pyjama, with a blue boys T-shirt, three sizes, too big. I don’t even
bother to change into good clothes, or bath. Or even brush. I’m being lazy and
unhygienic, but I don’t give a fuck. I don’t know why, I feel immensely tired,
mentally and physically, too. I take my cup of coffee, and drag myself to the
balcony again, and rest myself on the chair. I sip my coffee and realize that
it’s turned out to be a bit strong than what I actually like. I don’t mind
though. I fold my legs on the chair, trying to get in a comfortable position,
and lean on the grill. I tilt my head on my right hand, closing my eyes for a
nanosecond. I can see my fingernails, painted yellow and pink, and the ring in
the index finger. Mom had said that ring was for good luck, but oh. I feel my
saliva dropping out, and I quickly clean it with my shoulder sleeve. I rub my
face with my palms and sip the coffee again. It’s still hot.
Am
I even normal?
My hairs are a mess. I
had coloured them brown, with a blonde strap highlighted. They looked nice, but
right now, I am a mess. And I don’t even bother to comb them. They keep falling
over my face, because of the early morning cold breezes, but I’m too lazy. I
close my eyes, exhale, and rub my palms over each other. I sip my coffee once
again. My neighbour is going to her college, and she sees me in my balcony. She
shouts, “Bye Shivani Di!” from down, and I just smile at her, not knowing if I
should wave back or scream like she did. I gulp down the coffee; some of it
spills down, and come back to my room. I search for my phone, and dial Amrita’s
number. She’s my best friend.
I
wonder if I should really talk about it to anybody.
“Hi, Shivani. Are you
okay?” She asks.
“I don’t know, can you
come over?”
“I’ll be there in
twenty minutes.”
She hangs up. I sit
there till she arrives. About fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rings. Amrita
has bought pastries, and I grab those from her hands. She takes a spoon to eat,
while I start eating with my hands. She looks at me; I don’t care to explain
myself. The unmade bed, the messed up house, the unhygienic me, the spilled
coffee, and my weirdness, it’s all enough for her to understand what I’m going
through. I’m still eating the pastry and my hands are sticky as some of it
falls over my lap and the floor. I tilt my head and look at her, licking my
lower lip, hairs falling over my face again.
Amrita walks to me and puts her hand over my shoulder. We both know what
she wants to say.
That,
I need to see a psychiatrist.
***
P.s. Part two coming soon. Stay connected. Love.
