It’s past 1.30 am and I can’t get myself to fall asleep. I turned my laptop off thrice now, telling myself that if I just bury my face in a pillow and I’ll be snoring before I even realize. But I can’t seem to. Mostly, I think I am dreading the dawn, because I prefer the nights to the days. Not only is it less humid, but also, the lack of traffic noises, chatters and daily struggles the world seems almost serene. Midnights give you the possibility to believe that anything is possible, the ability to believe in yourself, while their voices of judgment are transformed in to snores and their disapproving glares are glued together by eye boogers. As the rest of the world swims in their unconsciousness, there engulfs a sense of freedom from all the ties that bind you down, all the doors that shut you out. The steps you wish to take, but you are too terrified to in the hustling world of the day, you come to believe that it’s possible. Those are the good hours of the devil. There are the bad kinds too. The ones where you can’t get a wink of sleep, because you feel torn apart inside, and utterly deserted. This is one of those nights.
I am terrified of people. I have always been. As much as their happiness delights me, it shuts me down too. My parents have a ridiculously bad marriage, and I could barely muster up half a cup full of moments we shared as a family. Thus, ever since I was a kid when I listen to other people talk about their beautiful family stories and adventures, I am genuinely happy for them, but at the same time, I shut myself out because I don’t have anything to share. Plus would you tell someone who is delighted about how much their grandparents care about the silliest little things, that you never knew any of your grandparents! So I learnt to hoard all my emotions within myself. All the bad things about my life, I never shared. This gave me the stubborn resolution that I am strong enough to handle everything by myself.
But as my horizons stretched out, the circumstances required of me to have some sort of a support system, the chain broke and all the pearls flew astray. I came to realize that I lack the ability to connect with people, to strike up a conversation and keep in touch; a life time of listening to other people and believing that my two cents isn’t worth being heard, I do not feel the necessity to speak — unless I am with just one other person, which made me feel obliged to speak and I don’t care if I make a fool of myself. But the problem is that I feel the need to be connected, now. I have never felt so alone in my life. With a history of friendships with a wall between them, I am not sure I know anybody whom I can talk to. Friends reprimand me for not keeping in touch, but they have not the slightest idea how broken I feel and that is more or less the reason I keep away. I have been told to open up to people, that the ones you least expect would turn up for you. But the stubborn pseudo-strong part of me wants to believe that there is nothing to be fixed, that I can take care of myself. But the other part of me wants to break into tears and scream out an SOS. Save me, I am drowning.
