The beginning of the end

I've been writing for as long as I can remember. Dear diarys... Dear God,.... To Dear Toya (My imaginary elder brother) I've done it all. I started my journal close to the end of my school years.
I stopped writing in my journal, because the last journal I made (I always personalize my journals, before I use them) was with her sitting next to me, giving me ideas and telling me how pretty it looked. I'd barely used it... and I couldn't continue with it. It was then, that I also wanted to be heard, feel understood.

Now, I just want to understand.

In exactly a month from now, I will be turning 23.
Very symbolic an age, don't you think?
We're kids till 12, Teenaged hormones pumped adolescents till ...18? (Though, that  phase was calm enough for me) Then 18 to 22, where we're given time to wrap up the craziness, get our acts together, practice adulthood a bit - and perfectly termed as 'Young adults', then 23 on, we're no more kids, no more excuses, no more tom foolery. Its the age we take complete responsibility for who we are, what we are, and no more expecting anyone to have our backs. That's where I'm headed. I don't know if I've got it what it takes, but it's D day, no more practice laps.
I ended one of the most important relationships of my life yesterday, something I never thought would ever end. Could ever end. The last word?
"Fine"
That's it. I guess that's all it was ever worth.
This time, I'm letting go. I've learnt the hard way, that the harder I hold on, the faster in leaves my grasp, like sand. The only thing now that I'm holding on to, in my whole life, is my dream of eventually having a career as a counsellor. I hope I never have to let that go. Time will tell.

When I opened my journal, after a long time today, I found him there. Far away, long ago distant memories, when it wasn't like how it was till yesterday. It didn't hurt me. I didn't want to cry.

In a month, this is not going to be my recluse anymore. This was, like many other things, an essential thing that got me through the most defining phase of my life. The part of my life, where I encountered various factors which made me or broke me. When they made me, I rejoiced here, when the broke me, I came here to gather the remaining shards. This place was sacred. One place I could completely trust to come back to. This is the place I was imaginative realist.
She was young and spirited, I wanted her to be like Anne, talk a mile a minute, gather life with her arms wide open, that part of me, I like to believe still is there somewhere, and will come to the surface one day. But for now, I don't feel imaginative, I feel like I've boxed her up, put her up in the attic to take out when the time is right.
All I can see, all around me is cold hard boring life, with  no room for imagination. Calculative, speculative, scary, adult life. There were times when I needed to go to a quite place to feel grounded again, because my mind would just not stop wandering and flying to everywhere possible and impossible, but now, I feel like a dry rooted person who just stares bleakly ahead at the life that has been thrust into her hands, with a hard voice that's saying "deal with it". Not a challenge, which imaginative realist would have loved, but a command,  which who ever I have become now, has learnt to take, with fewer and fewer protests. I have become a zombie. I have literally put my life on hold, till I can find a way to get out of this pit. A pit, which I can climb out one step at a time, in for the next 3... if I'm lucky 2 years.

I know... I like to believe, that eventually, one day, I will be someone I like, and love again. Right now, I hate myself. Almost. For letting them do this to me. Management was the WORST decision of my life. But I will pay the price. Deal with the person I've been forced to become. Deal with the resentment. And wait for the day I can hope again.
But this, is not the place for it. This was a beautiful place, which, when I leave, I wish I leave it with hope of a better tomorrow, if not next year.

There are no red fields with perfect temperature any more. There are green fields, which are drying out to a brown, and scorching fire, all the water I drink doesn't quench my thirst and the burn in my eyes just wont go.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Desperation

Birthday Series: 9 to go : Lighting the lamp, blowing the candle!

A hand in hers