“A man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he’s still left with his hands” — Richard Siken
Writing out my feelings isn’t really a new undertaking for me. I have a Depression journal and a Gratitude journal; to compartmentalize my two Gemini personalities, haha. I treat them both equally, as if they’re my pets. Ones that must be kept in separate rooms of the house or they’ll tear each other apart. Khair, this entry can’t fit into either journal, so I guess it goes here.
My Gratitude journal contains everything artsy and “instagram-aesthetic”. Flowers, grass, ticket stubs, love notes, paintings, song lyrics, quotes and fond memories — you name it. My Depression journal (initially titled by a friend as “Death Note”) is full of illegible handwriting, spontaneous poetry, scribbles, bullet-lists of everything I hate, and tears. Swear words I never use. Things I never say. Feelings I can’t hold inside, or make peace with. But ultimately — my life doesn’t belong in either journal, does it?
Coming back to the topic — every discussion with Ammi ends with “Ayesha, shukar karo”. I agree — I don’t deserve all the wonderful things in my life. My loving friendships, my loving family, my house(s) (where my permanent residence lies is still a mystery), my money, my belongings, and all my blessings.
See what I did there? It was unconscious, because for me — gratitude always comes hand-in-hand with guilt. Shukar karo: because you don’t deserve this. Since when did gratitude take away our miseries? My first time hearing this was from a school therapist (who I never went back to again, lol sorry) who said “you can be unhappy and grateful at the same time”. That was earth-shattering.
Being the “good child” for all my life — ultimately created a resentment that unfolded after my teenage years. I blamed everything on the world. I felt I had no real control over my life — I had been scammed and made to lose out on all my dreams because of circumstances, my conservative upbringing, and the undying love I had for my parents which made it impossible to deny them. The conflict still lies deeply embedded in my soul. And it creeps out more often than I would like it to.
Nevertheless — we’re all victims of the life we live. But we have to eventually make peace with our “unlived life”. Our deepest regrets, our most shameful acts, and strongest unfulfilled desires. I never got that picture-perfect life because that’s exactly what it was — “picture perfect”. I don’t work at a cafe/bookshop in Dublin and ride my bicycle down a cobbled path while my belgian shepherd runs next to me.
I never did learn how to love without losing myself completely. How to lower my expectations. How to not be jealous and irritable. How to not be intimidated by people. How to be “cool” (I cannot STRESS how much my 5th grade diary emphasized this as a lifelong goal of mine). How to uphold my values (and what they are?). How to handle failure(s). How to drive a car. How to not panic while talking. How to not overthink and over-analyze how much I overthink. How to draw boundaries (also how to draw better, in general). How to take care of myself in a way that doesn’t make my mother worry.
Ultimately, I never did learn how to practice gratitude without the accompanied guilt of feeling unhappy, or unworthy of my life. That occasionally — I don’t even want.
There’s no conclusion to this — because there’s no conclusion to life. That was very fake-deep but honestly — I began writing this to distract myself from the memory of the hugeass choonta that bit my toe today. Now that memory has faded a little bit, so I will end this here.
