Wronophobia

There is a word for the fear of being seen as you are and the incessant thinking that you can’t be loved being yourself. They call it wronophobia. I don’t think they should have a word for that because it’s just a fancy way of creating yet other differences, making people more conscious of it. Who are we anyways? I don’t suppose any of us is one person, confined to a certain description of how we are. I used to call my friend a hypocrite back when I was this angry emo girl wanting nothing to do with anyone in the world. I later realized that it’s not that she was being fake, she just had a different approach to different people. However, in our obsession with people and companionship and being liked I sometimes think we lose sight of our own shadow striving to be all that would be ‘acceptable’ and avoiding our own selves, running around, always tired, always short of breath.

IMG_20160702_015708_790I’ve never liked myself too much. I always assume I’m boring and dry and have a repetitive reel going in my head and that no one would want to listen to my crap. I’ve looked around at the chirpy, sassy girls with their comebacks and their sense of humour and always felt as if I lacked something; That I was inadequate. Your immediate outward personality is what draws people to you, very few reach in and understand the person that you are. People come among people to have fun, to laugh. No one wants to spend time breaking down the boring barriers and come to the hyper talkative person that I believe is inside all of us. We’re made up of stories and each one of us is bursting to tell their own. If only, each one of us was willing to listen too.

Growing up, you learn to manipulate yourself, to adjust according to people. Everyone wants to be included and in the process of trying to be likeable we lose sight of ourselves and let the belief that we couldn’t be loved if we weren’t a certain way, simmer, gaining momentum, striving to compensate for being what we’re actually supposed to be. Ourselves. It is a restless thrust forward driven by the applause rather than the cause, trying to curb the insatiable thirst for outside acceptance and admiration, our lives proliferating into delusional ideals of perfection and ‘goals’ with no regard to the thought that each of our journeys is different, our stories unique and amazing in their own kind.

The fear of being unloved and unwanted is too great to overcome and so we try to cut off the parts of us that are flawed, crooked or inconvenient and unknowingly, initiate a  detrimental war against our own selves, battling to oppress the core of what makes us different. In the world that we live in now, self-esteem is like an empty bucket with a leak we desperately keep on scooping worth into, always striving to be a certain way, addicts for the reassurance of someone or the other to counter the self-sabotaging thoughts. The innocent wish to be accepted thus evolves into a disabling fear even when we don’t fully realize it taking its toll on our lives, gripping into us with claws so deep we can’t free ourselves without bleeding.

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I’ve since realized I’m not a perfect porcelain doll. I’m not someone with good comebacks or an amazing sense of humour. I’m complex and edged, full of scars and flaws and cracks but every edge of me is a part of my distinctiveness. They define me and complete me. They make me a whole person and I don’t have to strive for a certain ideal to be something to someone. The self confidence that I can be happy with my own self, peaceful with the voices in my own head gives me more satisfaction than anything I did to be liked did. Reclaiming authenticity is frightening. I feel like I’m meeting someone who had been trapped in a tower for too long and is now learning what the world is through new eyes. Despite all the stumbles of my metaphorical ‘sea legs’ though, I’m glad to meet myself.

Not Depressed.

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I read somewhere recently, “Happiness is an inside job” – It’s true on the most part. Many people simply let happiness flow freely from their minds and envelope them like a warm blanket. I have to believe I have the power to not let sadness predominate my perceptions of the things around me. I have to believe that I have the power to cage the monster, the predator stalking me inside my head like I’m its prey.

Depression is an actual medical condition due to the chemical messengers of the brain and it should be addressed seriously as such. I am not depressed. I spend most of my time being thankful for the life I lead. It’s a mess but it’s my mess and it’s as much a part of me as anything else. Sometimes though, I find myself staring off into space gripping myself trying to keep the random waves of sadness from overtaking me, trying to not let my heart crumple under the sudden onslaught of grief. It’s like this rapidly spreading forest fire threatening to take over trying to set me aflame in my own head, destroying the peace.

It’s the sort of feeling that never gets a name because you can never understand it. It’s faceless and it wants every peaceful part of your mind. It duels with the internal satisfaction and peace that you’ve worked so hard on building up trying to defeat you and swallow you whole to keep you in an abyss of eternal sadness inside your own head.

The geek that I am, it somehow feels like a dementor’s kiss, taken forcefully without warning. It grows more and more sucking the light out of you giving you no chance to run. You try to gather all the strength that you have and reach for the place you keep your memories. Where you keep your reserves of strength and go to replenish yourself when you’re lying bloody on the ground. This is the place you must go and pick the strongest sensation of hope that you can find to fight back. You can’t hide, the place singed by the fire isn’t one where you can stay after slamming the door to the thing stalking you. You go out and you stand up with all the strength that you ever had, lift your head high, take a deep breath and bring out your strongest weapon. And; You smile.

.Bundle of Contradictions.

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It’s like I am giving pieces of myself away to them for safekeeping, a way to keep you sort of thriving. They probably have no idea that without you I am the kind of deficient no medication can fix. I miss myself but finding that girl is like getting sleep to come to you when you’ve been awake for too long such that your eyes won’t close even with the constant burn and desire for them to do so.

I was wondering today why I always end up writing in the same theme and someone told me not to worry and to just write about the weird stuff. I realized that you make as much of me as you did before and the place in my heart I always call empty isn’t so but very much occupied by you. It makes me angry at you though because that makes me feel like the sort of lost there is no compass for. The kind that was faced by sailors of the old when clouds would cover the sky and they would curse for all it was worth for the disappearance of the stars. I believe they still knew more about the world with certainty than I do. What do y9o9u do when life spins you around with a blindfold on and dumps you miles away from what you knew to be familiar and then tells you to get your shit together and go home. What do you do when home was where you were naïve and spent nights on a blanket watching the stars, when home was playing basketball in the heat and the smell of warm French toast, when home was the smell of a  dirty boy pushing you behind him just so that you wouldn’t get into a fight with the bigger kids in the park. What do you do when ‘home’ is taken away. Without you I feel like the sort of homeless that comes when the only home I want has boarded up its windows, changed the locks and its location with no new mailing address to forward my letters to.

I feel so guilty feeling all of this because I really do love life and I am happy, I really am, and more importantly, self assured because I need no one for my happiness but there is this underlying sadness that no amount of tears can drown. The problem with keeping up with the current is, you eventually learn to swim. The teardrops fall, still and in tandem. Each one frightened to make its journey with the burden that it carries and so they plunge into their demise bravely within the eyelids with more grace than I deserve on my cheeks. Sometimes your absence hits like a wave that I haven’t planted my feet against and before I have time to adjust, the level keeps on rising taking back with it everything I had built up. It is now such a constant part of life that I don’t even get shocked at the utter callousness of the ocean, directing its wrath so clearly at me time and again.

I am inventing this as I go, This feeling with each drop of hope that builds up then falls out of me, with each time I feel free only to be caught and shackled again. Its like this repetitive beat reverberating within me, reminding me of my lifetime subscription to the same slideshow again and again. The feeling of the car swerving and the small hands clutching at me, positioning me out of the way within that split second when you took my place. The acute realization that it should have been me. The sounds of the hospital, the machines, the people, your voice promising me that everything will be fine.

It seems like a story sometimes, a twisted scene unfolding in front of me as I watch as an onlooker, laughing at its incredulity. There is silence in that version though, the sort of silence few people on this Earth know about. The kind of silence that has its own sound that hurts so much that you feel your eardrums about to burst. The silence that only comes when the last echo of your own laughter has died and only a memory remains of the voices that used to hum to you and pull you back from the darkest nights and most haunting nightmares.

So many pieces have been shattered off that I don’t think I quite remember the whole picture that it was, I just remember it being beautiful and maybe, that’s why I give some pieces away so that maybe, just maybe, someone might be able to make a picture out of it again. With all the focus on the slow dropping through space and the literal crash that scattered all of them to unimaginable places, I forget though that sometimes only one set of hands know how things were before and I would so much rather be broken than put back together in the wrong order by the wrong hands with the wrong glue but the fact that I have people to give them to, a whole village of people actually, makes me want to believe in all the bright, sunny crap they put on bumper stickers. It’s all true and even with the dark and twisty bundle of contradictions that I am, that’s what I’ll choose to believe in.

 

20 Reasons why Everybody Needs A Her

So that day, I was cursing my best friend (I’m sure it must have been for no reason at all) and a few minutes later simply had to text her because I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to make Nutella brownies or Oreo cheesecake. Then, while making the Nutella oreo brownies she suggested, I saw Winnie the Pooh and got to thinking (random, I know) everyone needs a her to survive life. Cheesiness overload and I’d probably never live it down but here we go..

. She is the one person who has a conversation with you about underwear, life decisions, future and fictional characters at the same time. (and not lose track of any one either)

. She doesn’t get confused at your rapidly changing frequency. From crying one second, to laughing your ass off the next.

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. She could leave in the middle of an intense conversation and you wouldn’t even worry that it was something you said.

.  You absolutely need to talk to at odd times but still don’t come off as needy. Or worry about being clingy (which you are when it comes to her, tbh)

. You can sleep with her without your hormones questioning if you have jumped ship

. She is the one person who will be whatever you need whenever you need.

. She is always incredibly proud of your achievements and is there for you, when you don’t deliver to her expectations which, knowing you, no one knows why she has but she does and would push you for them even while taking up your time herself.

. When you diagnose yourself with numerous disorders and illness, she’d give you the slap to the head you very well deserve then cry about your constipation and how pooping is a blessing (It really is)

. You can stay silent sitting next to her or break out into manical laughter. She won’t question it, she’d just do it along with you.

. Who else can you discuss fiction with for hours and who will treat it as real life. Or that random senior she saw in the dining hall.

. She will send you stuff even when she is mad so that she does not have to rewind later because she knows you guys can’t stay apart for long. Like that meme that perfectly describes the way she farts..

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. She is the one person you can tolerate absolutely anything about that you wouldn’t for anyone else and vice versa.

. You always have someone to text random things to like how that guy from anatomy class wears nice shoes or how you embarrassed yourself infront of people you don’t even know or what you think about winter weddings and how the bride looks at the wedding of your neighbour’s brother’s daughter’s wedding which you attended for the free food.

. She will tell you off, fight with you for yourself and even when you hate it, sometimes its what you need.

. She is the only person you can be jealous about without coming off as a creep thus curbing your creepy side.

. Her opinion on everything is a must-have. From texting her, “I really need you to tell me blah blah blah”, to “should I wear this or not?”. Even if in the end, you don’t listen – the comfort that comes from knowing what she said about is unrivalled.

. She will share your life with you, even parts not to be shared and you wouldn’t even note it because thats how its meant to be in your head. Like how gorgeous does that boy look, his eyes man..

. She’ll listen to all your deep theories that you come up with when you should be studying up on hyperplasia but end up contemplating the existence of the universe.

. She’d listen to our complains and then kick your butt and tell you to actually read up on methods of contraceptions for your exam rather than making poor jokes about it.

. When she is 613 miles away and you want to have an emotional moment like writing an entire blog post about how great it is to have her (even though you both know you spend half the time being irritated) – You can.

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It’s the best feeling in the world to know someone would always be available if you needed a Paul Wesley threesome or go Bungee Jumping or a Care Bear Fest. Whatever, whenever. After all, who else would you call if you accidently murdered someone while trying to get the last oreo/nutella on the shelf. You never know, it could happen anyday (And ohh If YOU’re reading this, the body needs to be hidden. Get on a plane bitch) It’s the weekend and I want to do so many things and I miss youu

 

Scattered thoughts. Incomplete sentences.

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Not bodies. Not people. A bundle of feelings. Memories and Moments. Each light that’s snuffed out leaves a permanent shadow in someone else’s life. Numerous dreams lurking in the dark. Wishes suspended in the sky. Leaving the world darker. Changing things in a way that’s never the same again. A song at an end. The notes fading away. Silence. It’s those left behind that have it the hardest. To come to terms that they would never feel a certain way again. All that’s left being a non-existent future turned to dust. Glossy pictures, Painted smiles, Reminding them of time that shined. A string of I love yous and I’m sorry’s. So much left unsaid. A constant hole, nagging in the chest.The father, the mother, the siblings, not one thinking what if. What if it was the last time? What if the next time we saw the other was in a box of intricate wood with the very flag we fought to wave being the one to wrap it tight. A veil between all that was familiar and what is now and would be. Not one life, but a million others tangled. All along never realizing the beauty of the life that had been theirs. Building life from its foundations, always wanting to change its structure, always vying for what they didn’t have. Building life, to die.

It’s Not Who You Know; It’s Who You Are: Advice From One Woman to Another

Yes, Yes and Yes.

Chocolate Vent

  1. Expect the best – This is what you deserve! It’s easy to hold on to old baggage from a previous relationship. But all of that should be left in the past – right where it belongs. Know that the next person you date will have their own baggage & will expect the best out of you as well.
  2. Don’t chase a man; allow him to chase you – Men are naturally inclined to be the “hunters”. They enjoy chasing so you’re not doing them any favors by taking that away from them. I know some men may say they like an aggressive woman, but at the end of the day if he’s a REAL man, then as the hunter, he should NEVER want to be the hunted.
  3. Let a man know you are not JUST girlfriend material but actual, wife material – A man should be able to tell this…

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“There’s no love like the first.”

Rosemary Rogers said, First romance, first love, is something so special to all of us, both emotionally and physically, that it touches our lives and enriches them forever.

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First loves are as sweet as they are unexpected. They make us vulnerable even while they make us feel as if we are invincible giving us a strength to match the riding high of emotion. It connects with the deepest, most sensual areas of the brain conforming its paradigms to that experience.

Memories of first love are always tumultuous.  Very few experiences in our lives are as intense and overwhelming. They come to us at a time when we are emotional virgins and take us by surprise. There is no warning, no foreword, and no experience to counter the onslaught of emotions that become us. They shape our perspective about the affair and define love for us in a way that stays with us even in the future when we have more hindsight. George Bernard Shaw held that first love is a little foolish and a lot of curiosity. This might be true as in a lot of cases. First loves, by design, usually don’t last. It could be that they mostly happen at times when parental pressure, peer pressure, academic stresses, societal obligations etc. play an important role in our life. Most people, when reunited with their first loves, their couple doesn’t last which proves that most probably it’s the high of the feeling that makes the experience so unforgettable.

Psychologists compare first loves to ‘Imprinting’ which, in Biology is the biological bond made by living beings in a sensitive period of their life. Ducklings for example, start following whatever moving object they see after hatching. They relate this theory of imprinting to humans in such a way, saying that adolescence is that sensitive period for all of us and we imprint to the one who gives us importance and center our entire life around them. This however, is countered by the study that not everyone experiences first love in this period of their life. Also, with the fact that not everyone is strung up on this bond as others. Some people are happy to move on from the feeling, chalking it up as a learning experience. It’s not that these people did not experience the same; just that they let it go. That is where we have the power, the choice to hold on to it and desensitize the experience or to keep the magic inside us forever and let it go. The power to grow magnificent wings; and fly…

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Whatever the case with first loves might be, whether it happens after a string of lovers at the age of thirty or as a virgin at fifteen, they consume you and no matter how much time passes, they stay with you even when you don’t care anymore. You might fall in love again and be very happy about it but there is something about the innocence of discovering the art of living for others for the very first time that marks you deeper than anything else has the power to do so. They take us to a time when the world was spread before us for us to explore and we thought anything was possible. It’s love in its unadulterated form. It might not last forever, it might not withstand the trials of time or be ever growing but in a moment of time, it is our whole world and in that moment, we are infinite.