“Oh you thought that the universe carries some sort of justice system? How very smart of you! No one gives a shit! “

And with these profound words chiming in her mind, she continued the conversation with herself. Sometimes that was what she needed the most; a good shakedown from her worst critique- herself.

She had once named her alter ego- Elizabeth. The name was not thought out properly. It was the first thing that came to her mind, because of course Pride and Prejudice is the way to go if you are choosing names. She had abandoned that name a long time ago, but the memories stuck. The time spent with Lizzy was worthwhile. She had learnt to believe in herself that way. That was how she had talked herself out of many situations. That is still how she manages to calm herself.

She wonders sometimes how her alter ego is so wise when her real self has the biggest foot-in-mouth syndrome. Then she thinks about something else. Lizzy does not have the answer to everything. Although, she does have some witty quips.

So, yeah, the conversation. This time it was about how people get what they don’t deserve.

A bit old, don’t you think? People get what they get. They don’t get what they deserve.

Yeah well, she remembered the line. It had seemed so practical that it had hit her like a cold wind in june. Doesn’t mean it’s fair, is it?

Yes like everything is, isn’t it? The world is messed up. Deal with it.

Profound! Did you just come up with it?

And she went back to looking for things to do while at the back of her mind, a little her was pounding the hell out of a dude named justice.

She could never forget herself, but she knew what it was like to be forgotten. She could see it, feel it in her bones. Missed messages, calls unanswered. And then slowly making you feel like you are fading away from their memories and present moments. They don’t remember you when they see something you would like. They don’t laugh about happy memories anymore. You just cease to exist in their daily humdrum of routine-ness.

Even the expected can cause that sense of sadness that no matter how fleeting burns through your conscious. She nursed the burn with the wet coldness of trying-not-to-think-about-it. The paradox laughed, rolling on the floor. 

Don’t bring anyone else down with you. That’s what goes through the mind of an anxiety prone depressed individual, who is striving to care. Striving to belong. Striving to understand the notions of companionship, friendship, social conduct and other things that seem vague and caricature-ish to her.

She woke up with her mind full of the things she had seen all through the night; believing it; despising it; yet so unable to get out of it. Everything she loved and believed in had been so grossly butchered. Dogs dead. Perverted family members. People with ulterior motives that have their own ulterior motives. The story had been  graphic and she was trapped as a part of it; sometimes even venturing to make things right only to see that she had been plunked back to square one.

When she woke up, she looked around her to realise that it had all been a dream. Then it struck her. She had forgotten her medicines. Those tiny little round things that control how her mind would work. The headache was unbelievable.  It was hard for her to concentrate, to balance herself on the steady ground. Yet she woke up. She had to pretend to be a “normal” human being and go to work. No one would give a flying fuck about her nightmares or herself loathing or her inability to be all the things she wanted so bad.

So she got up. Steadied herself. Walked. Walked all the way to office, where people are sane, they are “normal”. Her head spinning, and aching and throbbing, she tried to concentrate. The overwhelming sense of her life being controlled by everything else but her took over. She shook it off and continued to try to be interested in what was going on around her.

She had come to the hard realisation, she would never fit in. Then she asked herself, did she want to? The bipolar answer she got enraged her. So headphones on, she started writing it all down. Seemed like the keys would do her justice. If it6 was out there it would make sense. What does the written word hold? A power to make thoughts permanent. Once it is out there it would make sense to someone else. Maybe.