There was this time in my life, the beginning at this very
year when I made a new year resolution. A
resolution which actually came true for the first time in the twenty years of
my existence. It was a horrible time. I was in a horrible space. I was, somewhere and I did
not know where that was. Was it the transitional phase of my life or was it the
mere end of it was the question that remained unanswered until now. And I did receive
the answer some time back, but I did not know that I did, until two evenly odd
hours back.
I was sitting there in the chair getting my hair washed when
the answer to my question just popped up on the screen in my mind. I smiled a
little because I had finally found a way to put it into words, exactly
something what I am doing now, but outside the parameters of my mind, of
course.
I remember the beginning of this year. It was horrible. I started
out my year on the note of massively crying and drinking. It was then when I
said to myself that the first half of this year, I will do nothing but drink,
write and paint. I will go out. I will show my weak side to everybody around
me. I will not care. I will get wasted. I
will do things I never imagined myself to do. I will meet new people, get hurt
and get over that hurt, again and again. That was my plan. I did not think that
I would have been able to stick with it as none of my plans had ever worked
out. Except this one.
I do not know how to express this gigantic metamorphosis I have
gone through in these past eleven months. There have been days where I would
just wail out in my empty apartment listening to the sounds of the ‘L’ right
outside my window and watching the sparks come out because of the friction
caused between the track and the train. The same spark that me and my ex, the apparent
‘love of my life’ had lost. And seeing inanimate things create such a spark, a
spark which can be turned into a flame just burned me up from the inside even
more. How could we lose it, I thought, again and again until I would just
collapse in my bed. The company of the stains my tears caused on my bed became
so friendly, that at one point, I felt like I was a stain like them as well. Not
in my life, but in my ex’s. And I was nothing but wrong to think that way.
He was not the same
person he made himself believe he was.
There was nothing but pure pain in realizing that fact. Not only
for me, but for the both of us. The only difference was, that I could not live
with a person like that and so I left. And to do the same, it took every little
part of my aching soul. Multiple times, I just wanted to run away and never
want to be able to look at him again. Just run to the arms of my best friends
and cry for hours at a stretch. Be so weak that I would actually come to
understand how strong I had been through all this while. Multiple times. But I did
none of that. I stayed for as long as I could. If I stayed any longer, I could
have been dead, quite easily. It’s entirely possible.
I met some wonderful people in that city. People who helped
me up. People who talked to me. People who told me I was not wrong. That is
what you really need sometimes, you know. Somebody who is a mutual friend to
tell you that you are not going crazy. That you are going through a tough time.
That you are going to be okay. But just not right now. That was the kind of
reassurance I needed. And that was the kind of reassurance I got. Now I’m not
saying that I was fine right after they talked to me. No. I was not. I was a
wreck until this August. But yes, I am saying, if they were not there, I would never
be okay. Or maybe I would have been. You just simply cannot know. Time, is a
funny thing when you need it to be serious.
Now yes, whatever happened between him and I was both our
faults. I was too young, dependent on my parents. I did not have a life of my
own, to say. You cannot just be mature mentally and have nothing to do as a
profession and expect your bills to be paid by your parents all the time. It
hurt me realizing all these things later on. But it’s happened, man. What I mean
to tell you is that, shit was bad, yes, but it made me appreciate the good even
more. All of this happened so fast but all of whatever happened has left a dent
within me somewhere. And that dent will always be there. But dents are proof
that you have hit the roof, but you still survived. And survive I did.
This is not a rant
about him.
This is far from a rant. It is about my own self. It is what
I just realized today and it is a beautiful feeling. I just wanted to share it
with all of you. I believe that you never know when something can get
registered into a person’s brain. So I just pour it all out. You might have
felt this way in your life to. I just want you to revisit that place and remember
that moment when you got the answer to the question that had been lurking
inside of you since a long time. I want you to feel that feeling. And I want
you to feel that it was at that moment you were truly somebody who had made it
through. All of those who have healed their broken hearts have had that moment
in your life. All those who still have broken hearts, well, you will have that moment
in your life. You never know when it might come. For me it came when I was
getting my hair washed at the salon. Never underestimate any event, ever.
I remember the last time I looked at my apartment on 182 W
Lake Street, Chicago. It was snowing softly. I had his hand in mine and I just
smiled because I had finally figured out what the meaning of home was. It was
not him, but me. It had always been me.
