Strings of Reality

Since the beginning of time, I’ve never understood why people absolutely love music. I used to be the only family member who’d ask papa to skip the songs while watching a movie. My family was different. My dad and sister love songs and would always get mad when I threw a tantrum to skip the god damn song. My mom didn’t really care, she’d either be too busy or too tired to even watch an entire movie.

But, today, here I am, on my bed at 4:25 am, listening to all those old Telugu songs I begged or rather ordered my dad to forward. Here I am, listening to those old Telugu songs whose existence didn’t even have the slightest effect on me. Please note, by “old”, I mean the early 2000s. They aren’t exactly old, but we’ll just stick to calling them that.

It’s been a month since I’ve started finding comfort in these songs. They remind me of my childhood. They remind me of a simpler time; of a time when there was nothing for me to hide from my parents, of a time where I wasn’t scared of the consequences of my actions, of a time when the only thing I had to fight for was the TV remote or the bigger piece of the chocolate, or of the time when the only problem in my life was “If Rohit bought 26 watermelons…”(please tell me that you got that joke, thanks). In short, these songs give me the sense of being in a safe world, my parents designed for me, away from all the vicious atrocities of this world. They make me feel safe, light, happy, and most importantly sane.

Today, however, is different. These songs aren’t able to stop me from crying or rather, just sobbing to not make any noise that might disturb my sister who is fast asleep beside me.  They no longer make me feel the same way. Honestly, nothing at this point makes me feel safe or sane. This heaviness in my heart is bothering me.

Every single thing is bothering me.

Since when? I don’t know.

Why suddenly? I don’t know.

What exactly? I. DON’T. KNOW.

All I know is, I’m getting worse. I feel like I’m lost, on an unknown road, with nothing but a promise that when I reach the end of the road, everything will be okay. But every step I take ahead gives me the pain of a billion arrows stabbing me and this throws me back to where I started with nothing but that promise that “everything will be okay.”

I’m disappointed at how we have successfully managed to complicate every single thing.

I’m disappointed that I can’t talk to my dad and tell him that I love him, even though I want to.

I’m disappointed about not being there for my friend, who thought it was easier to end her life rather than live it.

I’m disappointed in not being able to give my sister the strength and support she needs, simply because I don’t have it in me anymore.

Rape cases, murders, hate crimes, suicides, animal abuse, and deaths, increasing by the very second. I’m disappointed.

People being able to ignore these horrors and live their life normally, bothers me. The damage we’ve done to our surroundings bothers me. Accepting so many inhuman things and treating them as normal, bothers me.

I feel like a murderer, a victim, an accused. I feel responsible. And despite feeling so much, I feel nothing like myself. I want to numb myself to these feelings to just feel better.

I can’t stop feeling, but I want to. I can’t stop crying, but I want to.

I don’t want to accept this, but I have to.

I am in pain. I am not okay.

I need help.