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Silent Storms


Charushila Bhaswati


Dear me,

There seems no way out of this. Would I ever feel alive again? Right now the only thing connecting me to the reality of my existence is the pages I’m writing in.

As I write, feeling defeated by my own self, I glance at the picture on the wall beside me. I cannot recognise myself here. I cannot recognise that familiar smile. Though the same person, yet it’s like she has wandered off to some faraway land. Only her vessel is left behind, as a showpiece. A showpiece is what I feel like sometimes now. It would be still okay if I was only disappointing myself. But I’m disappointing my whole family. I look into my parents’ eyes and I see regret, even though they try hard not to disclose. It’s the curse of being an overthinker. Because I notice how their ways with me have changed and how much worried they are by the constant lines on their forehead. Also, every little detail shows me that I could not become the perfect daughter they had dreamt of. My heart breaks for them, but I cannot look into their eyes and express this insufferable pain to them. I cannot make them understand what I’ve been feeling inside and how hard it is. 

What would I say to them? That I can no longer function like a normal human being? I can’t possibly measure and show them the data just how much effort I have to put to keep myself out of my misery for even a day. I know how it’ll end if I try to explain. I will just try to find the words and when I won’t, I’ll just break down in tears. Then I’ll just shut myself in my room again for as long as I can. It’ll go on like it always does. I’ll lie in my bed like a breathing corpse, with a background music of the white noise of the whirring fan. At least, it blocks the fearful thoughts in my head. I cannot remember the last time I thought of something hopeful. Life seems only dark now. What does the future bring for me? Do I even have a future when things will be different and I would be happy without any insecurity playing hide and seek with me? 

I hardly feel like doing anything now. Remember how much I loved to dance? I would dance for hours when my parents weren’t home. Until one day, my mother caught me dancing and she gave me a beating. It wasn’t the slaps that hurt me that day. It was the way my mother looked at me, as if I were doing something explicitly wrong. It made me feel so impure and ashamed of myself that I couldn’t dance again. How many times has my esteem been broken in my life? No wonder I’ve been left with no control over my soul. My vision becomes blurry as tears find their way through my eyes. The pages of this diary have endured many scattered tears over the years. I never wipe them away as these are the only marks my soul will leave in this world. Now I can barely keep my eyes open, my eyes where these dark circles have placed themselves quite permanently. I guess it’s the only thing that has willingly chosen to stay with me. 

I am very drowsy right at this moment but when I try to sleep at night, I can hardly keep my eyes closed. Whenever I do, I see a dark shadow nearing me. Initially, it’s small but it gets bigger and bigger, until it engulfs my whole body and I can’t breathe anymore. The suffocation feels so real that I feel like dying. Then I sit up gasping for air, all soaked in my sweat. This is how my nights end. Dreams are not like they used to be in my childhood. Now they come wearing the cloak of nightmares, only when I’m awake fighting a battle with my thoughts. I see things that make me feel afraid and lonely. They poison me slowly and over time, I am becoming the death I fear. 

Sometimes I can’t even trust my own eyes, my own ears, and my own heart. The truth and the lie have taken the same appearance and I don’t have the strength to decipher them anymore. When will this trial end? Who will listen to my silent screams? Will they understand?

 

My hand starts trembling again. I put my pen down and look around myself and I notice how this room is just like me, adrift and cold without any hint of life.

 


Charushila loves to read fiction and lives in her world of dreams. She is mostly sweet, but please don’t wake her up.

 

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