I am convinced that I am going crazy, i.e, losing whatever little is left of mind with each passing day.
I look outside the window-it's raining. The monsoons would always make me happy earlier, but now they just remind me of how big a failure I really am.
Love.
It's always about the love.
The love that my parents never really gave me when I was a child.
The love that I could feel for them.
They love me and I love them now, but it's not the same. The damage has been done.
It's always about the love.
The love that my friends exchanged for jealousy and selfishness as we grew out of playing with dolls.
I can't love them or forgive them anymore. I'm not that big a saint.
It's always about the love.
The love that he promised to shower me with while he raped me. Repeatedly.
The unfulfilled love and the appreciation and the approval that haunts me till date.
The more I run away, the more they catch up with me...it's not about the sex and the drugs and the i-don't-give-a-fuck-attitude...there's more to me than that.
I am not all that strong, I just pretend to be.
Shielding my true-self from others makes me happy and at the same time, it also makes me feel secure. I'm safe from this cruel cruel cruel world when I am in my shell. No one can come close to me-I won't let them.
I hide in my shell so that nobody can neglect me..nobody can betray me...nobody can abuse me. Is that a very wrong thing to do?
