Tag: Life

A Painful Addiction

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Like so many things I’ve talked about here before, this, too, is a secret well-kept. One I’ve often wondered if others have been through.
Doesn’t every addiction have company?

We were texting and it was a fight like all else. There was shouting. There were rude things. I told myself I’m going to block him. Then came the text I’d dreaded, right below his name – Typing…

Do you know that hammering in your heart when you’re saying goodbye? The one where you know it’s for the better while you wish something had been different all along? That’s how I felt. I stared at that word.

I knew in my heart I had to walk away. Block him now and never have this conversation again. But I stalled. I heard my mind tell me, “He’s going to type something hurtful. This will not be kind to your soul. He is angry beyond comprehension. Being nice isn’t what he wants right now. Walk away. You will break down over the words he’s typing. Press the button. Block him now and walk away.”

But I stalled. Because I wanted to see them. I wanted to see the names he would call me. The words he wanted to throw at me. I wanted to feel just how much he resented me. I wanted to feel my heart crash. My emotions sink. I wanted to hurt from within. To curl up and sob over the physical and emotional turmoil the words he typed would bring to me.

And for the first time, I noticed it. I noticed an addiction.

One I’d never known before.

Nobody talks about things like this. People don’t tell you this is a possibility. And maybe it isn’t. But it was there. Pulsing through me with a need that words cannot explain.

I called my friend and told him about it. I told him what I’d just realized about myself. And the more we spoke, the more instances I recalled.

Like the time I sat in a car with a boy I was dating and waited for him to tell me what I already knew. He’d been cheating on me. But I wanted to hear him say it. To hear him say he was sick of me. To hear him say he’d upgraded. Even when I knew the stinging pain I’d feel right after.

And the time I had a fight with my father and, instead of walking away, I stayed so I could hear him tell me how disappointed he was to have me for a daughter. I knew he wouldn’t mean the words he’d say. I knew my heart would still believe it. And when it did, I knew it’d shatter into a million different pieces. But I stayed to hear him say it.

Or the time I had the opportunity to talk about it all. To end the misery of being the messenger in a broken marriage. To finally be just a child again. The time I chose to stay quiet. To not end what I knew would consume who I am for the rest of my life.

The time I chose to stand beside someone I knew was breaking from within. I wanted to absorb what he was letting out. To feel what he was trying to get rid off.

Because an addiction doesn’t have to be material. An addiction doesn’t need a physical form. It can be something bigger. Something more disturbing. Something more life shattering.

An addiction can be a feeling. Of heartbreak. Of emotional damage. Of misery.

An addiction can be something you’d never consider.

An addiction to an emotion.

Wanting to be hurt. To be emotionally ruined. Wanting to hear the words they’ll regret in the morning. Finding comfort in places you know you’ll crash. With people you know will wreck you. An addiction to an emotion so strong, it breaks you. Piece by piece. Until there’s nothing left of you.

And I..

I am addicted to Pain.

And I don’t know if someone out there feels this way too. I don’t know if this feeling is common. If it’s normal.

But it exists. Deep within me. And I can’t shake this off.

So there’s no positive end to this post. I’m not going to tell you how I plan on beating this or how I’m going to work on getting better. I don’t know if there is a way to get better.

But I’m talking about this because I know.

I know this addiction. And it’s not easy. It doesn’t make sense to many. It’s a battle everyday. A battle where you repeat to yourself over and over again to walk away. A battle you always lose.

So if you’re out there. If you’re feeling the way I do. If you’re addicted to the one thing everyone resents and avoids. I want you to know you’re not alone.

I want you to know that I feel it too. Everyday. Every moment. And I know how it consumes you. How it’s destroying you. How ridiculous it can sound. How real it can feel.

I know this painful addiction.

It’s mine too.

 

 

 

 

 

Let’s Talk About This

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I’ve been there. So close to the end. So ready to fall. But something always pulled me back. It’s not because I was brave enough to face life. It was because I was terrified of ending it. And nobody really talks about this. But I want to.

And I’ll do what nobody else does. I’ll talk in favor of the ones who take the plunge. The ones who fall. I’ll justify it. But know that I don’t support their choices. I don’t support their courage. I don’t believe the end is truly the answer. But let’s just imagine this. Imagine being in their shoes. Imagine those moments.

Your parents yelled. Your loved one passed away. Life got too difficult. And you’re there. Sitting on a chair in a home you’ve loved. But you’re not home. You’re not seated in the middle of the room you decorated yourself. You’re in a corner. A dark one. An unfamiliar one. You’re struggling to breathe. Something hurts. You don’t know if it’s emotional. You don’t know if it’s physical. But the pain exists. You can’t identify it. You can’t fix it. And it’s getting worse. With every passing moment. You feel it more. You cringe. You wrap your arms around your knees and will it away. But it doesn’t vanish. You cry. You scream. You yell. But nothing changes. It’s there. Unavoidable. Indestructible.

You curl yourself into a ball. You shake with fear. With disappointment. With emotions you can’t control. With a pain that feels like a million knives stabbing you all at once. Your jaw clenches. And you tell yourself, I’ll do anything it takes to stop this pain. Anything it takes to feel normal again. 

Your body listens to the desperation in your heart. Your body gets up. And it walks. And your mind is suddenly clear because you believe deep in your soul that you’ve found the cure to the pain. That you now know how to end this suffering. It is to fall. So you fall.

Too far. Too deep. With no return. You’re no longer in pain. You’re no longer suffering. But the ones who love you are.

This is what suicide is. It is your body listening to your desperation and reacting without thinking. It is getting rid of your pain in the easiest way possible.

How often have you heard the phrase, “Suicide is for the cowardly” ? They’re wrong. Suicide isn’t for the weak hearted. Suicide isn’t for the cowards. The cowards wouldn’t get up from that corner in the fear of enduring more pain if they did. The cowards wouldn’t walk into nothingness. The cowards would never fall. The strong ones do. The selfish ones do. They find a way to fix their problem and go after it. They forget the ones who love them. They forget the ones who care. They forget the opportunities that life has to offer.

They focus on ending the moment’s pain. They walk. They fall.

I lost a friend when I was young. Her parents yelled at her about school and she hung herself. I’ve wondered what drove her there. I’ve been depressed. I’ve wanted to end it all. But I always imagine my parents and my sister after. I imagine my mother finding me dead in a corner. I imagine her face. I imagine her falling to the floor with shock and tears. The way their lives would change. How they’d never forgive themselves for not knowing my pain. How it would affect my sister’s life. How I will make things worse for the people I care about.

Surely people think about these things when they consider the end. But something pushes them still. Something drives them to take that last step. Why isn’t what’s stopping me, stopping them?

Why is the person strong enough to fall not strong enough to face the wrath and find a way through it?!

Screen Shot 2015-10-26 at 9.02.09 pm

Everyone noticed Robin Williams’ jokes. Nobody noticed Robin Williams. Do you ever wonder, if instead of asking him to tell them a joke, someone had just taken the time to talk to him, he would still be here?

No one person in this world is born with the will to end their life. No one person is raised believing the answer to a problem is suicide.

Something drives them there. Something makes them believe that nobody cares about them. That they’re alone in this. That they have to end their life to survive the pain. And if I told you you could help, would you?

Because you can. You can save a life. All it takes is just one sentence.

“Let’s talk about this.”

_____________________________________

If you or someone you know needs help, please reach out:

India – http://www.suicide.org/hotlines/international/india-suicide-hotlines.html

US – http://www.suicide.org/suicide-hotlines.html

International – http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

Why?

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Why did you do it?

Why did you choose to be you for the first time?

Why did you make me want to pull all my walls down and open my heart up to you?

Why did you make me want to believe in fairytales?

Why did you let me fall for you?

Why did you say no to being mine?

Why did you break my heart into a million different pieces day after day?

Why did you hang up when I needed you the most?

Why did you walk away when I wanted you to stay?

Why did you tell me about this girl you spoke to at night that you really really liked?

Why did you make me feel like I was her?

Why did you ask her out when you told me you weren’t ready when it was me?

Why did I cry like the world was falling apart?

Why did you feel like the only lifeline that could’ve saved me?

Why did that feeling fade away?

Why did you choose to leave?

Why did I want that distance more than you did?

Why did my love for you get buried under a life I wanted to build for myself?

Why did everything become nothing but a memory?

Why did I have the ability to choose me over you?

Why did that choice feel okay?

Why am I okay?

Without you.

With me.

My Reason To Write

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I’ve been feeling a little lost lately. In a sea of tones and styles I adapt everyday to take on my career as a writer, I feel like I’ve forgotten how to sound like myself.

On a local blogging community, when I asked for help, someone said, “Think about why you started writing.”

I was 6 when my cousin walked in and said she’s going to be a journalist. I was not sure what a journalist did. I didn’t know how to pronounce it. But at that moment, I told myself ‘This is the dream’ !

Over the years, the idea of a journalist didn’t seem so appealing but I never stopped wanting to write. I failed every class in high school, I always passed English. I began writing my first book when I was 14. A cheesy love story about the girl with a dream. I still can’t believe I let my friends read it.

When I was upset, writing became my mental health specialist. It healed me in ways that people couldn’t.

When I was happy, it became my secret friend. I could pour out everything for hours and not have a care in the world about judgemental behaviour. When I was a teenager, writing was my one true best friend. If my parents didn’t understand, if my boyfriend didn’t text, if my friends were being bitchy – I could just always write about it. When I saw the man, who I believed was the love of my life, with another girl on his arm, words became the shoulder I leaned on.

It’s almost ridiculous to think I gave up. For a while there, I told myself it wasn’t for me. That I was meant for something more conventional rather than creative. But life caught up with me.

At my worst, I turned to words again. This blog became my sanctuary. The people I got to connect with. This is my world away from my world. This is where I am true to myself because social situations may fail me, but words never did.

I began writing my thoughts, troubles and tales. It was supposed to be my personal diary on a public platform.

But along the way, something changed. Something inspired me. I started hearing people tell me how they’d needed to hear what I’d written. And I felt something. It made me want to be a writer again. It reminded me about my first poem. It reminded me about something very emotional. It reminded me why I began.

And it wasn’t a lost cause. It wasn’t random or silly. I didn’t write just because I needed an outlet. I didn’t write to make memories unforgettable.

I began writing my first book when I was 14. It was a cheesy love story about the girl with a dream. She struggled. She fought her way through life. She chased her dream with all she had. And she made it. I wrote that book because I wanted to give hope to those who didn’t have it at that moment. I wanted to let people know that if you fought hard and refused to give up, you’d find your dreams, no matter what. I wanted to inspire someone to chase their dreams.

This is my reason to write.

Screen Shot 2015-06-06 at 6.17.45 pm

I began writing because I believed that words can change the world. That it can change lives.

And I wanted to prove it.

I will.

The Monsters Behind Masks

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If you’re reading this, it means I’ve used every last ounce of the courage I possess to press Publish..

Maybe it’s because I’m finally old enough to see it. Maybe it’s because, for the first time, I’m retracing my entire life. Recollecting the moments that forever changed who I am.

I saw a movie yesterday. The girl looked at the guy and said, “I was 7 when someone asked me if I wanted to be with my mom or my dad.” It shouldn’t have mattered to me. I shouldn’t have cried. But I couldn’t help myself. Because I was 8.

When I tell someone how insecure I’ve become as a person because of the way I was shoved in the middle of a struggle to save a marriage, they think I’m being too sensitive. I almost tell them they’re seeing it wrong. They’re looking at the 22-year-old analyzing that moment. But I wasn’t 22 when it happened ! I was a child ! But I never say it. I smile small and turn away so they can’t see I’m hiding tears.

There are moments in a relationship when I look at the guy and wonder what would happen if he could see inside my head. If he could see the way I see life. If he could read my thoughts. Would he run? Would he choose to never come back? Would he think I’m crazy?

There are moments when I wish someone could understand it. There are moments when I don’t understand why anyone should.

They say it’s amazing when you finally figure yourself out. When you learn what makes you, you. But what happens when the person you are is someone that’s holding on to all her darkest fears? With bruises turned permanent scars? With the need to be loved but never having the ability to believe it?

What happens when every little thing about you comes from a place you never want to go back to? When you realize your entire life changed because of the one moment you had no control over? When there is a constant battle between the guilt for allowing yourself to be drawn into a mess while arguing that you didn’t know what else to do?!

Do you stand up for the child you were or hate yourself for not knowing better?

As I think through all the relationships I’ve had, I’m beginning to decode patterns and it’s like a nightmare playing on repeat as I realize I’ve done the same thing over and over again, wrecking every chance I had at a happy ending. Every time I was so close to it, I let it stop me. I let myself be pulled back. The fear that I don’t understand. The fear that stopped me from ever moving forward, turning this tunnel into a never ending hole of doom.

I wonder what would happen if I could look at them and tell them how it feels like a lost childhood. How in the process of letting them have what they have right now, I drowned. How they’ve made me terrified of commitment. How I run when I feel too much while still craving it because I believe in leaving before I’m left. And how I’ll never stop believing that people leave.

And how, in that moment, when everything I wanted was right there, I couldn’t nod my head yes. I couldn’t walk into the light. I paused. I struggled. I lost.

But maybe that’s just the way life is, isn’t it? Each with a struggle of their own. Not many win. Most of us lose our battles. We give in to whatever it is that consumes us. We let it win. We learn to live with that loss. We learn to put on a mask and hide behind the person the world would like to see. The one that’ll blend in. The one that won’t draw questions.

Someone asked me recently if there was a reason behind the playfulness he sees in me. He felt like the light reaching out. An opportunity to walk out of the dark. All I had to do was trust him with the truth. And I wanted to tell him. This is my mask. This is the way I relive my childhood while still running away from it. This is the person I became when I sat on a couch at my aunt’s house, grinning broadly while crying inside. This is me blending in.

So I smiled at him and said, “No. I’m just a little immature. Nothing else.”

The Fear of Falling

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Unknown

There are these moments in life. These moments when you see someone for the very first time and you feel your heart skip a beat. Not because you’ve fallen at first sight. But because in that instant you know, with time, falling for this person would no longer be a choice.

I met someone for the first time recently. He caught me off guard and if only I didn’t know better, I would have said the skip of a heartbeat was from feeling startled. But it wasn’t. It was the moment when I saw trouble.

Ten seconds later, I felt my heart hammer. Because I knew. This was a trap I was going to walk into, willingly.

There are three kinds of people when it comes to circumstances like these – the ones that never take the first step forward if they knew it was trouble, the ones that would walk in a little and then choose to back away because they know it’s unhealthy to their heart and of course, there are people like me. We know it’s trouble. We know how this ends. But we will still keep going with the hope that this will be different from the last time while always knowing deep inside that this path is taking us to a place we’ve known before. A place that’s going to emotionally cost us a little too much than it’s worth.

It’s been a few months now. We get along quite well. He’s one of my closest friends. And I feel that pit in my stomach because I know what’s happening.

We have so much in common and yet, we couldn’t be more different if we tried. We want the same things from life. Just not in the same way. We’d be right for each other but it won’t last. And somehow, I’m still here. Because I enjoy the time we spend. I value the little things that only I know. And beyond all, there is something about finding company that’s been where you have and understands the nooks and crooks of all the emotions you feel at very specific moments.

Which is precisely why, at this very moment in my life, I feel nothing but fear. I’m afraid of falling for this person and ruin a friendship that I hold dearly. That I’m going to make this awkward. That we’ll never get back to this place of comfort again. And I’ve thought of the million things I could do to stop this including the middle of the night ridiculousness that is “I could always move to Mars!”

But quite honestly, I don’t think that’s going to work. I’d miss my dog too much.

So I’m going to do what I do best. I’m going to sit back and hope this goes away. That this turns out to be different than the rest. That what I’m feeling is not the hint of a crush but rather a fondness for a friend.

And if it doesn’t..

Well, you’ll probably find a blog post about heartbreak within the next year.

The Life That’s Changed

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Note – This isn’t going to be one of those generic posts about the world. This post is something personal and sort of an update. Also, I promise I will never be gone this long, ever again. 

I haven’t blogged in three weeks.

I hate saying that. I can’t believe I’m saying that. But here’s the thing – something has drastically changed in my life. And I’m going to start with this – I did something today that I haven’t done in over two years. I put really loud music on and danced around my room (resulting in a sprained ankle, of course).

I’ve written one too many posts about my state of depression and a very honest one about feeling like a failure. I’ve always been one of those people that believed in my dreams. When it came crashing down, I wasn’t ready to accept it. I wasn’t ready to roll with what came my way. I wanted what I wanted.

On a very random evening, I heard about an opportunity. On any other day, I wouldn’t have paid any attention to it because it didn’t lead me to my dreams. But on that particular evening, I decided to make the call. What started as an “I’m not sure it’s what I want to do, but I’ll try anyway” turned into “So I can do what I love doing?” It wasn’t the big fancy dream but it was something. I’ll be very honest. My mom told me to say yes. Or rather, pushed me to say yes. So I did. I’m glad I did.

When I began, I wasn’t very happy. As a result, my writing sucked. Which lead to a very negative feeling. And that was followed by my previous post.

But something’s changed. I have gotten to a moment that I never thought I’d get to in my entire life. I don’t adjust. I don’t re-arrange my life to fit new dreams or make space for something different. I don’t do plan B’s. Or at least, I didn’t.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve jumped out of bed to get to work early. I’m never too keen to leave from there. And as I sat and giggled at my sprained leg today, I realized – All along, this is the life I wanted. The one where I wake up happy for the day ahead. The one where a negative comment doesn’t make me want to give up but instead motivates me to do better. The one with laughter, goals and a little bit of love. It may not be in the place, with the people I imagined it would be. But it’s exactly the same.

I’m sort of terrified. I wake up everyday afraid to be happy because I feel like life is going to take this away from me too. But that doesn’t stop me. My fears are no longer making my decisions for me.

I woke up today morning and I had this feeling. I felt like we were in a fairytale. Not just me or a friend. The entire world. To say it like Olivia Pope would, “I felt like we’re all gladiators.” LIke life could throw as many curve balls at us as it chooses to and we would still rise from it all. We will always make it through any difficult moment. Like you know you have one too many times before. We’re indestructible.

We’re invincible.

And I hope you remember that.

The Feeling That Controls

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The irony is – the reason I’m writing this post is the reason I almost didn’t.

I always knew this about me. It has been a part of who I am for as long as I’ve known. I’ve come to accept it. I don’t know if that’s a good thing. It’s one of those things where I believed – it is what it is.

I never really understood how it affected my relationships and friendships. I never psychoanalyzed myself. Until a few years ago.

I remember the first time I noticed that I was doing it. We have those moments when we become self-conscious about something we normally do and it becomes this thing we notice about ourselves every time we end up thinking or acting that way. I suddenly realized how many times in a day I questioned whether someone in my life would leave me. How many times in a day I wondered how many people hate me. How many times in a day I wondered if I was a pain they were putting up with simply because they’re friends now and feel bad changing their mind.

It was the first time I realized that what I had come to accept as a simple part of my life had essentially ruled every relationship I had ever had. Because that’s what happens when you feel this way. When you’re at your best and you still feel uncomfortable in your own skin. When you’re at your happiest and you feel a pang wondering when it’s going to come to a crashing end. When you’ve met that perfect person and can’t stop thinking if he’s going to run away any moment now. When I stand in front of the mirror and like what I see only to feel the need to cover it all up as soon as I walk out the door. What if they see? What if they hear? What if they read? What if they leave?

We wear different masks for different audiences so we can fit in. We tell them what they need to hear so they’ll keep us close. The way we shake our hands. The way we walk, talk. The way we live. Everything dictated by the one thing we can’t control. When nothing we do feels good enough. When a compliment feels difficult. When self-confidence is a charade.

I have forgotten who I am amidst the masks I wear to please people I’m afraid will leave if they ever knew what really goes on inside my head. Because I grew up with this feeling. This feeling that you have felt at some point as well. This feeling that has taken over my life. The feeling that influenced many of your decisions. It’s what keeps us hanging on to someone while also craving isolation. I need you to tell me I’m perfect but know that I will never believe you. I want you to stay but know that I’ll run before you do. Because someone told me, leave before you’re left and I’ll always believe you’ll leave. It’s not what I want to think. It’s what I’m made to think. Because this feeling has taken over every inch of my being and there is nothing left of me.

Insecurity.

I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to control it. But I know what created it. The moment it hit me that just because you love someone with everything you have doesn’t mean it has to be reciprocated. When I realize that the person who is supposed to love you can still walk away from you. That when it comes boiling down to the very last second, everyone is selfish about their emotions and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Insecurity. It’s why I didn’t want to write this post. Because I didn’t know if anyone would relate to this. Maybe this is going to be boring. Maybe they’re going to think I’m hopeless. Maybe I am hopeless. Because I can never win against it. But this is me trying.

Rock Bottom

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“We all get stuck there at some point in our lives. You can’t help it. You just have to learn to swim through it. Like in Finding Nemo, ‘Just keep swimming’. It’s the only option.”

When you were a kid, you had a dream. A vision of who you were meant to be. You were too naive to figure out who you were at that moment, but you had a vision for your future – a famous actress, a pilot, a doctor, a model – and as a child, you never knew the struggle it takes to make it to the top. An actress was famous because she was an actress, not because she struggled for years to get there, audition after audition.

I had a million of those visions, changing every other day. But there’s something that stayed constant – I’m going to change something in this world. I’m not meant for a regular job and a regular life. My life has a bigger purpose. I was not born to be normal. There will be something different about me. When I die, someone that isn’t bound to me by blood or marriage will cry their heart out.

This feeling stuck with me for years.

When I read Steve Jobs’ quote – “The ones who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.” – I didn’t just feel inspired. I related. I knew what he meant, I just didn’t know why or how.

The older I got, the more I realized how difficult this path I’m trying to tread might be. But that just motivated me. Everytime someone mocked me, I thought to myself, someday you’ll be sucking up to me. It was an arrogance that I didn’t understand but couldn’t help but possess. Life had probably had enough of it because I finally got a reality check one day.

I was sitting by the window in my parents’ house and I felt it crash through me. Writers often define the feeling of heartbreak as someone shoving a hand inside your ribs and dragging your heart out just so they can rip it apart. But this felt worse. The only change I will ever make in this world is the one to my parents’ bank account as I empty it by living off of them.

I didn’t know how to express what I felt. I was afraid to cry. Afraid that if I let it fall, it’d never stop.

I told someone, “It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to stop feeling like this. I don’t even know what this feeling is.”

She replied, “We all get stuck there at some point in our lives. You can’t help it. You just have to learn to swim through it. Like in Finding Nemo, ‘Just keep swimming’. It’s the only option.”

I couldn’t take it. I’m not everyone. I can’t just get through it. I was different. How could I have gotten here?!

Six months later, I put up a post – “I Feel Like A Failure”

The day I wrote it, something shifted in me.

For the first time in two years, I felt motivated to change something. So I did. I changed the way I looked at it. I stopped listening to the rest of the world telling me to get through it. I always knew I was different. So why be normal now?

Why sit and wait for something around me to change while telling myself “I’m getting through it”?

Funnily, I still haven’t figured out what the great purpose to my life is. But I’m a lot closer to figuring it out than I was.

Because here’s the thing about hitting rock bottom. There’s only one way out of it..

🙂

#ReactWithKindness

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“It was a bright morning. I turned to smile at the person who made life feel like a dream come true. It was a tough year so far and all our money had gone towards mom’s medical bills. Me losing my job didn’t help and with the scarcity of opportunities for someone with average education, it had been challenging. Some days were better than others. Today was one of those better days. My kid had Autism. Therapy was a little expensive but worth it. We were going to participate in a local event. As a family. We hadn’t done anything, the three of us together, in a really long time. I was excited.

We figured too much breakfast might not help us during the day and stuck with juice. The house was abuzz with laughter. Hope was just beginning to resurface. We held hands as we walked to the venue.

The crowd gathered and the little one sighed with impatience. Finally, we heard the voice say, “3.. 2.. 1.. Go !” And we began to run. As fast as we could, laughing and giggling. We almost looked like the perfect family and my heart swelled for I had a very rough and unstable upbringing. But here we were. A new wave of energy took over me and it felt amazing. It was almost as if this was an indication that we were going to move forward. Not just in this race but in life. We were going to run through it with smiling faces just like this. The good times were here. I turned to my left and grinned.

*…………………………*

I’m lying on the ground. I feel suffocated. I hear voices but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I hear a cry but I don’t know where it’s coming from. I want to get up but I feel like I’m tied down. I can’t speak. My kid..My little baby.. I can’t think as pain takes over every part of my body. I want to see what’s around me and I will myself to get up. I struggle as I push myself up and almost instantly regret it. I’m surrounded by smoke, blood, death and tears. I find the point of pain in my body. I see the bone poking out of my right leg. Fear washes over me. My family.. Where’s my family.. I have to find my family.. I look around like a mad person, screaming their names. I’m starting to feel frantic. Panic is the only emotion I feel. Tears run down my face. I try hard to focus on every voice I hear to see if I can hear theirs. I turn around trying to spot them and I almost missed it. Sometimes, I wish I had. Because there, lying beneath a pile of people and a lot of blood, is the love of my life holding on to my child. I went numb. This can’t be.. It can’t happen.. It’s not them.. It shouldn’t be them..”

They say “a certain group has taken responsibility for the incident that led to the death of so many innocent people.” I hate it when they do. They’re shedding light on a bunch of people that shouldn’t be acknowledged as human beings.

This post is a struggle to write as I constantly battle between rage and logic.

Everyone has a past. We all lose loved ones. But we don’t wake up one morning and think to ourselves, “Oh I’m pissed beyond reason. I need to blow up a few buildings and kill a couple of hundred people.” There has to be an underlying reason and an amount of mental instability behind behavior like this that I feel like we’re missing. Everyone is capable of kindness. It’s just a little difficult for some in comparison to others. But no matter what the trigger, revenge is not the answer. Especially if your revenge does not involve the person(s) you’re actually offended by.

“If you release this movie, we will bomb the theaters.” – Does this sound normal to you?

I’m not the nicest person in the world. I don’t care if two people hold a grudge and want to slaughter each other’s heads off. Their consequences are theirs to face. But I would like an explanation as to why the world deems it ok to use people who have absolutely nothing to do with the process as bait?

And if that’s not ok, why are we still not doing something about it?

Blood cannot be avenged by blood. I’m not a Gandhi person. I don’t believe that if someone slaps you, you show them the other cheek. I also don’t believe that I can only come to peace with it by slapping them back. Because if you do exactly what they did, you lose the ability to pinpoint, for at that moment, you’re simply staring at a mirror.

“The one way to combat the sad and terrible things we see is to bring just a little bit of kindness into the world”

– Ben Affleck, PCA 2015

I might not have the perfect definition for what kindness is but I do know it does not involve ruining a stranger’s life. No matter how bad it gets, there’s always someone willing to listen, willing to help.

You will never stop an explosion by creating another one.

And to the ones that walk away without caring because you believe that it will never be you, I’m sure there was someone out there who thought that too. Until the fiction written above became their reality.

#ReactWithKindness

Inspired by Rebekah Gregory, Boston Marathon Bombing survivor.