Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times?
As if something were left between the pages every time you read it.
Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells and then when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower, both strange and familiar.
When I look back, I find myself transpired into a new human, evolving with times, feeling the unknown. My feelings played an important role while developing me in to the character today, and shouldn't go unsaid for.
Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky, turning into dark melancholic rainy days at times, whilst a clear head poses way for the sunshine.
Emotions are rather more complicated than we think. At times, they compel you to bring out the part in you that you never knew existed, finding the unformidable energy within you to take charge of your life to transform in to a better self, while at times they drag you drown in a whirlpool of emotions, and nothing worldly seems to settle the chaos.
Nevertheless, your feelings can be your best friend or your worst enemy.
Human heart has a strong appetite for feelings. Everything that grasps your attention, triggers an impulse with an everlasting effect. Even years later, if you come across something similar, it provokes the same surge of emotions and in a blink of eye, you find yourself living the same memoirs again.
Your brain somehow tends to stick to a more sensible choice of feelings, but I do feel that your heart does not speaks falsely.
I have, more than once tried to deceive my heart, just to find that it was a mistake.
I assume that wearing a chronic illness complicates your feelings in immaculate ways. We do feel a lot more, as we go through a lot more than an average healthy human does, and not all of them for the best.
Depression and Anxiety are the best pals for anybody who has passed a considerable proportion of their life under the weather. Somehow you turn out to be the centre of everyone's hopes, and when you go under the bus, you drag all those people down with you. The bigger the hope, the worse is the fall.
I have withstood the jinx of diabetes and the concealed emotions of anger, irritation, depression and loneliness that comes along with it.
Constantly adrifting blood sugar levels, and the periodic pain of the stinging needles saps you of your vigour, leaving your already tired mind to stroll in an awful path of feelings.
Some days are better than the others when you get to carry a sense of gratitude towards the people who care, but those days are at a premium.
For the rest of the story, you're supposed to have to a smile plastered on your face so you do not create a pessimist ambience for the people around you.
The most excruciating part is explaining your feelings to someone who has absolutely no clue of what you are going through.
Imagine a blind man trying to describe the colour of a flower to the world.
He knows better than just being pacified, but do you think he can help it?
It's the same story with you being the blind man stumbling through your life, with no sight, just a hope for everyone to somehow understand, and be kind.
When everything else fails, enters the feeling of self-annihilation.
As soon as someone accuses me or criticizes me, as soon as I am rejected, left alone, or abandoned, I find myself thinking, "Well, that proves once again that I am a nobody."
Someone whispers in your head saying "I am no good. I deserve to be pushed aside, forgotten, rejected, and abandoned."
There have been conditions in my life for which Death present itself as a greater temptation, but I soon realized that it's seductive quality only comes when you let it consume your self-affection. Often, in a similar scenario where hurting yourself seems to be the better conclusion is because you're loathing yourself in reality. At such times, hurting yourself seems to provide you a feeling of control, the feeling of being a rebellion motivates you to do things past your worst nightmares.
It was a chilly night when I felt the urge to overdose on insulin. I still remember the anticipation. Time seems to gradually slow down to an extent where I found it uncomfortable, while my soul broke down in constant inadequacy.
However, I didn't have a solution for it.
I was 16.