I’m tired too…

I wish they’d stop. The sounds the whispers the voices the rants. I wish they’d stop. I’m only 19. I’m only trying to breathe. I wish they’d stop. I don’t know. I don’t know. I just wish they’d stop. Stop, I want to yell. I can’t make you see. I cant make you reason. I can’t save you from whatever it is you need saving from. I can’t save you from myself. I can’t save you from yourself . I’m only 19.

Chai you say? Why yes, yes that sounds like a good idea. Let’s drain my thoughts in caffeine and you alcohol? No-coffee.

Good then. I wouldn’t mind your alcohol though. Let’s drown in daydreams and delusions. Maybe strands of good luck that’s all we need I whisper and we can sew ourselves a future. You smile. I love your smile.

Maybe that’s why I don’t tell you to stop. Stop, I cant save you. Maybe that’s why I can’t tell you to let go. I love your smile. Some days I think my friends are the toxic people in my life. Those are the days I havent felt 3am insomnia in a while. Those are the days I haven’t felt sad. I feel normal. Rather those are the days i haven’t stared at my reflection. I like those days of selfishness. Even if they are just as long as the the next t twenty match.

Kohli’s batting a masterclass again. I heard. I smile.

Smiles are beautiful. I like my smile too.

So maybe that’s why I want to run away. Maybe everything around me is sad. Maybe if I leave. Maybe that’s why I don’t blame my selfishness. I need to smile too. So maybe if I could watch kohli’s flick shot… just once.

Maybe when the match starts.

Ive been studying all day. Most days arent so productive. Mom calls it laziness I call it depression. Same symptoms, different names-but hey what’s in a name. By the relative definition of the word productive today has been productive. But its 7:30 now I’m tired. Let the match start.

I smile as Kohli makes his way to the crease shortly joined be Devilliers. I might not like the IPL but…

Smiling is good. My TL is flooded I decide to join. But then I get a text and I know life isnt so simple.

“Are you free?” You ask. No I want to scream. No I’m not free. Im trapped trapped within my desire to watch a match uninterrupted by everyone around me. I’m trapped by my need to see AB’s reverse sweep. Trapped by my selfishness. I’m not free. I’m not free.

“I dont know. what to do anymore.’ You say.

I was 16 when I taught myself how to ignore the society. I don’t listen to those group of boys who jeer. I can’t hear the grown women on the streets talking about my body as if I’m made of clay. But I never taught myself how to ignore the ones I love for the same reason I taught myself to ignore society. They put me in a worse place.

Stop I want you to stop. There’s happiness. There’s still life. There’s still Steyn. But you don’t listen. You don’t like steyn apparently or cricket in general. Even if you do it’s not going to save you. But you’re drowning me. You’re draining me. I want to yell. I cant help you. You make me sad. I’m not depressed today but you’ve brought me back. GET LOST.

But all I can say is

“I’m free.”

Of course I’m free. You’re 19 too. But most importantly I know you’re not the toxic person in my life. Youre just a reflection of me. I’m the toxic person in my life. You’re just 19 too.

But I’m always at the phone right- mom. She sees me talking to you. I’m getting yelled at now. I pray that in these five seconds of yelling you don’t take your life. So I just listen to her. Praying. Praying. Praying. All I wanted to do was watch an unimportant cricket match.  Now I’m surrounded by voices again. My mom, the commentators, the crowd, you and my depression.

Its a commotion of needs and desires. It’s a war and I’m losing. I always lose. Shut up, I want to yell. But mom’s right I spend too much time on the phone. Go away- I want to scream. But you’re right life is worthless. So am I.

Suddenly I couldn’t careless about sixes. I couldn’t care less about wickets. It’s the same spiral downwards. I dont need to get away from you. I need to get away from myself. Sadly some days you are just a reflection of myself. And I’m sorry. But whoever said two depressed 19year olds could heal each other? I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I’m just tired too.

But for you I’ll always try though I may not always have an answer. Though I may not know the words. Though I may not know how to heal. I will try because I love you

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