Comatose.

Feelings cannot be erased. You felt them. You don’t feel it now, you may feel it intensely tomorrow. Or, with time, they will just die. So what do you do with the ones that are arduous to deal with now? Let it be. Don’t touch. Let it be. Comatose.

Coma. Unconscious. Passed out.

“I have a headache”

Take some rest..sleep for a while.

“I have a stomach ache”

Take this medicine.

“I think I am having a heart attack”

You are rushed to the emergency room.

It’s just an observation though, when you seem low/off often, you cry a lot, you are unable to focus on work, you lose temper, you barely ever talk your heart out even with your closest, you overeat/barely eat, you talk about death, you talk about wanting to die, you daydream about your funeral, you let someone close to you know which picture of yours to put up at the funeral, you can’t accept love, you can’t accept anything remotely close because you know they will eventually end up calling you a bitch and move away, you are abusive and violent now! you are actually hurting yourself – you are scratching yourself badly, you are asking to be hit, you are taking double the prescribed dosage – of any random medicine, you are looking at a truck on the road wishing it would trample you to death but then, you don’t want to die like this too. You have dreams, you have aspirations, you want to be proud of yourself again – you want to be free again, you want to write – write – write, undisturbed. Away from this place you can’t call home.

Oh..your body parts are working just fine..besides the mind. So, nobody can really do anything about it. You did not meet an accident and lose blood, there is not a big visible bruise, no stitches, no surgery. If someone checks the temperature, I am sure it will be near perfect. So, they don’t know which broken piece to pick up, how many are there and what is the damage. It’s like a concussion caused by a severe blow. Except that it’s not just one, it’s a myriad little blows you never shared with anybody all through these years. You thought it would just get okay with time.

Guess what, it only aggravated with time.

And now, you really don’t give a fuck.

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