I started therapy with a pro-bono mental health NGO last week. Last Friday I was diagnosed with Bipolar Affective Disorder II. My medication has begun. Anti-convulsants, anti-depressants and B12 (fatty acids).
Here we go.
I just spent 2500 bucks on Saturday for a full body waxing- to rip every single hair out of my body. Even my anus. My pubic region. And my fucking balls. It hurt like a crazy motherfucker. And to put things in perspective I have 10000 bucks in my account for the rest of the month. You know why I did it? I wish I could say 'Oh I because it makes me feel so good' But for all my feminism, I did it for a guy.
Long story short, he's a guy I've known for a while. Very sweet and nice, very sincere and transparent, a bit douchey but not in a male privilegy way but more like a spoilt brat. He calls himself a pansexual and is quite sorted with his understanding of queer and feminist politics. Oh and also he is polyamorous. Now we always had massive sexual attraction for each other. But he lives in a different city. So we seldom get to meet. We came to Delhi once and we did hook up. We talked about consent and kink (he is into BDSM and I want to explore). And all sorts of things.
Two months back he tells me that he is moving to Delhi. Obviously I get all excited and anticipatory. All this while I had been categorically not letting myself think about him. Because every time I do, I get a perpetual boner. Not because he's hot or attractive. He's exactly my kind of kinky and he knows that. I started getting serious as we started chatting vigorously everyday and since the whole puppies thing had happened I was quite emotionally vulnerable. So I told him let's take a break and resume chatting once he is actually here. He agreed.
He's never going to move here. But he came to Delhi last weekend. A week before that he vaguely told me that he's seeing someone. But I didnt take it seriously because he himself is not usually serious about people he meets and also claims to be polyamorous. And he asks me if he can stay over at my place for the weekend he is in town. I obviously agree.
The winter had quite an onslaught on my body. I wanted to clean up. I had 12500 bucks in my account (for perspective my rent costs 18000 bucks) and I had no idea when my next freelance money will come in. But I was like fuck it. I dont do this for every other guy. If I guy asks me to shave my legs and put on a dress, I tell him to fuck off. But I want to do it for this guy. I know he loves it when I dress up and wear heels. But he will never ask me to do that because he will never belittle me or my body that way. And that is the very reason I want to do it, not just for him because this is the way I love the manifestation of my own femininity as well. When I get to choose whether I am feminine or not. Not when thats the only way a man can be attracted to me. So I went ahead spent all that money, literally killed myself on the waxing bed and was all clean.
When he comes home in the evening. He decides to tell me that NOW he has decided to give monogamy a try and can't "indulge in infidelity" anymore. Things got ugly. I ended up begging and pleading him to sleep with me. To hold me. To make me feel like a woman again, the kind of woman I imagine myself to be. Because right at that moment I realized I dont even remember when was the last time I felt like that because all men can you feel like is that you're a hole for them to fuck. And they dress you up in heels and dresses so that they can forget who you are and instead imagine you as a woman. So I begged. He was one of the very few guys I have met all my life, and currently the only guy I knew, who actually saw me for who I am. So I begged.
He didn't relent.
So I asked him to leave. Actually he offered to leave himself and I never stopped him. I also asked him to never call me or message me again, because the next morning all the begging and pleading would make me feel like shit. Because he was the guy I had to beg and plead to. He obviously protested. But he left.
What I didnt tell him was that he shouldn't have come at all. When he was so decided about his newfound monogamy. When he was very well aware of how I felt for him. He shouldn't have come. Why do men do this? "Oh I see you as a good friend!" FUCK FRIENDSHIP! Bloody assholes! I have enough fucking friends in my life already who are mighty pissed with me because I'm canceling on them to spend the godforsaken weekend with YOU! We are MORE than friends when I sucked your fucking cock. And you know it better than anyone else. So dont do this pretentious normative bullshit of keeping friendships. When you have fucking decided to suddenly turn monogamous, then stop fucking contacting people you have fucked around with in the name of friendship. I dont want to be friends. Not with YOU of all people! Fuck you. And FUCK your friendship.
Its the same old shit again. Same old. Nothing has changed. Oh wait. One thing has changed. I didn't miserably and hopelessly fall for a guy I can never have. I didn't go through those months of Single White Female psycho (e)motions. So I guess my depression didn't have an tangible excuse to manifest itself in all its melodramatic glory. That way this winter was actually quite sane. So yay. Pat me on my back. Clap clap clap. Whatever.
The insane thing that did happen instead was, long story short: I decided to channel all this abundance of love that I have to give, towards something more practical. I decided to adopt puppies. Two cute little pee monsters. Never felt more like a parent. Suddenly all the residual depression was gone. First week one of them died of congenital defect. Devastated, but decided to gather myself up to tale care of the other one. For three weeks, my life revolved around him. I forgot everything else. Then he also dropped dead of the same malady as his sister. And it was all over. Little did I know life had a strange way of throwing up depression all over my face the moment I decided to swallow it all down for a change.
But I didnt let it deter me. A month later once I recuperated from my grief, I decided to foster two more puppies. Older ones this time. I needed a closure. I needed to feel like what its like to be a parent. Without the sorrow of losing a child. It was amazing. Crazy madness. They destroyed my furniture, bedding endless slippers. But so SO much love and affection. They went on ahead to a better foster where they will be better taken care of. I am still not ready to adopt again. I can't live with fear of loss which has been so deeply ingrained in me...
Well summers are here again. And nothing has really changed. I'm still lonely. I'm still cranky. I'm still quite fucked up. And I have no vaguest idea what I am doing with my goddamn life.
Well. There's one idea. If I can't get my shit together by the end of this year,I have no wish to drag it any further. My energy is depleting. There's no motivation or interest to replenish it. There's no joy. It has to come to an end. Before it gets painfully unbearable any further. I need to take a bow with grace.
There is no God. There is no Providence. Everything happens for a reason, but the reason not necessarily be something conclusive. It might just exist to balance the scales. All those concepts of hope, faith and promise are a giant farce. Maybe this is what it is. You have just been dealt with some really awful cards in this lifetime. Some of the cards are really good, like your talents, politics, skills, knowledge, profession. But they are not enough as there are some bad cards too, like depression, gender, love (or lack thereof), loneliness, emotional instability and so on. The cards aren't enough to make a complete hand and win the game. I guess this is what it is. Its just a bad hand with a losing set of cards.
My depression is back, I think. It's different this year. None of the previous patterns have materialized. I don't have any man in my life whom I have gotten obsessively attached to. I am not having breakdowns. There is this perpetual sense of numbness. It feels like I am from a parallel universe. I am present here and yet not present at all. Work is the only thing that seems to be floating me along. Because you know, you need to work. Depression and poverty don't really go well together. I am not happy. I am not sure if I am sad. You know after being sad for too long you reach a point where your emotions develop a resilient skin to prevent itself from being vulnerable anymore. I am in that zone. Sadness has become a part of me. So it doesn't make me sad anymore. It makes me cynical, pessimistic, selfish, insensitive and so on. But at least it doesn't make me sad anymore.
I know I should have continued my therapy. I was impatient. And also my money situation was uncertain. I need 25-30k a month to survive paying rent, bills, etc. Another 3-4k a month for food. Then if there's some extra money left some good things, like movies, or eating out, drinks etc. Therapy costs anything between 4-5k a month. And if you don't regularly take it for at least 6months to a year, if not more, all the money paid for it is wasted. It costs 4-5k for 3 months of Aerobics classes which is also crucial considering my health situation. Somehow when it comes to prioritizing therapy, it always comes to the bottom most of the list just because of the idea of the long term investment it requires, when I am living in a way where I can't even be sure what my next month looks like.
I have been freelancing since last year. I can't do 9 to 5. I just cant. It's not in me anymore to be a cog in another machinery. Plus, its during days like this when it takes me hours to drag myself out of bed; freelance with no fixed timings do somewhat help. But the downside to freelancing is that your money is always uncertain. I live month by month making sure I earn at least 25k a month just to make sure that there is a roof over my head. I don't know what's happening with my career. Logistically I know it's going in the right direction and the future looks promising. But I don't know if I have it in me to hold on until that future arrives.
It was Delhi Queer Pride yesterday. I am still wondering if I should have gone for it. It has been awfully hard to get myself out of bed lately. I have to reinforce myself saying things like, "If you don't go for this, you will sink even further. So get up!" Sometimes I chant that to myself loud muffled under the quilt. I was so zoned out, I didn't have the vaguest energy in me to put on a smile. So I smoked up. That's always a handy excuse. People leave you alone and let you be on your own trip. At least you don't have to answer questions like, Why do you look so down and out? Why so sad?
But still you can't evade the endless comments and queries regarding why aren't you dressed up. Apparently, if you go out in public making proclamations about your gender nonconformity then that is the image you have to uphold. No one really paid attention when I said I am gender queer, which means I don't endorse any particular gender. I never endorsed putting on a mini skirt and high heels as a staple gender performance. If I am wearing a kurta and jeans and converse shoes, that too is a part of my genderqueerness. I will not perform a certain gender stereotype just because you are expecting that from me. And that is my understanding of nonconformity. But still I was plagued by inanely dismissive comments about my attire as to why wasn't I looking fabulous. अरे भई, कोई ठेका ले रखा है क्या fabulous लगने का? Why can't a person simply dress what they feel like without being judged over it? Someone even went on to say that "You are in drag today" I was like wow. When did I ever proclaim that femininity was my official gender that dressing up in a kurta and jeans becomes drag? Although too many women wear kurta and jeans. So if the only element that makes it masculine is my physical body itself, then I'm sorry, you're playing into the same old heteronormative gender binaries without even realizing. But irrespective of whether you realize it or not, its still fucking offensive.
Unfortunately, I was too down and out and my sass quotient was on zero. I really wish I had given it off to all of them, but I didn't have any energy or desire for confrontations. Plus its Pride. Its like bubblegum land. Everyone is happy. And you don't blame them. So I went along. By the end of the march my saturation levels had been peaked. My chronic lower back pain (because I haven't been eating properly for last one month) was shooting up and down my spine. Everyone was up on the stage and everyone else was paying attention to them. So I had my moments of seclusion but I started dreading that once it would be over and everyone would get together, I would have to stand in groups and socialize and talk and plan for the post pride party. I couldn't bear the idea. Just wanted get home, also to lay down and relieve my back. So I left without any goodbyes.
Woke up on a Monday. There's a massive work backlog and I can't get myself out of bed. Thank Heavens the calls haven't started pouring in yet. Its 2pm, I should have gotten up at 8am considering the amount of work that is pending. My maid left the job a week ago without any notice. The house is a mess. I don't know how long it will take to find another maid. Until then I would have to do all the chores. If I can manage to get myself out of bed somehow and deal with my privileged first world problems.
Privileged, it might be. But my loneliness does not cease to feel like the only black hole that one day will consume everything in its vicinity. And in the middle of it all, you start wondering. Maybe there is no God. All these concepts of hope, faith, perseverance are probably constructs created to avoid dealing with death and self-destruction of other people. There are no better days. Everything is the same. The same old mundane misery. And you keep calm and carry on. Sometimes you have to play whatever cards you're being dealt, not because you have a particular strategy in mind. But simply because its your turn and you have to play something. So here's my play. Another day. Another card. Because you just can't catch a break.