WOOBLIEDU

KOTA 2

I entered 2018 in a quite normal fashion. Nothing special . Actually, I don’t even remember how I celebrated New year. I think I was in my room, alone and probably was trying to sleep because I had to go to class the next day. Look, I admit that I wasn’t having fun studying , the majority of time but there was so much to learn from so many people. All that I had to do was be silent, let them be themselves and observe. The teachers, some teachers, gave so many valuable life lessons. Experience is the best book and time is the best teacher, I was completely ready to find the door to this simple line. But I forgot, simple is the only complicated.
When I look back at those days, I see myself going down some weird paths, some paths that were not bad, neither they were any good. I have always been afraid of living my each day normally, I don’t want normal. And now that we are talking about fears, let’s talk about what I am really afraid of. Athazagoraphobia, yeah you can google it, or I can just tell you what it is. It is the fear of being forgotten or ignored or you can say the fear of not being remembered. So whenever I hear that any human being on this planet was talking about me to another human being or mentioning me in any conversation, it makes me, let’s just say, less afraid.
Before starting class 12th , I took a long vacation of about two months. I spent time with everyone, it felt really good. Then I got back to kota, changed my hostel and many people ask me why I couldn’t just stay at the same hostel, where I knew a few people and was comfortable with everything. That’s because I didn’t want myself to be comfortable. Comfort is just not good when you are working towards some goal. I accept that I didn’t get a seat in an IIT or NIT, like my parents wanted but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t give my fu*king best. I am completely happy to be where I am right now.
Again, days passed and the “process” went on. Not a lot happened from April to October. Then came November and my classes came to an end. I started obsessing about 1116  again and this time it was bad. It started with me thinking and questioning a lot of stuff and went on to me just feeling worthless and useless. I am not saying that I was depressed but I am not saying that I wasn’t either. One of the worst habits i had during that time was that I used to make time to just lay on my bed, cover myself in a blanket and say the worst things to myself, things that I would never ever want any human being to tell me. And obviously it brought tears to my eyes. I also used to imagine the best possible situations I could be in, sounds pretty cool right, but then I used to completely thrash those situations and give myself every reason why it can never be true. Bloody stupid. And idk why I got addicted to this process. I kept on doing it for quite long, about 6 months. And during that time, I got this thought that maybe depression is a drug. But then someone on Omegle corrected me by saying, “sadness is the drug and depression is the high”. Yeah a weird path. But don’t think that because of all this I wasn’t happy. I wrote this line in one of my poems, “The time I was happy being sad”. This was that time.
So with all that just going on. One day I really wanted to stop thinking too much and just do something. So I grabbed a rough torn sheet of paper and started writing stuff, about things that were bothering me. And then I thought maybe I can write. So I started writing and that made me the happiest I had been in those two years.
This is where it all started.