Marinating in Misery


I often find myself wanting to write blog posts that carry a heavy political or ideological tone, but I always have to remind myself (and my readers) that I didn’t start this blog to create cohesion through my opinions but through my feelings about pretty much everything and my experiences of pretty much anything. Basically, this blog is for me. I’m glad that my writing can help other people but overall I write to find peace within myself. Maybe it’s not smart or methodological to write about my feelings in a raw and unprepared way on the internet but this will do.

Sometimes I worry I will fall into depression again. I mean, its always lurking around in my head. The thought of it, at least. I am very prone to feeling depressed and anxious and certain environments and situations and events in my life really trigger it. Sometimes, though, nothing triggers it and I find myself feeling nothing and everything at the same exact time.

I find that I don’t cry like I used to. I find myself shedding a few tears while I watch the news, while I recite a made-up graduation speech in my head as I ride the train, while I sit on my bed and write a blog post. I used to cry during the awful things and yes awful things happened a lot to me in my past so I cried a lot, but at least I could specify the source for my emotions. Now, I feel like these are the type of tears our parents would label as the “crocodile” type. Babies and young children seem to cry for the simplest things and so I guess I may have regressed.

I find that I am attracted to misery. I know, I have so many things to be excited for. So many things that call for positivity and brightness and healthiness. I can’t be positive or bright or mentally healthy all of the time, though. There’s always something that pulls me back into darkness, so to speak. It sounds so brooding to call whatever it is I am feeling as I type this post “darkness.” I like to feel emotions. I like to find cracks and faults in situations or at least pretend that they exist. It gives me reason to fall into my miserable moods. I feel like I’m playing a character when I do this.

I also find that love is exciting to me, but not as exciting as tortured love. I enjoy being in a healthy relationship – and this is going to sound so awful – but I always have to stop and ask myself if it’s the type of love that I can write about. The type of love other people will gape at and cry at and stand on their toes for when they listen to stories about it. I want to know why I care so much about the type of excitement I should be getting from my relationships rather than feeling excited, period. However, I have experienced “tortured” love – if you would even call it love – in my early teenage years. And it kept me up at night, it made me cry every day, it made me anxious and depressed and inhuman. So why would my mind ever find itself indulging in those wretched feelings? How dare I pretend that my love is tortured when really it came so easily, so blessedly, so perfectly?

I am constantly changing and I can never fully trust myself to be the same person when I am in a different environment. This realization is scary. Will I be the same Upasna when I leave college? Will I love the same way, learn the same way, survive the same way? Will I continue to keep myself alive or will I tear myself down?

I’m stuck, I guess. I’m just stuck. I don’t know what I want. I know what I need and what is good for me and what everyone else will like for me to do but I am not sure if it is what I want. Maybe it’s these feelings of isolation and unfamiliarity or maybe it’s me. I am ungrateful. My mind and heart are both ungrateful and undeserving of permanent happiness because they will both find reasons to crush it.

Let this not be a milestone or even a phase. Maybe these feelings are just for today, for this week, for the next month, and I will continue on the path of happiness and positivity that I have clearly paved for myself, that I can clearly envision and see when I close my eyes. Maybe I am just taking a break. I’m not perfect, I am so far from it, and so when my life is turning out to be the exact opposite of who I am I get quite reckless. It feels like this part of my life was made for someone else and I forced my way into it. It’s like wearing pants that are too tight or lipstick that isn’t quite the shade for you.

I would say that I want this to pass, but if it’s how I am supposed to be and if it’s how I am supposed to think in order to come to some sort of epiphany then so be it.

Collage made by me, using photos from here and here.


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