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Sakshi Singh

Others

5.0  

Sakshi Singh

Others

Not Too Late for You

Not Too Late for You

3 mins
979


I saw myself shedding tears of anguish as I found each and every soul I ever held dear crying over me, punishing themselves for not being there for me. My heart ached at the sight of my dad. He had already lost mom, my younger sister and now his son. He was wailing while others attempted to console him in vain. My friends looked like ghouls in deep black dresses, pale complexion and parched lips, their usual cheery disposition replaced by sadness.

Gently the sight before me faded, breaking into minute fragments. I now stood in the doorway of my room, deep blue wallpapers adorning the walls. I barely had time to notice anything else as a leather-bound notebook levitated in front of me. It was my diary. It slowly opened, flipping over its pages one by one, and came to a short pause at the entry dated 14 August 2018. The page was blotched with tears, and the blue ink had spread to create beautiful swirls on the white canvas. But, I did not have to read to find out what had happened, the bullies circling around me, ramming me in the locker and beating me up till my skin was black and blue, was etched in my mind forever. I used to think that seclusion is the solution, that standing up is not worth it, but I was wrong. It makes you an easier target.

Gradually I started giving in to my insecurities, changing myself in order to fit in with what was the custom, the bullying ceased, but deep down, I knew that I was not happy. I felt like clay, like I was being forced to being modelled into something I did not want to be, except that I was the potter as well. I was the one who had inflicted the harm on myself, I took decisions, made myself an actor who was playing a role in a play, only that the play never ends.

Loud fluttering of pages snapped me out of my thoughts. The diary flipped over again, racing through all my nightmares, memories, dreams, hopes and ambitions. this time stopping at 17 September 2018 – the last page that had been adorned with squiggles in blue ink. I sighed and shut the diary before walking out to the balcony of my room. A sudden stream of cool air gushed all around me, as I gazed down the black railing, reminiscing all the days that I stood there with tear stained cheeks contemplating whether or not I should just end this suffering. I ran my hands around the railing, feeling the cool almost soothing effect of the metal from where I jumped, with salty tears streaming down my face sizzling upon making contact with the tiles as deep regret dawned upon me, and I slid down the wall and cried. Images fluttered all around my mind, some jubilant while others mournful and I just sat there for hours thinking about all my decisions.

At the time, you think that just not holding on will take all the pain and suffering away, that it will make you guilt free, but it doesn’t. It just makes the situation more complicated and you end up carrying heavier bags of guilt with you. The pain felt by the ones you hold dear can never be measured. I know how tempting it is to completely deluge yourself in this blanket of emptiness and just stop the fight, but the battle is not lost when you cry, it is lost when you stop fighting altogether. Help can be found by only those who look for it, and I didn’t. You are a very important part of this earth and the world won’t be a good place without you, it won’t be. It might be too late for me, but it’s not too late for you.


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