I’m sorry.

Dear friend,

You were beautiful. Not in the old-fashioned, high cheekbones, heart-shaped face, slender figure, soft and flowing hair sort of way. No. You were beautiful in your own quirky, kind-hearted, sweet way. You always smiled at me from across the hallway and gave that wave that no one else could ever imitate. You were always happy and I couldn’t ever figure out why. You said hello to everyone and spoke to them as if they were important to you. You smiled, no matter what. But you were also annoying, super clingy, awkward and idiotic. And you were a familiar face in a sea of people I didn’t know.

Maybe that is why I did what I did. Maybe that is why I thought it was okay to do what I did. I didn’t realise it was wrong. I didn’t realise it would hurt your feelings. I know it’s too late now. I should have said something earlier. Or did something. Maybe told an elder about it. Or spoken to you, told you I was sorry and didn’t mean to do what I did. But I didn’t. I was scared. I was so goddamned scared even though I knew I’d get what I deserved.

I know it’s​ too late but I need you​ to know that I’m sorry. And that I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t know that it would hurt you so bad. I thought that this was fun. Fucked up, I know.

But now you’re gone. And nothing I say can bring you back. I messed up with you so bad, you didn’t want to live anymore. Or maybe I was just one of the reasons why. Maybe I was what started it. Or maybe I was what pushed you over the edge.

But there were no signs. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. If I had looked closely, maybe I would have seen the sadness you hid so well. I’m sorry I didn’t look. I’m sorry I didn’t realise. I’m sorry I fucked you up so badly, you didn’t even leave a note explaining why. You didn’t want anyone to get a closure.

I know nothing I say will bring you back but I just wanted you to know how fucking sorry I am. I killed you. I killed your spirit. I killed your will. I killed your soul.

And I’m sorry.

Suicide prevention helpline number: +91 22 2556 3291

Don’t hesitate to call. Nobody deserves to die like this.

Dear diary.

Dear diary,

Today was different. Today felt different. Maybe it was because today was one of my dear friends birthday. Or maybe because I binge watched a really good series. I don’t know. But it felt​ good. I don’t know how to explain “it”.

So instead, I’ll explain how I feels. It’s how breathing fresh air after sitting in a smokey room for too long feels. Having such moments of clarity feels good. Especially when I’m always surrounded by noise, rush and poisoned thoughts. Thoughts that I can’t escape from. What if I’m not good enough? What if they don’t like me? What if I mess up? What if?

So, today I focused only on the positives.

  • I didn’t fall off the bed while waking up.
  • My phone didn’t fall from my hand all day.
  • I didn’t smoke today 
  • I petted a cute little dog. 
  • I didn’t cancel any plans.
  • I didn’t judge myself when I stood in front of the mirror. 
  • I made everyone in the room laugh with my awkwardness.
  • I spent time with an elderly lady.

These may seem frivolous. Or maybe downright hilarious. But when you’re always looking at things negatively, this is something you learn to appreciate.

This feeling that I’ve got? I don’t want it to go. Ever.

About journals and journeys​.

When I was a child, I used to try to keep a journal. I would see all these movies and TV shows (read: Lol and The vampire diaries) where the actors used to fill in their journal everyday and I think to myself ‘I want that’. I want to be able to express myself this freely.

You see, being a introvert meant keeping most of my thoughts to myself and listening to other people more than talking to them. And honestly, after a while, I started hating it. I hated the fact that people thought I didn’t have an opinion, that they didn’t care about my feelings, that they hurt me as if I didn’t matter. And I hated myself for not speaking up. I needed an outlet. And so I started writing. But no, I didn’t make a fancy journal like I wanted to. I wrote my feelings on pieces of papers and hid them. I didn’t want my family to see them. They wouldn’t understand. I didn’t want myself to reread them. It would make me feel pathetic. So I hid them all and never saw them again.

Until recently, when I was cleaning my cupboard. I reread them all. I didn’t feel​ pathetic like I thought I would. I felt proud. I felt happy. I felt strong. I felt lots of things. But not pathetic. I laughed when I read what I had written. Why? Because I grew up to be way differently then I wrote I would​, I have better friends, I don’t hate those people anymore and most importantly, I am happy. I am happy with my introverted self and my friends understand me, I have learnt to stand up for myself and for what​ I believe in and I don’t care about what other people say anymore.

Time and circumstances change you. If you hate yourself, your job, your teachers, your situations or anything else; it’s okay. It gonna pass eventually. You can’t and you won’t hate it forever. Your circumstances make you stronger and time heals you. But it’s like a journey. A journey that is full of potholes and blocked roads. But honestly, it’s a journey you have to be willing to take. You cannot just expect time to heal you. You have to facilitate it to heal you by taking the first step. YOU have to start this journey. YOU have to decide the route. YOU have to select your companions. YOU have to carry your luggage.

YOUR journey is all about YOU.

So, make sure you give it your all. You deserve it and you are worth it.

Freedom.

Here’s what freedom means to me. It means trying out new things, drinking, smoking, being weird, doping, roaming around at midnight, traveling with my friends, breaking a few rules, experiencing new things and just being my crazy self before I kick the bucket.

But it also means not being questioned, criticized and judged for everything I do. It means not having people give me filthy looks and sneering at me for enjoying my life, trying to make me change and giving me ultimatums if I don’t. Yes, some of the things I do might offend you. But isn’t that what life is  about? Isn’t it about making memories, going places, seeing new things, having experiences and living instead of just existing? Yes, I might make mistakes and things may go wrong. But these​ decisions that I make are what define me. These decisions are what make me unique. These decisions are what shape my future. And I decide to be free. So stop trying to change my definition of freedom to accommodate with your definition of it.

Love,

A teenager.