The Child Therapist: 1


Once upon a time, in a faraway land lived a young girl with her parents. She was quite the queer sort, had trouble fitting in with her peers, couldn’t read or write and had a terrible time at school. The toddler faced a lot of ridicule and humiliation at the hands of her teachers, had basically no friends. The only friends she had were two bullies, on was a liar and a thief, and the other had a hidden cruelty in her. They kept her around so they could brow-beat the girl for fun…children are cruel. At home, the parents always fought. Screaming, shouting and more…the parents didn’t have enough money, had a lot of debt and they were extremely incompatible. The mother was insensitive who always remained drowned in her own sorrows: She was an orphan, had a brother with down’s syndrome and  it was through a lot of toil and trouble she pursued her education and became a teacher. The father was an oversensitive man: He was neglected as a child, never loved by his mother and the woman he loved married someone else. The only reason these two ended up together is because the wife looked like his lost-love, and the reason she married him was because she needed a safe haven for herself and her retarded brother. Until they started living together, the young couple didn’t realize how utterly destructive they were together. All the did was fight…to add to this uncomfortable situation, the woman was pregnant. She gave birth to a beautiful little baby-girl, and then ignored her for the rest of childhood. The girl grew up unloved and neglected, prone to anxiety and mockery…no one would help, they wouldn’t teach her anything. But she was an intelligent child, she learnt how to get their attention, since crying didn’t work she developed her listening skills. She became her mother’s confidante, her mother told her every minute, miserable detail of her painful past, her disadvantageous present and that is how the mother slowly started noticing her. To be quite honest, the woman hadn’t thought of her as a blessing before this.


Tears of Frustration


Do you know what sucks? When people make you feel like a burden. Another thing that feels bad is when someone doesn’t have any interest in your life, and they make no effort to hide that. Watching an episode of a melodramatic daily soap is way more important than your blog post. This post is about a person I’ve previously written about and do I regret that. I hate myself for it now, I did expect that I would be beating myself up about it…but maybe not this early. I could easily just delete that post and pretend it never existed, but I won’t. Why would I erase my hard work just because some discourteous person doesn’t like it?

If anything, I’d rather use this emotion to jot down another post. Like a true capitalist banking on emotional currency. My family doesn’t like the fact that I’m blogging, they’d rather see me posting pout-y selfies and updating cliché statuses on Facebook. I’m not like those girls, I have nothing in common with them. They’re all about contouring, crop-tops and curves. I don’t have curves, I have rolls of fat on my body.  I don’t want to be like them, I’m pretty happy with my hideousness. I’m happy in my loneliness. Is my website that horrible? You tell me, no wait…don’t.

For the first time in my life, I’m putting myself out there through the aid of this blog. A blog which I began right  after a horrendous Math exam. When everyone seemed to be disappointed in me, and I felt broken. No one really cared though, no one still does. My parents have provided for me to the best of their capabilities, maybe even more than that…materially. But emotionally, I’ve always been alone and nobody has ever wanted to know anything about me unless I’ve spoken out. To everyone who sees me from the outside: They see a girl with an unkempt appearance, a blank expression and I may even come across as a total loser. I don’t really mind what one thinks of my clothing, but I do wonder sometimes…that maybe because I seem very plain, nobody wants to get to know me.

This situation is a great example of why I don’t like being nice to people, they’re never nice to me. And all I get out of this is some more sadness added to the hidden pile of sorrow, inside my mind.

I would sit down and have a good cry, but I only cry out of anger. Even though I am sort of angry and hateful right now, the tears just won’t spill. This seemed like the only way to loosen the iron grip of misery on my heart. Maybe I’ll go and take a nap now. Maybe if I sleep for a while, I’ll be less cranky. Just have to keep reminding myself that this despondency will pass.

Inside the mind of an Overthinker


READ: Purely imaginary content, any similarity with any living person is unintentional.

I’m looking at the last text I sent, it’s been an hour. Why hasn’t she replied yet? I text again, urging her to reply. Maybe she’s not seen the message yet, what if she did? Did I say something wrong at any point of our conversation? I scroll through, carefully scrutinizing each sentence, cringing at each typo. I’m trying to figure out what went wrong…the voice in my head tells me you’re overthinking but some part of me can’t stop worrying. What if she’s in trouble? I call her phone, her landline. Tring Tring : No answer. A bead of sweat breaks out, I check her social media…no statuses, no tweets.

The voice in my mind scolds me. Tells me to stop this nonsensical behavior, she’ll call me back when she can. Another hour passes, I’m staring blankly at my phone. I can’t stop myself from thinking up the most awful scenarios. Soon, I drift into a disturbed slumber. The alarm wakes me up from that wakeful sleep…” Sorry, dozed off.” says my notification bar, she’s fine. I breathe a sigh of relief.


Went to the mall with my family, my parents want me to buy clothes. There is this huge sale going on. We go to various stores, my parents look at the clothes…I see the price tag. I don’t want them to waste money on this. But no one wants me to speak…every time I utter something, my father shuts me off. My mother stands up for me. The breakout of another argument, the name-calling begins. They’re both trying to smite each other. I can’t handle the stress, my mind is overwhelmed. I want to crawl inside a hole and sun-bathe in the darkness. I want to be alone. My Voice and I begin another one of those conversations, both of us debating about if I should point out the flaw of logic in my father’s words. Each time he utters something, I take offence on my mother’s behalf.

I want to help her but I can’t, that’d draw more attention. His masculinity doesn’t like backing down to a measly Eighteen year old. They quiet down, still poking each other by hypebolically describing each other’s shortcomings. I want to scream! the Voice has kept a clear record of every bad thing, and she plays it on a loop. I try to stop the thoughts but they don’t want to stop, the Voice is more powerful. Her emotions have more vehemence, she screams at me : ” Get a backbone! stop being such a victim. Fight back, push them! You have to.”

I think of taking the usual escapist’s route and try to find a way to reach oblivion, trying to get rid of the stress, anxiety. I think of leaving, but I can’t…I think of all the bad things that can happen to me. At least I’m protected here, another place would be completely unknown and everything would be beyond my control. My Voice says to be selfish and to be brave, she goes on like this for a while. She realizes after some time that her words are falling on deaf ears, she back tracks and tries to soothe me. She says she’ll figure it out soon enough.