self-destructive streak

When I was 2 years old, I stuck my fingers in an electric socket, my mom got frightened and pulled my hand away.
When I was 4 I developed a habit to sneak into kitchen, climb a shelf and grab knives and fork. The kind old housekeeping lady used to take them away before I could hurt myself. I used to cry when she did that.
When I was 6, one night I found the gate open and left my home. I wandered in the neighborhood at 5 in the morning before my uncle found me. Everyone was terrified. I was just sad they found me and brought me back home.
When I was 9 and I got a bike as a birthday present, I started riding it without hands and on various occasions fell and scraped my knee. I got bored with this new found hobby once I got so adept at it that I could do it without falling down.
When I was 12, I started bunking school to hang out with older boys. The principal told my mother and I was grounded for 2 months. When they let me go out again, I went straight to my friends who got me in trouble.
When I was 14, I found a pack of cigarettes in my uncle’s coat and that was the first time I smoked one whole pack in one sitting. After that, it was my usual midnight activity. When my father found out he sat me down and told me smoking was going to kill me. I remember being completely fine with that.
When I was 16, one night after a horrible day, I found out by experimenting that slicing my skin with a razor blade was pretty exciting. For months after that, I continued with my new hobby. The blood seeping through paper thin gashes in my skin, somehow, made me feel alive.And then, one day it just got plain dull.
When I was 17, my extremely inappropriate friends introduced me to a friend of theirs and I fell in love instantly. It was cocaine. They said one who once gets hooked on it never got off. Well, not in my case. I got bored of it after my parents told me it was going to kill me and it didn’t.
When I was 20, I fell in love with you. That was the one addiction that I never really got over may be because I finally found the thing which was going to kill me. Sweetly. Slowly. Excruciatingly. anxiety_by_vera_chimera-d57e6fw

Toxic relationships

“You’re in an abusive relationship. Break free. Be strong.”, said my best friend, Esha, munching on a sandwich. I looked away. She was probably right. My relationship with my boyfriend had been kind of a roller-coaster ride with our on-again, off-again madness and the outrageous fighting that happened on a regular basis. “But I love him”. I mumbled.
“I just don’t trust the guy is all. You’ll find someone better. He is not even that hot.”
I couldn’t help but nod she wanted the best for me, clearly.
“You’re so beautiful. I hate how you can be so naive. You don’t need a man to be fulfilled, girl. It’s 2016 you should learn to be independent. You’re so typical with your romantic ways. So bourgeois. Look at me, I’m single and so happy, I can flirt with whoever I want. See the cute boy by the window? I’m gonna go talk to him, you go on and pay the bill I’ll be with you in a minute.” I walked to the counter to pay the bill and while taking money out of my purse, a shiny black little blade fell out, I hurriedly tucked it back in.
Walking out of that coffee shop, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for myself. I hated myself for being so fragile and flimsy.
My dad was waiting outside to pick me up. “Thanks, dad.” I said as I slided in with him n the backseat.
“It’s okay, kiddo. You’re probably gonna need me for car rides all your life since the profession you chose for yourself hardly pays enough to afford decent food, let alone a car.” Dad had always been sarcastic. He was probably joking I shouldn’t let it sting so much. I forced a smile and remained quite for the rest of drive
That evening when I got home I had a text from him but I chose to ignore it. “I am learning to be independent”, I told myself.
“Is that my shirt you are wearing?” My sister screamed as we sat at the dinner table.
“Oh God. Sorry I forgot to ask you. I felt like wearing something cute today and it was just lying around.”
“It doesn’t even look that good on you. Pastels on your complexion? What were you thinking?” she rolled her eyes.
Sheepishly, I played with a pea in my plate. I regretted not asking her before I wore her shirt. I’ll clean her cupboard as a thank you, I thought to myself.
After I did clean her cupboard and returned the shirt, my sister started talking to me again.
“So, how is that loser boyfriend of yours?”
“Hey! Don’t call him that.” I protested.
“Whatever. You know how I hate the guy. Get rid of him already.”
“I will. I haven’t replied to any of his 12 texts since this morning.” I told her rather proudly.
“Good for you. Also, get rid of those heels. You look like a baby calf learning to walk.” She pointed at my feet. “And, God, headbands are so highschool-ish. Why’d you even buy that thing?”
“I just wear it to keep my bangs off my face.” I explained, apologetically.
My mother laughed, in her chair by the fire place. “Child, you need to learn to stand up for yourself. Your sister is bullying you.”
I let out a nervous laugh, mother continued, “how so you expect to excel in your professional life if you don’t have the guts to stand up to your own sibling? You are nothing like me or any other woman in our family. We come from a family of strong women I wonder what makes you so awkwardly shy and anxious.”
I had no answer so I just listened. “Have you seen your friend Esha? She is so bold, so full of life. I hoped she would prove to be a positive influence on you but no…” She went on.
Oh Esha, that reminded me I had to prepare her assignment for her because she was going out with the cute boy from the coffee shop. I slipped out of the living room, unnoticed.

Later that week, I tell my psychiatrist I’m depressed.
“Is there anything in your life that upsets you?” the sugary, middle-aged woman asks me.
“No.” I pause for a brief moment. “May be it’s my boyfriend.”
“Mmhm. Tell me more about him.” She says in a flat tone, almost as flat as if she was feigning interest. I find the words to talk as she scribbles ‘Prozac’, in cursive on my prescription note.

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Coffee and sunrise

Coffee as black as his heart.
Sunrise as red as her eyes.
A love so ardent
it sets fire to the skies
A heartache so great
you wouldn’t suppress your sighs
So addictive a pain
almost like a whiff of cocaine
An agony so profound
crushes you in the ground
a lover so mad
puts a gun to your head
a love so fragile
hanging by a thread
Yet the notion of separation
is cold as a winter morning
or a damnation
to eternal autumn
against all odds, I place my bet
’cause how often do you see
blood spilling in sunset
how often do you see
coffee as black as his heart
sunrise red as her eyes
we sure are a work of art
a storm in clear skies
a love in disguise
and a broken coffee mug
holding the sunrise
coffeeart