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Nobody tells you what to do when your world comes crashing down. That’s a you mission. I wish I can fully describe what it might feel like when the rug is pulled from under your feet.  But I will try. Don’t ask me what it is that has made me write this. I’m still studying it.

Most people think it will happen in a flash, suddenly. But while it does – because there is always a trigger – the after-effects come one after the other. A small one, then a huge one. At some point, you will think the high tide has passed, and then another one hits you. You think you are the same person, until one day you wake up listless. No meaning, no drive, and you are a shadow of yourself.

You are like a book that’s left the shelf. But you have no idea where it’s one. So, you search and search, hoping that you will catch a glimpse of it. What remains in the place where the book has disappeared from? It’s dark and empty.

You used to love quiet, but you’d gladly leave your house and go to places you never imagined you would go. Places so noisy that you would have baulked at the idea. But now, there you are in one of the nosiest places in town.

You hear the snooker balls knock each other, and the bowling balls rolling down the bowling alleys. There is the scent of alcohol and smoke in the air. Then there is the rowdiness. It catches your attention and provides a much-needed distraction. It’s exactly why you’ve come here. You hope it would drown the silence inside of you.  

If that doesn’t do it for you, then try this. You are never one to take alcohol, talk more of liquor. But you wake up one day, and you hurt so much that you down a whole bottle of unpalatable wine and know that it is sweeter than your life. Your sense of adventure is lost somewhere.

That’s not even the worst part. It’s that while you drank it, you wished it was something strong so that you could at least feel tired or lose consciousness for a bit. So that you could sleep because that too has left you.

Normally, you would think that this is all it’s going to be. You must be kidding; your mind tells you. You gradually start to realize that you are a mess. You think you deserve nothing, really. Every bit of self-respect and confidence you’ve ever had deserts you. So, you second guess yourself, and make errors in judgement that you would otherwise not make.

That unleashes more pain and confusion. Such that on a hapless day, you are standing confused at a crossroad, under the rain, in the middle of a big city, desperately looking for solace in a song that you used to enjoy. You are fighting for your life and for a starting point. But what is the feedback you get?

You can hear the underlying voice of the thing that has rocked you saying:

“I see your effort, I see the length you are willing to go, it’s cute, really cute but I don’t think it’s good enough. Don’t try to get up because I will rock you again”

But this is the best a broken person can do. You know you could have done more if only this was the real you. But this you is broken. An impostor, maybe. The worst part? You don’t even know the places you are broken. All you hope for is that you have not been ground to powder.

But you can only know when you look at your pieces. And God forbid you to look at them because how exactly are you going to start? So when you say you will be fine, it’s more of a ploy to get people off your back than a statement of fact. But in the end, you hope you will bounce back because what happens if you don’t? How do you serve your broken self to whole people?

P.S: I know this is dark. But what kind of writer cannot tell dark tales, or at least try?