Little Journal Of Words

  Fall is such a foreign concept for people living in my country. All my life, I’ve wanted to put on a Halloween costume on the 31st of October, but unfortunately, that never happened. So, I try to live vicariously through reading creepy books and watching my comfort shows and movies. Even though it’s supposed to be a festival to ward off evil and spirits, somewhere, I find comfort in it. It feels like my entire childhood is defined by the number of Halloweens I spent, much like Christmas.  Maybe I’m just blabbering right now, but there’s a bit of contentment in this. It has been a while since I’ve written something just because I wanted to write. This stream-of-consciousness style of writing seems to be helping me a lot. After a certain age, everything around us seems to lose its vibrancy. However, there are moments like this where one can find ease even in the mundane. I cannot believe how fast we’re flying through this year, yet somewhere, time stands still.

 I've been slipping in and out of consciousness.  What's consciousness? I'm not quite sure.  All my life, I've lived in this vessel, With a rope tugging at my bones.  The world around me spins harder,  Like a carousel run by ghosts.  Ghosts from my past, Ghosts I can't quite get rid of, Ghosts I slowly started to call my own.  -Ananya Gupta 

 Who am I?  I'm the fragments of the books I read, Of pages ever so crooked, but print still fine. Sometimes fantasy, sometimes non-fiction, And sometimes the disturbingly horrific genre, that keeps you up at night, clutching your sheets tightly to you heart, hoping that none of your vulnerability would seep through the fabric. I'm the songs that I listen to, Songs that you sometimes hate,  Songs that you sometimes love. Songs that you pretend to hate for the sake of worldly approval. Songs that you call stupid, but then cry listening to at night. Songs that you would never even give a chance to. I'm pieces of the Café that I often like to visit, Only to drink hot chocolate, on a hot summer evening. I'm places, where grass fails to grow, damaged beyond repair. I'm someone you desire me to be,  Almost but not quite. I'm all the stars in the night sky, That wishes to be seen, Almost but not quite. That makes no difference, Nevertheless, ceases to exist, Almost but

 Pale face, frail arms, Limbs as thin as branches, Shaking uncontrollably like a tree does on a stormy night.  Storm indeed pass through that night, Destroying the child within.  "Nothing would happen. We would get through this like we always do.", said another tiny set of arms holding tightly,  The wails grew louder,  Deafening almost, Deafening yet audible enough.  "Tomorrow morning, everything will get back to normal like it always does", words of comfort laced with terror.  Those words turned out to be true, but not quiet. The storm didn't leave their dwelling,  Not until one or all of them were dead. Death knocked on the door, indeed, Death of their innocence. -Ananya Gupta 

If you're a person with mental health issues, then you know what kind of hardships you deal with everyday. You cannot predict what your mood is gonna be the next moment. You can be very excited for an upcoming event, thinking that you're gonna enjoy with your loved ones. And when the day would come, it'll turn out to be something totally different. You'd get the worst panic attacks of your life and everyone around you will think that you're making some sort of lame excuse to get out of it. You can know someone for years and still it would make you sweat profusely, thinking of talking to them. You would know the exact answer to your teacher's questions and still wouldn't raise the hand and answer, thinking that it would be wrong and everyone will laugh at you. You'd feel afraid of running or dancing with your friends, because that would increase your heartbeat and you'd feel like your heart is going to explode and come out of your ribcage and

Hey everyone, I know it's been a while since I updated my blog. The truth is that I lost my motivation to write and somewhere during this Quarantine, I'm trying to polish up my skills. I'm also trying to read as much as possible. For a while I actually forgot how much of joy it brings me to read and write. Its a shame that our busy lives can change so much about us. Mental health is also one of the reasons why you stop doing what you liked to do. I'm trying to write my thoughts down as much as possible, and surprisingly, there's just so much I wanna write. Let's just begin with the fact that we're currently trying to survive through a Pandemic. And I'm scared. I'm scared to witness people that I love, in pain. I'm scared for the fact that so many people are losing their lives, and so many people are trying to pretend that they're invincible.I don't even know how I'm holding myself together. But I'm proud of myself. As much as