I might literally have written something like this if I weren’t rescued from depression, this year, in a very dramatic turn of events.
ezuhaib, or whatever they call you,
I would have been dead by today if I wasn’t ignorant enough to realize that 6 tablets of Paracetamol weren’t good enough to vanquish my existence. I’ll keep trying with “better” drugs or higher doses until I make it. Coincidentally, I’m sick these days. All my friends and family would think I died of respiratory tract infection. See how clever I am? Well, you might be wondering why am I doing all this? Well, why would you want to know? If there was someone to listen to my stories, I’d really love to live.
So yes, that’s the thing. I’ve never been listened to. I’ve never been noticed. My only friend, Asma, has kept saying all these years “You’re adorable; the world is only too dumb to see that” and I’ve always pretended to have been convinced of that argument. Deep inside, however, I have been broken all this time as I could easily see the truth, the bitter truth: I’ve been nothing more than an ugly worthless creature brought into existence just to fill up the space. Yeah, I know you’ll now call me irrational, pessimistic, self-conscious and what not. But I beseech you to see my world from my eyes for a moment. I swear you’ll defend my right of euthanasia once you do that.
Yes. I’ve been in love once. For a year, two years ago. I never told him. I would. I almost did. It was the high school farewell night. I prepared for it for a full hour and got the best dress and ornaments I could buy. “You look like a fairy today”, said Asma while spoon-feeding me with blatant optimism as we stepped into the prom hall. I looked around the hall for Yasir. He was standing amongst his friends near the stage, looking as charming as ever. As I walked to him, Asma grabbed my hand and said “Good luck. And don’t you say that in front of everyone else. Tell him you need to talk in privacy.” There she let loose my hand and watched me walk to him with a smile on her face and hope in her eyes. My heart was racing and by the time I reached Yasir, my heart was beating so hard that I could actually hear it, and feared that others might hear it too. “Hi”, I said while trying to start the conversation. His reply was something you cannot even imagine :
“Hey Kittie, look at you…. So you thought dressing up better and that funny make-up could make you look any prettier. Haahahha. Just Kidding by the way.”
Alright. He did punctuate that insult with “just kidding”. But seriously, could that compensate? I was so shattered and my dreams so broken that I raced out of the hall, back to my car and straight to my home. I cried all the way back home. But look: I didn’t attempt suicide. I didn’t even think of that. Why would I take my life for an arrogant bastard?
I decided to quit life yesterday, two years after this story, only when circumstances had made me realize that…
Yasir was right.
And there really wasn’t a brighter side in my life which I could look at.
I’m writing to you because Asma used to say “Strangers understand your stories far better than your friends and family and are sometimes the only ones who actually listen to them.” I don’t know if that makes any sense. But since there was nothing to lose, I dropped this message into your inbox. Pardon me if this makes me look like a troll or if I have disturbed you late in the night.
Please do not say, like everyone else, that I am rather pretty and only too pessimistic to see that.
Because, that would make a stupid lie. You haven’t seen me.
Have you ?