Writing Therapy

Writing is therapeutic for me.

This  is just one of those nights when I find myself reading a sentence from my Audit Problems book for at least half a dozen times and it does not seem to make sense. I believe my eyes seem to be glassy whenever I try to push all my thoughts back to work. I probably looked like I could see through everything I set my eyes on. Obviously, my heart weighed thousand times heavier.

So, I could only let out a sigh. My fingertips are itching to give a gist about how my heart felt tonight. so may be I will just spill the beans. But I’ll do it as ambiguous as I can lest I find time to encapsulate the enormity of my thoughts into a well-thought poem (which I usually do, should the need to be ambiguous and creative arises *winks*). So, here it goes.

It is funny how the world seems to put you on a pedestal and expect you to act perfectly. They all want you to be intelligent, understanding, outgoing, and the list could go on… Well, may be you can be. But you cannot be at all times.

The world imposes a lot of to-do’s in your life. And unless you follow them, you cannot belong. It points out how wrong you have been doing things and it cannot afford you a room for mistake. It felt as though it compels you to please the whole human population and yet if you try to, you get criticized.

Well, I cannot say that I do not judge others by saying this. I do, a couple of times. But as much as possible I do it in the secrecy of my mind. Judging is a little secret between me and my soul.

Anyway, my point now is: I am tired of satisfying what the world expects of me. I wish to do everything at my own pace but I cannot. When I do, the world seems to close in on me until I become suffocated and I get to realize that it is wrong to live on my own accord and the only thing I can do is succumb to what the world wants me to do. When I do the right thing, I receive indifference but when I commit a mistake, it is instantaneously magnified and I am, once again, stripped off my rights. I just felt like the famous I-am-the-captain-of-my-soul is a huge William Ernest Henley fib. You cannot just be the captain and steer the ship the way you want it to go. You have people on board and unfortunately, no matter how hard you ignore their mandate, you tend to bend to their own wishes so much you would actually prefer that they throw you off the ocean and watch your own ship go their way for the sake of having peace of mind. But you cannot. Not because you love the ship but because you have always wanted to prove them wrong. You know that you are going somewhere far. A place where they cannot reach, judge and even torment you with their narrowed eyes. A place where people could see your worth. A place where people value your efforts and understands why you exert them in the first place. A place where you can commit mistakes and people can still make you feel that you are human and committing mistakes is perfectly normal. A place where you are not valued in the extremes – from the saint on the pedestal to the detestable beggar in the gutter.

But for now you write, because it is indeed therapeutic.

write

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