I did not know you that well, you were just one of my many students... we smiled at each other when we met... we were friends on facebook. But I never knew you. Those evenings we sat and talked for hours in a group, I was there because I liked being part of that group, I liked that. I didn't understand half of what you people talked about... So, yes, I never knew you...and today when your picture showed up on my newsfeed, I was surprised at the tears that welled up inside me. I was not prepared for them. It's been a fortnight you died. I don't even know if it was a suicide or an accident, but your picture made me stop... I didn't know you and now you are dead..and I see your friends going on about their lives... nothing stopped, nobody cares that much..or possibly they can't afford to stop. So, as much as I had wanted to die all my life, I just pause at your picture and think... do I really want to die and be forgotten forever? No. I want to die as a revenge. I want people to feel guilty and suffer because they deprived me in some or other ways. I probably, do not want to die. I am not suicidal, never was. I just want people to take notice of me and I just realised that dying is definitely NOT a way.
Maybe this is not going to help anything, but I think I should share this thought with the hope that someone somewhere might just chance upon this before they pop the pill or pull the trigger and stop and think why they want to die. Do you really want that? Do you?

I am writing here after a long time. Somehow, after almost three years of an almost stable job, a dozen loving colleagues and friends, I still feel the same pain... I woke up in the morning after a very disturbed two hour sleep and remembered... I am alone. Still. Like always.

It is like my life has completed yet another cycle of mockery and I am once again facing the mirror of truth. And I get to see the mess I am in... the perpetual mess of jumbled up misplaced emotions, unattainable dreams and impossible relationships. 

Maybe most of us are built this way, to live on hope even when we hate the word hope. To climb up the stairs and look down even when we are sure of the vertigo. To suddenly sit up in our beds in the middle of night and start shaking with tears that rattle inside and refuse to come out.

What makes us continue then? Why not find a high place and jump? Do we really care about our parents, friends, family? Isn't that the most pathetic excuse ever? 

I just stand and look hard in the mirror... I like what I see. If not anything else, I have taught myself to love that image. I like to look at myself because I believe if I do not like what I see there, I can't hope to expect someone else like what they see in me either. I know I am beautiful. Terrible but beautiful... almost destructive in its full power... and yet I fail. I fail to impress the one man I want to. I do everything in my power to be the most alluring woman but I fail and I know there's no way out. I will probably die trying and injure a few others. But I can't stop trying. My days are filled with the trials and nights with the feverish anticipation of the coming days. And why I fail? Because I can't tell him. I try that too... and fail... and hope he would understand ... but of course, I fail again.

If someone is reading this... and is a kind soul... just pause one moment and think of that one person who might make you feel like this. Just think and feel... and I would know I am not the only one.

You know it's true when they say love kills. It really does. Slowly, irreversibly, painfully.