Rage and Me Being Bait

I think I first felt love like feelings when I was 13. I say love like, because it was not love. Saying you love them does not make it love. And I had believed I had fallen in love, but took me many years to mature and realize it was not love. It did bring me immense joy and made me giddy up. But I believe a 13 year old me, with the steps I took back then— I was too young to be in love. Not saying people cannot love while being young, but I was too immature to even know what love even is. I thought love was what people called being "gf bf" back then. 2019. Long time. I would say it was Infatuation. He looked good; I was attracted. I liked the attention and most importantly I wanted to fit in. I would get excited, feel the heat in my chest. The attention I got from a boy for the first time in my life blinded me the way the sun blinds you when you open your eyes after a long nap on the grass. The next love like feeling was 2025. 19 year old me. 6 years later. Now, I would give it two names. Limerence and Attachment. I longed. I burned. Their one action would dictate my whole universe. And their presence would make me feel really safe. No, it was not love. It was something soft and warm just like love but— just not love. This time, it happened because of my need to belong. To belong by being someone who gets chosen. You can say I wanted to be chosen so bad by them that if they were a vulture, I would not mind playing dead so that at least the vulture would come and peck and rip and tear at my skin reaching through my ribs to take my heart. Yeah well, it does not sound nice and you guessed it. It ended badly for me. But hey, it at least made me realize that I have to be only chosen by me, not anyone else. Now. Infatuation, Limerence, Attachment. Crossed out. What is next. Will it be love or any other love like feeling? Now you might question me; what even is love if not a mixture of all these and how I am so sure that it was not love all those time back then. Well, I believe love is something that is really quiet. Not loud. Does not make your heart beat really fast nor does it make your head spin from thoughts. It's trust, respect and acceptance. Love is something that bears responsibility, takes care and gives commitment. Love feels like a safe haven. A home in the clouds. A treehouse with your favorite books. And most importantly— a place without fear. I am talking like I am some high end blogger. Let me stop here.

We got my friend a cat. We went to adopt. My friend wanted a teen cat but we came home with an adult cat. 4 years old with dental issues. Clover. Her description said everyone who met her said she is the sweetest in the shelter and questioned why does she not get adopted? A thought crossed my mind. If everyone thinks she is sweet and wonders why is she not adopted, they can just ask themselves— why are they not adopting her? They themselves are the answer they are looking for, no? Okay I just have a bitterness in me from so many adult cats getting ignored. Anyways. This did made me think how so many people met her but once me and my friend had her out of the cage to meet. When she was so calm in my arms. We just knew we are taking her home. It took us less than 5 minutes to decide. So many people. But— us, we brought her home. She waited for so long, met so many people. Only to meet a crackhead who held her like an infant and another one who doesn't know how to hold her but signed the form with so much enthusiasm. Finally, however much scared she was, she was home. A mysterious life, being rescued by FDNY (ify girl) and the shelter becoming her home, who knew she would find a forever home in a new cat owners house. So...will I ever be Clover? Will I ever find love the way she found a home. I believe it is all fate. Rizq, to be precise. Clover had it in her Rizq. Do I have it in mine?

I was about to put the title as "I took my first step" but I stopped. It felt demeaning. Towards my own self. People are saying they are proud of me for standing up for myself, I don't blame them for not knowing my lore but if I label it as my first step, whatever I did to come here would be meaningless. I had 3 nightmares, of the same kind; in two days. Nightmare where I am demeaned by the people who claim they love me. And that love puts a heavy weight on my chest of fear of disappointment. Why is me doing whatever—"lazy"? Why do you have to say "I would have done this if I were in your place" while disagreeing with me? Why is me doing anything just never enough? The thing is, I thrive on encouragement, not on shame. Shaming me will not make me do it out of my own will but only for your satisfaction. Why does your satisfaction matter more than mine, in my life? It should not. If I was standing up or whatever in the words of such people after never being able to satisfy them; I think I will stand up and take a step back from them now. Them wanting the good for me pushes me towards the worse because their way of shoving their wish in my face only makes me step back. With all due respect, I had enough. Enough to have nightmares about the people who supposedly love me. And I am not being overdramatic or shit because I felt it—thought about it enough to have nightmares about it. The disappointed face that I see, the disinterested tone that dismisses anything I do, they are printed in my subconscious enough to haunt me even in my rest. And, there is no shame in what I do, how I do, and when I do it. I have enough force to do well in my life and my pace is just fine.

I gave away my last straw and now I am free. However crazy it sounds. Or maybe just shameless. I made a website for my first love's girlfriend. But how I'm seeing it now is, I made a website as a gift from my friend to his girlfriend. And it feels amazing to see my project be completed, something that once I asked for, I made it for another girl. And it feels like the perfect last page to this mostly bitter book. I appreciate whatever I endured or experienced because it brought me here. But I will never overlook the fact that most of them left me feeling bitter, made me hollow, left me with nothing but the feeling of emptiness. And now, I have filled myself to the brim; so much that I spilled it into his gift for his girlfriend too. And I feel like it was meant to be. I was meant to do so because it brought me a different kind of peace. A peace that made me realize that I have let go. I did once love him, hence calling him my first love. But I do not love him anymore and it feels like freedom. I gave away my last straw, maybe straws are not made for my cup of tea. I can only sip with my lips, even if it burns my tongue, it is freedom not relying on something to connect me with the warmth.

I am here. Mentally and physically exhausted but I am here to listen to a man talk about how there is no diagnosis for depression or anxiety. Yes. His literal words after I said I have been diagnosed by it. “There is no diagnosis for depression and anxiety.” My face literally dropped because. Is this guy really a medical professional? He goes on to say “it’s not like diabetes or cancer that it can be diagnosed, it’s only in our mind.” It hurt me to sit in front of him and hear him tell me how my lifestyle should be while constantly invalidating my diagnosis and the fact that I also take medications. Does he think psychologists, psychiatrists and therapists are just there to play hadudu? Did he not study psychology to get where he is as a doctor. The way I got invalidated, felt like I am back in Bangladesh talking to an illiterate man on the streets. I have faced this taboo too much to know that you cannot say and change their thoughts but the lack of civil sense even in this doctor is flabbergasting. And I wont even sugarcoat the fact that ALMOST EVERY BENGALI thinks like this. It’s so frustrating. When I told my psychiatrist that it’s a taboo in my country, she couldn’t understand. Oh well Ms. Xi, you are fortunately the other type of asian.

I am scared of death. Scared in a "can beg you to spare their lives" kind of way. Like a cat when it gets sprinkled with water. When I got in an accident in December last year. I got so chickened out that I very dramatically professed my love to my first love. I went full on cliche and said stuff like if I die, just know I love you. Yeah. The fear does that to you. The doctor came and told me that I might have to undergo brain surgery, yeah fuck it. I have the right to be scared. I can freak out and do the most dumbest thing. Let it be telling my first love, and let me tell you it was very disgustingly one sided, that I love them. Or even when I had a dream about me being dead and my spirit watching my unmoving body. Yeah freaked me out so much that I woke up so grateful to be alive. I really don't know what to think about what's after death. What do I see? Does my spirit wander around until I'm buried? That would feel so. Empty. So. Scary. And like. not having my mother, my family around? Having no one around? I hate being lonely. Not a me thing. Death? yes, not a me thing. I am literally on the verge of tears as I'm typing this. I am sick and suddenly there are these lumps in my throat. And the over thinker in me decided to come to the conclusion of cancer. What a loser, you must be thinking. My cousin has cancer so I can be scared about that too. And it can occur anyways. I wonder how my cousin feels. If I had to declare anyone the bravest, it would be the people with cancer. Because if I was there, I would be bawling my eyes out every second, gasping and screaming for help. Already given up so chemo and getting better? Yeah my scaredy cat ass would be too scared and get depressed and might even end it all. No please, I don't support it. Please seek help if you ever feel like it. But, the thought just makes me wanna cry like the world is ending, I would not really be alive if I knew I am about to die. The process has escalated and now it could be any moment. It's scary. Death is scary. And I know I am not alone, everyone is scared and that is why the world runs right? The least I can do is pray, and hope He hears me. I don't want to die. Nor do I want to see anyone around me die. Ugh. Why is death a natural occurrence. Why is there literally more lumps forming in my throat, I am scared.

Have you figured out your life? I can bet, it's a no. Because no one has. People only keep wanting more. And as selfish as it sounds, that is what holds up the human race. We keep wanting. Human relations? heck, it's for our benefits. Your best friend? You keep them around to vent your shit to them. And they do the same. The perfect give and take relationship. What I have learned in the past year is that, the best relationship is the give and take one. You always will have expectations, you think it's fine if someone does not meet them? You will spiral into madness, however much you want to keep giving, you need something in return. Social interactions are like food chains. It all circles back to surviving. If someone does not need you to evolve, welcome in the trash can of life. Where they will keep you but never clean you out. Your memories and remnants will haunt them and for their malicious satisfaction of being the bigger one, they will keep you trapped in that trash bin. Make you feel trapped. You might do the same with some people as well. Best of luck if you have cleithrophobia like me. So, what is life actually. Us social validation hungry animals going in circles until what, we die? No wonder, you haven't figured out your life.