Do we really ever heal?

Disclaimer: This post has no continuity, no start or end, no conclusions, and nothing to gain from whatsoever. Not even a chuckle. Trust me. You won't even smile.

This is an old story, a draft left alone but not forgotten for a long time. If it wasn't for my OCD to have nothing left as drafts, I may have stayed away from finishing or publishing it; but all stories need to be told, all feelings need to be expressed; (as long as they aren't harmful to others; do no evil)

The death of Sushant Singh Rajput, an actor from India, caused quite the stir in the media and received a lot of opprobrious attention. People created conspiracy theories out of thin air, some coz they sounded interesting, some coz histrionics is the norm of the day and some coz, well, it served some folks better! Of all the wild theories, one of them gained no traction. People lost interest in it very quickly because it seemed possible, simple, and real. 

Sushant killed himself because he missed his mother, who passed away years ago, intensely while all along dealing with the pressures in the industry and the ephemeral nature of fame. He just couldn't go on.

This is the one theory I could completely understand, had no doubt believing, and seemed like a perfectly logical explanation. There isn't any battle you can't fight in this world when you have that one person behind you that you completely trust, love, and live for. That one person who could give you all the strength to take any next step, the one whose assurance is the only thing that matters, and the one for whom you are doing what you are doing.

Being from a modest income household that valued education more than anything else, his mother probably was his constant support and told him that the harder he works, the more he succeeds! He is a simple guy from a simple family brought up by parents who always told him that his achievements and resulting happiness were directly proportional to his efforts. And there he went into his career, gave all he could and then received a lot in return..but even when he got all he wanted, where was his one person for whom he did everything and now that he has the success and the fame, how could he share all that with his dear mum anymore? He did everything he could and more but where was the happiness he was promised? 

I mean is this feeling so hard to understand? Why does someone's demise always have to be a scandal or a sensation? Are simple, normal real feelings not cool enough? or not worthy enough to cause pain? 

Successful or not, celebrity or not, he is only human. He had emotions, dreams, goals, people he loved and missed. Let him fucking be. 

I have almost always written my blogposts in only two states of mind: utmost sadness and intense feeling of gratitude. Even on those days when my posts seemed quite funny and witty, all that came from the strong sense of gratitude in my gut and I could take the smile on my face to my post and then to any reader's eyes because I felt the talisman of thanks inside me. Simple feelings of sadness and fear are real. They are more real than thrill, excitement, and elation. 

Also, I was recently wondering how my mind works in very mysterious ways.. and if mine does, probably there are few others out there who could relate. If there is anything I've come to accept, it is that I am not alone even in the most bizarre circumstances of life. Sure, I may not find company and comfort in the vicinity but I am assured, there is someone out there in another corner of the world, another lifetime or another galaxy with a similar experience.

There I go losing my track.. here is the thing,

When I miss people, and they are so far gone that there is nothing that can be done about it, in spite of having a million good memories, I always only think of all the 'sorrys' I owe(d) them, all the times I wasn't there for them, how I never seemed to have done enough and how I always fell short of what they needed me to be. EVERY SINGLE TIME!! For real, there are lots of good memories, lots of things I did right or tried to do right until the last moment, lots of small milestones; BUT NO.! I only only remember all the unexpressed gratitude, and the unsaid 'I am so sorry's. 

Why does my brain do me like that? Am I alone in this? Am I a masochist? Am I born to be miserable?

Most of the time, I go day in and day out completely numbing myself to these inner voices. As far as my 9am to 11pm goes, they are non-existent. Every now and then, a feeling or two, a tear or two tries to escape my otherwise perfectly smiling face but I am now a professional at totally masking it off and there is no foundation ever made out there that masks bullshit better than the one I've rubbed all over my (?) [what should I even say? face? heart? life?] But it does get to me, you know, I am constantly running but it always catches up with me 'cuz that's the thing about pain right? It demands to be felt.  

Anyway, who cares? Why am I even writing this? Why can't I write about happier things? Preachy shit. Inspirational shit. I don't know, just fucking saner shit, right? Well, I don't know the answer to that. I don't think it is fair for me to show a really wonderful image of myself when that is not what I am all about. If someone cares enough, someone gives a fuck, maybe they will care enough to know that it is not all bling and glitter. Plus, gotta keep my writing skills sharp for a day when I might have to write an autobiography. Who knows, I could still be a superstar one day. I definitely want my wiki page to mention somewhere that I used to write small blogposts for 5 readers. (remember I used to have 9 earlier? I feel like 4 might have unfollowed coz I'm so inconsistent and bleak). Whatever, this is all I could muster. 

Happy Saturday. 
(I mean imagine my nerve, right?)