I survive. And that too proudly.Vanity,one might call it.Different name to the same thing.Separate reasons resulting in one effect---me bordering on narcissism.
Love for self-delusion.
Under whatever circumstances it may occur,my schizophrenic bouts are the few cherished moments of life.
Rest are faded like my parents' wedding photographs.Definitely memories but faded.
Hatred for digits
Newly developed allergy for numerical.Apparently have got it over telephonic conversations where the passing minutes and also the steeply lowering call balance remind you of nothing but numbers and that too in odd fractions of 36.75 and alike.However growing age seem to have a pretty close relation with this as well where everything starting from qualifications to employment,engage a lot of digits. Delluded brain fails to understand the importance of things that do not even have a linguistic meaning attached to it for all given purpose. 2 might just as well have meant four and I could not have possibly cared less.
Insomnia
Not a genetic fault.Cannot even be called a result of long time habbit as life has proved time again that habbits change,Insomnia, thus is an attempt to prove oneself to the World.A world where the drunkard disturbs the stray dogs,shadow of lamp-posts try to out grow each other and the late-night express train race with the hyper-ventilated mind,that attempts and then obviously fails to create poetry out of mere words.
Low self-esteem.
On a high about everything,I tend to become low on myself. I rest in peace in the square-shaped room but one step outside and the cosmos shrinks. Shrinks to the size where my slighted sight cannot differentiate it from the frenzied blur of activities that hold no significance whatsoever. Similar to the cosmos and myself.
Poetry.
As it had been announced already the mind tries to create poetry out of mere words and fails. Emotions fail her and so do the nights.Dark,mysterious and unknown to the blissfully asleep world, night may bring poetry. But betrays me,as does my ever-elusive self who even thought that she can create poetry out of disillusionment,partly felt emotions and fragmented journey through the woods of Terabethia,having nothing as knowledge but herself. Confined in her own little shrunken cosmos,almost bordering on Narcissism.
