Rollercoasters are fun they said

It was a question I had worn on my lips for days, weeks, months even – like a loose thread on my favourite sweater I couldn’t resist pulling – despite knowing it could all unravel around me.

“What’s wrong with you babe?” she asks. “Why can’t you be the happy person you used to be?”

I do have an answer: “Why don’t you just understand that? Aren’t you that friend anymore?”

The last 3 months have been a roller coaster ride. That experience when you first buy the ticket to your favourite city in the world to the bit you wait for your turn in line for the visa papers to be approved. You get in, strap up your safety locks and it begins. The long trek up to the top most floor, where you take a breathe and admire the view of the city that surrounds you like that warm security blanket.

The moment feels like the Champs-Élysées of all moments! This is the moment where you plummet down the really fast elevator suddenly and your heart stops to look around on the floor it halts. Am I alive or dead? Am I dead? Am I alive? Oh gosh… This will all be over in a minute or seconds I think. No wait! I worked damn hard to get here and I don’t deserve this. Maybe I do! I do…  

But do I really? Its now round 2 and oh my god it’s the same edge that I felt earlier. Ok ok this is over. No wait. Oh god its going in for the turn. Great! This is never going to end. There’s the plummet again where I am dying. Not actually but my heart and liver got left behind where it started. Oh no…. oh no, wait what? It spins? Damn it. Few more heart skips, jump, throttle, spin, jump, drift and STOP.

Rollercoasters are fun they said. Are they? 3 years ago I made a commitment to the bosses and workplace who stood dear to my heart, that I will earn, travel and never give up the passion for work! I din’t until I realised that giving up wasn’t an option anymore. It was the only thing that was standing between staying happy and going insane. I worked like crazy and got told off I wasn’t good enough to last. Broke my heart to hear it, but it was real. My passion had changed, just like the ‘company’ had changed. So, with a heavy heart and mind I quit the place in December and took a vacation. Yet, this is what my anxiety felt while on a vacation, on top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Yes I have anxiety or/and depression AND THIS IS VERY REAL. In the reflection, the sadness in the eyes sings— I was destined, for better things.

ME! Out of all people I never imagined I would have this. I was stronger than this I told myself. But, I’m not. Bahrain, London, Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris, Bangalore, Amritsar and Delhi. Crossed the seven seas to create moments, experiences and memories. A connection to connect again. Why had I mentally disconnected? But, no! I carried my anxiety across four continents. Travel is said to be different things, yet I found myself lost within my own mind though my passport had more stamps for me to get lost in.

Why did I stop being poetry or that favourite quote I liked?

Did I become a slogan or someone else’s problem?

When did I become the last line in the poem?

I am a slightly OCD person when it comes to things I organise or do. In real, I’m messy AF. I talk without thinking all the way through the words in my head. I don’t follow everything I want to do. I don’t follow regimes or eating schedules. I don’t follow rules but diss the others who don’t too. The biggest tell of my messiness is my body. You can tell. I don’t eat healthy, I don’t exercise or run marathons with multiple causes. But, in my head I’m an athletic human who has washboard ABS.  I’m anxious all the time about this and a million other things. I imitate cleanliness within my body only to mess it up in my head shortly after.

And yet, there is one thing about me that is organised and precise: my life. Or rather, I work the hardest at making my life as controlled as possible. I love making plans. Travel plans. Financial plans. Coffee plans. I try to schedule everything. The anxiety of the uncertainty will continue to torture me until the uncertainty is made certain.

This happens to me in the seemingly most meaningless and stress-free situations. Like I had to meet a few friends over dinner a couple of days ago after decent long time. I freaked out over the fact that my friends had invited some other people who I dint know were going to be there in the first place. I mean, why dint they tell me? Like what could go wrong if I met some extra people? What if they don’t like me? What if I spilled something while talking to them? What if they think I eat too much chicken? What if they comment saying I’ve become more plump?

Just thinking about this experience makes me feel unpleasant. And of course, like everything I stress about, it all worked out just fine. It was a pleasant evening where India won against Pakistan. We drank, ate some chicken, spoke about silly things and laughed uncontrollably.

Control. Maybe that’s my problem. Do I feel anxious about not being in control? Is that it?

It’s even worse when the plans must be changed. There have been many instances where I have cried over an unforeseen situations and changed plans even though they would’ve worked out perfectly fine. Why? Cause I felt loss of control over my being, my emotions.

I know how ridiculous this all sounds. I really wish I weren’t this way. I wish that I could have the maturity to know that everything will work out just fine. I wish that such a simple task of reorganizing a plan would not stress me out to tears.

And yet, I continue this life of anxiety. It’s my addiction for control. How ironic that my quest for the control of my life causes my sanity to spiral out of control.

I am an addict and I admit it, but I wonder what you think about it.


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