Frankly my dear, I wish I didn’t give a damn.

There is therapy in expression, frustration in the lack of being able to properly express. I dreamt of finding the perfect method of expression. People talk of how a camera in hand makes everything alright, kicking a football makes them forget their problems, dancing is a great form of release, a canvas is the perfect therapy. My forms of expression never seem to provide this relief, they feel like mere experiments- failed experiments at that. My photographs are taken through the frames of others’ references, my thoughts are borrowed and disjointed, my lines are stolen.

Some emotions are just so raw and overpowering to the point where I don’t know which fake form of expression to use. I’ve even tried fake-meditation to focus my thoughts, but to no avail. I want to flip desks, smash windows, rip down fans, break heads, destroy walls. Its scary how easily these urges surge to my fingertips. Once they subside, I feel foolish for not obeying these instincts, and the frustration bubbles to the top again. My mind is a pressure cooker and the longer i wait for a sithhi, the bigger the explosion will be.

I become submissive and fatalistic and all the things I hate to be, and I reluctantly accept it all. I distract myself. All the while I fail to realize that heat may have been turned down, but the pressure still builds…