Maybe You Should Talk To Someone
It’s been long since I wrote something here because the 9 to 5 have already extended to 9 to whatever, parents have moved in, Fyodor Dostoevsky’s writings are not intercepting through the frontal lobe of my brain, mental turmoil feels real, adulthood is making me take selfish decisions that I do regret later but I am managing to have a constant companion: Maybe You Should Talk To Someone.
If you do not know what you just read after the colon, it is the name of a book by Lori Gottlieb I am currently devouring.
If you have it already and you are glaring at it, you must be seeing an illustration of a blue tissue box with tissues popping out of it, a transparent glass kept at its right that is almost filled with water(atleast this is what the picture depicts). On the tissue box, it’s written:
a therapist,
her therapist,
and our lives revealed.
I wanted to write these eight words in the similar manner it is written on the cover because this is eventually how the book explains my life and your life– in split sentences, with commas, and all interconnected to frame a possible sentence.
You can use the split sentence reference to your emotions, the commas to your decisions and the interconnectivity to how your emotions perpetually force you to take decisions, which further interconnects the multiple phases of your life.
Before I move ahead, I would take a moment to say: What you will read ahead is about you, not me! At multiple instances you can think, “Oh did she just say what I feel,” or “How did I not think this before,” or you could maybe say, “Is this woman mad?”
I promise I won’t mind if you say any of these because as I said before it is all about you, not me.
Let’s begin something that have been eating up the upper space of my mind for days now!
The speed of light is outdated. But the speed of want? Unmeasurable! I read the first half of this sentence in the book and the second half? Just something I think!
For as long as I know myself, I have been chasing my wants. I wanted to pursue journalism, I did. I wanted to work for TV channels, I did. I wanted to call myself a writer, I did. I wanted to create stories, I did. I wanted to live in an apartment that is built like I want with pieces of my heart aligned into every corner, I did. I wanted to live alone, I did. I want to win awards for my writing, I did. And the list goes on.
These might feel like, “Oh! What’s wrong in this?”
Read the rest on medium.