Strong or weak?

Most of the times, I stay strong.

I look in the mirror and smile to myself until I get an actual smile on my face. I read humourous blogs before sleeping. I think of five good things the day has brought in. I forgive the people I love. I scribble ‘Stay Strong’ on my hand each morning. I smile. I laugh. I make fun of others, and get fun made of me.

Most of the times, I stay strong.

I avoid talking about or apologizing about whatever trouble I might have caused to you during the night because of my nightmare even though my insides are burning with embarrassment. I fake drowsiness when my head is splitting up because of the after-nightmare headache. I hide the sheer fear I feel when I wake up by secretly looking around to make sure He’s not here. I change the topic when you accidentally bump into it and try my best to make it sound as if things are good. I hide things from you.

Most of the times, I stay strong.

Then there are times when I lose everything. I lose control, and I feel lonely. I write a text to you, but then I erase it. I type a mail, then instead of ‘send’ I click on ‘save to drafts’. The best and the worst part? Nobody can make out what is going on inside me. Right now too, I’m laughing at a joke you cracked; but inside, my being me is killing me. I know talking to you would make me feel better, but it’ll only remind me of my weakness in handling my own affairs and managing my emotions and not being able to recover from something thousands of people probably bounce back from everyday.

Most of the times, I stay strong.

I loathe myself during these weak moments. But I hate myself when I’m ‘strong’, too. Because this strong is not really strong. I’m putting up a brave front, but at the back of my mind, it’s always there. Every night it comes back in vivid detail to haunt me and my room. I’m unable to get rid of it, and this points out my inherent weakness like nothing else. And I end up hating myself so much that I lazily start to think about dying again. As soon as this reaches serious levels (at least once everyday) I pick up my phone to talk to you. Then I look at my reflection in the mobile screen and feel so pathetic that I cancel the text I was sending to you.

Most of the times, I am strong.

No, not really. I am weak, I am needy. But just typing this makes me feel revolted and I hasten to justify why this is not true. I didn’t talk to anyone – strong. I’m writing this – weak. And so it goes on. I’m tired of keeping count.

Am I strong, am I weak? How does it matter? I am dying inside, but I won’t ask for a hug. Not anymore.

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Image credits : http://weheartit.com/entry/56650405?pgx=OpenMobileApp
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