R – Rabbit hole

Seven years old.

It was crowded but the pleasure was all mine. Nobody noticed me. I was surrounded by a hundred people and they were all doing their own thing. Nobody looked my way. It seemed like the perfect time to pull something mad because this thrill of doing something even when people are around has what filled my childhood with stories of getting caught so many times. I felt a mad rush making its way up my stomach. I could have stopped it, I didn’t. Then I was seized by it so I had to do it. I undid my earrings, the ones it took so long to put on in the morning, and I flung it across the hall. I didn’t regret it because I didn’t know why I did it. I still don’t. I knew how much those earrings meant to mother. She repeatedly said that it was gold. Not just to me but to every god damn passerby who bothered to stop. look, exclaim, ask and invite more people to peer at my ear holes and what covered them. But that’s not why I threw it. I felt a mad, almost sadistic pleasure when I threw it. I haven’t thrown earrings after that but I continue to maintain simple pleasures like doing things forbidden and I take extra effort to do it around people.

Does this have anything to do with my pica disorder?


Pica and other disorderliness.

All of yesterday was spent moving all my posts from blogger to here. I had to ditch moving some of my earlier posts because I physically and psychologically couldn’t do it. Bleh. All my grand plans for the vacation are now sitting and bathing in their own filth. I haven’t started work on any of the things that I was supposed to. Haven’t started on my great reading list yet, I’m not even writing regularly. I have 25 free days exactly before college reopens and I become enslaved to time and its violation of my body and mind. I have spent a month of my free time doing nothing. I wake up really late because summer takes ugly liberties with my sleep cycle and now that it has also fraternized with bed bugs, I cannot sleep until 3 in the morning, which means I can only wake up at 9:00 after which  my day just dissolves into guilt followed by mushy laziness involving slumping on bed trying to discover new postures which relieve my neck/back pain, romancing with the idea of writing or reading and then laughing my ass off while watching new girl.

New on the list is my new found super secretive smoking activity which, quite frankly leaves me more tensed than relieved. Because it involves the herculean task of locking the door and double checking the lock, opening other doors and windows trying to make room for ventilation, all the while hoping nobody smells what I am doing, lighting 2 dhoops, each placed strategically at the corner of the entrance, one incense stick right next to where I am supposed to be sighing and playing with rings of smoke, while actually looking nervously at the door every time I sense movement, acting like a fucking cat. This is so not done. I hate being a cat in my own  room. Nevertheless, I found the perfect time and place to do it which is evidently after house people go to sleep and I become the dark knight in my balcony.

In the mornings, my detective alter ego finds major orgasm in sneaking into the puja room to satiate my pica disorder. There is this massive round chunk of god knows what but is white and gray and extremely chalk/stone/vibhooti like that makes that crunchy chunky noise every time I devour it. I’m not half as excited for chocolate or crab or even sex damn it! The taste of mud in my mouth is what my teeth is grateful for. The bitter sweet meet of concrete and calcium in my mouth is what I live for. I reserve similar feelings for paint, dust and slate pencils. My best so far has been the plain white slate chalk because it is followed by 100% satisfaction and lesser guilt ridden behavior. The only good thing about this summer has been my seemingly full and final de-addiction from the regular dose of Gilmore Girls. It hasn’t been replaced but I am watching new stuff, like New girl so yaay!