A flower suicided!
On reaching a psychiatry clinic around 7 pm after his work, Apy was not feeling anxious this time. In all his previous visits to the same clinic, each minute was difficult to cope with. His therapist, an experienced one, managed to do his best. But, this time Apy decided to be ‘dead by suicide’. He’d plan eventually after reflecting, after undergoing therapies, anxiety pills, etc.
“Yes, good evening, Apy! Please, welcome!” the therapist enticed.
“Hi, so…can we talk?” Apy responded.
“Sure, tell me, how’re you doing today?” “Ah, Dr., I am fine. See, I am smiling!” “Well, Apy, not always the face that smile is doing well anyway.” “I dislike this thing about you, Dr. You should not read people so well!” “I am not reading you, Apy. I am reminding you that you’re not alone, and you can do better always.”
After a few mins of conversation and check-up, Apy leaves the clinic. Heading home, with the hope that it won’t be toxified tonight too. Although Apy discovered that hope is a ponzi scheme in general, he still kept the torch of hope alive. That, hope will someday undo his hope in hopelessness.
Apy has been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. By the conventional standards of modern society, Apy is sick. He is another trash who would not be attended to by the same society that pretends to be normal, in this epoch of conspicuous empathy, that can impudently tax the act of kindness too.
Raised in a toxic family, used and thrown by a narcist girlfriend, and hustling culture at the workplace altogether appear very milder to his ongoing mental agony.
He consumes 3 pitchers of beer at a bar, before ringing the bell of his home.
Talking to himself, Apy pats his back “I have come a great way and I appreciate myself.”
The waiter in this bar, serving a table next to Apy’s, smiles.
“True, sir, what matters in this journey is our own mental satisfaction without anyone’s validation. Would you like another pitcher?”
Apy feels the joy, “Why not?”
One more pitcher down, Apy is on the table. He dances, he makes moves insanely. Noisily, Apy clamors Nietzche’s quote: “And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.”
The crowd cheers! All drunk. Apy offers a “free hug” to people around, to see if there’s any other lonely ‘Apy’ like him who needs it the most. Knowing how it feels to not get a hug, he values offering it instead.
It’s 12:40 am, Apy receives a call from his father.
“Yes, daddy cool, I am coming home. I was in a meeting. Sorry!”
Apy recalls his life, his trauma, and his experiences, and bids them adieu with compassion, with benevolence, “Hello, All! Forgive me for not letting you see more, but the film has to come to an end.”
Teary, Apy takes a deep breath, “I shall never have a sequel to this pathetic one. But you may wander around, as you already are, and still find the best actor who can add some comedy to his tragedy.”
Too drunk, too anxious, but a little confident to reread his farewell letter of 8 pages, he kisses it tightly. His touch disseminated across every word in the letter, emancipating all.
He whispers, “We are dead inside every day, but simply pretending to come out alive.”
He closes his eyes, gently.
The next day, his family and friends were still hoping his eyes would open.