I’ve been dealing with this constant cycle of loss. Without exaggeration, you can call it a cycle where people keep leaving me. I wouldn’t say it’s my awesome personality that they often have had enough of, mostly it is the timing – maybe of a job, of a new love affair, or an old flame coming alight. I’m quite a handsome young (butch, a bit) woman. It isn’t unfathomable for a man to leave that kind of thing; they often have other insignificant aspects to ponder over, such is the character of men <insert sarcasm>.

Coming back to the question – the cycle of leaving – that I’ve been trying to probe, whether this cycle has anything to do with me as an individual. There are people who’ve been kind enough to put a mirror to my face, thankfully not in the literal sense of the sentence, and this mirror told me that you my lady are not the prettiest of them all.
The mirror also spoke to me further, not in a psychotic hallucinogenic reaction sort of way, I was shown in due time the cost of being unexpressive, the reasons for being obsolete, the challenges of the ego, the damning possibility that one may not be as kind as they deem to be, the constant need for affirmation, a needy sort of craving for love…and the list went on. Aghast, obviously, I feel now that maybe the mirror wasn’t lying. How else would you explain this cycle of loss. Losing people to circumstances is one thing, losing people constantly and consistently is an acquired skill or sheer ignorance at work.

On digging deeper, I suppose, I could say this urge to know or come into awareness, was only the need for control writing itself out in the form of a bad dream that’s gone out of your control. I was seeing the irritability of my mind, determinate in its efforts to decode the most boring coincidences in life for a miraculous discovery or a moment of self awareness. It wasn’t going to be this easy ever. Some people told me making lists help, others were of the opinion that go back to the books, some modernists sages thought that brain pickings could help, there was of course libra horoscope (a permanent line item in my search history), the phone-a-friend helpline, even soothsayers were making themselves available – the universe was trying to help. Clearly. Here I was grovelling to my fate, a devout believer of self pity, unable to channel a few basic resolutions or have a little fist fight with the Tyler Durden in my head. Why couldn’t I let go of such worthless self debates; was this my mind on standby? Maybe having free time isn’t good for everybody.

A few drinks, more than a few box of cigarettes and bad take-out food later, I had arrived.
Writing was going to be the cure of this monstrous disease I couldn’t assign a name to.
I’m not going to stop till it cures or curates the disease. In either case, I would’ve have caused you a little discomfort & purged some of mine.

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