The first decade of life-

The first decade of life-

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The first decade of life.
A kid- that’s what you’re called;
Hurried out of places, like
Mud stain on a white shirt-
Unwanted.

The first decade of life
Passes by with you watching,
Gazing across the adult table,
Wondering,
Dreaming about
when it’d be your turn
To, finally have a seat
At that-
Coveted place.

The first decade of life passes-
While the ladies drown their clothes
In assortments of perfume,
Plastering their faces
With talcum powder-
Eyes a different shade,
Lips a different colour,
And you wonder… Why?
It’s not even Halloween yet.

Then all too soon,
Years roll into decades,
You find yourself sitting at the adult table.
For how long?
You can’t even remember,
And all you really want-
Is that first decade of life… Back.

Day 1: First. This poem is in response to December poetry Challenge. 31 poems in 31 days (I hope I can make it.) 

The above image is courtesy of Pinterest

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Without him-

Without him-

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With him,
Life held meaning
With him,
Each day was a memory in the making
Without,
Life seems dreary;
Despite,
I’ve got to sail through the storms.

With him,
Joy was abound
With him,
Home was a person not place
Without,
Home’s just four walled;
Despite,
I’ve got to put on a strong face.

With him,
I was complete
Without,
There’s a bullet hole in my heart
Despite,
I’ve got to keep living;
With him,
I learnt dark will give way to light
Always… Eventually.

The above image is courtesy of Pinterest

On Life-

On Life-

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You say I haven’t seen life,
But I’ve seen and heard it clear

The loneliness we experience,
Embedded in its “L”

The impact of words of ignorant,
Hidden from all in “I”

The fear of future holding us,
Tied up in letter “F”

And in “E” are the experiences,
Which haunt our memories.

You see, though I’m not wrinkled,
And got years till grey hairs;

I’ve seen life through my lenses,
Cause everyone’s view differs.

The above Image is courtesy of Favim.com

Writer’s Quote: Gilda Radner

Writer’s Quote: Gilda Radner

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I wanted a perfect ending, now I’ve learnt the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.
-Gilda Radner

I find that there is something beautiful in not knowing- it leaves room for hope and as Emily Dickinson famously wrote, “Hope is a thing with feathers”.

It’s being honest in admitting, yeah, at times we chase perfection. We want that perfect scenario, the perfect family, perfect kids, perfect draft (though I’m not sure how realistic I’m being here) and it is okay to want that.

In the chase of perfection, we shouldn’t become blind to the reality that perfection is a relative term. Not all poems that rhyme are perfect and not all perfect poems rhyme- I hope I’m making sense. And if I’m not, take it as this- you could lose your senses chasing perfection.

At the end of the day, what you’d remember most of all, what would fill the bulk of your memory is not the ending or the look of the book once you’ve written that final sentence, but the journey it took to get there. The mishaps, the spilled coffee, the messy desks and Pajama writing; it’s the smiles that curve on your lips when you recall how you ditched a friend simply because you needed to edit that first horrible draft; it’s the days when the muse decides to be your best friend and you write for all you are worth and the days when the muse takes a break and you wonder if surely, you are a writer?!

In the journey of chasing perfection, it’d do us a lot of good to remember, A perfect puzzle piece is in fact, made up of many imperfect and irregular pieces fitted together, without which it wouldn’t be possible.

This post is in response to Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge

The Truth about Truth-

The Truth about Truth-

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The truth about truth is
It can be a bitter pill to give forth,
And you won’t know just how tough it is
Till you face it at a cross road,
And in short what life has thought me
Is that lies are easy flowing,
And with one comes forth another
Till a mountain’s made from one Mole.
Till you’re standing at the bottom,
And the lies have reached a tipping point,
They come crashing in one moment,
You’re stuck struggling at the bottom.

Some may ask me how I know this
Of the burden lies keep pilling,
I say, life has taught me the hard way-
Of the weight of fallen mountains,
Of the perks of easy flowing words
Of the falling after graces;
Of the praise a sweet lie brings,
Before a lifetime of grievances;
So in truth, though truth is bitter,
And lies are easy-flowing,
I hope you know the road gets rougher,
After the easy one’s been taken.
And though truth can be a bitter pill,
The best medicines often are.

The above image is courtesy of An Auslly Fanfic| Wattpad

On Loss-

On Loss-

Kerzenlicht

There is no preparation, no test; neither assignment nor hint to prepare us for certain things in this world. We see tales of tragedies and its almost always someone else’s family, no one expects its going to be theirs. No one prepares for that. And then it happens.
The dreaded phone call which brings our carefully crafted glass house of security, crashing with one single statement- “I’m sorry”.

Sorry. And you wonder what they are sorry for. Sorry for the fact they couldn’t save “her”, sorry that it was too late, sorry there’s little they they can do to appease your pain, sorry that they have to be the bringer of bad news, or simply sorry for the departure of another beautiful soul from the world.

There is no preparation, no practice… In that Moment, you either walk across the broken shards feeling the loss with every stinging sensation or, you stare unmoving, long and hard at the broken pieces. Nothing can prepare you for that split second reaction. You either grieve or you don’t…

The above image is courtesy of: Campus health.unc

Mental Health Friday #22

Mental Health Friday #22

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Hi. I’m Angela and I’ve been diagnosed with bipolar 2, borderline personality disorder, binge eating, and general anxiety. I can’t remember how old I was when I realized I had a mental illness. I know I’ve always been suicidal. I think my mind uses it as a coping mechanism. I know I was at least fifteen. It wasn’t until I turned seventeen that I sought help. The catalyst was I went from being suicidal to homicidal. I wanted to stab a kid in my class and it terrified me. I went to the counselor at school and started therapy. Still no one recognized my true diagnosis.

It took me twenty two years to finally get diagnosed properly. I had to get a psychological evaluation for myself. After being treated for depression off and on and then general anxiety with meds that didn’t help, I now have a good mix of medication and therapy. Most days I’m good and for those off days… Well I take one moment at a time.

One final thought… Always self advocate. I wish I had sooner. It took me almost being imploding to realize I need to be picky in my doctors and to get second opinions. We need to take care of ourselves before we can others.


This week’s submission is by Angela who blogs at I am my own island , do pop by and say hello. She writes about life in general, living and improving despite mental issues.

As always, The goal of Mental Health Friday is to break the silence, talk about mental illness with the aim of blurring out the stigma one story at a time. If you’d like to share your story, I’d love to have you. You can contact me at my email: mykahani@yahoo.com . For more information, visit HERE.

Mental Health Friday #20

Mental Health Friday #20

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How I made it to eleven years clean despite having a nervous breakdown and thinking terrorists had poisoned all the blueberries in my local supermarket.

When I went into rehab at the beginning of 2005, my seriousness and dedication to my treatment can be deduced from the essential items I packed:
12 pairs of Agent Provocateur lingerie (in case I got lucky)
A vibrator (in case I didn’t)
Enough benzos and diet pills to get me through the first week.
17 pairs of designer shoes (later smuggled up to 70)
36 handbags.

My therapist said I looked like I’d escaped from the set of TV Sitcom “Absolutely Fabulous.” I sincerely believed this was a compliment. I had chosen St Chillin’s, Britain’s most exclusive rehab, as I felt it would look best on my C.V. and hoped to bump into a celebrity. Despite having been arrested at Heathrow airport, as sundry dogs, passengers and tea ladies detected that my passport and all my possessions were heavily (and visibly) coated in cocaine, I considered myself to be a party girl who had simply partied a bit hard. Quite what party I was attending when I was scoring drugs in a Jamaican ghetto at midnight, thinking I was likely to be gang raped and have my throat cut, is still a mystery. Other adventures I’d got up to included being seduced by a (female) teenage stripper in Jamaica, who’d killed someone the week before (and then stole my car). And deciding that the best medication for a cocaine induced heart attack, was (naturally) to take more cocaine.

Only a few days after the benzos I’d taken into rehab ran out, (which caused major panic attacks as well as a serious problem with imaginary insects that kept on biting me) I was forced to do “Step 1” of the AA 12 Step programme “We admitted we were powerless over our addiction, that our lives had become unmanageable.” The reaction from my therapy group to what I’d been getting up to in Jamaica was, instead of the laughter and applause I’d been expecting, shocked silence and a recommendation “to write it all down as a public leaflet to warn people not to take drugs.” That Step 1 changed my life, reducing my denial from the size of the Titanic to a one person canoe. Instead of just having a break from my using, I now decided I was going to get clean.

After relating a catalogue of disasters with my mental health, the psychiatrist at St Chillin’s diagnosed me with borderline personality disorder and said I had “too many problems” to be treated in the private sector as I would “bankrupt my family.” This diagnosis came after previous diagnoses of clinical depression and bulimia in my early twenties. The psychiatrist said I needed to move to a state rehab. I decided I’d better listen, as my decisions had ended me up in rehab, totally broke. The only place my local council would fund that had a bed, was a tough rehab in South London, bristling with ex-cons, where I met the “love of my life” an ex-armed robber, pimp and drug dealer who’d forgotten how long he’d spent in jail. Naturally, when I left residential rehab at the end of 2005, he moved straight in with me. But I’m not sure I would have got through that first Christmas out of rehab clean if he hadn’t been around.

I was going to 12 Step meetings, which I had always primarily viewed as places you went to pick up men, arriving at the end of the meeting, with my telephone number tattooed on an exposed breast. I had chosen a sponsor in NA because her handbag collection was much much bigger than mine. My local council decided I was too deranged to be left in society on my own, so my GP referred me to the Waterview Psychiatric Unit where they had a programme to treat people with Personality Disorders. I immediately renamed it the “Prison View Psychiatric Unit” as water was as absent as lakes in the Sahara, it was actually overlooking a juvenile detention centre. Read more

A Trip Down Memory Lane

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Going down memory lane, It’s funny how everything in my life has been in a series of phases. Heck, my life is better categorized in phases rather than age. I’ll explain:

First, it was the Zee tv phase when I was in middle school. I know most of you reading this post don’t know what I mean by ‘zee tv’, trust me, it’s a good thing that you don’t. Zee tv is an Indian soap opera channel that shows melodramatic, captivating and addictive soaps on cable. Once you start watching them, it is very hard to stop. When the weekends came and most soaps went on break, I dreamt of the characters and possible continuation.

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Next came *drum rolls please* ‘the Disney phase‘. Now, this I’m sure a lot of teen girls have gone through. Though I was never a ‘color pink’ fan, I still wanted cadet Kelly and cheetah girls everything. I stayed up all night playing stardoll games and during the day, filled my siblings ear drums with worrible renditions of disney songs. I had my first celeb crush at this phase- Joe Jonas from camp rock.

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