Of apologies and conditions
Every few months I rehearse my apologies, some for close friends, some for good friends, some for friends I must have. Some more for friends I have always had. Some more for friends I wished to part from even when I had my good sense. Some more than more for acquaintances, who don't know about my oft used apologies.
I imagine all scenarios. Ones where I say it's me, not you, not you, and especially not you, sent over dms like personalised newsletters.
Another, where I say, it's all you, you rotten lot, you with tiny imagination, you with runny mouths with words which drip like drool, drool in which you sign your names.
One more, where I say it's my depression- seasonal, chronic, clinical. Pick your poison. Add anxiety juice to make the new age cocktail.
And yes, I have trucaller on my phone, I want to screen all calls so I can pick calls that matter, from the swiggy guy. And I heave, when I hear a mutuals name uttered by another. I imagine a triangulation of people honing at my location, more so my condition.
Yes, I am self obsessed, but I am never not 10 feet away from myself, I am never not taut in between the folds of my pressed fat. I know people care, to a certain extent, extents defined. As people should.
But one can live in certain lies only for so long. I felt I lived in one, making friends, being friendly, knowing I can't bear to carry more than a few. Knowing.. that I can't manage. Never could manage since I was a kid.
Just looking at people talk, and never getting anything. And always compromising in my own words, that's where I really fell short. I was rude, I am sure I was. But Never sharp when I needed to be. Fearing that I would slit through my own skin had my tongue been sharp. I stayed shut.
But my thick tongue, couldn't muster good words too. Not when it mattered. It all floundered, in the middle. It was all, in the middle. And slowly all of it, and with it all of me middled. To nothing. A non moving nothing in the middle, squatting squarely in all directions equally.
That's when the quiet took over. There was nothing to add. And my tongue swelled more. It clotted in my mouth, either I could breathe, or talk. I chose breathing. I chose breathing and hung up the phone. Then never picked it up again, at least for the longest time, I said never cuz the no-picking could have slipped into eternity.
Am I an ass? For sure. Is this an apology? No.
How am I here? Because I moved.
Why am I writing in this abstract manner? Because the physical details will bore you, more of the same, a hard job but had to take care of family. Same old stuff, people deal with it. I am fragile, what can I say?
Is this an apology? No. But I am a bum on the street, speaking to anyone who will listen, rather speaking beyond anyone who will listen. I am speaking beyond your ears. The words are my placart, always there, on the sidewalk, even when I am off in the bushes for a piss.
