Dear Diary

Unhappiness is a strange disease and I am unhappy. It makes you feel like nothing is worth your time. Not sex, not music, not art, not films, nothing at all. You know the times when you feel like isolating yourself in one corner of the room, building a fortress made up of several blankets. Is it OK to put yourself in house arrest, talk to no man, withdraw yourself in a shell? If yes, then bingo I have my escape plan.

I don't think anyone understands me. Even if they claim they do they are just making assumptions. Or maybe I am just afraid. Afraid to strip myself naked and show my bare ribs to the world. Not only to the world but to anyone who claims to love me. I am hurt, not physically, not literally. Just in my imagination. I am bruised and wounded and my body is marked with scars black and blue. Nothing turns me on anymore. Neither the idea of physical intimacy nor the act of it. I feel like a lifeless cold body ready to be disposed off to a cemetery to decompose and stink. So kisses don’t turn me on, foreign fingers that explore my body feels like my skin, the lips that touch my abdomen feels like a trivial afterthought. Not a desire but just a need.
Is this what being depressed feel like? Or is it just a phase just like a glommy rainy day. I can't stumble upon the jargon to define my state of mind. Walking dead , that's how I would put it.

I suddenly get reminded of the rainy days, when the room smells of earth and the earth smells like heaven. I am drowned with the nostalgia and start humming one of my favourite Rabindrasangeet. Which translates into how the heart dances like a peacock in the rain. A hollow feeling percolates my heart. My eyes tear up thinking how the once familiar feelings feels like  a stranger. I can't think of the last time I have been honestly happy. I like how I just used the adjective honest for happiness. Can someone ever fake happiness? I can . I have been doing it every single day. Faking to be a good friend. Faking to be a responsible child. Faking that I am doing fine when I am not. I hoped that faking for too long would transform an image into reality. But where is the room for hope in today's world?
I have let the shallowness of my virtual everyday small problem overshadow the darkness of the bigger voids in my heart. I guess that's the real problem.