The Weight

And so I decide to begin to write again.

Like always, I feel the pressure of writing something outstanding that I could share and perhaps even recite.
And that pressure weighs me down and makes me conscious. And this now makes me anxious.

I wonder what from the myriad things in my head I should write about. Bring into contemplation, bring into the limelight of the stage where everyone's watching, perhaps judging, maybe restless by now, tuned off even.

Is the audience in my mind, or is it my mind that’s the audience? 
Who am I writing for? 
Who must I serve?

The anxiety bubbles under.. the pressure is on.
Pressure to display my best side
Pressure to make a good impression.
Need for social reinforcement
Insecurity, inadequacy

Did I really want to reveal that? Is backspace not an option?

This is turning out terrible, my mind yells, throws tantrums, desperately wanting to wriggle away from this mess now.

I take a deep breath and keep writing, shaking a bit.

There is so much to be said, captured, to ruminate on... 
so many things tucked away into the unconscious that are now knocking on the door, itching to burst into awareness, that I have thus far so meticulously avoided..


About becoming who I know I can become.
About making the same mistakes again and again.
Why the fuck haven't I broken through the walls yet? Seductive as they are...

No, seriously Ojas, I don't give a shit if this gets read or heard by a hundred people, hopefully it's a wake up call for them too..
There's no real need for self help mumbo jumbo.
No need for therapy, or medicines, or the excuse of depression.
No need for the comfort and affirmation from friends or family.

Just do what you're supposed to fucking do.
Do the right thing. At the right time, in the right amount.
You know exactly what you need to do.
That you have been deliberately evading,
That is going to be bloody difficult to confront.
But that soo needs to be done. By you. 
Do it, Ojas, do it now. Later will be too late.

Eat that frog.

What I write or speak doesn’t matter. If you can get your ass to do what you really need to do, then this has been a masterpiece.