It has taken me a long time to get comfortable with what I write, and I’ve realized that writing to please somebody or even caring about what anybody thinks is not the solution. My life doesn’t parallel my writing, but perhaps few of my ideas do. And human nature is something that evolves each day, and often, stressful situations either make or break us. If you’re going to let suffering get the better of you, then it’s pointless really. You’ll remain resigned and sure it creates great art, but I’m honestly for separating the art from the writer. I don’t write for anybody, and yes, when I read something I judge. We all do, but I’ve realized that the best way to avoid negative energy is to not read, and so, I quit reading blogs I’m not fond of anymore. The blogosphere is full of all kinds of predators and people who need lives, or people who are leading broken lives, trying to get a hold. But the thing about transcending this is to write about what you want to without letting them get to you, and not bothering about followers or likes. They’re entitled to their judgments, but I honestly don’t care anymore. I just write man. I don’t detest myself, or my words anymore: Some of it is dark, some of it is sorrowed, some of it is horrific, and some of it is just nonchalant. But how can you possibly know me without meeting me in person? And I’m not here to write for any of you, or to counter what you say. I’m done with that. Hell, if I don’t like your style or content, I’ll find another blog, and trust me, WP has millions. Stressful situations often push me towards religion, even though I’m a nihilist, and I guess that’s an epic paradox. Is God dead? Well, he isn’t present in my life honestly, and I’m done with my struggle with Christianity. I’m irreligious and plan to stay that way. Like I said, you either rise above a situation or succumb to it, and it doesn’t need months of soul-searching. You just do it. Am I Bipolar? Sure. But I don’t want your empathy or sympathy. You cannot empathize with a life you’ve never led. It’s like saying, “Yeah I understand what being in a concentration camp is like because I envisioned it,” and it’s ludicrous. And yes, there are definitely some sick people who live out their twisted art, but to hell with them. You’re entitled to your beliefs, creeds and systems, but don’t expect me to walk your path. I write for me, and if you want to read, go ahead, and stay kind, and I’ll stay kind too. I’m in my space with my books, cigarettes and coffee when I write. And writing is not my religion. I have no religion. And yes, I can be emotional, but time has taught me to move from petty squabbles to direct my emotions into a story of sorts. And the writing process is not something that hypomania always induces. Sometimes I’m very nonchalant and write a sorrowed post. I feel no agony or misery at all. I just write. And sometimes I’m calm and write one about horror. And sometimes I’m angry and write a philosophical one. So writing in no sense parallels my life, and I’m finally comfortable, reading the greats and just writing for me.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)