If my words have provoked you, or hurt you, both in a direct or indirect way, then I take absolute responsibility for the sorrow I’ve caused. I will not play the blame game, and say that it was my neurosis or psychosis that made me do something wrong. I let those off-tune pipers who seek my dissonance to play their song, without making an effort to not listen to them. I let delusional fury seethe and scald my inner being without even attempting to baptize myself in light. But please know that I stopped judging people sometime ago, and even when they unnerve me, I make sure I sublimate or make amends. I no longer let the hammer thud, and a voice echo, saying, “He or she’s guilty!” No, I seek to understand and learn from both my mistakes, and the wisdom and ugliness of others. Now, I respect humanity, but I cannot love everyone, which is why, I cut ties with people who’re bound to cause friction; never going near them, because my fractured bones heal, and I don’t intend to splinter them again; others I keep a healthy distance from, because I can’t let each idea soak into my head and give my darkness something to gnaw on. And still others, I offer a hand of friendship, and warmth, and if it’s taken I’m grateful, and if not, I understand and move on. And finally for a handful, I let love overwhelm and overpower me, and echo that affection and action, because they did/do the same for me through it all. And these are my apologies and my self, stripped off its skin. This is my core and my final stance. I decided and acted upon this a while ago, avoiding declaration, because things felt and done hold the beauty of a precious stone, glinting in the cadence of the milky moonlight, while things said often only hold a false aura that seems like valor or discretion. But having acted, I guess, I can tell you, now that the deeds slowly fall into place that here I stand.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

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Some people go through miserable circumstances in their lives, and if that hurt stems from childhood abuse or severe bullying, or some other terrible circumstances that make a person lose their innocence, then all that suppressed self-blaming erupts later in life, and results in the person either becoming dysfunctional, apathetic or predatory. Now the first two are far better than the third. Being dysfunctional or apathetic always is not healthy, but at least such people long for solitude, and if they’re gifted with abilities like writing, they just write out their emotion or lack of it, and slowly fix themselves with the help of medication and therapy. I’m Bipolar, and yes I’m dysfunctional. And I often feel nothing, but I write, and I’ve realized that it really helps. Yes I’m a nihilist. There was no Abrahamic Savior who intervened personally when I grew up, and even later when I was drawn to religion, it only caused terrible episodes of psychosis. I keep sane by writing about so many things. And yes, the medication also helps. So if you’re depressed, or have terrible mood swings, please seek professional help. I’ve tried to manage without medication, but I’ve often found myself quickly breaking down. These days I avoid any trigger, regardless of whether it’s online or in life. And I’m finally on a good combination, which keeps me going. So, don’t just think poetry or somebody else is going to fix you. No, you need professional help. And if it calls for medication, please take it properly, without skipping doses, or worrying about side effects. You can always consult a psychiatrist and change the combination. And if you feel like a relationship or friendship, or anything else is getting in the way of your mental health, break it off quickly. Yes, things often get ugly, but the key is to avoid triggers or provoke the other party. And if they provoke you, avoid them. It isn’t that hard to put people out of your mind. It takes time, but you can do it. For a short time hate ruled me, and I lashed out online, but then I realized that it isn’t worth it. It’s petty really. Now coming to the third set of people, well, they’re dangerous. These are people who want others to suffer, and they also need to seek help. They often take a sadistic delight in watching others in misery, and it isn’t hate that governs them, it’s the only thing that gives them momentary pleasure or catharsis. And no they aren’t always the clichéd hitchhikers; sometimes they’re male or female Bateman’s (virtual or real or both). Well, yeah, they can really get on a person’s nerves, because some righteous anger burns through most of us. But I’ve realized that instead of hating them, the best way is to ignore them, and not give them satisfaction. Now if there is a physical threat, then you’ll need to protect yourself by informing the authorities or using self-defense if it comes down to that. But if it’s a cyber thing, and you’re writing, and they seek you out, don’t confront them. It’s hard not to, but it’s not worth it. And the best way is to separate the art from the writer. Write sorrowed posts when you’re happy, so your replies won’t be depressing, thereby depriving them of satisfaction if they comment. Write horrific ones when you’re nonchalant, and people will think it’s directed at someone, but you’re really not doing that. The greater the distance between the person and his art, while maintaining the ability to convey emotion, the greater the artist. It has taken me five years of progressing from obscure verse, to imitation, to finding my voice, to confessionals, to parallelism to finally reaching this stage, and I still have lots to learn. And man, have I fallen short so many times, because of religious struggle, and other trying circumstances, and BPAD and OCD. But I can finally say that I love writing, and I’m comfortable here and now, and that’s all that matters really. The past is dead, and the future may not be mine, but I have today, and even if I’m a nihilist, and there is absolutely no meaning at all in life, and we’re all hypocrites and responsible for everything calamitous, and should become judge-penitents like Jean-Baptiste Clemence after much introspection and realization, and whoring ourselves (I don’t really believe that. I’ll come to that later!) I’m thankful for this huge kaleidoscope of so many experiences that I just call life.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

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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)

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