This is the first time I’m divulging this. My mind.
My mind is a powerhouse. I have extraordinary intuitive and cognitive abilities. It’s always baffled me and proven too strong for me to manage. So I developed an intricate fantasy-world from a very young age where I’d retreat and get lost. This was essentially dissociation where I’d find myself in a different realm, oblivious to reality. I remember one such episode that took place when I was four; I was in my pajamas, getting ready for bed. It was a weekend, because I didn’t have dagis (nursery) the next day, and it must have been mid winter because it was already very dark outside. Anyway, I went round and round the coffee table in the living room, repeating the absurd questions ‘ who am I? Where did I come from? Why am I here?’ endlessly until I slipped into a trance where I drifted off into a star-studded space, at which point I snapped out of it, fearful that I’d get lost in it forever.
I’d have questions no one would take seriously, and observations that’d be trivialized because it was just a child’s fantasy. So I held more conversations in my head than in real life, where I was very reserved and quiet.
With the years I learnt that my thought process and mindset were abnormal, and I tried to shut this down. I saw it as a curse because it made me an outlier, a freak. I was pressured on both sides– by my mind, and by society. I shut down, became callous and impassive. I was always bullied because I wasn’t a good conformist. I’m not saying this as some sort of hallmark of my ‘non-conformity’, as if that’s indicative of my uniqueness. It’s never been something that made my life easy – not then, not now. So, I was bullied but I made sure to never show that it affected me. I was always very quiet and kept to myself – I never really tried to make friends. Looking back, all I remember is the grey autumn days, and cold winter mornings. I naturally gravitated to despondence. But no matter how much I tried to feign indifference, I was a child that felt no love in this world and it did hurt me. I’d try to hold it in for the longest time, but the day came when I’d explode in a fit of rage that made me Hulk-like. In those moments, I felt no pain or fear and I could very much kill if the opportunity availed itself. I gave no shits. I remember one such incident in my second grade when I chased a boy with a big kitchen knife I took from the school canteen, hellbent on plunging it in him. Thankfully he escaped, even though I ran on the double.