I love how much I have grown over the past few years. I know I am intelligent; I have known for years, but accepting that you are astute seems condescending; I don’t understand why. It’s a fact that I am smart, but I don’t know why I feel bad about accepting it. While being intelligent comes with its own set of problems that enhance my melancholia. I cannot get my brain to stop thinking for even a bit. Albeit, the sense of liberation you encounter when things are easily comprehensive makes it easier to exist in this world. However, there are certain things that sometimes my high-functioning brain refuses to comprehend, probably to protect me from the monsters that reside in my head; the monsters that I inherited from my mother during the nine months I spent inside her belly.
I like it when humans have innate emotional issues. There happens to be a certain flair, depth, and a different sort of sadness that we possess, something which sane people do not. Sometimes, it is easy to control the voices in my head since my brain is very self-defensive. On some nights, while I lay alone on my bed, pining for sleep, the voices in my head get so loud that even my selective hearing cannot help me. That is when I get melancholy. Sometimes when I am sad, I tend to forget who I am.
Simran Tuteja 