Fluctuations, and more.

Firstly, I want everyone to read this.
http://ramblesofamelancholybore.blogspot.com/2009/11/elusive-neverland.html
The first paragraph describes EXACTLY what I had on my mind.
I had stopped reading others' blogs. But, the first few lines that appeared in the updates, attracted me.
Anyway, so the bad couple of days explain my absence here. No, I can't write all that happened. Before logging into my blog, I thought I didn't want to rite. Because it doesn't matter anyway. Whether I keep track of my fluctuating emotions, or not, it doesn't matter. Anyway, her voice to the aid, I'm so cheered now, that I want to write down everything. But I can't. Anyway, I respect her privacy.
It rained heavily today. Sayak and me finally watched a movie at the Kolkata Film Festival. Will watch one more with Amrita (a classmate) tomorrow. I walked from Dhakuria to Jadavpur with Sayak, getting wet to the skin. He kept talking. I kept thinking, and trying to cry. When I knew I would cry, few hours earlier, I kept a smile pasted on my lips, forcibly. And when I had the license to cry, damn, the lead ball stuck in my throat became obstinate. Torture, torture. I have to get drunk today. No, I don't need it. I am not in that bad a state today. I needed to get drunk on Saturday. But, I was so sick with lack of sleep and food (I went to a birthday party, mind you, but hardly touched any food.) I couldn't keep balance, I couldn't stand up straight without any support. I didn't have the energy to drink, though I had bought a 150ml bottle on my way back home. I knew it would be a tough day. But I had taken all the measures to ensure that I survive it. I didn't. Anyway, as I emphasise on my status messages everywhere: this wasn't the worst, worse is on its way.
Fluctuations persist. One moment, I'm virtually dead. I lose all my ability to think, to understand. This has been the most predominant feeling throughout today. Nothing matters. Nothing makes sense. Words like "sorry", and "Thank you" have stopped being magic words. They are just some sounds. Sounds don't make sense. Music don't sense. Movies don't make sense. What makes sense anyway? What matters, anyway?
Memories? Aah! Soon, someone else will have the same memories that I have. Even memories can be stolen, trust me. If she does all that she did with me, with him, doesn't he steal my memories as well? One moment I feel using the word "steal" is a crime. He didn't steal anything. He didn't take anything or anyone away from me. He needed just her permission, and she did give it. The next moment, mad with fury, I feel like accusing him of breach of protocol, accusing him of taking her away, taking the only good thing in my life away. What follows after the thought-swings is a feeling of numbness. As soon as I realise that what I think or feel doesn't matter, I stop thinking or feeling. And it doesn't matter, not because she doesn't care, but because I don't care. I fluctuate every milli-second. I am not constant. So why should I matter to myself?
Met a guy called Paras today. He's from the Computer Science Department of our college. I knew him by face, previously. But today, I got to know him. He's one cheerful, talkative, aggressive, idealist boy, who gives out positive vibes. I could feel them. Only that, my mind, absorbed in a pathetic solvent, couldn't absorb the vibes. I've become impervious to happiness. Everything that's happy and good hits me and deflects away.
I fluctuate even more because she does. She doesn't do it intentionally, or even consciously. One moment, she still cares for me, and the next moment she is indifferent to me. One moment, she just doesn't see me beside her. The next moment, she remembers that I was there. Damn. I am complaining about both. I don't want her to just care for me. I don't want to be a bother for her. If I say that I don't want her to be indifferent to me, that wouldn't be truth either. When she is indifferent to me, I suffer badly. But, a self-sadist that I am, I enjoy suffering. I feel better when she hurts me, than when she cares for me. I want her to hurt me, more and more. I remember those K-serials' cheesy dialogues. If you love someone, let her go. If she doesn't come back, she was never yours. No, fuck, that's not the point. The point is, if she comes back. And if she comes back, well, my favourite dialogue from Kumkum "Love is like a yo-yo. The farther you go, the greater force you'll come back with."
That's why I want her to torture me. Pathetic, aint' I? I'm still hoping that she'll come back. Damn. I don't know what to do, what to think. I tried falling in love back with my previous ex. It succeeded for a moment. Then, it all seemed so meaningless. All those "this is just a phase" consolations came back, confusing me even more. No, confusion would have been better. I am not confused. To be confused means to have two contradictory thoughts. Yeah, I do have contradictory thoughts, sometimes, but most of the times, I don't have any thoughts at all. My brain stop working, stop perceiving or understanding or even acting in response. And the rest of the times, I have more than two contradictory thoughts. Let's take the moment when they embraced. You won't believe how many things came to my mind at the same time!
"Will she hug me next?"
"Will I clap?"
"Will I just walk away?"
"will I look at them and make a sad face?"
"Will I smile?"
"Will she tell me something next?"
"Will he ask her to hug me too?"
By the time I decided that I would say something in appreciation, my throat had gone all dry, till it's innermost region. And I didn't get water when I asked for it. The moment passed away as SLOWLY as it happened. They left, I came back home. Numb, numb. I have to keep myself immersed in books, not movies. Books offer long-term distractions, unlike 3-hour movies.
I don't know what will happen next. I won't lose my sanity, not yet. But I might lose it soon. I am fluctuating badly between hope and despair, happiness and agony. From tomorrow onwards, I lose one more rope to hold on to. I could have had it, though. I don't feel I made a sacrifice for them. I feel selfish, because I know that I want to be hurt, because getting hurt gives me pleasure. I asked her to sacrifice one of the last bits of me left with her, because I want to get the pleasure. The pleasure out of the pain. I dunno anything. I am numb now, so I can't even cry. Let's see. I have to try to drink. Maybe that'll help me cry. Maybe that'll help me feel what I'm not letting myself feel.