I am weird. 

And not just in a quirky, manic-pixie-dreamgirl (TM), OMG-so-random way. Sometimes I genuinely fear for the safety of those around me. Like I'm on permanent psychiatric hold of the self or something. Hey, bro, you're a really good friend but I'm randomly thinking about the different ways I could both kiss and kill you despite the fact that I feel neither sexual attraction nor hate towards you*. It's that feeling when you stand on the edge of an extraordinarily high cliff and you have to simultaneously battle your fear and your desire to jump. Just to feel the sensation of falling through the air. Reckless abandon. Leaving everything behind. Reaching escape velocity. And then you walk back down the path to your tour guides and your jeep.

You know, I imagined the trademark gasp of a friend of mine when I typed "kiss". That's why I love her (don't worry, not that way! That you know of, anyway) - she makes me smile even when she's not here. The mark of someone important in your life, although by that sense Ian Somerhalder, Matthew Goode, Candace Accola, Billie Joe Armstrong, Conor Oberst, Felicia Day, Alex Day, and Oscar Wilde (and so on) would be my rocks (they're not). I meant what I said, though. I have the most horrible thoughts. And like most times when you fell alone and disgusted, the internet proved that being crazy is nothing unique. Warning: if you read about intrusive thoughts, you will have intrusive thoughts. You're welcome. 

I think in the beginning of most blogs, you're supposed to say a bit about yourself. Fill out the form. Check boxes, if you like. But what I can I tell you about myself, world? I don't know who I am. I hope my writing will tell me, as it will tell you, because I come across more honestly in these few paragraphs then I do in my day-to-life, and I'm still holding back. But, am i really? I always think I'm putting on a front, because how I feel is so radically different from what I portray. Yep, nothing to see here, just another straight-A girl with plenty of friends, overprotective, conservative parents and dreams of far away places. Inside I'm - just not always there. Are these identities distinct, or are they just two sides of the same Rubik's Cube? Am I putting it out there because it's fake, or because I'm a fake, and I can't bear to reconcile that part of myself with how I feel inside because I know that something or the other will get destroyed and it could lead to either a new whole or even more broken pieces for me to hold together? It's that old story. Once burned, twice shy. Because we can't, I can't accept that fact that to feel a spark, a flame, a fire, we inevitably get burned and scarred and shattered and broken and battered and bruised and cut and struck and warped and wounded and it hurts goddamit. It hurts from the inside. 

My Mom doesn't want to believe I hurt. I wonder what she would say if she read this. She'd probably cry and say she's never seen me particularly sad, and what do I have not to be happy about anyway? I don't blame her. I put her through a lot and she doesn't want to go through more. We all avoid the fire. 

Anyway,  I don't want to get too butterfly-and-rainbows on you or anything. Back to the what was supposed to the point of this post, intrusive thoughts: I think that repression in modenr life is what leads to intrusive thoughts (duh-doi, Farheen. Very original). But in Pakistan more than anywhere, because our society is so freaking repressed the society is ugly. There is nothing physical about that ugliness. You can feel it inside you as you walk the streets. Some of us, like me, are lucky when we retreat to our sheltered homes. Most Pakistanis, especially women, aren't. Repression is everywhere, though. I remember once in my fifth grade class some girls were discussing how Pakistani girls would never know what it's like to be kissed (which, first of all, WHAT?), so to get the experience we should press our fingers against our lips, and, well. Looking back, I realize how ridiculous that was. I mean, once again, WHAT???!!!! I've never tried it, but I imagine them doing it, and I feel a little sad. Because I remember how crazy my little Lahore private school was. And I wonder, at the marvelous paradox of privilege in a Pakistani society. Especially of a girl.

But that is a story for another post. G'night, fellow homo sapiens. 

*not that the two are mutually exclusive

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Joey: If the homo sapiens were, in fact,  homo sapien, is that why they're extinct?
Ross: Joey, Homosapiens are people.
Joey: Hey, I'm not judging.

Image credit: Some random dude on the internet, probably on imgur. Sorry dude, but thanks!