@remona 10 April 2022 more from that month

To the birds, to the flowers. *Thousand words!* *But who will listen?* *Meaningless chat!* *Who will care for them?* No one has time to deal with a crackhead, no? I go to my peace corner and play with the flowers of my garden instead. I live a very wired life. I hang out with friends no more. We all are busy with our own life. I don't go to parties, life became different. I do go outside and socialize though, with the people who don't have an active part in my life. It feels like I can include myself no more. I feel like I'm outside of everything, I'm leftover. Maybe I'm depressed, maybe I need to take good care of my mental health, I don't know.

There's a Bangla poem called, পাখির কাছে ফুলের কাছে - – আল মাহমুদ *"কী আর করি পকেট থেকে খুলে ছড়ার বই* *পাখির কাছে, ফুলের কাছে মনের কথা কই।"* I remind myself of this. There's someone, the poet at least who felt the same way I feel. Maybe there are many, we just don't know. And then again, I distract myself from the real world. It's better to scroll my feed for hours than to think about all the things that make me feel down. I know, it's not a good approach. It's not like there's nothing good that I can remember. But all the bad that surrounds me doesn't let me see any other things. Or maybe this is how depression works. I compromised with my sleep for thousands of days. Every sleepless night means I have added nothing to my life. I know, I could make good use of that time but I only do meaningless স্টাফ. That's my life now. People say, ah, your unhappiness is made up. You have everything and are still unhappy! Yes, when you achieve all the basic things then life gives you another thousand reasons to feel complicated and unhappy. Isn't how our life works? *Although I made a promise in early January I'm not keeping it. Every single day, I feel like I'm the worst human. Every day feels like a wasted never like I truly lived. I'm dying inside. I can't say these worse, I can't let them know what I'm going through. But this is me. I can't spread happiness anymore.* No, I never cry. Maybe the river is dried out inside. I would be happy if I could cry. I want to let this go. But another me wants to keep it secret. It's better to hide and pretend that I'm happy rather showing what I'm going through. The only good thing left is the flowers and the birds. I have thousands of words to share with them...