My vein hurts, the one in the crook of my elbow on my right arm. The other day this man pushed a needle in to draw blood, except he kept pushing the needle around a little too much, making me emit various notes of the sa re ga ma. But of course I cant speak about this. I told my mother about it night before last, she screamed at me for not telling her earlier. Now if I tell you at 11 in the night that my vein hurts its not because I want you to call me a doctor right then, but maybe you could consult him in the morning? But no. I am fault because I spoke about it at 11 in the night. And tonight at 12:30 when it hurts again because my arm was in a folded position for a long time, I made a mistake of mentioning it again. What happens? My mother tells me she is not expected to remember such insignificant things because she has greater matters to deal with. Of course, she is a businesswoman, she's running the finances, I get it. But what happened to the mother bit? Tell me, when you go to either one of your parents to tell them that your vein hurts, would you expect them to tell you that they will call the doctor in the morning, or would you expect to be reminded how insignificant your hurting arm is in comparison to the greater good?

What follows is a theatrical performance. The losing of my exceedingly short temper, a lengthy monologue delivered by my mother accompanied by those salty drops, me shutting my bedroom door and realizing my throat hurts and I believe the name calling is still on from the other side.

This is the moment I take a pause. Coz honestly, I dont know why I'm writing this. Is it because Piu's phone is busy and I need to let this out? Is it because I cant stand writing a personal diary and would rather write it here, in the open? Is it because I like writing in general? or is it because, as someone once said, I use my blogs to gain sympathy?

I dont know.

My mother just said a lot of things. She said she'd rather not have a daughter like me. She said she hates me. She said I'm a two faced bitch who is sucking her dry like I did with my father.

I said a lot of things too. I said she should have aborted me instead. I said I dont love her either thankyouverymuch. I said if it hadnt been for their stupid last minute decision changes, I wouldnt have been trapped here in the first place.

I just needed to let it out you know.

I dont have the emotional range of a teaspoon like Ron. But even a person with a big fat handi for an emotional range bubbles over sometimes. What with being a bad daughter and sucking my father's lifeblood out of him and now doing the same with my mother, friendships I had made my peace with a long time ago turning out to be the wrong choice after all, a three year old friend who's almost like my sister deciding our friendship was worth giving up for a three month old friendship. There's a lot there. Plus there's the constant feeling that the world is coming to an end, and no I'm not talking about 2012 and all, I'm just talking about my anxiety attacks. There's the constant fear of 'aamra shobai raaja'( ppl involved in Arup Ratan will understand this), and the haunting sense of loneliness. Questions as to whether I am mad or the world is.

Sylvia Plath said 'because you never know when the bell jar descends', but I'm telling you, the bell jar never ascended in the first place, it was always there, separating me from the world with a sheet of glass, with its limited supply of oxygen that I have used again and again and again, until I feel the very air I breathe in is suffocating me.