Freedom, or something like that

Sometimes it feels like the walls are closing in around me.

Around my childhood, around my teenage, around my supposed academic skills, around my always-there-for-you personality.

Slam, slam, slam! A door to these is forever gluing shut, and I don’t think it’s going to open again.

It’s a sense of finality I don’t think I’m able to deal with.


In a sense, it’s also freedom.

Freedom from those people I gave a hundred and fifty chances to, who still let me down again and again and again.

Sometimes you give someone your all and it still isn’t enough. It still isn’t enough to make them stay.

They say, if you’re not losing friends, you’re not growing up. At what number does it stop then? I’ve drifted apart from enough friends who knew me inside out, who witnessed my tears and tantrums and rock-bottom moments, who I hugged, comforted and laughed with.


But maybe it’s freedom from their selfishness and their taking me for granted, and you may think this is a biased view, but what else do you call loving someone at 120 while they love you at a 70?


Freedom from the pressure to be a certain way.

I don’t think I’ll ever truly get freedom from this one demon that’s destined to haunt me forever, but I do think that it affects me less. I’m less concerned about what my family will think if I don’t behave the way I’ve done for 18 years, if I don’t say and act like the perfectly obedient version of me they have in their heads.


Freedom from the girl who always cared too much.

The people who forgive, and forgive and forgive have their breaking point too. I’m this close to giving up on it all. Letting the numbness envelop me. Becoming so cold to those that once made my day. Why do they deserve my best version when they aren’t willing to give me even their third best?


Freedom from the carefree-ness of childhood.

Adulthood feels like being pushed off a cliff and not knowing how to swim. And it’s ten times worse when you feel disconnected with the age that you are because the last 1.5 years have been a void that didn’t let you experience those things; mature, grow, learn. I feel like I’m running from my responsibilities, a child trapped in years beyond her.



These supposed freedoms do seem rather disquieting and pathetic when you look at them, don’t they?

But maybe calling them freedoms and focusing on the good is the only meagre distraction from feeling those walls close in, suspiciously close to cutting you out.



Writer: Ananya Chaure

Editor: Hirday Lakhwani


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