What are we? What is our purpose? We don’t have answers for that! But what we are trying to do is to progress in life. And what is progression if you don’t move forward? Is time linear or circle? We don’t know for sure. But what is circular is your thought of mind. What you face, you return to that, and you become that again. Your sadness, it makes you come back to it, rot in it. Because I guess that is what it is! You get victimised, and you become the perpetrator either for someone else or for yourself. First, there is a catalyst, someone or something saddens you, making you rot in your dark hole. But for the next time, when you think that you are out. You somehow will start finding your way back to that stink, by hurting yourself for finding ways to get hurt once again. I want to call it emotional masochism, and you can consider the following article as my case study, maybe.

Foreword: Sometimes, I can’t help myself becoming too objective by treating everyone around me as subjects for my little experimentations and observations. Wish, I could stop that, but that helps me be objective when I’m faced with unexpected twists of life. So you can see that I’m using the word “I” a lot, to make it personal. Because this write-up is ‘me’ and telling ‘you’ directly about the things I’ve observed.

Case of Stockholm Syndrome:

We see ourselves submitting to a lot of things; cigarettes, coffee, tea, pleasure, control and sadness. Those last two might look odd one out, but no! Looking at multiple cases and subjects, I have come to the conclusion that there are people who submit themselves and love to be in someone else’s control. They can’t be judged for not sounding logical, because they have grown fond of that oppression; they need that. They need a dictator to control, abuse and treat them as property. 

I have seen many women get attracted to the ‘macho’, oppressive guys. Is it dad complex? Are they looking for someone to replace their overprotective dads? It sure is a probability! But regardless of what complex it is, few really return back to the very person who has hit them pretty bad. They also seem to get defensive when anyone tries to protect the girl from beatings. It’s almost like they are craving for that abuse. Is it not masochism? I never really thought we had so many masochists around us, but here we go, almost every 3 out of 5 women I have run into since my observation had begun were such masochists who crave to be submissive.

I was judgemental, and those words they speak always shock me. It’s not like they tell me directly, but their behaviour, it can be deduced to masochism. It is nothing but Stockholm syndrome because they seem to get a liking towards the abuser, and sometimes surprisingly miss the chokehold on their neck and spanking on the butt. 

Of course, the majority of the subjects whom I have seen suffering from this syndrome, are women, there are men too. Some men want to be controlled by very leading and manipulative women. They get attracted to the woman who validates their every move. These men cannot and will never dare to do anything without their pseudo-MAMA’s approval. No matter if you try to help them drag out, they find their way back to the claws of such dictators. 

Case of emotional masochism:

Now, this is a peculiar case, and I’m one of the subjects too. I can say the number of emotional masochists is a lot higher, and every 2 out of 5 humans are such. They don’t have anything, they are suffering from ‘normal-life’ syndrome. I was affected too, it is boring, and the boredom kills. We, the subjects, search for the meaning of life in different places, we find nothing, as there is nothing. But, we crave for depth, a character arc in our stories. We want our lives to not be flat and something that has a meaning, we are almost obsessed with this search. So much that we find the most comfortable way out.

Depression! No, we don’t have clinical depression, not at the beginning of course. But that is the climax of the path we head to. Somewhere in our life, we, the subjects understood that sadness can be easily achieved. In fact, it is the sadness that made us awake and coming out of it, we began this hunt for meaning. We had a purpose, some definition for ourselves when we were sad and loathing. We had reasons for being like this. We had everything to blame, and when we are not worried, there is nothing but ourselves to blame for things we do. 

A friend of mine hinted to me about this ‘addiction to get depressed’. I instantly got connected to it, I know that I’m heading that way. I already had clues about myself liking the sadness. When I’m sad, I feel I had some depth. It was when I’m messy and scratching the un-groomed beard that I felt like an enlightened being. It made me feel superior to others; like no one knows what I’m going through. It was false, everyone is going through their own shit and feels the same way. I only knew that I liked to get sad until I came out of the thought.

When I was sunk in it deeply, I had the tendency to surround myself with all the tragic news, sad memories, betrayals and overthinking. It took me months to recover from this sort of emotional masochism that I had become. I still find the remnant residual waste of sad-craving ideas in my mind. It cries “the moment is here for you to get sad, go cry” once in a while. I just try to divert myself or make jokes about it because it will run away. You can be a self-loathing sadness craving person almost at every corner, few have periods of such phases once in a while, and few are always craving for sadness. 

I cannot be a judge and say that this is ‘wrong’. If it gives them a purpose to live, maybe we should just let them be. But it is really annoying to be a consoling person for the guy who is emotionally masochistic. And also the guy who always tries to save people from abusive relationships. I have been both, and some people were annoyed consoling me when I was an emotional-masochist. You don’t need to stress yourself, give thoughts about them. Neither should you empathise and try to change them because they won’t. You can hunt them, but it is up to them to change. I changed because I want some other things in life. If you are one of those masochists and you feel like doing some other stuff, do change for the sake of yourselves. 

The minds of those have been burdened and tired, those who have tried to protect these masochists. They must have spent sleepless nights thinking they have to save these people. This is yet another problem, the saviour complex. This is not masochism but an equally irritating super-hero syndrome. But at least, these super-saviours don’t halt progression, they boost it but at the cost of their peace of minds. One thing I want to say to both saviours and masochists is that the progress of life is what we want. Being sad, being in an abusive relationship it makes you stay in the same place for too long. Too long that you almost waste your entire life before you even realise that you can do a lot more things with your life than getting choked or walking in a dark abyss. It takes you nowhere, that path is circular, a void where the end and the beginning are just a hole. All you need to know is that there is a hole, and you can just jump back to the world. Do not take the easy way out, you can do a lot of things with your life. 

Let’s talk about more submissive ideologies and phases in our next article. If you are familiar with more such humiliation-craving masochistic ideas to live, you can comment or mail us at penfluky@gmail.com.

Just this one time, one more puff before I come clean;
Now, I have been saying this to myself from ages and years.
Soon the days became years and the years became aeons,
But the never-ending desire to want more remained.
The wanting of one last puff! The haunting of one more puff!

The night has come, and the people have gone to the slumber.
Lost in thoughts and utterly alone, my mind went numb.
Remembering the sad events, remembering the days I cried;
I can’t remember a shoulder I leant, except for the blurry smoke.
For it was there when I cried, it was there when I laughed.

Little did I know that it’s a venom that I ingested.
Making my emotions linked and chained to it;
I have made it my master and had become its slave.
I thought I had control and believed to be its owner.
Before I knew that the tables have turned,
I had already lost all my control! Submitted to the demon!

I have sold my soul to the smoky devil;
The devil of delusions; imagery of happiness.
I thought I’m done with it, the moment I realised.
But it still deceived me in every moment ever.
Knowing that it controls me, I had done many rebellions.
But all came to the same end by submitting to it again.

I told my friends and caretakers that I’m done with this poison.
My assurance had turned to lies, and so did gone their trust.
Hard for me to trust myself, for it is me that was deceived.
Every night I say to myself, I’m relieved of the possession;
Every day I wake up to the thoughts, one last time and again never.

From the first ‘last puff’ to the last ‘last puff’, been thousands of it;
Seen me shamelessly, deceiving myself once again, forever.
For every first puff, I hate myself, for every last puff, I crave more.
Will this loathing ever end? Will there be one true last puff?
Cannot say. Because I don’t know. Lost trust in myself forever.

I hope the last puff will remain the last one.
But I wish that someone put a chained restrain,
For I fear that I will want yet another last puff.
The smoky demon is in the air, and my brain calls it,
I wonder when comes the day when I will truly slay.
I wanna come outside and breathe fresh air,
with no thoughts of, that one last puff!

It has been four months since I have seen the daylight. My skin has gone pale, and my eyes have gotten used to less light. The pandemic has taken a significant toll on me. I kept myself locked inside my bunker of a house. The doors only open when my groceries are delivered. My living room has turned into a sanitation station. I have arranged germ sprays which I used to clean the grocery bags and myself for touching them. Then I go inside, and I take a bath with some Dettol in the water. I also made my balcony a washing station, equipped with germ sprays and sanitisers too. I have my windows shut, and the sun burns me. I live on artificial D vitamin supplements and the oxygen released by my indoor plants. 

I have already stopped contacting more people since Chicken Pox attacked me. The worst thing a human can do to the other is not a backstab, it is being reckless and passing on germs. What mistake did I commit? It was supposed to be a birthday party, and the guy who thought he had a fever felt that he was doing us a favour. He thought it would be cool to appear to party even being sick. He did not even consider carrying a handkerchief. He also shared cigarettes with me, who did not know his sickness until he told me at the end. What a douche! He did not just pass me an expensive cigarette it was also a rare virus that I had no immunity for. All the others already had the disease when they were young, and I never got exposed to it; hence, no antibodies. 

The germs remained with me. They got on to the cigarette, I have ingested them directly into my body by puffing them in. There was a battle going inside my body, and the temperature was high in less than a week. There were blisters almost everywhere on my body; my beautiful face, my tender pecs, biceps, thighs and even on my feet. My back that recovered from my teenage acne got attacked with something bigger now. It has been two years now, and the scars remain. I’m now embarrassed to wear sleeveless tops, show off my lats and go topless. What was supposed to be a hot thing only to be soon followed by sympathising looks and cheering-ups that I don’t need. My face somehow recovered, and so did my front side of the body. But my back is still a horror show of spots that won’t fade away. The thing I’m about to say has nothing to do with all this. But this is the consequence of being reckless about a fever. The heroic act of a douche traumatised me that ended up killing my esteem. I feel like Deadpool, I guess I look like an avocado without my shirt.

So, no humans! No kisses too, I can pleasure myself; I’m self-sufficient. I have been going out but to enjoy minimal pleasures like eating outside, carnivals and festivals. But no social contacts that’s a ban from 2 years. You can video call me if you miss me a lot, that’s what I said to everyone. But these four months is a big thing. I’m a lot of road person for someone who does not prefer to meet people. I have been among these closed walls and dark rooms for so long, I became obsessive. I have compulsions about germs getting to me. My body suffering from more than just blisters is my worst nightmare. But today! What a day! What a shitty day! I’m hungry, my internet doesn’t work. I am unable to order anything. The groceries won’t come till the next day, and I ate off all the supplies. I kept drinking water, but it has been 13 hours. It feels like something is eating my insides. I have to go out—just this one time. But I’m trembling, and I don’t want contamination.

The government had removed the curfew, and I see people jumping on roads like apes as if the vaccine is here. They think their cloth masks are hazmat suits and they scratch their nose through their masks. No one is even wearing gloves. It is a garbage bin outside the door of my house. I can starve, I guess. Thinking of going out is making me anxious. It’s better to die starving than getting contaminated, I believe. But this one time, I can go out. I will be okay; I have the sanitising station. Okay! 

I wore my facemask, gloves and a face shield. I set foot, and a current passed all my body. The sun was piercing through my clothes. I see people with no masks. It’s crazy, it feels like everything is filthy and germs are all around me. I should throw these clothes off, the face shield too. Damn! It is like a circus out here. People in queues, no masks, spitting on roads and I can see this dude pissing on a wall few yards far from me. My heart started pounding, and my breath grew intense. My breathing was harsh that it began to form vapour on my shield. The sound!

Oh god, horns from everywhere, people talking jumping, bouncing and scratching like apes. I turned around and round and round; it felt like nausea. I feel discomfort in my stomach. I rushed towards a place that sells breakfast. It was crowdy and scared me. The cook was sweaty, and his mask looked old and worn off. I think I’m having a panic attack! My anxiety is kicking in, and soon everything became silent. I heard no sounds and the roads were empty, and cars were too—no people around me, and It felt peaceful for a moment, but the disturbance started again. The sounds resumed but were different. I hear monkeys screeching around me. Different kinds of apes surrounded me—apes walking on roads, driving in cars, honking at each other and yelling at each other. It was apes that sold breakfast and apes that bought them too.

The boards of shops were changed. “Fresh and warm COVID-19 at 35 Rupees only” the board of breakfast read. I could not understand what was going on. I turned around to see a fast-food centre. It’s menu board read COVID-19 80 Rs, Typhoid 60 Rs, Dengue 60 Rs and so on with many diseases that are still running their course in India. One hairy ape with glasses on went to the fast-food dealing ape and asked “What is the cheap one you got?” the dealer ape said “Diarrhoea is cheapest just at 20 Rs, but only effects for three days. You can try Common flu for 25 Rs; it makes you feel like shit for a week” the ape with glasses smiled and ordered one common flu. I don’t have an option; I have to choose among one. Would I select flu? no, it weakens my immunity. “Brother pack me some Diarrhoea” I yelled. The ape packed some Poori – Korma and gave it to me. I held the packet and started moving back to home.

I had to stop because a prison bus was going and the road had jammed. I can recognise the prison bus by its colour, but there was something else written on it. As the bus neared me, it became more apparent. “Hepatitis, AIDS and Syphilis center for criminals” it read. Nothing made sense anymore. I walked back into my apartment. Something inside me couldn’t take the Diarrhoea packet inside. I just threw it in the bin. Luckily for me, I found my mobile connected to the neighbour’s WiFi. Why didn’t I think of this? I ordered some vegetables to cook myself a good meal. I entered, removed my clothes shield, mask and gloves. Threw them in the bin that was inside my apartment. I sprayed the chemicals all over my body. I tied a towel around my waist, and tied the cover of trash inside the bin, threw it out. I went in and had a good bath.

The vegetables are here, and it is time for me to cook now. I arranged everything I need to prepare, I took the veggies out and put them on the chopping pad. I jumped, looking at the worms crawling on the cabbage. I just stood there, my eyes wide shut!

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