Babyla's World

My dearest baby doll, I missed you more than other days on your twenty-sixth birthday which was yesterday. You, of all the people I know, had reaped immense benefits of therapeutic writing. I have unaddressed and suppressed emotions and feelings which I would like to let out in the form of this blog. So, I am pretty sure you will be fine with me writing about you.  You came into my life when I was at my worst. You were a God-sent. Within two short years of knowing you, I have known you as someone full of life, irresistible charm, and insatiable hunger to learn. You had a heart of gold and your precious soul had the softest corner for me (and I tell you, I am still clueless AF about why you loved me in a way you did). You used to call me mama and you were the one who smothered me with your over-annoying concern to get my arse out of my house and nudging me to interact with others even when I didn't want to. I vividly remember how you literally barged into my house unannounced, pushe

I never thought I would be able to utter love and running in a form of sentence forget about writing a blog with the same title. I was never a running person. I was more of a walking person. I used to go for an evening walk daily for many years. Ever since I lost a dear friend to suicide around the beginning of the year, I was dragged back to a vicious cycle of anxiety and depression. The only means to calm my anxious mind, at that time, was to let my body go through a strenuous activity without having to step out of my house, thanks to frequent and sudden lockdowns. Thankfully, one of my wisest and best decisions of buying a treadmill during pre-covid days helped me to get it done.  Every morning before my run, I go through a series of existential crises, and at times when I am in the mood for some extra drama, I experience a complete mental breakdown for at least an hour. After letting all those unpleasant emotions out of my system, I drink a cup of black coffee and read for an hour.