Divya Kishore

Standing in a bus stop, silently crying into your mask realising that everything is cripplingly anxiety inducing. I do not recommend that, but that is who I am.

Breathing is terrifying, and I am learning that the fear that holds me close in its grasp is not an entirely bad thing. As alarmingly horrid as it might be.

For a long period of my life, I was enamoured by the idea of the future. Planning it, meticulously, down to the last detail. I dreamed and dreamed and dreamed. And then life told me, with a lot more rigour than this, that all my plans can get (for a lack of a better word) fucked.

Living with chronic pain while lacking the self awareness of what society conditions you to believe in is a wholly different experience than when you are living with chronic conditions that are stifling and immensely decrease your quality of life while society’s charm is rapidly unravelling. It’s a rage that begins to take over you. Grief and rage too big to be confined in your body.

I saw my relationships change. I still see my relationships changing in a direction I never expected them to. Heck, I see myself changing into a person I never knew I could possibly be.

All of it is petrifying. So I write, and art, and read. A lot of all of that. That is all this blog is, me in varying forms.

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I am Divya Kishore, currently pursuing a bachelors in Curating (Goldsmiths, University of London) in London. Trying my very best not to freeze into an icicle, or die at the hands of a reckless bicyclist (you would be surprised how bad they are). While I tenaciously avoid London’s healthcare system (apparently I am just not impressive enough to be looked at), they seem to have a flare for medically gaslighting disabled/chronically ill/mentally ill people.