One Step

I take one tentative step, and then the next. It gets slightly easier; with every step I take.

Bit by bit, I inch slowly forward; on a path that I was told; would lead to pastures new.

My mind is foggy; slow and sluggish… thoughts take an age to form; and fade away in a blink.

My mind tries to rally; it tries to fight back… but I chained it too tight; I must not let it think.

I must clear my thoughts; and occupy my mind. I try to count my steps; and keep a steady breath.

Warning lights are on; everywhere in my head… everything hurts; if it’s not already numb.

My heart pains me; a dull, throbbing ache… perhaps I am healing, or will it never end?

I blink in the light; every ray a stab of pain. Has it truly been so long? Am I so used to the dark?

All throughout, I hear a metallic rattle; as my brain strains to free… itself from its chains.

I shift my gaze downwards, and place one foot forward… I must not lose this fight; it must not break loose.

But despite all my tricks; I fear that it’s no use; my mind has won its freedom; and it turns its ire on me.

It taunts and torments me; with question after question… not one of which I seem; to have the answers for.

Where are we going? 

Where have we been?

Is this the right way? 

Should we turn back now?

Are we moving too fast? 

Or are we too slow?

Why is everyone

so far ahead already?

What’s in our future?

Why are we so alone?

What have we done wrong?

Is it too late to change?

What do we seek?

And how do we do so?

How do we ever know

If we walk the right path?

Step by slow step; I inch closer still… to a future unknowable; a land I’ve never been. 

All the while I’m pelted; with the constant panicked cries… of a mind that never learned; the art of letting go.

I place one foot forward; and take one more step… all the while ignoring; my deafening doubts and fears.

They rise to a keening wail; but one that I never hear… as I raise my head up high, and sing a cheerful tune.

Time

As I’ve done so many times before; I come here -restless, confused, anxious and sad- looking for answers.

But this time feels rather different.

Before, I used to share these posts religiously on my social media, drawing in dozens and sometimes hundreds of views, which validated my existence and gave me a burgeoning sense of accomplishment. Perhaps I was more than a corporate shill, selling myself for some cash and what decades of hustle culture had convinced me was the whole point of my life: that evil, evil concept that humanity refers to as a “career”. Perhaps I could hold on to what little wisps of personality I had left that hadn’t yet been sandblasted off of me by decades of standardized education and half a decade of work experience. Perhaps I could maintain some semblance of who I was through my little acts of rebellion; a boyish haircut, an electric guitar, a BMW and complete denial as to who and what I was turning to. I battled hard to maintain my self-image of an aloof rockstar who was just playing the game but was ultimately above it. Sure, I worked a 9 to 5, but I’d never let that get to me. I’d always be me; an authentic person who saw himself as much more than a suit or a cog in a machine. I’d witness others slowly turn into down-trodden shells of who they’d been as they’d hustle to keep themselves and their young families financially afloat, and I’d smugly silently judge them. I was single, attractive, young and free. I was a reader, a writer, a musician, an athlete; a cook; a traveller, and above all a gamer- someone who played the game and was good at it, but didn’t need to or care enough to try any harder because he was so much more than a career man.

And yet, with every passing year, I lost more and more of myself. Toxic work environment gave way to toxic work environment. Unhealthy relationship gave way to outright toxic relationship. Hobby after hobby fell by the wayside as I struggled with low energy and a general lack of free time. The guitar was the first to go into storage as I decided to focus on my writing. Then went the reading and the cooking. The gym soon followed; and with it most of my self-esteem and critically low endorphin supply. I held on to the writer in me for the longest time; often just churning out recycled trash just to earn the right to keep referring to myself as one- but eventually, he was gone too. I retired my blog, and told myself it’s for the best- even as I instantly lost my only source of validation and spiraled down into the familiar depths of self-hate and depression. The final blow to what remained of my carefully cultivated self-image was the toxic relationship to end all toxic relationships, by the end of which I’d lost my hairline, any sense of self-worth and the BMW- which I sold to rid myself of any lingering memories of my most horrible mistake. At that point, I had no patience even for video games- and even sources of instant dopamine such as binge-watching TV shows and junk food stopped bringing me any joy.

Time had finally worn me down.

Before, I might have harbored some romanticized notions of me as a writer. Perhaps I thought someone reading this -and by “someone” I meant an attractive woman, naturally- would fall in love with this poor tortured soul and save him from himself. Perhaps she would see any value in him and make him feel like more than human trash for once.

But the reason this time feels different is that I know this won’t happen. For one thing, no one is likely to ever read this bar a few friends if I choose to share it with them… but mainly I can’t shake off the feeling that I’ve peaked. I’ve had my hour in the sun. Now the sad reality is that I am no longer who I was five years ago. Most of the things I thought made me interesting don’t apply anymore; I hardly ever write or play music; I’ve forgotten how to cook and almost can’t remember the last time I picked up a book (that rhymed. Hehehe). I don’t drive a hot car, and I’m certainly not “young” anymore, being 30 and having lost most of my hair and passion for life. I’ve lost even my aloofness, now that I feel forced to double down on my career choice and complete my master’s degree of accounting -after a full decade of rejecting and rebelling against my destiny- in order to have any real chance at finding a decent job now that I’m unemployed and in the middle of a global recession.

It just feels to me like the tortured soul shtick only works when you’re at a minimum level of physical attractiveness- one that I’m not at, anymore. Now, it just comes across as tired, pathetic and bitter.

And so, I choose to be someone else. This is where I make my final stand and roar my defiance against time itself. I refuse to feel like a has-been. I refuse to feel like the gum stuck to your shoe.

Perhaps I can choose to do most of these things again, like writing, reading, working out and cooking. 

Perhaps focusing on earning my master’s degree to develop my career signals maturity rather than defeat.

Perhaps selling my hot car was a deliberate choice, because the type of woman it attracted is one that I never want to deal with again in my life.

Perhaps the type of immature woman who’d be attracted to my previously blond curls and blue eyes and turned off by my now nearly bald head and tired, baggy eyes- ignoring my other merits and actual substance- is one whose place should be firmly in my rearview mirror.

Perhaps real attractiveness is born out of confidence and real belief in oneself, rather than in one’s physical appearance.

And perhaps it’s time to accept that the only way you can win a battle against time itself is to admit defeat. I will never again be who I was five years ago… and that’s a good thing. Most of the things I’ve “lost”, I can still get back- and those I can’t have been replaced with real life experiences and actual growth.

I will never again be who I was five years ago, but I will also never be as young as I am right now. 

The choice is whether to wallow or to live… and I’m sure it won’t always be easy or fun, but I choose life.

Never Again

Simple lyrics, for a simple man.

The song -a cover by the band Shinedown for Lynyrd Skynyrd’s woefully underrated “Simple Man”- had always been his all-time favorite song for a reason. Apart from the resonant acoustic notes and the lead singer’s haunting vocals; the lyrics had always touched him in a way no other song had ever quite managed- even the original version of the very same song.

The song describes a man’s mother’s advice to him growing up; the advice that would come to shape the adult, in time. Simple words, from a simple woman, to a simple boy who would grow up to be a simple man.

“Take your time, don’t live too fast.”
“Troubles will come and go.”
“You’ll find love, don’t seek it out.”
“Don’t forget that there is someone up above.”
“Follow your heart and nothing else.”
“You’ll find yourself, don’t worry.”
“Don’t chase money and materialistic things”
“All I want for you is to be satisfied”

Every single one of those statements might have been said by anyone’s mother, at any given time. They are not particularly unique thoughts or concepts one would want to teach their offspring…

Or so he’d always thought.

But it turns out, not everyone believes in these core beliefs.

Some people are all about hustle culture, and burning themselves out in pursuit of riches.

Some people spend years crying over what they don’t have, because they cannot appreciate what they do have.

Some people would rather marry someone they don’t love -or even like- than be alone.

Some people would rather follow money than their passions.

Some people put materialistic things and money way above concepts like empathy,  altruism and even basic respect for others.

These thoughts were enough to give him a huge surge of gratitude for his own mother; who had literally instilled every single one of the -what he believed to be- noble beliefs presented in the song in him at a very young age… which was perhaps why the song had always touched him so deeply. He was not just listening to a song; he was listening to his own mother’s advice to him; immortalized in song form.

After years of feeling forced to change and hate and suppress so many facets of his personality -and consequently, subconsciously avoiding this song and the emotional trauma it would bring- listening to it again was like a wake-up call… it was like he could see his past self; only from two or three years ago; looking at him with thinly-veiled disgust and pity. “Who are you?” He’d seemed to ask… and the truth is that for years, he thought he’d had no real answer to that question. 

Until he heard that song again.

It was just a song… and yet it was enough to remind him of who he truly was. And it was enough to remind him that he actually loved these things about himself.

He loved being simple, nonmaterial, spiritual and altruistic.

And so it was that as he listened to his favorite song for the first time in years, tears rolled down his cheeks and he began silently crying in earnest.

An unusual reaction, perhaps, but the minute it started, it was hard to imagine how he’d kept it in for so long.

He cried not from physical pain.
He cried not from intense emotional distress.
He cried not from trauma.
He cried not from mental illness.

He cried for who he was.

He cried for the sad direction his late-twenties had taken; instead of continuing the upwards trajectory he’d been on- into the realms of success and confidence and self-love; a steep downwards spiral into the dark pits of despair, self-doubt, self-hate and identity crisis.

He cried for all the lost time he could have spent loving himself and appreciating his good qualities and working on the flaws he -and only he- judged to be worth correcting.

He cried for wanting love so badly that he was willing to completely forget who he was, at the core.

He cried for having been so willing to turn his back on everything he’d stood for and everything he’d believed in.

He cried for having been so emotionally traumatized that he had even written almost nothing in the last two years of his life- a sure sign that he had been gradually and completely losing touch with who he was.

But most of all, he cried for having taken 29 years to actually realize that he loved himself… and that he would never try to change himself for anyone, no matter what or who.

For better or worse, he realized -or perhaps remembered- that he was the quintissential “Simple Man” of the song… and that he would never have it any other way.

Never.

Again.

Enough.

I want to die.

There, I said it. Plain and simple.

This is not a cry for help or a plea for attention. This is my version of screaming into a pillow; sharing a post on a dead medium where no one can see it, but I simply can’t keep my feelings in check any longer.

I’m tired of the constant worrying and perpetual fear and anxiety I live in. Everything worries me. Everything is a matter of life and death. Everything deserves to be pondered and ruthlessly obsessed about until it’s all I can do not to curl up in the fetal position and wait for either sleep deprivation, starvation, or any number of diseases -shout out to any coronavirus who may he reading this- to finally take my life and end my misery.

I can proudly count myself among the few who are not actively panicking about the coronavirus outbreak. That may turn out to be delicious irony if I actually do get infected -or God forbid, one of my loved ones- but the truth is that I would welcome an end to all this. The only thing that worries me is that coronavirus victims die gasping for breath, which is something I’m already phobic about. That’s the equivalent of not wanting to be blown to shreds by a landmine because it would ruin your suit.

I’m not an 11 year old emo, and I’m not an emotional girl going through a particularly turbulent PMS. I am quite simply unable to carry my burdens anymore; the burden of working a job I despise; the burden of needing to bring in a stable income; the burden of having no purpose; the burden of feeling useless; the burden of feeling like what little talents I had are fading away;  the burden of being in a difficult relationship... but most of all, the burden of worrying about every single detail of my life in every possible future timeline.

It’s not like I’m carrying the world on my shoulders; but rather like the world is sitting on my chest, compressing me; pressing in on all sides; suffocating me and reducing me to a wheezing old soul, metaphorically gasping for breath.

Huh.

This must be what a dying coronavirus victim feels in their last moments. Always gasping, forever gasping, but never quite able to take in that one life-giving, refreshing gulp of sweet, cold air... never quite able to give voice to their concerns to those closest to them; or tell them they love them; or at the very least let out a defiant scream or curse... something. Anything.

I don’t know what I came here to say. It may just be that I have nothing to say. That’s been happening more and more over the past few months... because at some point you realize that no matter what you say, people do as they please. No one feels your pain, and no one shares your anguish. At the end of the day; if I get coronavirus, I will die gasping for breath alone. And if I don’t, I will still be alone- no matter how many people surround or try to help me; because I’m trapped in a sadist’s mind, whose only priority in life is to watch me suffer and writhe in eternal anguish as the clock ticks my life away.

Fun fact; if heaven were customized to each person’s deepest wishes, mine would be nothingness- an athiest’s paradise. Sweet, glorious nothing. Eternal dreamless sleep, with nothing to worry or obsess about for once.

Ultimately, death is the sweetest respite a person like me can wish for.

So Far Away

"How do I live without the ones I love? Time still turns the pages of the book it's burned".

Without fail, every single time I've listened to Avenged Sevenfold's "So Far Away", I was reduced to helpless tears... because it really asks a fundamentally unanswerable question; how does one survive without those they've come to love and depend on for companionship and emotional support? How can someone be expected to continue functioning after being dealt what feels like nothing less than a mortal stab to the heart? How does one cope with a loss so overwhelmingly agonizing that it's all they can do to stave off suicidal thoughts when all they crave is endless, dreamless sleep- and a permanent end to their suffering?

The thing about this song is that it's one of those songs everyone can relate to... because who among us hasn't tasted the bitter taste of a painful goodbye? Whether it be a family member, a close friend, a former mentor or a lover, every one of us has been through it, and every one of us has suffered. The pain of losing a load-bearing pillar of support; the core -or even sole- component of one's entire support system is enough to reduce anyone to a numb, emotionless existence as they struggle to adapt to life without something that only had only recently been as crucial to their survival as air or water.

And "loss" doesn't necessarily mean death.

When you love someone, you wish for them to always be happy- or failing that, then simply alive... and yet, in case of a painful breakup with the love of one's life, their happiness without you somehow always has unwelcome implications; because the unavoidable fact is that if they're happy without you, then you have stopped mattering to them... or that you at least you matter a lot less. "Losing" them then becomes doubly painful; because while they're -thankfully- still alive and well, you've not only lost them as lovers, but you're also faced with the cruel fact that life always moves on. Whether it be a week, a month, a year or even a decade later, eventually they will move on. They will forget how they felt with you, as the faults in your character become more and more glaringly obvious to them, the more time passes by... and in due time, someone else will make their heart race.

Someone else will keep them up at night.
They will give "that" look -the look that used to be all yours; the look that used to make your day- to someone else.
They will be vulnerable with someone else.
They will be intimate -both sexually and emotionally- with someone else.
They will marry someone else.
When they watch a cheesy romcom, someone else will pop into their mind.

And when they eventually start comparing you to their current significant other, you'll inevitably come up short- as all the things they used to hate about you stand out in stark contrast to the polished excellence of their new partner. That comparison maybe unfair; as their new partner was able to reach certain milestones you weren't allowed to; and even in the aspects you both managed to reach, you may have matched or even exceeded them back in your day... but the inexorable march of time will eventually dull your shine. They will eventually forget all about you, and their new partner will become their unchallenged and undisputed confidante, life partner, lover and sex symbol.

Or worse still; they won't compare them to you at all, because... you've guessed it; you've stopped mattering to them altogether.

A million million questions batter your mind, like raindrops spattering against a window; what if they moved on? What if they grew to love someone else more than me? What if I've ceased to have the same effect I used to have on them? What would they think if we coincidentally met somewhere? Do they still think about me? How long would it take them to date someone else, and to be physically intimate with them?

A million million questions, and absolutely no answers.

All you can do at this point is survive. It's not about "living" or "enjoying your life" or "being happy" anymore... your day to day achievement becomes merely not dying. And your reward if you manage to weather this storm? Existing as an emotionally dead hollow shell, incapable of love or emotion.

So, how do I live without the ones I love, you ask?

You don't. You die if you're lucky, and survive if you're not.

Paper-cuts

I double over in pain;
Curled up
In the fetal position
To protect myself
And yet
They keep coming...
Every word
Every syllable
Every letter
A painful cut
As my own brain
Works against me
And conjures up
Infinite memories
Of us together;
Of giddy happiness,
Of love and laughter.
I slide into a state
Of acute delirium
I question myself
I question life
I question
My very existence
But still
The words
They are relentless
And they keep coming...
And while it may seem
That every word alone
Is harmless,
They have found
Strength in numbers;
For a thousand paper-cuts
Can still kill
And they crowd me
In their hundreds
Overwhelming me
Stabbing
Cutting
Disfiguring
Maiming
I have nowhere to go
No one to run to
Nowhere to hide
All I can do
Is take their punishment
And try not to wonder
What I've done
To deserve this.
I put on a brave face
I smile and nod
And drive away
But when I feel
The burning tears
Soaking my beard;
Stinging my eyes;
Blinding me;
Blocking my view
Of the road;
As I swerve
Hither and thither
Trying to avoid
Incoming traffic,
I look away
So no one can see
What a mess I am
And maybe
Just maybe
If I'm lucky
Someone will
Crash into me
While I'm not looking,
And make it all go away
But that's okay
It won't hurt
For I am already
Numb to pain;
You see, the thing
About being dead
On the inside
Is that dying
On the outside
Becomes a mere
Formality...
You can neither
Save nor hurt
A soulless husk;
You can just
Finally end
Its torment
And put it out
Of its misery.

Gravity

I love a woman...

No, not a woman; a celestial body

Whose mere presence in my life
Is as illuminating and awe-inspiring

As a brilliant star

Casting its light far and wide in the pitch-black cosmos

But wait, no... this is not a fitting description

Of how remarkably glorious she truly is

But I’m no astronomer or physicist 

To find a more apt metaphor to describe her

Than a supermassive black hole.

Space and time

And the very laws of gravity & attraction

Do not apply to her;

For every thing she does attracts me

And makes me want her more

And everything she doesn’t do

Is automatically unimportant to me;

Blocked out by my brain

For the crime of not being in her orbit.

Time stops when she smiles at me

Or gives me that bold, mischievous look.

And the world stands completely still for me

When I hear her laugh at something I said

Or when she clasps my hand in hers

In that special way that makes me feel

Wanted; safe; unburdened; whole.

And yet

And yet...

And yet!

She is also as elusive and unreachable

As a supermassive black hole

Somehow simultaneously as theoretical

As she is real to me...

And no matter how close to me

She appears to physically be

It still feels like light years separate us

And that no matter how fast I drift

In the endless nothingness towards her

I’m no closer to touching her

Than I did when I first started my journey...

And that is my curse

Being so close to her, but also so far.

Some might call that a mercy

For if I ever reach her, certain death awaits me

But color me unimpressed

With the machinations of fate

For though death is unavoidable

With her in my path

Life on any other path

Is worth less than nothing.

And yet

And yet...

And yet!

Perhaps it is more than a little arrogant

To pretend like I have any control 
Over my navigation

For no matter what I “decide” to do

Or where I “decide” to go

Her gravitational  field is inescapable;

Her pull on me is irresistible

And my fate has long since been sealed.
So let’s leave the theoretical and the academic
For the scientists to ponder over
For I am the mere rocket man
Propelled on a fixed trajectory
And enjoying every second of my journey
Towards the very void. 

I love a woman… no, not a woman. 

A myth.

An idea.

Someone who does not exist, and never will.

The Truth About Loneliness

Loneliness
Is sneaky
It can
creep up
on you;
Startle you;
Catch you
Off-guard...
You stumble
You flail
You try
To stay
On your feet
And ground
Yourself
Or convince
Yourself
That you matter
But then
Before you know it
You find yourself
In a crowded room
Full of people
Who know & love you
And yet still feel
Crushingly
Painfully
Inconsolably
Isolated
And alone...
Because
The thing
About loneliness
Is that
It will get you
No matter
What you do
Or who
You’re with
As long as
You feel
Unheard;
Burdened;
Unsupported
And unloved...
Not by anyone else
But by yourself.

Unbiased Mirror

Days go by

In a hazy blur.

Bland mornings give way

To sleepless nights.
My energy is sapped...

My will to live

Long-since dead & buried.

The days of my life

Are a study in mediocrity...

I feel a void inside my soul;

An all-consuming black hole.

I am become

Melancholy, personified...

My days, as gloomy

As a dull moon 

In a starless sky.

I am as lonely
As the last individual
In an extinct species;

Devoid of purpose,

With a burnt out passion

For life...
And most of its “charms”.

I ask myself

Why am I alive?

What possible motive

Do I have to go on?

I try to push

These thoughts away;

I try to tell myself

That there are those who care...
But then I chance

To glance at myself

In an unbiased mirror

And my reflection

Makes my stomach lurch

And I gag and heave

As I gaze at this creature

That I truly despise...

What’s the point?

Why does anything matter?

How can I ever be content

As long as I have to live

Trapped with this ugly person

With no way out but death;

An escape much more likely

Than growing to love & accept him?

I try to find a silver lining;

A distraction; a lie; 

Empty reassurances;

SOMETHING

To make me feel again;

To make me want to live...

But when I actually open

My usually inexhaustible 

Bag of tricks

I find only a crooked crutch;

Barely functional, for now

And some bandaids

And a gun...

And the thing about guns

Is that you can use them

To kill monsters.

Realization dawns on me...

And as I look

In the mirror again,

I can clearly hear

The gun calling out to me.

Bite-sized Pain

A nagging thought
A niggling feeling
Turbulent dreams
Always tense
Always clenched
There ain't no rest
For the anxious.

************

She turned a page

and another...

and another.

Some pages were

More memorable

Than others

But it was 

The final page
That made her weep

And stuck with her
Forever more.

************

Parched throat

Cracked lips

Blistered feet

Dying of thirst

In a scorching desert

Yet still smiling

As I remember

The moist feel

of her soft lips on mine.

************

Men look with horror and pity

On the poor spider who chooses

To mate with the Black Widow...

For what unfortunate soul

Willingly sacrifices himself

For the sake of a few minutes

Of raw, uncontrollable passion?

But little do they know

That the spider had already done

All that he had set out to do;

When he offered himself

To his cold, merciless mate...

For now he would truly be part

Of his lover, and forever more

They would be joined together, as one.

************

Dear diary,

I met a great girl today.

Dear diary,

I asked for her number.

Dear diary,

Our first date was amazing.

Dear diary,

It was a magical first kiss.

Dear diary,

I think I'm falling for her.

Dear diary,

I've never been this happy.

Dear diary,

We've just had our first fight.

Dear diary,

She stormed out, today.

Dear diary,

We haven't talked in days.

Dear diary,

We made up.

Dear diary,

We had another fight.

Dear diary,

The fire is gone.

Dear diary,

We broke up.

Dear diary,

I think I'm fine.

Dear diary,

I've never known such pain.

Dear diary,

I'm very depressed.

Dear diary,

I think she's with someone.

Dear diary,

I tried to kill myself, today.

Dear diary,
I need help.

Dear diary,

I will never move on.

Dear diary,

I'm sorry I haven't written in months.

I met someone else today.

I am ready.

************

His hand traced the outline
Of her neck and collarbone
The most fleeting of touches;
The gentlest promise
Of more to come
She braced herself
As his hand slid down
She bit her lip
And arched her back...
She closed her eyes;
But when they opened,
His ghost was gone...
Withdrawn to rest;
Inside her heart
Leaving behind
A broken promise.

************

He bit her lip,
His forehead against hers
Staring her in the eyes;
Hungrily caressing
Every inch of her
As their legs intertwined
And rivulets of sweat
Ran down their bodies
But in his moment of climax
When he closed his eyes
And his body trembled
With ecstatic release
It was someone else he pictured,
Crystal clear in his mind's eye;
Whose name still reverberated
In the recesses of his brain...
But he dared not scream it
As loudly as he yearned.

The Abyss

Hope and love are queer, fickle things.

They can be the wind under your wings; lifting you higher and higher above the clouds until you transcend all it is that makes you mortal... for in those precious moments, you are not only soaring high above the ground; but you're also miles above your insecurities and fears and dark reality. You are ungrounded; in every sense of the word- and while it lasts, you feel serene; invincible; unshakable; as majestic as an eagle on the hunt.

Then, fall Caesar.

In the blink of an eye; your biggest strengths become your downfall... for the higher you were, the more terrible the drop. There are no chances of survival. There is no struggle to stay afloat; or a desperate scuffle as your wings try to find an updraft to keep you airborne... for there is no wind; no air; no atmosphere to begin with. You start choking as you drop like a stone; down, down, down... and the clouds cast their shadows upon you as you descend; embracing you like a lover, where mere seconds ago, the world was sunny and bright.

And yet, death will not come; because the spiral never ends.

You writhe and twist and turn, and yet death’s sweet embrace still eludes you. Nothing you do can snatch you from this horrible reality in which you're trapped... there is no relief to be found; no distractions; no reassurances. Sleep becomes a distant memory; friends and family and loved ones can no longer reach you, for you are miles below sea-level by now; alone in the oppressive darkness; unable to comprehend emotions other than emptiness and a pain excruciating enough to make you long for death with every cell in your body as you continue your endless tumble...

Into the bottomless abyss of depression, misery and despair.

Why, then? Why would you ever allow yourself to love, or to have any hopes for a happy ending? Is the high really worth the inevitable pain? Is it still all about the journey rather than the end, if the end is unyielding bedrock; towards which you are hurtling at terminal velocity? What if the end is always on your mind; always within sight; like a maddening mirage that terrifies you, yet one which you know you will eventually reach because you know you have to pay dearly for the moments of happiness that you managed to steal from fate? What if the price of your arrogance is this torture; falling at maximum speed and yet somehow merely inching towards your doom while fully conscious and aware of what's happening? What if you are cursed to forever be in limbo, halfway between the worlds of the deceased and the living; not truly dead and yet too broken to live?

 I can think of no worse destiny... and yet even now, I find my wings spread wide as I climb higher and higher into the heavens, buoyed by the very feelings I'd thought to banish.

But the winds are shifting, and I've just felt their first warning snap as I lurched downwards unexpectedly.

This will be the fall to end me.

The Moth and the Flame

The love of the moth for the deadly flame

Has long been pondered by many a man;

The moth ridiculed and mocked and scorned,

For the endless passion it has for its doom.

Never has anyone asked themselves...

What the silly moth might see when it stares

Deep into the heart of the shimmering flames;

That makes it crave their fiery embrace?

For though the flames burn hot and bright,

They keep many secrets of their own;

As dark as the dancing shadows they cast 

To warn the wise and lure the fool.

Though flames be pretty and warm and alive,

Cackling with untethered joy and zeal

Yet they consume all those who dare

Presume to think themselves their match.

And though the blaze may bear the moth none,

Of ill will or hate or spite or rage 

The flames will always ravage and raze

And the moth will always lose that game.

What makes you yearn for death, oh moth?

Do you truly hate yourself this much?

For you to choose to be enthralled

By what you know will bring your end?

I like to think that there is more

To this painful story than it may seem...

Could it be a tale of passion and love?

Could it be true that the moth knows more?

Perhaps the moth fully knows the risks

And made his peace with death and pain

For he well knows that without the flames,

Life would be too dark to live.

And before he burns; by God he’ll live...

The passion in his eyes as scorching hot

As the dazzling flames at which he stares

And where he knows his journey ends.

And while his fate he’s always known,

He also knows he’ll never doubt

Or have regrets about this flame;

The best mistake he’d ever make.

So save your tears for when he dies,

And let the moth enjoy the dance...

For though he ends his life ablaze,

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tired

I am very tired.

Tired of the same issues that have plagued me since I was little more than a toddler.

Tired of the constant battle with anxiety and depression and the insane lengths to which I go to deal with them in a borderline healthy way.

Tired of being in constant need of reassurances that -while genuine and heartfelt- ring hollow and sound increasingly impatient on their 375th recital.

Tired of being a burden to those around me- especially those I care about the most- who have to put up with these ever-present insecurities.

Tired of life on paper-thin ice; the structural integrity of which gives way under the slightest pressure from the most fleeting and insignificant of triggers; plunging me down into the bottomless icy depths of mania, anxiety and self-doubt... which I have experienced for every day of my life and yet will never grow accustomed to.

Tired of being the same old me, with the same issues and doubts and fears and insecurities and pain that I’ve always had; always shifting from one form to another but never going away completely.

Tired of being a negative influence on the lives of those I love... testing their patience and resolve and compassion for every single second of every single day until they finally have enough and decide to go away.

Tired of being so emotionally unstable and so full of self-loathing that I can still manage to shed tears on a sunlit beach on holiday with two of the people I care about the most in the world.

I wish I could make it stop. I wish there was a button I could press or a lever I could pull to shut down 90% of my brain so I can just live and enjoy my life as effortlessly as countless others seem to enjoy theirs.

I’m so very tired.

Tired of being me.

New Memories

Disclaimer: I write this knowing full well that I am voiding my earlier vow to stop using this blog as a platform to broadcast my innermost thoughts and feelings... however, what came to my mind this morning was an idea for a poem so bittersweet that it could be the crowning jewel of this blog, if written properly. I therefore choose to think of this not as a broken promise; but as a last hurrah.

We'll see how long this one lasts.

***********************

A wistful smile plays upon my lips,

As I sit down and reminisce

About ancient times, now long past...

With nary a chance of going back.

I wonder truly what I wouldn't pay,

For one more chat with my granddad...

Or one more leisurely childhood stroll

With my parents on our way to the zoo.

 Just one more night in our old house;

And maybe a steaming mug of hot tea,

With a black and white movie on an ancient TV

As we huddle beneath the sheets in a storm.

Or one more carefree day at the beach,

As dad and I try to build forts in the sand

Then my sister and I go for a quick splash

Our shrieks of joy too loud for my mom.

Perhaps just one more taste of school,

That eternal blight that children face...

But now it doesn't seem quite so bad;

To spend all day with friends I miss.

Friends I'd made, with no other choice,

Who'd helped me through some terrible times...

And friends who'd since become like family;

But whom I sadly never see anymore.

The childhood fights and teenage angst;

The tears shed in bouts of pain and rage...

I'd do it all again, if it would give us chance

To be stupid, happy kids together again. 

Or perhaps I thirst for times of rebellion,

When we dared think we had a good chance

To finally make something of a once great land;

To raise our heads once more in pride...

Before it all came crashing down,

And all our hopes and dreams with it...

Slogans turned to cruel jokes by fate

Faces once more stamped on by the boot.

Then one by one, our peers and friends...

Were either killed or jailed or had to flee

And we were left with ashes of dreams

As ghosts of their memories roamed our streets.

Or is it a more recent flame that I crave?

A blaze to consume all other flames...

The embers of which will continue to glow

In my heart forever; till the day I die.

Just give one more day with her

To tell her how much she'd meant to me;

And how I've loved no one else the same way;

And how sorry I am that it had to end.

Just one more chance to make it right

But life doesn't quite work out this way...

We've both moved on, to better things

This wish will never come to be.

Just one more, one more, ONE MORE...

Too many priceless moments; gone.

If I sit here and write them all;

I'd still be writing on my deathbed.

Truth be told; I am frankly spent.

I simply have no more room in my heart

For the pain and torture that is nostalgia;

The unbearable longing to days of yore.

I've had enough; I don't want any more

Wretched echoes of the past to keep me up...

For there is only one thing I can say with certainty;

That I am afraid of making new memories.

Swan Song

Confession: Every now and then I like to go through my older blog posts; to get some sense of perspective and perhaps re-live particular moments in my life... and I'll admit, to make some edits here and there; mostly corrections to the typos and the woeful grammar and punctuation I'd used in some of my earlier posts, but also to occasionally add a phrase or change a word that would -at least in my view- add a different dimension to the story I'd been attempting to weave. I've never changed anything pivotal in any of my past narratives- as I believe that is nothing short of historical manipulation/negationism- but my reasoning is that the odd bit of slight beautification here or there wouldn't compromise my integrity as a writer/chronicler of my own life.

Back to my main point; for any gamers reading this, I like to compare going through older blog posts to re-spawning at a video game checkpoint -for any non-gamers here; a checkpoint is the point at which the game saves your progress so you can reload your save file later without losing too much time replaying the parts you've already completed... so in effect, it is saving the game at every significant milestone; which is more or less what I've always tried to do with my writing. As I've hinted in a past blog post- the title of which currently escapes me- this very specific brand of escapism essentially allows me to time travel back to who I'd been at the time I'd written a particular blog post, and that generally enables me to see things much more clearly and learn more about who I am now, who I was then and how much I've evolved in between. 

For that reason, this blog has been invaluable to me; I can basically trace my character development from my teen years all the way until my twenty seventh birthday. It can sometimes be a curse; being able to go back in time to a particularly cringe-worthy period of my life, but mostly this blog has been an excellent tool to catalog and track my growth over the years. 

Besides, I cannot overstate how big a confidence boost a particularly well-received blog post can give me, or how giddy a mood it can put me in... and yet, even the less popular posts give me a profound sense of release; the relief that can only come from venting out your worries and deepest fears to the world -which is somehow simultaneously an intimate yet impersonal act- is practically unparalleled for me. This blog has therefore not only been a way for me to get the acknowledgment I so desperately crave; but also a crucial tool for my very survival- a beautiful yet dangerous tool to be almost wholly dependent on for emotional support.

And now is the time to retire it.

It has been slightly more than eight years... eight whole years of ups and downs and pain and worries and fears and hopes and dreams and failures and successes and love and hate and, in a word, life... and while I cannot deny how big a part this blog has played in shaping who I am as a person and how I view myself, it is fast becoming clear to me that its time is long gone. Heading into my thirties as a young professional, I can no longer afford to post intimate details of my life online for the whole world to see; for I've realized that in the act of avoiding vulnerability with those closest to me, I've instead opted for vulnerability with some of those furthest away from me- many of whom may wish me harm or misfortune, and that is the exact type of people one generally avoids baring their soul to. This blog is therefore unfortunately not only my greatest source of pride, but also my Achilles' heel.

Not only that, but I've also realized that in the act of succumbing to the quick fixes of blog posts rather than putting what little talent I have into writing a single, cohesive narrative- with the view of possibly publishing a novel some day- I've been regularly draining my creative juices (masturbation euphemism not intended) with relatively limited and rapidly diminishing returns, instead of pouring them into my ever-illusive magnum opus. 

I've been seeing the signs everywhere over the past few weeks; little hints here and there that it maybe time to draw the curtains on an ambitious yet stagnating dream of mine, which I've somehow managed to keep alive for more than eight years- much longer than any of my relationships and some of my friendships... and thus, I see no more fitting conclusion to this chapter of my life than calling it quits on my 100th published blog post, in the final days of the year 2018. Few people reading this will realize how devastating this is to me -and how unthinkable it would have been only a few short weeks ago, given how I view my writing (and by extension, my blog) as an integral, core aspect of my identity and how I choose to define myself- but I saw no other way; it had to be done.

To everyone who has followed my writing up until this point; I cannot possibly thank you enough for the love and support you have shown me over the years. I truly love and appreciate you all individually; and it is no exaggeration that at times, your kind words and encouragement were all that kept me writing- and that the thought of disappointing you is what makes writing this particular post all the more painful to me... however, a good writer doesn't drag things out; a good writer knows not to overstay their welcome; a good writer appreciates a tidy, dignified ending- and a good writer is what you've all made me believe I am, or am at least capable of being.

I dedicate this final post- and this entire blog- to those few of you who've made me feel like a celebrity, time and time again; for this blog is more the product of your work than it is of mine.

I am not going to delete any of the posts; this blog is only retired in the sense that I will likely not be adding any more content. Only time will tell if I am strong enough to keep this vow -for I do see myself possibly making more posts in the future in moments of weakness- so I will not be making any sweeping, irreversible claims that this blog is indefinitely dead... but what I can possibly promise with a much higher degree of confidence is that I will at least no longer be sharing links on my social media accounts; be it Facebook or Twitter. You're all, however, always welcome to follow the blog itself or check it periodically in the future for new content- and of course, you're always welcome to shoot me a note just to chat.

Even though I have a flair for the dramatic, I am -as discussed- very decidedly not going to end this with too much finality; if only to give myself some possible wriggle room to pull off an Arthur Conan Doyle some time in the future...

For now, I will instead leave you with a very simple and heartfelt "farewell"... or perhaps an "until we meet again".

With all the love in the world,

Mahmoud Bondok.