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Withdrawn to rest;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.

Twenty Seven

9,834 days on Earth.

9,833 nights... some of them happy; others miserable. Some of them exhausted; others sleepless. Some of them relaxed; others stressed... and most of them anxious.

As I sat down to write this post, I had to think back on the featureless blob of intertwined memories and feelings that is my life in hindsight; perched as I am now atop the ivory tower of my third decade... and I have to say, I wasn't too impressed.

It's not fair to compare oneself to the overachievers of yore; the times when a 25 year old could somehow find the brainpower to master three or four completely unrelated branches of science or mathematics and yet still have enough time left in the day to create inventions that can shape worlds; or cure diseases previously thought incurable; or develop philosophical arguments the ramifications of which humanity still grapples with, hundreds of years later. These people -to varying degrees of success- have influenced humanity in ways that simply cannot be measured. The world without their contributions would be unfathomably different; possibly functional but more likely dark and backwards and crude... and thus, they have earned the right to have entire chapters dedicated to them in the annals of history. There is a very good reason why we are still taught about Leonardo Da Vinci and Archimedes and Socrates, hundreds or thousands of years after their deaths.

However, mindful though I am that these comparisons are unflattering at best and completely demotivating and depressing at worst, I still can't help but wonder what has been the point of all this.

For every Leonardo Da Vinci, there are untold billions of -arguably successful- people who have completely faded from history, together with their loves and struggles and pain and triumphs and families.

Twenty seven years of age is hardly the twilight of my life- at least not unless I die unexpectedly at thirty five- and yet I find myself pondering my legacy... or lack thereof. If I were to pass on tomorrow, who -if any- would still speak my name fondly or in awe in a hundred years' time?

The answer is: no one.

Now, please don't misread my tone... this is not an emotional cry for help from someone who hasn't achieved quite as much in his life as he would have wanted to; but rather a weary, resigned acknowledgement of the human condition that we all do our best to ignore- which is that only a very lucky select few of us get to have a legacy... and I don't mean necessarily with respect to a gargantuan, dark, uncaring universe -to which not even the brightest optimist can claim that we are anything but temporary, insignificant blips- but even as compared to other humans who have lived and died on this speck of dust we call Earth.

For the sake of context, let me take a step back and explain where this is coming from; ever since I was subjected to a traumatic event roughly two years ago -the nature of which some of you may have cleverly surmised from the numerous blogposts in which I pretty much flat out explained it- I have found myself turning more and more cynical and nihilistic as the days went by. At the peak of my depression, I was known to claim that nothing mattered; that life was pointless and that in the grand scheme of things, our individual lives are laughably inconsequential. It may have been an attempt to put my woes into perspective... to tell myself that if all our lives were insignificant with respect to the universe; then perhaps the pain I'd been going through simply did not matter, either.

But what I hadn't considered is that when you start believing that nothing matters, everything starts actually not mattering to you. Human contact; friendships; relationships; work- there is no point to any of it... and that is not a healthy viewpoint for a young man during his peak years.

It took me quite a bit of time to bury that belief -yes, bury; because I still believe it on some level- but the healthy compromise I have reached with my dark alter ego is that we can make our lives matter as long as we're a positive impact on our families; our friends; our communities or our countries. True, tales of my mundane daily routines will never be told on planet Mekalurku in the Pelangau galaxy, 10 billion light years away from Earth; but maybe I'm fine with that. Maybe I'm fine with just being a positive influence on the people in my life.

Perhaps, I reasoned, that could be enough.

But what if it's not enough? Or worse still; what if I'm actually not a positive impact on the people in my life?

That is where I am at, today. The reason for my melancholy isn't that I'm one year closer to my grave; it is that I'm one year closer to my grave with no achievements to speak of- at least in my own eyes. When I ask myself a simple question; have you done something to be remembered for, one hundred years from now? The simple answer is an undisputed "no"... and the saddest part is that there is very little I can do to change that. Apart from maintaining a blog that is little more than an online published diary, that is.

Due to the cyclical nature of one's birthday -which can usually be expected once a year at about the same time- I am always forced into this particular realization every year... and every birthday, I choose the figurative blue pill and go back to the dull mediocrity of human existence; in the hope that maybe by next year, I will have made some kind of impact on the world.

But as previously discussed; that will likely never happen... and I hope to come to terms with that, some day.

Anyway, enough talk about my existential dread. Time for some cake and my yearly dose of the blue pill... and no, not that one.