A moment. A smile. Changing mood. Maybe.
I had a rough time lately. I can never really explain what is happening, but a dark mood rolls over me and captures me. I feel trapped. In my life. In my body. And all I want to do is run. Fading. Vanishing. Not being there. But I am there. And I need to live life even if it is hard to get up each morning. Even if I feel no joy in anything, not even my family that I love so much. And I want to scream, but there is no sound. And no one to hear my silent screams. Am I a master of disguise? I don’t think so… But I am stressed all the time and it’s easy to deflect what is really happening inside. And how could I reach out when I don’t find the words or thoughts for it myself? I suffer in silence. And there are days when I can’t do life. I just can’t. But I must. And so I keep giving and I keep exhausting myself and I keep neglecting what shouldn’t be neglected. My own health. My own well-being.
Often, it doesn’t take much to get up and pull myself out of these deep dark holes. A good day or something unexpected can make me see that it isn’t all that bad and that maybe life is better and less confining that I think it is. Because, it is true. It is.
There are all these things that are happening and that are in my favour… It’s just a matter of appreciating them; seeing them.
I don’t see a single tree in a forest.
I wonder if this is depression. It sounds like it… Maybe I am just bored? See… That’s something I am worrying about. What if I have this mental illness in me and I am too afraid to see a professional? What if this is just normal for everyone and they call it boredom?
There is definitely something wrong with me. I do like my moods… I mean, there is not much choice. It’s me. It’s in me. I think a lot. Too much? I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t get my thoughts straight at the moment. Maybe I should step away for a while.
Friday night was amazing. I thought the dark veil would lift. It didn’t. I am still not well. And I feel abandoned with this. I am expected to function. To be. To live. And to be happy. But I can’t be. And I don’t know why…
Maybe the same person who found the light in me in September 2015 switched it off when he left a year later in September 2016. Maybe he broke me. But it would be too easy to blame someone else. It is me.
All of me in one picture… Writing, music, a smile, and the picture was taken by my daughter. (Giulia)
(This is how my Wattpad profile looks like right now)
Every raindrop on my skin
Reminds me of you
Of the sweat and its drops on me
Every teardrop kept inside
Reminds me of you
Of the best memories we shared
Every raindrop soaks my soul
The way you seeped into me
When we shared the sheets
Every teardrop shed in lost hope
Becomes an ocean
Drowning me whenever I forget to swim
Drops of us. Rain forever in my soul. Tears of happiness. Drops of you. All of you. Inside all of me.
You destroyed me and created a new me. But this me without you is lost and doesn’t fit here nor there.
We cannot have back what we threw away. We cannot fix what we broke apart bit by bit…
Darkness in her eyes
swallowing the light
Whenever life means well
Old wounds begin to swell.
The misery still unspoken
The nightmares reawoken.
A never disappearing sadness
Vanishing into never fading blackness.
There was a hole in my soul and you fell right through
I cried my eyes out of their sockets and lost my brain in my pockets
Now I am the queen of my thoughts who calls the shots
Addicted to filling unfillabel voids and remembering a past of being soiled.
Naked, bare. Enduring the stare.
You dare to cut old wounds open and expect me to be broken?
I will find my mind and leave all this behind
I lock your pictures in the corner of my brain
And reassure you that you never ever deserved to be my man…
I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house. I watched from a safe distance and listened to the wails of the approaching sirens. I was convinced that the house was haunted and the only way to get rid of the evil spirits was to burn it down. I sound crazy, and maybe I am, but what’s done is done. The flames ate at the house, and the clear blue sky turned to a dusty gray. It was hot, and I jumped back when the first windowpanes exploded. A crowd had gathered to look at the spectacle. My neighbor looked on in shock. I heard the voice of his ex-wife and saw her with the kid on her arm. She looked more annoyed and less alarmed. I didn’t like her. I should have burned her too. Evil witch. I turned to go, but my neighbor held me back. “I am so glad you made it out of there alive,” he pulled me into a hug. I froze on the spot. Why did he care about my well-being? No one cared about crazy old me. I didn’t move, and I didn’t return the hug. I pushed him away and made my way through the gawking crowd. I passed the firefighters who were laughing and joking. It was just another day at work for them. One of them was showing his cell-phone around. “I cheated on my spouse. And it wasn’t the first time.” He laughed out loud, and his colleagues clapped his shoulder as if they admired him for deceiving his spouse. For the second time in a short time, I froze. I knew I had to kill him too. He was a sinner. There is no place for sinners in this world. I moved closer to the firefighter. His scent reminded me of the smell of the T-shirt from a B-52’s concert I had bought in the 80s. A strange association, perhaps only made because their song “Rock Lobster” was blaring from the stereo. Rude. These firefighters were rude. I remembered the time Leslie called me a leech. It was time to spring into action and get closer to the firefighter. “I was in that house,” I announced, feigning breathlessness. I saw his eyes blaze. He clearly loved to be a hero. “Let’s get you to a paramedic then,” he had his arm around my shoulders, and I took the opportunity to play the weak victim. I melted against him, and he straightened his shoulders to catch me. “I feel so weak in your arms,” I breathed against his neck. I felt his breathing change, and I smiled to myself when I dropped my arm to brush it against his hard bulge. He was an easy one. In no time I would have him where I wanted him to be. “Take me away from here, please. Take me somewhere private.” He just nodded and snapped his fingers in the direction of another firefighter. “I’ma gonna take this fellow somewhere safe. Got it? Cover for me.” The other man’s smile spoke louder than words as the hero escorted me off the premises of the burning house. I stirred him to a hotel down the block. I insisted on checking us in, and he agreed without putting up a fight. The room was tiny. A typical cheap hotel room. It was perfect to finish this hero’s life. Above the bed hung a picture with a man wearing a plate on his head. It was odd, but the vivid colors made it something special. For a long time, I looked at it. The man pushed his body against mine, and I let him. He kissed my neck, and I let him. We undressed clumsily. He was in a bigger haste than I was. I ordered him to lay down on the bed, and he did. This was going to be so easy. He was beautiful to look at. I straddled him and kissed his lips. It was the last kiss he would ever taste. The kiss of death. The only one this sinner deserved. He struggled a lot. But I was stronger than he was. I was stronger and possessed by the voice in my head. I needed to end his life. And I did.
After I got dressed again, I picked a tulip out of the floral arrangement on the small table and placed it on his lifeless body. I stepped out on the street. The smell of fire clouded the road. I took a deep breath and exhaled with a satisfied sigh before I turned to walk down the pavement; never looking back to where I was coming from.
My grandfather lied to my grandmother, I guess it runs in the family. Didn’t Shirley Bassey sing about history repeating itself? I looked at the letters on the table in front of me. My grandfather had written them to his mistress, and now, after his passing, I had found the mysterious box in the back of his closet. It had taken some effort to open it. Keylocked without a key. The tingling in the pit of my stomach had been right. Secrets. Hidden for decades. I chuckled. But, there was no humour in the sound. I had been lying to my wife too. I had written letters to my mistress too. Well, emails, but it was the same, basically. I scrambled the sheets of paper together, folded some of them neatly and put them in their hiding space again. I shook my head. The revelation, the impact of it all, and the way it would change my whole family if I chose to not keep this hidden, had come in an innocuous coffee shop. Of all places. Family secrets were strewn on a worn Formica table in a public place. I felt embarrassed. I looked at the other tables around me. No one seemed to mind me. The table next to mine was vacated, all that was left were dirty dishes and five bucks on the table. I waved the waitress over and asked for another double espresso and a blueberry muffin. She smiled at me, taking the purple lollipop out of her mouth. For a moment I thought I had seen a piercing on her tongue, but maybe I was wrong. The air smelled of the artificial sweetness as she held the lollipop between her fingers while she jotted my order down. The woman was nice enough to look at, but I wondered why she couldn’t remember two simple items. She winked at me, put the lollipop back in her mouth – and, this time I definitely saw the shining piece of metal on her fleshy tongue before she turned and moved to the counter. I looked after her. Definitely someone I would take to the hotel, I thought to myself. I released another mirthless chuckle and looked at another letter. I almost blushed from the words I read. The handwriting was pleasant and easily readable, but the words… It was more descriptive, more detailed than I ever wanted to know. My grandfather seemed to have been quite the stallion in bed. I thought back to my business trip to Berlin last summer. I changed positions to accommodate my emerging boner. Yeah, my grandfather and me, we shared the same genes. On a whim, I decided to keep the letters to myself and ask the young waitress out. If she was only half as good as the German girl from last summer, she knew exactly how to use to piercing in a way that would bring me lots of pleasure. I grinned when she approached. I didn’t have a guilty conscience because of my wife. As I said, I guess it runs in the family.
What if we said: “fuck it, I’m doing this the way I want to do it”?
We meet people and in our minds we imagine an entire persona based on the glimpses we get to see. We expect them to be a certain way based on appearances we string together as facts in our minds. Even if it is an unconscious thing, we label them. We put them in a box in our mind and add other people or things to that same box.
But what if we are wrong with our assessment? What if we label someone as strong and they are really breaking inside? What if we are annoyed by someone’s constant ramble, but they only do it out of insecurity? What if we expect too much?
Isn’t expectation the straightest path to disappointment.
And what if we stopped doing what is expected of us because we are put in this or that box, and start living the way we want to live? What would happen if we stopped giving a fuck about other people’s assumptions about us? A few people would roll their eyes. Some would turn their backs. Others would smile. And we, the ones who broke out of their box would be happy. Content. Free. And a new label would be found. Hippie, misfit, outsider… And it would feel great, because no one would know what to expect anymore.
But it isn’t so. At least not for me. I am not brave enough to get out of my box and step on top of it. I am not brave enough because as much as I want to be seen, I don’t like people looking at me. I am already a misfit in many situations. I am the weirdo with the liberal thoughts and the many opinions. I am the writer who published books and writes poetry – looked upon with a sneer and a pitiful, condescending glance every time it is mentioned at a family dinner. I am not one of them. And I don’t need to be. I am one of a kind. Unique in my own simple ways. Easily bruised. Strong enough to walk on with blistered feet. Hoping to be loved and liked and appreciated just the way I am. Faults and quirks and all.
Don’t expect anything from me, please. I cannot promise to live up to your (or even my own) expectations.
I can only promise to be kind and grateful for every person who chooses to be a part of my journey, for every person who left the path here or there, and for the lessons I learned.
I digressed, I think. But that’s okay.