I smoke among the dead at night. Most people would be shaken at the thought of that mere occurrence but I’m not. When I think of it now, I wonder why that little aspect of things has never really phased me considering I have been out there at the wee hours of the morning. My mind has fears of its own, dead people just isn’t one of them.
Maybe it is the silence that calms me. It sure isn’t the cigarettes I’m taking twice a night and four times a day. Or maybe it could be the darkness of the dead of night that gives me a sense of resemblance. It shows me that the darkness inside couldn’t possibly be that scary, at least not scary enough to stop me from staring at it alone, with the company of the seven gravesites in the backyard of my balcony. How about, it could also be that those dead folks who are buried there can feel my silent screams from the inside every night as I exhale the smoke out of my lungs. I try not to cough, we have a no sound policy out there when it’s just our souls that seem to come alive.
I hope they know of the nights that I wish I was in there with them, buried under the soil to where it is said to be peaceful. The adage, ‘’rest in peace’’ had to have had a mild relevance to the fact that besides your soul, your body and mind too can rest on the ground six feet under where not a beep of the darkness of depression can touch you. I smoke in the midst of the dead. I feel nothing and everything the darkness has to offer. I welcome it with open arms just as I do with every inhale and exhale of the cigarettes that lay print of their smoke in the middle of my fingers.
Do you ever have truths about yourself that aren’t exactly known to others but are quite obvious to you? Well, if you do, I do too… Some are always there, like some permanent life fixture that doesn’t change. Others, are new every other time. Without further embarking on the specifics of what type of truths I’m talking about, allow me to share a few of which have been skimming through my thoughts for the past while.
Oh, and by the way, now I will refer to them as Naked truths …hopefully, it will make sense along the way why I refer to them as so.
Naked truth no.1
I don’t think I have friends anymore. Be rest assured that I am not saying this in some search for a sense of pity or sympathy. It is partially my doing that I am not acquainted with others besides my immediate family. I must confess that I am not the most tolerant of people especially if there is not much to tolerate about them. Pardon me for sounding like a bitch; it is not entirely to mean that I am surrounded by intolerable people, I just don’t do well in the area of creating and maintaining relations with others. This is especially when I most often don’t feel like people genuinely do want to maintain long-lasting friendships with me that carry some form of bond. I have had friends here and there, a few acquaintances, but none who have stuck around long enough. It has always been seasonal relations that are a matter of circumstance which is fine, not everything is technically meant to last. All I am truthfully saying is that I have a lot of temporary friendships and they always never feel solid, if I may use this term lightly. So yeah, that is one of the recent naked truths that recently dawned on me. I wouldn’t say that I am exactly disturbed by that truth. On most days, I am comfortable with the little cluster of people I get to interact with every once in a while. I also, as I admitted earlier, feel like a partial reason for this fact is because I don’t make much effort in being a friend to others. I admittedly tend to be caught up in my own mind and nonfunctional life that I easily get exhausted having to mingle with others outside the walls of my life and mind.
Disclaimer: If anyone who happens to read this first paragraph gets offended by it over the meagre chance that they actually do consider themselves my friend, I am immensely sorry and maybe we can catch up sometime when either of us is somewhat ready to communicate. Cheers mate.
Naked truth no.2
I am a wimp at trying out this thing called living. Like my history may show, I am more of a survivor/ exister more than I am a live’r. Death is often painted in my thoughts as some form of escape from having to go through the day to day agonies of life. Before this turns out sounding a lot like some version of suicidal ideation [probably slightly is], let me elaborate.
Do I want to die sometimes? Yes. Do I always want to die? No. Is the idea of death as an escape romanticized in my head a little too often cause I am a wimp at life? Absolutely.
When it’s hard to conceptualize that life isn’t meant to be easy on most days, I struggle with myself over why I have to live through it. I find difficulty within myself over the fact that instead of simply ceasing to exist, what is expected of me is that I am supposed to trudge through the hardship, tumbledown, pick myself up and move through it with showing just enough weakness, but not too much. In those moments when life has dealt me a hard one, it is usually a strain for my mind to not want to jump ship. It is like my mind, loses all ability to conjure a better way out which is very cowardly of me now as I listen to myself say it out loud. I never said my mind was strong. With my history of things, it is quite obvious that mental strength isn’t exactly a stronghold of mine. I allude to this to why I think I might not be the one to live till fifty, perseverance sure doesn’t sound like a stronghold of mine but who’s to say how strong I will be in the future. With the uncertainty of things, I may as well surprise myself. I may probably survive all this while still believing that I was never quite cut out for it. So for now, I choose not to be too worried about it, at least in the hope that I’ll keep on surviving long enough to live somewhere in my life.
Naked truth no.3
I have mentioned before in previous writings that I have occasionally been a smoker. Quite recently actually, I would admit that I went beyond the limits and became a light smoker. When I started smoking, it turned into quite an enigma for me. It was something I picked late last year and might I say, I arguably don’t really regret it. It didn’t necessarily serve the intended purpose that I had initially thought it would, but it worked for me somehow. I will never forget the first night that I had my first real cigarette. For starters, I considered having my first cigarette mainly because I thought I would look cool, being a female and smoking. You would understand what I mean if I could paint a better picture for you outside of my mind. It was a cheesy reason, I know…no need to roll your eyes too hard. I had thought of it for a while but never did I quite get around to trying it. Finally, when I did get around to doing it, I was alone in my sister’s apartment and I felt like there was never a better time than the present. I might have convinced myself that I needed to unwind and calm down a little, from what exactly, I don’t remember. It was quite the experience and truth be told, I did feel quite calm afterwards. I could have imagined it, or it may actually have worked. I remember smoking that first night in the house on the couch while directly facing the mirror in the living room. I was so enthralled by seeing myself pull out smoke from the cigarette and then slowly hold it in for a second or two before releasing it to the air. Over the next few weeks, I smoked at least two cigarettes a night. It was in those moments when I felt invincible to a degree. Like nothing much could hurt me, as long as I could smoke it away into the night. It was a mild sense of power that I had never quite felt. I liked it. On the downside, I began to smell like cigarette smoke and my lips were turning a shade too dark for my liking. Then over time, I stopped it for a while, picked up the habit again later and now I stopped again. Now, like four days ago, I bought myself one cigarette thinking that maybe my intolerance for it had sort of reduced …I was incredibly wrong, the moment I lit up and took a go at it, I was beyond nauseated, I could hardly stand it. I am still working out what theories could explain to me now over why I can’t in the least stand the smell of a lit cigarette. Maybe, I just don’t consider it so cool anymore.
For now, those are just but a few naked truths of myself. I can assure you, I’ll be revealing more in time. Maybe it could become a segment of mine. We will just have to wait and see, now won’t we.
Its been a hot minute since I last wrote but I’m guessing that didn’t really matter to most or anyone for that matter. I could have been dead for what it’s worth. My God I hate my life. Anyway, I’m not dead if you may still be thinking so. Death right now feels too infinite for me. The part me that I wish was more optimistic and even slightly hopeful believes that somewhere out there, there’s something for my wrecked soul. I may not see it now, but I at least have hope there is.
I want to say a lot has happened since I last wrote but technically, it’s not been much at all.. It’s more of my emotions that deceive me to thinking a lot has happened, since I wouldn’t be here if things were any easier for me. For those who might not know this ,I write when I’m most fucked up. I’ve created such an illusion for myself that I have been trying to have things under control but here, I don’t have to decive myself. It’s been a hectic couple of weeks, everyday is utterly ridiculously differently fucked. In the span of two months, I’ve gotten casual at ‘self hate ‘.I don’t have anything more to say on that, apart from that life’s shit, I’ve gotten over it, you should too …or not. Anyway, back to what my weeks been like ,I met a boy ,majorly got a crush, he was a douche like they all are and now I’m getting it sorted by plotting possible murder for the emotional turmoil I’ve felt for his sorry ass. My God am I gullible and dum right, I fell right into that one didn’t I? Cute boy, cute enough smile and just the right amount of asshole in him… Mercy’s perfect dose of stupid.
Over time, I’ve learned that there’s quite a lot of things that my lack of self love acts as a disadvantage for me. I’m so emotionally dependent on those I love, I pour it in torrents, I have zero left for me. Just to put it out there ,I’m a cling lover so try not getting me in love with you or remotely infatuated with you…God knows I wish I could understand what exactly it would mean for me to love myself more than I put into loving others. I’m my own undertaker. I dig my own grave and bury myself in it. That’s what gullibility is for me. So here I am, ready to cling to any one or anything capable enough of loving me for the both us. Sad isn’t it,,,Que pity party ,,,,,where’s my blade at ??
So for my gullibility to stay on a leash long enough for me to understand the complexity of self love, I’m gonna put my head down and try ‘hate’ people instead .Maybe, just maybe, it’s about time to let in a little bit of no love.
What scares you the most about yourself? What’s that one aspect that you know deep down brings you shivers just thinking of it especially if you tapped into it? Well, I don’t expect all of you to have one but I sure do know I have mine.
If there is one thing I have really never been good at is explaining it out to people what kind of a person I am. I’m never quite certain whether I’m an introvert or whether am shy because as much as most times I do feel introverted or shy, it’s not all the time and that’s what makes it really hard to explain what kind of person I am.Hence forth ,I’ll be sure not to give a definite answer to that question in relation to myself. Though, despite it all, I do have one thing I’m largely certain about..its the dark aura I’m surely aware I’m drawn to. Can’t really tell when I realized that it’s quite a significant aspect about myself that doesn’t stand out to my public side but more of my very personal side. Maybe it was from the times as a child I never truly felt like I fit in with others because my aura naturally was withdrawn from everyone or it could be the countless times I looked up dark aesthetics on Pinterest felt a sense of contentment or it could be when I truly learned & felt what depression feels like especially when it’s looking you straight in the face with your reflection on it. Or maybe, just maybe, it was when I first felt the need for my death. I can’t quite place where I first felt the dark aura that looms and lurks somewhere at the back of my mind.
Having it doesn’t always mean I’m always consciously aware of it. Most people wouldn’t even tell that’s it there with me because it hasn’t taken root in my public scene. Though despite it being hidden, I can certainly say that it has affected other different aspects of myself like with the kind of man I want as a partner & spouse, with the type of sexual intrigue that appeals to me, to maybe I finding black quite naturally a beautiful colour and even as far as my career choice as well as other countless other things I’m still learning about myself .It sure is a part of me ,that I know. Question is, am I afraid of it…??
Would you be afraid of you being a joyous person or an extroverted person? Same case applies here.Do I have reason to be afraid that I am closeted dark goddess in the inside, not to me at least.. Its thrilling to be honest. It’s like my connection to my alter ego.The darkness I feel makes the public me completely worlds apart from the private . Its the bridge that divides two very different aspects of myself. It actually makes me happy to be different and it makes me yearn to connect to people I don’t often conform to on a normal basis. It allows me to intellectually think differently from most people and I gain momentum from that.
The most its ever been outwardly prominent is when I was struggling with my depression a couple months ago. To be quite honest, I was scared of it then cause I didn’t quite know how to maneuver around with it without letting suck me in. Pardon me for making it sound a lot like a spirit but then, it sorta felt like one. Most times people who haven’t experienced any kind of mental illness can’t quite understand what I mean but for someone who has remotely struggled with any sort of mental illness would know. I believe it’s different for everyone who’s been at that dark low point of their lives. Well, for me it was also quite a messy experience. It wasn’t the dark aura that I feel now, it was intoxicatingly dangerous. It fed off my fears and insecurities quite a lot and it suffocated me slowly from the inside out. It got me so low, low to the point suicide wasn’t too far fetched . It convinced me there was not much light at the end of the tunnel. Left me nursing separation anxiety and general anxiety of when things take the slightly turn for the worst. It got darker than it should have.
For now, I have it in check. I wouldn’t wanna change it about myself for anything. It makes me feel special and its unique having it and knowing its something that’s a part of you. I’m still on edge with loosing myself too much in it but I keep it at bay. It’s my year to bloom everything about myself, even the dark.. ✌🏿
I’m different. Am sure we all consider ourselves so not because just because we want to feel special but because we are actually different. Being different for me is a lifestyle. I have to constantly try to maintain it and blend in even despite how different I am. I am different because I don’t conform to what people regard as normal. Am I happy to be this different, I don’t know .Does a part of me thrive in it, definitely so …..I wouldn’t be writing this if I didn’t.I don’t believe ultimate peace is something I have possibly ever felt. A part of me is always damned to feel turmoil and anxiety over one thing or another. I do wish though I had one ability. Something I recently pondered my mind over and now looks quite appealing to my me. Ever thought of how peaceful it is under water. How calm and silent it is and just how peaceful it can get. I wish I could breathe underwater and just sit still enough to shut out everything and anything. I’m certain enough that some of you that will read through this will probably think that I’m back to my depressive past and am not gonna justify whether it’s true or not… Think whatever appeals to you.Silence is peaceful and so is death. I wouldn’t want to die through water. I feel like its probably the worst way to die because you can’t fight it, you feel the life drain out with each breath of water as it fills your lungs. In water, I would hope to find contentment. I would hope to let my anxiety over everything go, to be still and not worry about. To completely rid myself of meager feelings and emotions that are more of burdens than a boost of my humanity. To put aside memories that do more damage than good. I wish breathing underwater would do that for me. That would be my ultimate peace.Being melancholic is hard. I feel everything thats meant to be dark. I revel in it even when it’s toxic. Walls so high up, they feel unpenetratable(not sure that’s a word.)I over think, I feel too much and I sure as hell damn care too much. Water would drown out all that for me. That’s why if I had one super power, it would be to breathe underwater 🌊.