Total Pageviews

Wednesday 30 March 2016

Of Memory and Magic...and missing

We have a tradition...
I can't say which of us started it - mostly because for different reasons it is something we'd both do- but it has become an unspoken  and reflexive action. We dress each other as a means of saying goodbye. I say "dress" to describe it, but it feels, as most words feel, inadequate to describe the sentiment and ritual itself... but it does give the idea. We end the rite with the person leaving fully dressed, though sometimes with a rumpled shirt by the time we share parting glances. It begins with a shared shower, but sometimes in the interest of time this is done separately.  Each limb is surreptitiously and reverently washed,  every bit of skin caressed by Lathered loofah and the warmth of soapy palms. There is much holding and embraces, awkward smiles and blushing, as the spray of the shower blurs visibility. We dry each other, with our own towels, lying to ourselves that we do so to the parts that would ordinarily be hard to reach: the middle of a back, nape of a neck. Surprisingly we manoeuvre from bathroom to bedchamber,  a tangle of arms still patting the acreage of each others skin dry. It is often at this point that one of us - invariably the one most likely leaving later or being left behind - falls back into the bed, at turns reconciling ourself to the impending parting, while vainly hoping to pose as inviting enough to tempt the other into forgoing plans. The one with the deadline (and this time it is he), would hurriedly if a bit jerkily get dressed off to the side, often deeply aware of being watched, and yet just as often steeling themself against returning the gaze lest resolve disappears. Having lost this last stand, the other would move out of bed, clothes for their departure or something to accompany the other to the bus stop being picked and laid out before. This round, I was the one standing denuded before him, willing my hands to my sides rather than to subconsciously attempt to shade the bits of my body I am not comfortable with. He'd start with boxers, slowly drawn up my legs, thumbs in the waistline dragging parallel lines up my flesh, the elastics taking the fabric in their trails wake. Just before it settles on my hips, he plants a quick kiss on my thigh, a process is repeated with each article of clothing, caresses topped off with a kiss to an area being covered up. All the while, a look of awe laced with sadness emanates from the twin depths of his eyes. Now clothed, we stand face to face in a tight embrace, which he invariably breaks to look at me quizzically.  Grudgingly I nod, giving the permission which we both know is for me a frightening prospect. He lifts me. What had begun as a taste of own medicine (as I have on numerous occasions lifted others easily), became tentatively Canon to our routine. Holding me aloft, swaying gently with me. Unhooking my legs, the action is reversed, and I hold him while his legs are wrapped around me. Throughout this exchange, soft words of affection are traded, with all the gravity of a jurors verdict. It is a slow uncoupling as we separate,  our hands the last things to become disjoined. We say no actual goodbye,  but a lingering gaze into each others eyes as we express love in our awkward "get there safely" or "I miss you already".
We have a tradition...
I can't say which of us started it...but we live for when it becomes obsolete

Why?

"...but think of how it looks. persons are saying..."
I do not quite know why, but hearing these words never fail to make me suspicious of the messenger. It is not that in the moment they do not mean well, or even that they do. I do not react to the implication that they have discussed me with others, nor that others have low opinions of me. I listen for the rest of the rhetoric. and in this instance, I was disappointed to note that it was as expected. you fall in line with the opinions of them. you who should know better. but then, I cannot say that I blame you; after all, open as I am, you do not feel comfortable asking, you rather speculation until such time as you feel you have enough backing to confront. I think that is the problem...why do you - and this is non specific to one person - need the validation of a group behind you to speak of your fears to a friend? What's more, your fears allayed with truth, you never return to those who shared the ill opinion in hopes of enlightening them. but then the wheels set in motion are rarely stopped by the one who does so. that would demand a maturity that in this and most instances, you feign.

"...Donkeys live a long time. none of you has ever seen a dead donkey."
 - Orwell

Thursday 10 March 2016

...I don't know

It is hard.
It is hard to feel any desire to wake up, and having woken, to feel...at all. that's it. no story, no images of crippling racing thoughts, self image, run - through of all I am to and will ultimately fail to accomplish with my day. nil. that all comes the moment I sit up.
It is hard.
Then comes getting out.of.bed. ha... if I make it more than the 14 steps to the bathroom and back then I am truly in top form that day. I hole up in a room I have by a friend's place. while initially I am watched over there, it has fast become a haven to escape the routine of going round to greet my landlady by the front of my apartment on mornings she comes to work at the studio and workshop out front.
It is hard.
I love to learn. I love reading. I love researching. lately I do almost none of it. everything hurts. everything evokes no sense of interest at all. nothing. I love to cook. I have no interest in food. I love music. I have almost no desire to hear it or practice it. I love to dance. it has become a chore.
It is hard.
The persons who don't know what's wrong sense something 'off' about me, but they don't pry. They just stay concerned from a safe distance, assuming it will sort itself out soon enough. It's worse dealing with those who know. to see the concern in their eyes laced with fear, as if I'm a time bomb and the countdown is barely audible, them on tenterhooks not able to see the timer but expecting the worst as inevitable.
It is hard.
I don't know how to tell my family. I hide from their disapproval as I've always hidden, hidden my fears, hidden my loves, hidden my passions, hidden...me. For all intents if they are ever concerned, it is placated with the excuse of "homesickness." Not a lie, but my fingers burn to type it in response, my throat tightens to say it. I am, in a way, homesick...but homesick for a feeling, for a sense of self....for who I had known myself to be.
It is hard.
I tried offing myself once...or twice...some books mention cases where the failure to succeed ends in a new lease on life, in a sense of purpose and the intense will to live. I find such accounts funny, so rosy that I wished I related. I'm now too wary of disrupting anyone's life and inconveniencing anyone to dare do something as costly and upsetting as dying.
It is hard.
I began my academic journey here in close to top form, and truly enjoyed my course of study and the discourse surrounding it. Now, it is a victory if I look at a notebook. I am likely to end the semester on academic probation. Who is this stranger I see in the mirror? that stares at me with vacant eyes and a soulless smirk? Is he here to stay?
It is hard.
I prided myself on being centred. Lately the phrase "I don't know" supplants every other string of words for most used in my vocabulary. I curve my back to the slow realisation that people are not always concerned for you, so much as for what you mean in the scheme of their lives. and that is okay. we gain our sense of identity from what we mean to others. I can't even muster anything close to bitterness. in truth I can't bring myself to feel. and like the dim awareness of danger that we inherently intuit, I know something is very wrong there
It is hard.

"Carl, you're presenting with the symptoms and behaviours of someone going through Clinical depression."
"okay"
"Do you understand? this is not some simple homesickness or mild or even moderate sadness. your scores here are very worrying."
"okay"
"I think you need to come in more steadily. I'd also recommend a Psychiatric appointment, meds may be a feasible option to aid in the process"
"okay"

three months later, and whoever I was before is becoming more and more distant memory.

"Do you think you are getting any better? seeing any progress?"
"okay"
"That is not quite a response. how do you feel in the mornings when you wake?"
"I don't"
"Do you think these sessions will work? Do you feel any closer to your usual self ?"
"I don't know."

It is hard.
and I don't know if I've ever been worth "hard."
and here i sit
fearing that with each breath I prove myself right

It is hard.
but stopping...stopping is not any easier.

so every friday I get dressed, I hop on taxis and buses. I go to my appointment, skating in minutes late (further evidence I am far gone from normal) I sit before my counsellor and waver between catatonic "I don't know" and frustrated "I don't know"... sometimes I talk about my week. every so often I say three sentences about someone or thing. then the weekend blurs by and I awake on Monday again...and I breathe shallow as my class time ticks by, my heart pumping past seconds, my confinement mocking my supreme failure to face the day...to face anything...and 10 hours later I muster up the will to leave and start my evening... and return 5 hours later spent and morose...saying 'maybe tuesday will be the day I make it outside'
...and then suddenly It is Friday, and i'm saying my new rosary...
"I don't know...I don't know...okay"

Maybe it will stop being hard soon

okay?

I don't know