December

Suddenly it’s December and I find myself listening to my winter playlist again. It’s a playlist with songs of love and songs of loss. The one that makes me yearn for something intangible. It’s maybe a feeling that I cannot understand, a destination whose existence I know not of, a home where I have never been, a warmth that maybe does not exist.

With the songs comes the realisation that I was never someone’s Heather or could never be someone’s Georgia. A sinking feeling that there’s no reason to dance to snowman on a white Christmas because a forever love feels too heavy to hold in my forlorn heart. Suddenly, I become too good at goodbyes as my tears dry, making promises to love them from a distance because being together does not feel the same. But the cold wraps me up soon, and I find myself missing the sun as it starts to snow, begging the question, “Was it really worth it to let them go?” And suddenly, I find myself at their doorstep, begging them back in my life, apologizing for being so shallow, trying to break down the walls I built and sealed on my own. Suddenly, the memories of those cigarettes after sex become my only source of warmth. Suddenly, it is just the wind whom I can whisper to the stories of my love.

And soon, I am tracing back my memories to August, the time when it all began, when it always begins. It’s so weird how all my stories start in August and end in December, like a pattern that renews every year. And maybe, that’s why I hate August so much. August brings me hope, a hope that starts with an end date, the date already known. And despite every December hurting me so, August does not stop making introductions, it does not stop me from weaving my wildest dreams and building airplanes. August knows that it will eventually all come crashing down. Despite August believes, like the fool it is and I let it, like the fool I am.

Suddenly my feet feel cold, a simple teaser to a dying soul. The days feel darker now, darker than my intrusive thoughts. I can no longer differentiate what is real and what is not. So, I give myself completely up, engulfing myself in all that I have left to call mine, the darkness, the sorrow, the painful nights. And I wait, wait for you to knock on my door so that I can happily die.

Suddenly, it’s December and reality hits. The one where it was never them but always me.

The Taste of an Autumn Rain

The autumn rain was unexpected.

Of course there were signs of it. In the way the dark clouds were crawling in, in the way my hair acted a bit weird that day, in the way the wind hit my soul sending shivers down my spine.

But still when the rain did come, it took me by surprise. I stood there unguarded as it drizzled on to me. My first instinct was of course to run away, find warmth under a shelter that would never harm me in any way. But I stayed. I stayed as the first drop hit my forehead and slid down my neck. I stayed as it hit my ears, my cheeks, my eyes, my lips. I stayed as the drops got stronger and it slowly engulfed me.

And as I stood there getting drenched from head to toe, I had my first taste of the autumn rain. The autumn rain tasted sweet but had a bitter aftertaste. Like in all its honesty, it was still hiding something. In all the love it had to give me, there were traces of emotions I could never understand. Experiences hidden that I could never be part of. The autumn rain craved for love as I did. But for a love I could not give.

So, just as it had started unexpectedly, it stopped. It left me all alone in the windy night craving for warmth and if not, just the feeling of not being alone. For some reason, the autumn rain left me emptier than it had found me, taken away parts of me I never thought I had in me, taken away the stars I never thought I would wish upon. And as the first sights of winter settled in, I shivered in the cold wind for I had shattered the walls I had built for so long. Now, I am here picking up the pieces, confused and lost, not knowing where to start or if I even want to start again.

A Threesome with Death

I have recently started a new ritual. Every night before falling asleep, I hold a blunt knife against my wrist. I know my anatomy well, at least the at risk areas and how deep the cut needs to be for any actual damage. So with a blunt knife, even if I snap, I’ll survive. Because I don’t want to die, I never wanted to die.

And yet having my life standing on that edge brings me peace. The voices go away and the world gets smaller. Suddenly the world is just my wrist, the knife and death. The knife teasing my wrist with death waiting to get her share.

I have never wished for death but she is still the closest possible existence to what I want. And so I get swayed. The realization that what I want is not possible leads to my moments of weakness and the exhaustion just makes me want to settle. But the thing with delusional people, just as realizations hit suddenly, the delusions take over. And I hope, hope that maybe if I live long enough, my wishes will come true.

With the blunt knife against my wrist, every night I let my madness crawl. Sometimes it escapes in the form of tears, sometimes giggles, sometimes apathy. But it never leaves me for my body seems to pull it all back in when I put the knife down. Ahh the sweet taste of cowardice!

The seconds behind my ‘Fashionably Late’

It’s a beautiful day today. The sun’s high, the air’s fresh, the sky a beautiful shade of blue. I need to get to work by 10 and for the first time, I could actually make it. Every thing has been fitting perfectly today like the pieces of a puzzle and I have never felt better. Today is going to be an amazing day.

It’s 9:15 on the clock. It takes me 15 minutes to reach my workplace. I got enough time. I pick up my phone, start scrolling and lie down on my bed fully dressed. I scroll and scroll and scroll. By now, I don’t even know what I am looking at, just endless scrolling, in hopes that these posts of random people would fill the hole that was slowly widening up in my chest. But it doesn’t. The hole keeps widening and widening and widening. Amazing how things always wind up in the exact opposite direction of how you intend them to be.

I look up, 9:35, I can still make it. The endless scrolling isn’t helping so I just turn up the music, curl up in a ball and hold my chest tight, anything to stop that void trying to swallow me whole. And I cry. Not cry exactly but gentle sobs, a hopeless effort to wash it all away for even tears seem to betray me at times like these.

9:45. I pull myself up, takes every last drop of energy within me but I pull myself up, look in the mirror, fix myself up, plaster a smile on my face and leave for work. I speed on my way, maybe the wind will blow it away. I reach work, take out my phone, check the time, 10:05. Well, late again.

He gives me anxiety and I don’t know why.

I see him twice a week. Each time for only those two hours when he is in front of me, speaking to me words of knowledge, most of which just pass right over my head. After and before those two hours, it’s like he does not even exist, those two hours feeling like just a figment of my imagination.

His appearance whether in front of the white board looking completely clueless as to the effects he has on my mind and body or in a distant corner of my never resting brain puts in motion a number of physiological reactions I have no control over. My legs feel heavier making it so much harder to move which is followed by a burning pit in my chest, the hole feeling like it’s widening by the second. I feel light-headed, maybe because in his presence I forget how to breathe, my body just waiting for the signal to leave everything and collapse. But I am calm on the exterior, my face never giving up even the slightest of hints as to the battle unfolding inside. Nonetheless, all this leads to one inevitable situation, one which even my years and years of experience with anxiety couldn’t hide: A complete and utter loss of words, an inability to speak.

Even with symptoms so clear, one thing still remains shrouded in mystery: The reason behind the reason. Even my best two options could not justify this situation because love, love has made me lightheaded but this lightheadedness was a result of too much blood rushing to my head, leading to traces of a subtle blush, too difficult to notice on my dark skin. Because fear, fear has dug a deep hole in my chest but this hole has suffocated me to the brink of death and thrown me in a frenzy of hyperventilation.

This, however, is different. His presence makes me forget how to breathe but does not suffocate me almost feeling like love. His presence makes the blood rush out of my face almost feeling like fear. A feeling whose existence I’ve started to question, the reactions feeling almost forced. Guess this ‘almost’ will be a problem even I won’t be able to solve.