Closure

Closure is knowing why.

Why wasn’t I good enough? Why didn’t we get the chance to experience happily ever after? Why did you leave?

It’s a charade of a mature discussion between the one who walked away and the one left behind. It’s a conversation between two people on two extreme poles of emotions; one with a broken heart and the other without a scratch.

It’s an attempt at reopening old wounds. Wounds that may have healed. Or wounds dressed up with the right amount of makeup to look like a fading scar.

It’s living all over again that day a heart was torn apart while one walked away inadvertently holding unto the left ventricle of the other. It is about the fake smiles and teary eyes that never get a chance to spill.

It’s not moving on, it’s just torture.

A necessary evil I don’t know how to live without

Hello, old flame

I think about how it would be, when we eventually get to kiss, no sorry, see. I come up with different scenarios but I always circle back to the crucial part; the beginning.

What happens when I kiss, no sorry, see you again?

I like to think there’d be a few seconds of holding each other’s eyes….

…then I look away because that’s what is expected of a bad bitch (which I’d like to think I am)

…you look away (and I feel the heartbreak allover again)

…then we both look away because of the woman you’re with. Another woman. My replacement. A reminder that I wasn’t good enough.

I don’t know how it ends. Maybe it never does. I will go to a blank page and start afresh.

I’ll know how it goes. Only I won’t be prepared for when we meet, old flame. I’ll circle back again to the beginning.

Butterflies

I feel the butterflies when I’m with you. Yes with you!

They come alive when I kiss you.

When I think of you

When I touch you

When I …. you

They start a riot each time. Clapping their wings in entropic symphony.

The older butterflies from memories of past loves

Or the newer ones trying to take flight?

Or could it be a warning?

Not to feel too deeply or not to feel anything at all

What do I do with a stomach full of butterflies?

With no place to fly?

BE TRUE TO WHO YOU ARE

Whatever you do, stay true to yourself….
You know the problem I have with this? What if I don’t even know who I am? How do I stay true to what’s vague? Who or what do I stay true to? How do I know when I’m living a lie?

What if I can’t even organise my thoughts to explain what I’m feeling and thinking?
What if I like this guy because just once out of the numerous times we’ve had sex, he managed to hit it right? What if I’m in love with him because he’s quite popular and manages to throw me a little attention once in a while? What if I know I’m a Queen who shouldn’t settle for less but I don’t leave because I’m scared to be lonely? How about those days I wake up feeling like a bad ass bitch ready to take on the world and act accordingly, and the other days all I want to do is curl up in a ball on my bed shedding tears and watching sad movies like I’m doing right now?

How am I to decide which one of my 7 different personalities is the real me and stay true to her? What if… What if I’m just tired of pretending?
Sigh. I need a drink

Gospel Truth

“I’m not really a Christian. Why? Because I was born into a Christian home and raised as a Christian complete with the Christian education, Sunday school, Christian neighbourhood and Christian friends. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an atheist. I do believe there’s a God somewhere. I just want to find him on my own. I mean, there’s like a gazillion and one different religions out there each claiming to be the right way to God. I can’t know for sure if I stick to just Christianity now, can I?”
That’s what I say when people ask me questions or say things like “you’ve not been going to church anymore”, “when last did you read your Bible?”, “why did you tell me to stop sending you Christian literature?” and other questions relating to my faith.
Faith. That’s one of the reasons why I’m on this path. Isn’t my relationship with God supposed to be a personal thing? It’s supposed to be about what I believe in my heart about God and how I go about worshipping Him, right? Why do I then have to fulfill some obligations (and what I like to refer to as) rituals to get validation from some mere human just like myself? It’s annoying and tiring having people poking and disturbing and embarrassing me to dance in church. I mean, I can’t dance, people, OK? Some of us can’t dance. We wish we could, but we simply cannot. Maybe our joints are stiff af or we just lack the right bodily coordination. Doesn’t stop us from dropping mad ass moves for the Lord in our head. Just because brother A dances better than I do doesn’t mean they’re less of a sinner than I am.
Hypocrisy. My second reason for this. I don’t know how to fornicate one day then go to church the next day pretending to be lifting holy hands and being in the Spirit. Heaven knows only thing on my mind the whole time would be how I should have tried a certain style, or made the first move or probably not wasted body count on his lame selfish ass anyway. I mean, what kind of guy (yes, I identify as a female human specie) bursts a nut after a few thrusts and calls it ‘great sex’??? *insert heavy eye roll here*.
Seriously, I can’t keep coming to church (cause honestly, I don’t even pray on my own) and repenting of sins I know I’ll go back to in a few hours. I don’t know how the brethren do that. Fornicate, lie, steal, have numerous abortions, slander, backbite, cheat and commit other sins yet come to church and act like comfortably perfect Saints. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’m better than them. I’m saying I have an annoying conscience that will pick me no matter how many years experience I have in sin. It’s not like they’ll get first-class tickets to Heaven when the rapture takes place and I’ll be left gnashing my teeth in the pit of Hell.
Until I’m ready to repent for good and not take the grace of the good Lord for granted, I don’t think I’ll be playing righteous Saint just to please some mortals. Of course, my mother dearest cannot know of this. It’ll break her heart to know her little child of yesterday has gone astray. She’s the only exception to this general rule of mine and will hopefully never know about this 😉😊

Sadness or Depression or Something Else

I’m tired. No, nothing physical. I can’t sleep this away. It’s a deeply rooted kind of ‘tired’. Somehow along my twenty something years of living, it came along and made a home in me. I’m emotionally stressed. I feel the energy sapping out of me everyday and I can’t seem do anything about it. I can only watch and imagine doing something different. But I can’t.
I’d have the same woman as my mum if I could come back to this world again. I’m not as certain about having the same man for a father. If I can get the version of him that’d be the same on the outside but an entirely different and better person on the inside, maybe I could consider.
I have no scars on my skin to tell my story, but my emotions are bruised from years of abuse. Abuse. Emotional abuse. Verbal abuse. That’s what it is. It took me over twenty years to realise that I am indeed a victim of abuse and it’s such a shame I am yet to build an immunity to it.
My mum got the worse end of the deal though. Physical. Emotional. Verbal. We can’t speak of it though. It’s a thing to be ashamed of. It’s considered the woman’s fault. She failed her husband which led to his abuse. She shouldn’t have taken pictures of her swollen face or purple eye. She shouldn’t have made him angry enough to hit her on those several occasions he did.
You see, the abuser (especially if he’s a man), is always the saint. You shouldn’t provoke him, you know what his anger is like. Always apologise, you don’t want to get him angry. Tread on eggshells around him, you don’t know what could trigger his anger.
Urgh
Give me a break.
Actually, I’m giving myself a break, finding my escape in school; my second most depressing place to be in. Second only to the place I called home, of course. Unfortunately, I don’t get a permanent break like my mum did. Lucky woman. The divorce was finalised a few years ago and she’s starting to look like we might be sisters. That’s a good thing and a bad thing.
Good because she’s beginning to look younger and is regaining that youthful glow.
Bad maybe because I am aging fast as she did because I have not gotten a break from the abuser?
Time alone can tell but I don’t think I have any.

Conversations With Her (1).

“I’m not easily surprised”, she says with that far off look in her eyes. She is talking to me, but I feel her audience is in a galaxy far far away.
“I can’t say I’m immune to surprises, no, it’s just that I anticipate a million and one events so when that one event out of a million and one happens, it’s not likely to get much of a reaction from me. But there are occurrences that do surprise me actually. “.
I want her to keep talking. Maybe explain better what she means but I don’t rush her. You don’t rush someone like her. She’d stumble over her words and eventually shut up without saying anything. She has a problem with communicating, you see.
“Remember when I met that guy at camp some years ago?” I remember. I was there with her. She continues. “I created multiple scenarios in my head. There’s one where we became friends, then it broadened into the little twigs containing the numerous dramatic fights (courtesy of yours truly), then leaves on how the proposal will be. I even created numerous endings, out of which the reality had a similarity with one. Basically, what I’m saying is this, my mind is denser than the Amazon rain forest with each tree signifying a person whom I’ve come across and prepared numerous scripts for my relationship with them.”
There’s a small pause.
“I’d like to think of it as my way of preparing myself for unforeseeable events”, cue the hand movements. It’s an elegant combination of her wiggling fingers and her wrists flickering. “In my imagination, however, I’m almost always crying whenever I’m proposed to. Not because I didn’t see it coming or something (I mean, we’ve dated for years, we all know it’d eventually lead to that or a breakup), but because I’m sad I’d have to let go of all my other hoes. That’s what the ring signifies after all, yeah? The end of your hoe phase and the start of a committed life”, she shudders.
I should be shocked by the last statement but I’m not. I said it before, I know her well enough.
“LOL”, she actually says it as L-O-L. “I am such a slut.”

Letter To A Lover

Dear Sleep,

How are you doing? Its been ages since we had a proper interaction. You don’t come around like you used to. Your best friends, Lazy Afternoon and After Dark Hours still do, however. I see them and anticipate your arrival. In the past you’d creep in slowly, making your presence known by inciting a yawn or enveloping me to intoxication and drowsiness. But now, I see them and wonder why you don’t come after them. They come by day after day bearing false promises of your coming; whispering sweet nothings about closing my eyes and feeling your arms around me. They are not good liars, you know. You should tell them. I hear their whispered conversations over the evening breeze as Lazy Afternoon hands over guard duties to After Dark.

There are some things I fail to understand. Why did you leave me these series of yawns that are not unlike the ones I had when we were together? Why does Lazy Afternoon come dressed in the sunniest apparel and After Hours takes over wearing the stillest of nights? Why do you send them to hang around me while you purposely ignore me? And without any just cause. We are grown ups now, Sleep. We settle our misunderstandings through dialogue and not this immature act you are putting up. Man tf up and tell me why I am being left to turn and toss most times wondering why you do not come around like you used to. Face me like the lover you are; don’t hide from me you coward.

Sigh

I’m sorry. I went out of line. It’s just that with you gone, others have began courting me, and it’s hard to ignore them when I don’t have you around. Anger seems to be around me more often these days, and starting to rub off on me. Fatigue clings to me like a shadow. This seems to make Anger madder. It would be funny to me, but Depression and Sadness hover constantly close by, and with them comes that numbing cold that leaves me feeling almost nothing.

Sigh

I have a few guesses as to why you’re not around anymore. I can bet it is one of two. I don’t know which one was the catalyst, but I do know A comes before P.

It is something to do with my anxiety, isn’t it? I knew it! I always told you people get tired of me and leave, and you always reassured me you weren’t like “those people”. Guess I was right in the end. I worried so much about what I will do if you stopped showing up because my guts never lie to me. I shouldn’t have welcomed you all the time. The few times I tried to stay away from you by hanging out with Internet, or going on adventures with TV, I shouldn’t have come back to apologise and try to make up for lost time 😒. Now that I think of it, I should not have tried pleasing your two shit ass friends either. I should have told them straight up that their attempts at lulling me was lame and I had better things to do than engage them. I should have played it cool and let you do all the chasing, your henchmen always assuring me that your love for me was as unique as your love for every living human and animal that walk the earth.

It is most likely the pills. Your friends cum spies must have told you about them. If you will only hear me out, I will explain; my anxiety pushed me to get them. The pharmacist didn’t ask for a doctor’s note, just told me not to take them before driving or operating heavy mechanisms. He failed to tell me that it will be a poor imitation of you. That where you and I shared colourful adventures I could easily recount, they’d leave me with grays and nothing to hold on to. What I’m trying to say was I tried replacing you before you had even gone and failed. And I’m sorry. I would be insulted too if someone tried to replace me with someone or something. Nothing can be as the real deal.

I know you have not entirely given up on us because you still visit, albeit not like before. You breeze in and out before I can register your presence and thank you for the serenity you present me with every time you visit.
Can we go back to how it used to be? You had this magical ability to take away my stress and leave me feeling happy, energised, eager to take on the world. Now you’re gone and my body feels heavier, my mind slower, my mood unstable.

What I am trying to say in essence is that I miss you. I promise to work on the hours I spend with Engineer Phone, and I’ll probably stop sneaking around with TV and probably ignore Internet more often. I understand now that even if we have agreed to be in a polyamorous relationship, I don’t have to relinquish your time to another.

I’ll be expecting your response to be delivered to me in person. You know where to find me.

Sincerely,
I Can’t Hide The Bags Beneath My Eyes With Makeup Anymore

Intro…

First things first, you don’t know me. I don’t know you. We don’t know if I gave you a curious second glance while rushing to an early morning class, wondering why you were raising your voice at the person on the other end of your phone. I may be the person sitting hunched on the computer you’re waiting to make use of, trying to wrack my brain for the right words to string along to make an interesting introduction. We may be lovers in the sheets without the love. We may never know. Let’s leave it that way. It’s for the best.

Welcome to my blog. It’s going to be messy and disorganised and as random as the thoughts racing through my head. I’ll probably just catch and hold on to the first one I can for as long as it takes me to make sense of it and make it make sense to you.

Disclaimer

  1. This is also a project for me to see if I can recover my lost writing skill. Excuse the amateurish attempts here and there
  2. There’s going to be a lot of colourful language, hence if you’re below 18 or faint of heart, go ‘head and move along