Unconquerable Soul

Finally got around to reading Archer's Prison Diaries and this is what greeted me when i opened the book. Note to self;

INVICTUS

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole.
I thank whatever gods may be,
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeoning of chance,
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears,
Looms but the Horror of the shade.
And yet the menace of the years,
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate.
I am the captain of my soul.

- William Ernest Henley

"Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill..."

When unhealthy bacteria invades your body, your immune system retaliates by making you ill and this in turn flushes out the infection that is threatening you. Its the same with people. When you love someone and lose them, your whole world ceases to make sense and you become this weak pathetic mound of flesh, bone and blood that lingers haggardly in the shadow of your former self, the happy deluded self that had floated on a cloud of denial for so long.

So you subconsciously find a distraction, an obsession, another denial that would lessen the all-consuming pain. But it's toxic and weakens you further, wreaking havoc inside your mind and coarsing through your veins and it's all that you can think about because anything is better than the pain of having lost what you loved with the might of your soul. So you stay toxic and you ride it out, one day at a time.

And someday you'll wake up to find that neither of those things hurt as much as they used to. And you'll realize that you can laugh without being burdened by the need to please those who are concerned about you. And that you can listen to a song without memories stretching those gashes further apart. And you'll know that you will be happy again. Someday.

So till then, you wake up. You despair. And you sleep again. And hope that tomorrow will be less cruel.

Her

Lately She seems indifferent to my presence. Just sits in the corner, raking Her nails on the ground, eating maggots off the floor, casting occasional glares in my direction. I lie in my own filth, blood mixed with grime, oozing gashes and rotting flesh. I suppose She has accepted my residence in Her domain, ignoring me for the most part, except for when She needed a hit. And when she was bored.

At times when i catch my breath after long bouts of hacking, i feel Her nails on my face, digging into my flesh. And yet it feels more like a caress than pain being inflicted. I almost welcome it.

I hear nothing except for Her breathing and my own rasping lungs struggling to inhale through the burning pain in my throat. But why? For what? Who would care?

Why do i try to breathe? Why do i wake up? Why do i continue to exist?

Sometimes i hear Her hum. It sears into my brain, making it writhe. I welcome that too. I welcome anything besides numbness. Being numb was fine for a while. But then it started to feel like forever. I need to feel something, anything, to feel alive now. Even if it is agony.

Sometimes i wake up to find Her feeding on me, Her deranged eyes justifying Her lack of mercy. I feel i understand Her now. So i lie in silence and watch her feed.

The Pit has come alive, transforming into a maze from which She emerges after long periods of absence. I long for Her return whenever She leaves, sometimes slithering, sometimes skipping, sometimes crawling on all fours. Depends on Her mood, really.

She would leave looking like Herself and come back looking like i did, whenever i used to crawl up there. Somedays She would return cradling leaves in Her hands. That always makes me smile. And somedays She would return with long tales of Her exploits.

Apparently no one seems to see Her like i do. No one seems to notice that Her eyes are not mine.

Most days She would return with slumped shoulders. She'd sit beside me, coo at me like i'm an infant in her care. Her eyes remained the same, though. Demented eyes that saw me as something She had loved and lost long ago. Something that had driven Her over the brink of sanity. I cry for Her. I've realized that i am all She has now.

Whenever i beg Her to end it She would slap me, Her long nails cutting into me, Her piercing voice screaming incoherent words into my face. Took me a while to decipher her wails. "I need you. I need you."

But i wish She would understand that my release would also mean the end of all Her suffering. I wish that someday She would grasp the truth of that and do us both a favour.

And so i lie here, my veins filthy and my skin flayed. And i wait.

I Garden ...

I garden to silent the turmoil in my head

I garden to soothe the frantic quiver in my chest

I garden to calm the tremor in my limbs

I garden to repress my fickle little whims

I garden to grasp life in my own hands

I garden to feel tranquil, for a change

Wednesday's Children

A suicide prompts all sorts of reactions within our diverse and divided little society. After the most recent tragedy occurred, my feeds were brimming with status updates and shares by people who perceived the incident from multiple angles.

There is the self righteous faction that "strongly condemns" the "selfish" act and the "lack of faith" which, of course, is the ONLY viable reason a person would resort to suicide.

And then there are the "Comedians", the people who could not care less about the consequences of their remarks or how cruel they are for trivializing something that clearly hurts people associated with the deceased.

But at least the people I've classified above are clear cut. I know what they are and i expect nothing but the exact same reactions from them whenever a tragedy of this magnitude occurs.

My confusion lies within the community that clearly understands and acknowledges the fact that a person would only be driven to end his/her life when that person is incapable of coping with whatever hell they dwell in. Those who believe that the people who succumbed to the voices in their heads that told them to end it were, in fact, battling with Mental Illnesses. These are the people i am bewildered by since most of them are sufferers and the others, sympathizers.

It's astounding that so many of the sufferers are of the same mind and yet so desperate for understanding and acceptance. How are they so alike and yet so alone when surrounded by all these people who claim to feel exactly the way they do? How are they in pain and yet incapable of extending a hand towards someone who is battling the exact same demons that they are? Why do we not bother to make the effort we reprimand others for not making?

As for the sympathizers, i know it can be extremely hard to listen to the same issues over and over again. And there comes a point where you need to distance yourself from the negativity just to feel normal again. And that's only human. But at least you have the choice to separate yourself from the doom and gloom. They don't. So if those people mean anything to you, please don't abandon them.

I see so many people struggling with Mental Illness and they are weary of keeping a lid on the despair that consumes them. Sometimes all it takes is ONE friend, ONE lover or ONE family member who understands or at least tries to. Just having one supportive human being could make all the difference. Just one. That is all.

So be that person. I know you are suffering. I know it even hurts to breathe at times. But they despair, just as you do. They need, just like you do. So extend your hand. Be that person. You could be saving a life. 

Yesterday

Until what seemed like just yesterday, she had a significantly large circle of people around her. 

Friends, family ... people. People who understood and accepted her. People who cared. People who had stuck around for years and years. But today, when she woke up, she had no one.

Suddenly everyone seems to have conformed to what society deems the norm and no one has time for someone they cannot relate to or understand anymore. No one has the patience for tales of misfortune. No one finds any appeal in a broken doll.

Used to be that when life became overwhelming, she could sleep over at a friend's and find hilarity in the situation over home cooked pasta and movie marathons.

Used to be that she could smoke a pack of cigarettes and exhale the stress away but now her immune system worked against her, which swept the option of nicotine satisfaction back into the smoky depths of years past.

Used to be that she had a strong support system but she let the demon in her out far too much and for far too long that it scared them away with it's vile presence and corrosive nature.

And she lay in her cold bed and loathed her senseless existence and wondered for the umpteenth time ... what IS the point of it all?