Uncage the Night, Chapter XI

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First chapter: here

Previous chapter: here


It was 11:30 in the night. Everyone was asleep; all but one.
Leslie was roaming the house. She had been for the past hour and a half, rummaging through cupboards, drawers and moving furniture around like she was looking for something. Nicolas came to her, moments before, angrily begging for a peaceful night. But all she did was groan at him. Admitting defeat, he went back to bed, back to his wife, and they resigned themselves to sleeping with earplugs.
She kept pacing up and down until something stopped her in her tracks. Leslie stood still, two feet away from the fireplace, on top of which was a golden picture frame. It was a family portrait; a fresh memory.

Three days before, Leslie and her family had gone to the big shopping center in the city, looking for some new colors for Leslie & Sophie’s palettes.
On their way to the art supplies shop, Sophie had spotted a photography stand. There, a charming middle-aged man stood, looking very pleased with his hand painted “nature background”. His face lit up as they approached him and, as much as they all tried to fight it, he talked them into having their picture taken. In less time than it took for him to say “That’ll be fifty.”, they were all sitting on the bench and actually having a good time.
The picture wasn’t so good; he didn’t manage to center everyone properly. Nicolas’ fingers were cut off as he extended his right arm to the side in a dramatic gesture. Sophie’s dress appeared blue,even though it was a bright yellow that day. And everyone’s shoes were cut off. It appeared, also, that the quality of the paper wasn’t as high as he had bragged, for the corners had already began fading when they got home. And it hadn’t stopped; slowly eating away at her father’s arms, her mother’s hair and Leslie’s fingers, tightly clasped on the armrest of the bench.
But they all looked so happy and relieved to be together as one again; wasn’t it worth the fifty bucks? No…
Leslie tried to remember her mother’s face when she heard the man say the price or her father’s laughter; it was all in vain. Those memories were fading, also; just like the pictures; just like reality…

Her restless pacing started again, this time with a clearer purpose. She closed all the blinds as she wandered through the house, trapping it in cold shadows. There was no moon outside that night; the world was made out of complete darkness, in and out. In and out…

Sophie and Nicolas were in bed, sound asleep. Twenty minutes had passed since they had been startled awake by Leslie’s late night lunacy. It didn’t take them long to sink back into their respective dreams.
Although the two lovers had started out in a warm embrace, their hearts almost touching, they had eventually drifted away from each other, as their minds melted together in a deep dream-reality. Synchronised breathing; symmetrical positions; they were never closer than when they were far apart.
Both bore wide smiles on their faces as they dreamt of each other. Sadly, with the earplugs on, they were trapped in that happy place, unable to help themselves, unaware of the shadows hunting for their smiles. They couldn’t notice the subtle sounds echoing in their quiet room; small clicks, small shifts in the air.
They couldn’t hear Leslie twisting the door knob and entering their room.
They couldn’t hear Mitch tossing and turning.
They couldn’t hear as, what they would soon painfully discover wasn’t strictly their daughter anymore, approached their bed; their tomb.

Something was burning inside of Leslie. An overpowering fire that was dissolving her muscles, breaking her bones; devouring her. She had lost all control over that bag of meat of hers. It wasn’t even possible for her to retreat in a quiet place in her mind like she had been taught to do when faced with darkness. There was no escaping, no more running away. This time, she had to face it all and there was nothing she could do.
She cried as her body climbed on her parents’ bed and kneeled over her father’s body. The peacefulness on his face filled her veins with rage. And with that maddening fire inside, she grabbed Nicolas’ throat. Father…
He woke up with a start to the scaly touch of her fingers. “God…”, was all he managed to whisper, with a faint gasp and a tasty look of terror in his eyes. Leslie pinned him down, using that strength that was not hers. Funny, though, how he’d be the one to call out the Christ’s name. He tried fighting back, but it was no use. She couldn’t fight it either. They both were powerless and losing hope for the end to come quick. Her hands squeezed tighter and tighter. The grin on her mouth was monstrous.
In his weak struggle, Nicolas’ left hand brushed against Sophie’s back. Albeit slowly, her body instantly reacted to her lover’s touch and she turned around. She opened her eyes and gasped when she saw her daughter there.
Using her elbows, she straightened herself up. “Leslie?” She was a little drowsy. But, it only took her a couple of seconds to put the pieces together and realize what was happening.
Before she could even protest, she felt her body hit the mattress, bruising her spine as it was stretched to parallel the bed. Leslie stared her down. Without even touching her, she had Sophie pinned to the bed. She couldn’t move away. You like to watch? Leslie laughed as her fingers were sinking into her father’s skin.
Do you like that, mother?“, she said, her voice like an out of tune cello.
She wanted to feel sorry for herself, for her mother; to feel the horror and let the emotions take over her. But she couldn’t. All she could think of was the blood in which she was dipping her fingers. All she could take in was the terror on her mother’s face and the pain in her father’s dying eyes. She rejoiced.
“Oh my God, my baby girl… What have we done to you…” Sophie cried. She was ugly.
Leslie smiled at her as she ripped out her husband’s throat. Sadly, Sophie couldn’t scream. She was petrified by fear, or maybe was it something else. And all her whispers were in vain. Nothing could stop them anymore; it was all too late.
“God! No… Nicolas, my–” For the last time, he interrupted her as his open neck squirted out blood into her eyes.
Sophie choked on her own inaudible screams.

Leslie put one finger on her mother’s dry lips, shutting down her useless attempts at expressing anything. “Tell her the truth.“, she spoke again with that voice that wasn’t hers. Sophie discovered new extends to her fear as it grew beyond what she thought possible.
She thought it might have ended there as her brain would have giving up under all the pressure. But they wouldn’t have let her off so easily.
Her finger still resting on her lips, Leslie spoke with Sophie’s voice.
“Disabled.”
“A tragedy.”
“… the ghost of a sunken friendship…”
“She’s sick and broken…”
“I never wanted to be a mom.”
Sophie was filled with shame as she heard her own voice speaking those terrible thoughts. And the guilt struck her even harder when she realized that she really meant them all.
“No more broken children.”
“Just him.”
“I don’t see my little girl anymore. Maybe I don’t love her, maybe I’m just scared of her. She’s a curse and I hate her.”
Leslie was still here. In the back of her own mind; only more useful than she had ever been. She wanted to feel the pain as each of her mother’s words resonated in her chest. But she couldn’t. Her tears dried as soon as they reached her eyes. Nothing was hers anymore.

Sophie couldn’t bear any more of it and attempted to retreat in her own head.
She imagined a better reality, where they would look at the security footage and what they would see be nor dark, nor bloody. It would be colorful, loud; happy!
The video would show Nicolas with his throat sewed back on and his hand in hers. He would smile at her and she would smile back. He would wrap an arm around her waist, his lips pressing against hers, and he would never let go.
You would see Mitch, sitting on the mat, building small towers out of wooden cubes with his big sister, Leslie. They would giggle as it would fall apart. And they would keep building it, over and over, always aiming for a humongous tower because they loved to dream.
You would see a smile on Leslie’s face and a familiar light in her eyes. And she would sing a happy song and fill the room with that familiar warmth. They would all join in, even Mitch, and sing together into the day.
She tried imagining a better reality, where you would look at the security footage and see anything but this.

But, running from reality wasn’t an option anymore that night, for it had come tearing down their walls and it wouldn’t let them get away with denial anymore.
This was the night where all had to be stripped of their masks. The curtain fall. The book’s last five pages. It was the night they would all stop running, as a family, and face their real state of decay.

Sophie’s eyes were filled with emotions. Too many of them to tell one from the other. Leslie gouged them out using her thumbs while the rest of her fingers pierced through her mother’s skin.
Then, she let her hands run down to her throat, following the faint stream of blood tears. She didn’t squeeze it this time. At all. There were no more patience left for teasing; it had to be straight to the point.
She ripped out the filthy gear that once spread out lies in bulge. Blood squirt out. She licked her lips to taste it as it painted her face a hopeless red, mixing in with the salt from the few tears that had finally abandoned her eye sockets.

Leslie was scared or maybe she was excited. She couldn’t tell anymore. She wasn’t even sure if she hadn’t wanted her parents to die. Somehow, she had found herself longing for more blood alongside the entities owning her body. She wasn’t even aware that she was crying. She couldn’t feel it. But she could feel everything else.
The anger; the rage; the passion; the pleasure; the pain; the remorse; the sadness; the happiness; the relief; the guilt; the love…
She had lost track of which, out of the thousands of thoughts and desires flashing through her, were her own and which were theirs. She felt everything but there was an unsettling distance between her and what she recognized to be the “good” ones.

Leslie looked at her fists. They were relentlessly punching her parents’ bodies. She prayed they would stop. Nobody is listening. But they never did. They punched and punched. And then, they dug and dug. Her nails were filthy with bits of fabrics and flesh and whatnot. She didn’t want to think about it. She felt her body thrilled. This isn’t a dream… She couldn’t stop digging. Her hands kept at it until they reached the mattress.
She sat up.
She stared at her mother’s corpse. Then her father’s. There was nothing else but a void right where their hearts used to be. Where’s the difference?
She panicked for a brisk second when she felt her body falling backwards. But an immense relief took over when her back hit the mattress and she saw a familiar face in the ceiling mirror. Her face; only, it barely looked like her anymore. A faint warmth briefly pulsed through her heart as she realized she still had her mother’s frown, even through the cracks and the blood.
She watched as her hands caressed her lifeless mother’s legs. She smiled.
She was now completely surrendering to the entities, like her body had already, many hours ago. And she never felt so good. She allowed their darkness to coat her completely and she felt lightweight, almost as if she was floating with them. She looked up in the mirror, where those scaly arms and that sooty smog were surrounding her, like a broken aura.
In that moment, she was blissful.

When Leslie blinked, she was standing right next to Mitch’s crib.
She looked at him for a moment. She could’ve sworn she felt her heart react to his sparkly eyes. But she couldn’t tell anything anymore. She was like a painting on the back of her own mind.
Her little brother’s face was fading. Everything was. She knew what was coming; she knew it all along. But she didn’t care anymore.
She brushed her hand on his cheek, staining the pearly white of them with burgundy handprints. She cried as she whispered to him, “This is what a last time feels like…”
There was a sharp pain in her heart. She hit the floor.

The deafening silence was broken by Mitch’s laugh, echoing in the night.

***

As she lay motionless on the floor of her parents’ bedroom, Leslie’s body now bore the wounds of her soul. Her body already had its fair share of scars and bruises, self-inflicted for the most part, but carrying these entities inside of her had damaged it furthermore.
All that was left of her on that early Monday morning was her flesh envelope.
By dawn, her body would have progressively turned a sooty shade of black. And when the first rays of sunlight would hit the house, breaking the darkness that had been sealed by the night, Leslie would turn to ash as faint blue flames would devour her tarnished body. And there would be nothing left of her.
And, it would only be a matter of time before what was left of her, the incomplete versions of her in the friends that shared her life and every single soul that she ever touched, the incomplete portraits, worthless memories… It wouldn’t be long before it all faded out of reality.


2386 words! That was much shorter than I expected for an ending! But there just seemed to be nothing more to say at all.

Yeah, you read that right, it is the end. BUT, there is still one chapter left! Watch out for it! Coming at the end of this week!

Who’s sad? me

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I am the Fire||Looking (back) forward

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Hi! Today’s the last day of this long-ass month and I think it’s the perfect time for some introspection by looking at my past-self all the while focusing on the road ahead. So, let’s jump right in!

Following my post about frustration&cie, I tried recreating this picture of me taken when I was 16 and with my sweet Lady Revenge (on the right, obviously).

 

Note: I remember taking it myself and then pretending my little brother took it for me because, sometimes when you’re sixteen, it’s hard to admit that you took a selfie… Ha ha!

I’ve come a long way…

The other day, I had just finished my vocal practice of the day (half-assed) and ended up singing a little bit longer just to record my progress. And as I skipped from song to song, I ended up singing I Don’t Love You by My Chemical Romance.

I have a very sensitive relationship with this song and have actually rarely listened to it, especially since the break up. It makes me feel lots of things and I can’t handle it. But it’s one of my favorite songs by MCR. The melody and lyrics and the riffs are just beautiful. And as I sang it, it reminded me of my sixteen year old self. I remembered the struggles of my younger self and how I always had hope overcoming them. (When it comes down to singing at least.)

And I did.

I used to not be able to stay on key so well and let’s not even talk about my range or projection. My voice wouldn’t come out at all, it was a lot of throat, a lot of tension and so on. You get the idea. And now, as a not-so-far-from-22-year-old, I’ve learned so much and I’ve gained more control over my voice, and honestly, now there is really hopes that I can become a singer in this reality. he he

I am really happy to see and feel the progress that I’ve made! Even without working every single day nor as hard as I’d wish. Proof that no matter how little you do, you’re still doing something and still moving forward in the end!

And just yesterday, I was looking for an audio draft of a song that I recorded at some point when I was living on my own in Lille last year (and I found it, and I’m gonna finish writing it this upcoming month!) and oh, what I found! Gold.

I found my several attempts at an audio journal and also too many singing clips (much cringe). Now, I didn’t listen to all of it as I had something else in mind at the time, but… Wow. I sound much younger, even though it was only last year. And that, to me, is very surprising. But it’s not just that, I hear every subtlety of my suffering, struggling and the Act. It’s like watching a movie you wrote the script for. I’d guess. I don’t know.

It’s just like when I go through my pictures. I don’t know if it’s as obvious to others as it is to me, most probably not, but I see the change. I hear my voice and I hear all those differences. Not only technique-wise, but just, you know, my soul? I hear my soul. And I hear the wounds that were still so fresh and oozing out of my every sounds. And I see my face, and I see a completely different person. Some pictures even look like a complete stranger to me. And those smiles… G**, those smiles..

I know this is extremely obvious, so pardon me for saying but I need to…

I know exactly what I’ve been through. Obviously. (told you) And when I look at these pictures, when I hear my voice, it takes me straight back to then. I know it, I remember it but I also can feel how it is in what some would like to envision as “the past“. But what I feel most intensely is empathy or maybe even pity (??) for this young girl that I see/hear.

I used to be such a…. mess. And when I sit down now and look at her — me — I feel sorry  (?) for that person.

I feel the pain, I see all the cracks and I smell the decaying hopes. I see how miserable and desperate she is for some light, some love, anything. I hear how she fights but to what end? I know how she feels but I feel it in a different way now that those feelings aren’t truly my own anymore. And I feel so sorry. Because no one should feel like that and no one should be alone to face storms like that. And I wish I could have been her friend instead of my own enemy. But self-destruction has a way to seduce me, no matter how strong the warnings.

And, you know, all that empathy and humanity that I feel when I look at past-me? I realize as I type this, that, this is exactly what should be one of the pillars of self-love (like any other love), but it is hard to be like that to your present self though, isn’t it? I feel as though the only reason I actually am able to feel it now, and only now, is because she feels like a stranger now, she is in another chapter of my life, and therefore, I can see her for the human that she is. And I believe I must strive for this, a humanization of my own self. Dear ***, what have I become? Ha ha

Now, as much they hold heavy amounts of darkness and brokenness in them, I must hold on to these audios and pictures (and I think I aslo have a couple video journals somewhere). Not as an anchor to “the past” but more as reminder of where I’ve been. I gotta keep that weight on my feet, not on my shoulders, you know what I mean? I think it’s great to have these remnants of “the past” around and to be able to check them out whenever you need to.

Humans are very emotional creatures and I’m not gonna pretend that I am not attached to who I used to be and the memories. I must never forget. So I won’t lose myself. But also because, almost like a mother, I enjoy re-living the growth of that little girl that’s made me who I am today.

I’m really glad I made and kept these because, documenting my progress both as an artist and as a little human trying, is what keeps me progressing. Because, if I couldn’t look back and see that I’ve moved and I’ve become more, wouldn’t that kill the fire?

I know where I’ve been, I know where I am and I know where I’m going…

There is strength to be found in all “past” weaknesses and some more to be found in the uncertainty of whatever is to come. I remember everything and I pray I never forget, no matter how heavy it gets. Everything is fuel and I shall take as much as I can because it’s a very demanding journey.

Now, as much as I’m proud of all the progress I’ve made both as an artist and as a person, I’ve gotta keep looking forward and keep harvesting for fuel as I keep on blooming. I realize that I am constantly growing, even when I least expect it, and I must keep trying my hardest to get to where I wanna be.

I’ve come a long way but I’ve still got a long way to go. Good thing I’ve got a tank full of fuel, some good souls on my side and my loyal & dedicated self.

I’ve got my back!

 

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Until next post, keep at it whatever it is you love and remember who you are. You’ll get there! ❤

“Don’t beat the dreams out of you”

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There’s so much I want to do, big things I want to achieve and I do realize that the only way to get there is to work and work hard. And you know what they say, with great dreams come great… frustration. Yes.

I’ve been prey to frustration for a while now so I’ve learned to work through it and I’ve got my ways to cope with it and overcome it. But these first three months have brought me a big wave which I wasn’t expecting, me being a hopeful cookie at the start of this new year, and it got me down a bit. And so, I’m writing this post as a reminder…

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I always hear people telling me “I’m being hard on myself” and I’m always like “uhh, no?…” I see where they’re coming from, and from their perspective, sure, it kinda seems like it. But from my perspective, I could use some more self-discipline! It’s just because I’m setting the bar high and I can’t be satisfied until I reach it (SPOILER: hasn’t happened yet) and go beyond.

I’ve got big goals, big dreams. And the frustration comes from the fact that, in all the bigness of ‘my life as I intend it to be‘, I am so small. I’m barely getting started and I’m only taking baby steps. Even my big steps end up feeling like baby steps when I look back. And that’s frustrating because I can’t seem to move as fast as I would like to.

That is not a good thing because I usually end up turning that frustration into a stick to beat myself with. Well, that sounds weird!.. But what I mean is that I end up getting mad at myself, or just intensely disappointed whenever I feel like I didn’t work hard enough on everything. Which is pretty much everyday lately.

And that also leads me to feeling unworthy of things like a movie or a little snooze in the morning. Because of the whole work/reward thing, you know? My brain is very good deed-treat orientated. You gotta deserve your fun, you know what I mean? As much as I think that’s the way to go, that is not okay and I’m working on getting back the right balance of discipline and necessary down time.

Anyway.

The thing is that, I’m trying. And I am working. Maybe not as much as I’d like, because I can get lazy or distracted, I run out of time, of energy, etc. (Or I get sick or it snows all of the sudden and we’re all locked in the house. Ah, life and its many surprises. I’m still not over it… >w<) But I am working. So I gotta stop saying and thinking “I didn’t do anything at all this week” because I did. And I have proof.

I have an “action tracker” in my bujo which is basically here to track what I do. There are many things in here like some skills I’m trying to develop (left-handedness or Italian for example), habits I’m trying to EX-TER-MI-NATE (like snoozing or endlessly scrolling down my social media feeds) or vastly decrease (my chocolate and dairy intake… 😦 for the sake of my voice!), or things that I know I gotta do to keep healthy (working out and socializing HAHAHAHAHA). And, of course, I track my investment in my big pillars. They’re the ones right at the top of the page. Guitar, music theory, voice, sight reading and art.

Side note: I also track my interactions with my family. Just to point out how terrible a sister/daughter I am. Lolzor

And so, last night I was just about to beat myself up once more until I opened my tracker and looked at it as I was filling it for the day. Yesterday, I knew that I was wasting my time, just fooling around and did not work on the things I had planned seriously enough. But when I looked at my tracker, it made me realized, I did something. And I’ve been doing things, even when I feel like I didn’t do anything. Because, I have such high standards and such violent dreams that I’ve started to see whatever is under a certain amount of work as NOTHING.

And that, my friends, is some big fucking bullshit and it has to be stopped.

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I posted this picture of my tracker on my Instagram last night as my thoughts merged into yet another reminder to celebrate every victory. I’m pretty sure I’ve written a post about that already (HERE).

No matter how small a victory might seem, it’s still a victory and, in fact, it’s always bigger than you imagine. Baby steps are still steps. At least you’re trying, and at least you’re moving, even if slower than you’d like. It’s still progress. And that is something. Because some people only spend their life dreaming and wishing. And you, even if you’re not the Usain Bolt of dreamers-achievers, are moving closer to those goals of yours by the hour.

Back in December, I had a quote right next to my tracker to remind me that success is indeed found in the act. It might not have felt like much but my tracker shows I’ve actually been doing something. It wasn’t much but it sure wasn’t nothing either. The quote is from one of Robin Clonts’ painting videos when she speaks about the book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck by Mark Monson and how it helped her. I think you should watch that video by the way, because it touches the subjects of perfectionism and failure and has really nice advice in it!!

Use action as [your] motivator. And find success in the simple act of creating.

It gets hard sometimes. I know. It can get really dark too and frustrating. And sometimes you might even feel like giving up, no matter how much the thing you’re working for matters to you. But I’m here to tell you, don’t put so much pressure on yourself or you’ll get burned. You’re only human. Sometimes it’s hard to find enough energy to work as hard as your hope-filled mind dreams of. Sometimes emotions take over or life gets in the way. You can’t always be 200%. Don’t expect all your days to be filled with intense work and so much sweat you’d drown in it. Because they won’t. And they don’t have to be.

Progress is a process. And it’s fine sometimes, especially when you’re still at the start of your journey, to go slow and take small steps. I know it’s hard and frustrating, we all want to be super good at it already. But it doesn’t work like that. The key is perseverance. Keep at it. And don’t let go. Some days will be more productive than others. Just don’t lose hope and don’t lose sight of that bright horizon. Keep swimming towards it.

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It’s more than okay to have high standards (and only people with low standards will tell you otherwise… like, no, don’t aim too high because I don’t so why should you? Screw that and aim over the moon if that’s high enough for you.). But don’t beat yourself up too much. A little kick in the ass goes a long way. But you’re still human and you can’t expect yourself to keep working on something if it only brings more struggle and negativity in your life. Know that it’s okay to rest and okay to take a break. And remember to celebrate every step because, big or small, they are all part of the journey that leads you to wherever that is you wanna be.

Don’t lose hope and remember what you’re fighting for and why you’re fighting for it. Don’t lose sight of the goal but don’t lose sight of the flame inside either. The second worse thing you can do, the first being giving up, is let your journey to turning your dreams into reality become a hassle and a must-do, have-to, self-torture one. It is not easy but make sure it is still enjoyable. Because you’re doing it out of passion not obligation.

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“Keep your feet in the clouds”

Self-discipline is required. But don’t beat the dreams out of you. Make sure you have a healthy relationship with yourself and your work. Keep your body healthy, keep your mind sane enough and then do as much as you can but don’t drain your own spirit. Don’t let frustration take the good away from you.

This post is more for me than for anyone else. Really just speaking to myself. But I’m sure some of you needed to read that anyway. If you did, don’t thank me, thank yourself. And feel free to share your frustration in the comments (nobody will read them anyways hahahah jk).

Until next post, embrace the baby steps! ❤

P.S.: here’s my Facebook profile picture from when I was 16 with the quote that accompanied it (followed by a “Until my fingers bleed <3” haha cute

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“Get frustrated, cry… Then pick it back up and prove to yourself that you can do it anyway!” – Lzzy Hale

The Fighter in Me

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I’ve been a waste of space lately. Let’s be honest; this isn’t an overstatement. A piece of shit. My demons have gotten me really down and I’ve been a lazy leech just feeding on nothingness.

I got down and I stayed down, figured “hey, I’ll just bury my head in the ground for a few decades, no big deal” because I just couldn’t take this life so I just tried my best to ignore the fact that I exist. I was having an existential crisis and I just couldn’t be bothered to actually deal with it or with any of the storm’s bullshit so I just looked away.

However, yesterday (which is now two days ago) as I got out of the bus (I took the wrong one) and walked (while texting my anxiety away, narrating my stupidity to my bff) in a haste (I was late) to my therapist’s office (what a pretty messy morning, I swear), I heard a tiny *click* coming from the back of my head. As I raised my eyebrows and my eyes grew to be the size of the moon, I realized something.

Somehow all this early morning anxiety and lack of sleep had managed to trigger the right switch and unlocked a tiny little door from which came a revelation. I didn’t have much time to actually even begin to touch it with the tip of a finger that day because I was so tired. When I got back home, just slipped on my good ol’ depressed pants and trustworthy “what’s the point” shirt and faded to black once more.

But today; I mean, yesterday (what is time, I ask, what is TIME), I was getting really excited about going outside to explore a nearby place which I pass by when I take (the right) bus to see my therapist (who’s actually a nurse??). So, as I waited for the sun to just stop being so sunny so I could step out and do the adventure thing without burning to my death, I actually had time to let the revelation sink in. And just as I was ready to walk out the door, I had to jump on a piece of paper and pen to scribble all the words that just rained on me as it suddenly hit me and I saw it.

I saw the fighter in me.

I’ve been hiding, running away and just bathing in denial, forcing myself to ignore pretty much all that there is to life. I had completely given up on trying and was looking very seriously into giving up on everything and settling for a life into the nothingness. And yet, even as I, on the surface, was giving up, it was here in me and still doing its job. The fighter in me, that part that just doesn’t know how to give up and always fights for my life, even when I feel that I’ve indeed given up.

When I sat at my desk that morning the day following the *click*, I realized that, even though if not as intensely as I was supposed to, I indeed thought about those things that I was trying so hard not to think about while I was “wasting my days away”.

I was convinced that I had managed to give up for once and that I truly was on my way to that impossible reality where I don’t bother nor believe in dreams, light and a greater use of my time on beautiful Mother Earth. I truly thought that I had manage to kill all the light left inside of me and to be honest, I was actually happy about it. Because, let’s face it, this whole existence and fighting against the current to do things that you love and be a bigger “you” it’s just so exhausting and frustrating; so, managing to give up was actually a relief.

Now I wouldn’t have to worry about energy. I could be tired all the time and it wouldn’t matter because nothing would matter anymore. I could just bathe in darkness all year long and just lie on the floor, wait for the lightning to strike me and put an end to the joke. Nothing mattered. I had succeeded in taking away all of the anxiety triggers, all the problems, all the overthinking, all the horribly demanding efforts to go against the storm to do all those things and also all the good stuff like love and vegetables.

I don’t wanna be a musician, an artist with four arms that do all these different things and doesn’t suck at them. I want to be a mashed potato without seasoning and extra extra extra cheese and a nice side dish of “nope; I don’t life”.

I FUCKING WISHED RIGHT?

Turns out that I was right when I thought that it was truly impossible for me to give up and that time I said that even when I was giving up, I wasn’t. I just didn’t know HOW RIGHT I was.

I tried my best to keep my mind busy and not think about real questions and about me. I managed to satisfy the apathetic monster inside, feed him all the junk it wanted and become it BUT in the mean time, I also managed to keep fighting in the right direction in a way! Of course, it wasn’t a super effective fighting as there was so little of me involved in the war which is why the *click* took so long to happen. But it was still fighting.

I fed the monster and let it invade the foreground so that I could find a place inside where it was calm, oh so calm, and I could actually think of my life without any parasite.

My choice of distraction could have actually given it away that I was truly just finding a less direct and brutal way to face those questions. And it did. But just after the *click*. I realized that the things I was obsessing over in order not to deal with an overwhelming life, decisions to be made and that crazy wish of living life were, deep down, helping me think exactly about what I was running from.

The fighter in me, the part of me, the spark, that will never stop fighting against the coldest winds that assault me or that I will willingly let in to freeze my soul. That part that, even when reduced to such a tiny size and beaten up, can still stand up for me and what I believe in and resurface, always, and shush the monsters back to their dark corners. (For a while at least, just enough time for the soldiers to get back to their positions and protect that fragile soul)

Now, I haven’t completely gotten rid of the filth that I smeared all over my weak flesh prison. But I’ve been feeling that spark and it’s slowly melting the grime away and bringing some heat back in the main circuits. The fighter is swimming back up. Ha ha! And well, now my laughs don’t just sound like a sound that I send to bounce against the walls and fill up the room with some “nothing wrong here” vibes. I feel less dead. And ready to put myself back on track again.

“You live and then you die, what’s the point anyways, right?” That just doesn’t sound like me. Now, I don’t know if it’s depression or any other part of the storm and I don’t care. I know it’s not me. I don’t think this truly. I’m a stupid child and I believe that there’s more to life than slowly dying as oxygen poisons us. I believe in love and in making dreams come true. And I believe in light in the darkest places. And I BELIEVE.

I might be a fatalist to some extent but I’m what I like to think of as an absurdity, a convention of paradoxes. I always find myself at both extremes at the same time. I’m a fatalist but also an optimistic and a pessimistic and a believer and a skeptic son of a blurp. I’m everything and nothing. But I’m not a person that gives up or one that doesn’t see the magic and beauty in life and beyond.

And now that I’ve slapped myself in the face several times and am slowly waking up from a dead man’s sleep, I can see it again. These words that I spoke, thought, while I was this unseasoned mashed potato (Ha ha, I’m sorry x) I’m almost done, bear with me! :-p ) weren’t mine. I don’t know which demon spoke them but they weren’t mine.

The fighter in me is a real part of me. Those demons and the storm are also a part of me but they don’t define me. They are not me. They are what I believe to be essential parts of the weather in me, the rain that rocks me in bed and make rainbows possible. (You need ups and you need downs, light and darkness; there needs to be a balance in things, this isn’t a happy fairyland where all is well.)

They are parasites but I need them and I cling to them. I need them here but they aren’t part of my identity, they are just these little dark monsters that keep this universe running.  But I am not by any means them. I am not the embodiment of my disorders and, as much as they affect my everyday life and constantly torture me, they are not part of my identity. I consider them parts of me in a way, part of my universe but not me.

Anyways. It’s going to take me a few days to truly get back on my feet and get rid of the bullshit I’m covered in. But I’m getting back up and that’s what matters in the end. I think I actually really needed this time on the floor and horribly dark fake happy days! It’s funny I guess in a way haha

So, I think that’s it. I’m glad I finally managed to get all these thoughts out of my head! I started writing this at 1AM today (which explains the confusion with time at the start of it! 😉 ) and now it’s 6PM. No, I wasn’t writing all this time! I slept and I’m still having very slow days. Recovery is a process and honestly, I was really on the floor so it takes some time to get back up and this time longer than what I’m used to. But yeah, I’m finally done getting it out of my chest and I can actually even more internalize the information now. It feels great.

I’ll end this post on a quote from Fran Bow ( a video game I obsessed over during my little “holiday”, let’s call it this from now on!). I don’t remember which character said it but I’m pretty sure it came from the journal that she found somewhere Idk. I think it’s really fitting with this post and well, off I go fixing myself up!

I don’t need to hide from pain anymore because it’s part of me.

Love is everywhere and in everything.

I enjoy crying.

I enjoy laughing.

I enjoy being alive.

Until next post, don’t lose yourself and keep looking for the light. It’s always there. Even the tiniest spark is enough to keep you going. There’s always light, somewhere, look around, in someone, in something, in the sky, anywhere, anyone, anything. And if you don’t see any light, then maybe think about opening your eyes? Maybe you don’t see because you’re not looking at it the right way. Or maybe you are the light and it’s hard to see yourself shining as you stand in the dark.

Keep running. ❤

P.S.: I, of course, still haven’t re-organized my blog and the categories are still pretty messy. But I’ll get to it eventually, don’t worry! And also, the little walk I had in the “park” that I discovered near where I’m staying was truly refreshing. There were so many ducks and I found two cats that let me pet them and aw, man, I felt really good out there! And I’m planning on going there again, maybe making a point of going every Sunday or so. 😀

This isn’t real.

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These hands are blurred. Saltwater is red. This isn’t real.

It comes in waves. I’m shaking. And then it stops. Why? And then it starts again. This isn’t real.

This room is so black, this screen so bright. This isn’t real.

I’m cold. I’m scared and alone. I’m terrified. Overwhelmed and empty. Two pills numbed me. This isn’t real.

I don’t want it to be real. Not anymore. This isn’t real. If this is reality, then reality is a prison and I want out.

Peter Pan, come take my hand; take me away, to a world I can breathe in without painting my lungs so black and decaying.

This isn’t real. I don’t wanna be awake if this is real.

I’m not even there.

Color Me Undead: a poem and a drawing

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COLOR ME UNDEAD

Sunshine is a false friend.

The weather never stays the same inside this hurricane:

Sky’s grey, then blue, then white;

There’s sun and then it rains.

I just never know when it’s safe to rest.

I gotta keep on the move

Always, even when I lose my groove.

Paint me, pain,

For I am a canvas

And I’ve been blank for too long now.

The ground isn’t very stable.

I keep falling in these muddy puddles.

They take away my colors; leave me numb.

Mean cycle; recycle…

Mom, rock me back to my cradle.

Sunshine is a false friend,

The storm it never ends!

Paint me, pain.

Paint me again,

Over and over again.

Give me a face.

Give me hard times.

And, please, leave a trace.

Weather forecast calls for the peeling of my soul.

Layer by layer I melt away

Under the merciless waves

Of this self-perpetuated hell.

Acid rains devour my core.

I barely bleed as I lose my skin.

Colorless; colorblind; who am I?

Paint me, pain.

Help me be again.

Show me I’m alive,

Not living in vain!

Show me who I am!

Show me that I can

Be more than a stain…

There’s still blood in these veins

And strength in these legs.

And next time,

When it rains,

Come back faster to me, friend,

And paint me sane & chained!

Color me undead;

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The drawing was fueled by Halfnoise’s EP The Velvet Face and Paramore’s latest song(which I’m so asdfghjkl about). So I was really feeling that colorful but mournful vibe. Which was already pretty strong with my post Pain is a color and I’m a rainbowAnd the first draft of the poem was fueled by the drawing. And then the real thing was fueled by the storm and insomnia and also eating a green apple past midnight.

It’s 4AM, I’ll try to catch some Zs now. There’s so much I need to say; I’ll try to write a post and let it out, maybe this week, maybe later, I don’t even know anymore.

Until next post, don’t eat apples after midnight and get some sleep ❤

Positive bullets #3

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I had to look through my blog just to make sure I didn’t get the number wrong, only to realize that this is only the third P.B.post! I was supposed to go somewhere this afternoon but I kind of freaked out and avoided every bus stop. I couldn’t stop walking and I eventually ended up in the supermarket, buying things I needed, which I was only supposed to do later today, after having went to that place… I felt bad and have been slowly going down since because that tiny wave hit hard.

Then, I bought cat and dog food because there were these nice people from a shelter (I think?) collecting food and donations to help feed abandoned pets. So, that cheered me up a bit. I even bought a special one for kitties because babies… I didn’t give much because I didn’t have much money on me but I did buy some and that felt good to know that this tiny little action could make other souls happy.

On my way back I was thinking about doing another one of these posts because I can feel myself going there again and I don’t want it to devour me completely. So, here they come the positive bullets because I really need them! Let’s take a moment to acknowledge, rediscover, celebrate, what makes me feel alive, what I do love, what activates the happy sparks in my heart.

  • I love smiling at children in the street because when they smile back it makes me feel happy.
  • I’m in love with button mushrooms and broccoli gently cooked with soy sauce; it’s delicious!
  • When I’m walking outside and it’s rained a bit, and I can smell the leaves from the ground and there’s this fresh breath of air that the trees create that embraces me.
  • Hearing my mom’s voice on the telephone
  • Singing with all my heart and not feeling the pressure of the thin walls of this room.
  • Getting excited over anything with my best friend.
  • Passing dogs in the streets and smiling at them!
  • When it rains.
  • I like it when I put slices of cucumber in my water and then I feel so fancy, and it’s refreshing
  • It warms my heart when I see people outside just being themselves; like that woman that I passed earlier, waving at someone in the distance while on the phone with her and feeling that slight fear she had that the person wouldn’t see her or go the other way. It warms my heart to witness life happening in its simplest form.
  • I love hearing my voice teacher tell me that I have potential and my voice can be much greater. It gives me more strength to hang onto hope which sometimes fades when I try to believe in my future.
  • When my little brother sends us a picture on our Facebook family group chat and asks us “What do you think of …?” when we only answer with emojis. The boy needs words!
  • Hotel Books and feeling Cam’s pain and feelings through his voice and words
  • The feeling I get every time I leave my voice lesson which I believe is a mix satisfaction and confidence which I’m not very used to.
  • Watching my favorite tv-show because I’ve grown so attached to the characters and they feel like family and I’m just so happy every time I see them again.
  • I love being sensitive and feeling things very intensely because when the side of the storm that makes me numb hits me I lose a big part of myself and it’s a part that I like a lot.
  • Listening to the Burlesque album, dancing around in my pjs and being overwhelmed by the power of Christina Aguilera’s voice.
  • I like it when I paint my nails and don’t put so much nail polish on my fingers!
  • I love the people that record rain sounds and these kind of Nature stuff and put these long videos up on YouTube because most nights it’s what helps me fall asleep and shut insomnia’s cakehole!

That’s a nice little list we have here! Even though this isn’t curing my heart, I know it helps deep down. 🙂

There’s beauty everywhere, in everything and everyone, I know that, and I don’t want to forget it, ever. When it gets really dark outside, I need to stop for a moment, sit down and remind myself that, even if I don’t see them right now/all the time, there are bright lights out there and they’re always there. And this is what positive bullets are all about. They aren’t no antidote to the day’s darkness, just a reminder of the light. Not because I’m always stuck in the rain means I can’t see the rainbows.

The rainbows are always here because life is made of endless sun and endless rain, and our existences are just these streams that go back and forth from the shadowy, cold places, to the warm, sunny ones. Sometimes, we get stuck on one side for longer than we’d like, but the sky is still the same. We can stare at the rain, at the sun or at the rainbows from any point we stand at; we just need to remember that we can. Sometimes, we’re lucky and we’re stuck in the middle where the rainbows are more obvious and the rain and sun seem so distant. But just like the Earth, we’re always moving, always growing and changing and dying.

I like the way SOAD explains it in their song Aerials: “Life is a waterfall, we’re one in the river then one again after the fall, swimming through the void […]”. Honestly, the whole song is a masterpiece. The lyrics are beautiful.

Sometimes I like to fight against the current, sometimes I like to go with the flow, often my head’s under the water. But I’m learning to be okay with it. I’m learning to stand through the fluctuations and bend when the waves are strong. I’m learning life.

I’m probably going to be having a sad night, let’s be honest. But I have chocolate, I have wine, I have ice cream and endless cheering movies and sad ones and scary ones to watch and float away until dawn…

The sun will rise and we will try again

-Truce, t∅p

I’m going to try and keep writing that chapter now.

Until next post, keep it positive! Don’t underestimate the power of your mind. Even if you can’t wipe away the darkness, you can light up those candles, as tiny as they might be, along your way. The power is in your hands. ❤