… A Dave Chapelle video about how a famously happy person (anyone remember Robin Williams?) Anthony Bourdain, who had all good things at his disposal had killed himself, in contrast to an almost-hotshot lawyer turned shop attendant who had lost the nothing he ever had in an ‘unamicable’ divorce, and had never even considered the thought. I see how that would be funny.
Not to me. To someone else, who didn’t know what it felt like to be in a constant state of insecurity- not the superficial state of insecurity when you forget you have cellulite and wear a short dress or when varicose veins begin creeping up your feet in a fierce blue tattoo colour that demands to be seen. A constant state of insecurity where your mind tells you that it is not safe to be here anymore, that you can’t handle it- that is what I mean.
I can see how this would happen if everyone you had ever trusted let you down. I have been here before. I know this road. I walked up this mountain, reached the cliff and when the time came for me to tumble down to my destiny, I saw the ocean on the other side. It was so vast, so expansive, all else was insignificant. I have fought more battles since, but none so intense as the one I have fought more recently- they call it death by a 1000 papercuts- slow and steady.
Happy birthday to me
It’s my birthday in two days. The last time it was my birthday in a few days I had been looking for my dreams, for hope. I had manufactured one of them; out of thin air, he had caught the breath of life. I have been thinking he was a prophet or some sort of mystery, for while I carried him, he showed me every way that the mediocrity of love in my life had been accepted as enough. That I could faint in the morning and still hold a party for friends in the afternoon. That I could awake, dress, drive and sit at a desk to feel like a fool. That the one I had held dear, planted as the sun upon whom my 19 year old life revolved around had picked up his life and left the past behind him. That the first human being I had attached to, who before that had been faultless- goddess to my young self- end all be all- had left without a shadow of doubt that she could not care less if my existence in the present world continued. In fact, it seemed, she was vexed when I stood, still, in spite of it all.
A day/night out
I feel like I have just robbed a bank and I’m on the run; scared and unequal to this opportunity. I run out of the house without going to the shower, combing my hair or changing my milk stained clothes and find the nearest nourishing ground- a spa.
“Aren’t you going to change clothes?” You might change your mind if I stay one more second.
I had driven away and then come back. One more errand, turning back as if just to check if it was really okay for me to leave. The weight of my legs getting heavier with every step I had hastily dropped a washed blanket on the roof of the car. It’s for the child. It’s for tonight, when I won’t be trekking between my room and his, making sure that he is not cold.
I had been feeding baby out of my empty body all morning. I hadn’t eaten since the day before. It felt like a miracle. It always did.
If I had not caught a glimpse of my face in the security camera I was trying to have installed, I don’t think I would have left. I already have excuses in my head lining up to greet me. I don’t deserve this.
Face up on the massage table, not relaxed; I never did like hands that I didn’t love to touch me. The room is uncomfortable because it is unfamiliar and stuffy from all the strange souls that have lain face up in it. I remember a Johnny English movie I watched where he is lying in an acupuncturist’s room, his body full of needles delicately placed, when the movie’s villain posing as his attendant, finds him right there where he should be at peace- vulnerable and unable to move.
I spend the night tossing and finally sleep in the morning. I realise what I probably already knew, that I spend nights more awake than I am at day time because baby feeds most at night. That is why I’m leaking milk to the brim when earlier I had bought a milk boosting remedy.
Before I sleep, before I fight the roaring devouring lion whom I banish to my dreams when what’s left of my defence system is eerily swinging open and closed, I watch a video of five mothers who have a show on YouTube. The topic is different today. I tune in. It feels like a pre-game gas up when you shout things in your ear that you hope your soul will hear when the fight is done within you.
I am still waiting for the light at the end of this tunnel.
PurplePretoria 