Not an Oracle

I will be frank.

- There are days when you don't wake up because you haven't slept all night.

- You've lost track of what day/month/year it is and all you can feel is a sense of dread as you try to systematically recall what day it was yesterday.

- You wonder if the thud in your chest is caused by your heart beating or your soul trying to escape.

- You find yourself going through the motions despite not knowing how you got from point A to point B because you were internally scolding yourself for not sleeping last night. This is then proceeded by you being mad at yourself for 'self-scolding' because you know it can't be helped.

- You successfully manage to make it out of the door and you wonder 'now what?' and 'is this it?' The best questions seem to consist of two or three words. Each word resembling an injection of antifreeze, a piano falling on your head, a second lost.

- You try to conclude whether you are 'wasting time' or 'losing time' and what the difference is between the two.

- You realise that these were some of the thoughts plaguing your bed the previous night so you try to distract yourself.

- You read a newspaper but each story takes you from one horror to the next and you scour the pages attempting to find something they call 'good news' but you're suddenly at the obituaries and it all seems crystal clear now.

Summers seemed to stretch on for ever when I was younger. Each day would be filled with a untapped sense of euphoria and the scent of freshly mowed grass. For a few weeks I was offered a chance to experience true freedom. The rigmarole of attending school Monday to Friday was temporarily abolished and the only commitments to adhere to relied solely on eating, sleeping and how many books I could consume over the course of a week. Those were the good aspects. Of course growing up on a council estate proved interesting (for lack of a better word) and the extra free time meant having to be slightly more aware of my surroundings. Some days I had to do my best to avoid the gangs of teenagers that seemed to flock at each end of the block or not make eye contact with the Heroin addict who offered her 'services' by trying to seduce the slightly older boys so she could get her next fix. I'm sure she wasn't aware that the baseball cap and the way her eyes rolled in the back of her head weren't doing her any favours. There was also the summer a registered sex offender moved in and not to mention the number of times I had to skip over the plethora of used syringes and condoms that littered the estate like gifts that had escaped Bad Santa's sack. An insane version of Hopscotch. You don't realise these things aren't normal when you're younger. I spent those sun-tinged days imagining how my future summers would play out. I was well aware that there wouldn't be a reprieve for six weeks once I had gotten a job, yet the concept of adulthood seemed like an illusion.

Sometimes I would be friends with some of the other kids on the estate but mostly I wasn't. There was always that seed of an idea that I 'wasn't like them'. At this point, the idea of being gay in a place like that was not only unheard of, it would probably be beaten out of existence. I guess I was lucky in the sense that I was deeply in denial about that aspect of my lifestyle until I was Seventeen. Needless to say, I enjoyed the summer holidays. It meant I didn't have to be in school and I can only liken that feeling to what I would imagine it would be like for a wrongly convicted criminal to be released from Death Row. Sometimes, the summer nights got a little hard to bear especially when the house was opened up to host an all night party. The loud music and shouting from downstairs would pummel the floorboards and my sister and I spent many late nights sitting at the top of the stairs, trying to make sense of the drunken ruckus below. The worst part was the morning and the heavy stench of sticky alcohol and cigarette smoke that hung in the air. However, there was still a distinct feeling that 'anything could happen'. For some reason those few weeks in summer brought with them a promise of change. Even if it was just temporary.

I would spend afternoons lay on my bedroom floor, feet perched on my bed, watching the clouds roll past my window. I would attempt to see past that blue void and see if there was another world just waiting on the other side. It doesn't sound like much but this was when I was at my happiest. Some days the other kids would let me play with them; I remember collecting ladybugs in recycled yoghurt pots and picking cherries from the trees which have now been long cut down and built upon. Sometimes the kids would play a game called 'Let's run away from...'. I think the point was that they would insert a name at the end of the sentence and then proceed to run away from 'said person'. As soon as one of them piped up, 'let's run away from...' in a sing-song voice and a smile on their face, something in my chest fell into my baron stomach and I didn't need a mirror to know my face had transformed into a translucent shade of pale. Of course, the name was always mine, maybe it was because they knew they could get away from me because I was a little bit bigger and a little bit slower. Maybe it was because they just wanted to get away. I would compensate the experience by going for a walk, pretending I was going somewhere when really I was hoping that the destination would find me. Most often or not I would return home to read for countless hours. Joining the local library had probably saved me from being consumed by that estate. Finally, I was able to escape. It was as easy as turning over a page. I had even taken to writing my own stories upon my grandmother's old typewriter. The summer allowed me to open up the door to experience as many different worlds and characters as possible. The pages melted away and I was suddenly transposed into the stories and I didn't have to think about who or where I was.

This was summer.

Breaking out of the habit is the hardest thing you can do. Leaving the comfort and safety of what you already know is not an easy feat. But this is the only way to truly live; to drink up the new and open your arms to opportunities before they perish on the vine. Grow wise and be cautious but walk on that ledge and immerse yourself in the sights. The bright, bright lights and the biting breeze. The raw freedom that comes with taking a risk.

This is how life should be.

Shatter your preconceptions and never assume anything. Never take anything for granted and love like it will never last. Because it never will. Celebrate the small things and take time to look up at the stars and the sun and the moon because the answers come when we tilt our heads upwards. Connect your feet to the ground and walk wherever you can. Make that connection between your body and the land, like it was always meant to be. Be outside and live outside of yourself. The truth will come to you that way. Stretch away anything that holds you back and learn to let things go.

That is how it needs to be.

'Give me life. Give me pain. Give me myself again.' - "Little Earthquakes" - Tori Amos (1991)

'I'm so happy because today I've found my friends. They're in my head.' - "Lithium" - Nirvana (1991)


This won't be another tirade about managing to make it to the end of the day. Nor will it be an excessive list on survival tips. Instead, this will be about waking up each day and knowing that you're still alive and functioning... Barely. However we'll choose to focus on the operative word here: 'functioning'. From this point, it's uphill. A rucksack ladened with enough bricks to build a small house is firmly strapped to your back. Your feet are covered in red-hot weeping wounds which are sandpapered down to the bone by a pair of uncomfortable shoes. Your chest is caught in a pulsating death-grip by a python the size of a swimming pool and you can barely make out where you are going through bleary eyes.

But you're alive, you made it to this point and you tell yourself that you can get through it. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time and hell, if needs be, one second at a time. Sometimes you stumble and sometimes you can't find the words. Those are the bad days. When the words won't come and you end up resembling an inarticulate ventriloquist dummy and wonder if people notice. You know that they notice.

It's like you're caught in perpetual exorcism with yourself trying to free your mind from those entities that clog and perverse the functions of a normal, healthy brain. 'But that's okay' you tell yourself. What 'doesn't kill you makes you stronger,' right? It's about feeding yourself moments of hope. It's about having the shield up when those arrows come at you from all directions. It's about allowing yourself to run away even if it's in your mind and finding those moments to appreciate a spectacle such as a setting sun or a blinking star.

Sometimes that's all you need.

It's not easy when people expect more from you especially at the point where you feel a little bit triumphant because you've managed to make it through the day without completely losing it. Yet of course they don't see that. You know it's not their fault and you have to suppress the ideas of screaming at them how proud you are that you made it this far. That something that might seem mundane and down-right easy to them is not always that easy for the rest of us. Cut us some slack.

There's a quote from Plutarch that I often think about, 'what we achieve inwardly will change outer reality'. It's a simple concept and yet it's probably one of the most difficult theories to adopt in our everyday life, especially when our instincts may default to pressing the big ol' 'self destruct' button with a furious temper. It starts from within. We have to learn to make friends with those demons and then politely show them the door. Banish the free-fleeting thoughts about what other people might think and look after ourselves. It may sound selfish and self absorbed but battles can not be won when we are still waging war with ourselves.

The world comes at you a little differently when you're tired. It seeks to get under your skin and whisper in your ear clambering seed-sized phrases of regret, of washed-up lies and misguided flakes of advice. It will proceed to pin you firmly against the wall and take a balled-up fist to you whilst you try your best to recite a prayer you remember learning in school. The fatigue seeps through each and every muscle and you know that it will do no good to fight back. So you take each hit as best as you can.
One - for the time you stayed up all night trying to find the words to say that you're not as strong as you might believe.
Two - for the day when you wandered the streets relinquishing the thoughts of stepping out into a busy road.
Three - for the time you drank yourself into an abyss and awoke to find yourself in a strangers bed.

Four, five, six.

You take them all and you swallow each association and you turn them into hard little stones that will forever reside within your physical body. They are part of you now and those stitched-in wishes that you created on your eighteenth birthday have now fallen to the wayside. You remind yourself that it is okay. You're tired, the world is coming at you this way because you're just a little weaker today. Nothing is permanent and this too will fade away as you learn to stop counting the hits.

We're all just human-shaped balls of energy zipping around the planet, some of us destroying stuff, some of us creating stuff. Taking, giving, stealing, losing, consuming, purging. Needless to say, it's all an exchange. Taking or losing, sometimes simultaneously, sometimes over long periods of time. In one hundred years it won't matter anyway and yet it still baffles me at what lengths some people will go to in order to accumulate that little bit of extra energy for themselves; whether it be in the name of money or power, it doesn't matter. It's a loss for another person. It's an exchange, for those that receive, someone has to give, whether voluntary or with no choice at all. Some of us have understood the concept of trading, an equal exchange. I will give you something and you will give me something in return. I scratch your back and you scratch mine, or insert whichever metaphor you prefer to use. There's too much focus on what one can accumulate over time and less focus on what can be done in order to help each other. With this mission statement of 'Accumulate. Gain and Conquer' there is only one future direction.

Implosion.

Morning arrives in its usual manner. Tangled bed sheets try to persuade me to stay rooted in a pleasurable dream state. The pillow creases on my face serve to remind me of the war I waged in the attempt to place bare feet on the cold floor and accept that the day has begun. Coffee consumed, teeth cleaned, mirror attacked, eyes closed, deep breath, headphones in, music on.

The roads are traveled and the thoughts are thought, sometimes blue skies and a welcoming sun. Sometimes, drizzle and the harsh attack of the wind. Words are spoken, the daily habits are played out, the script is adhered to, word for mundane word. I remind myself that it is not their fault that they do not know.

The light changes as Lady dusk begins to descend and soothe the land with her waning lullaby. A song that is only sung when an ending has begun. Yet it doesn't matter that I've heard this song before and I know the words like they've been carved on the bones beneath my skin. Shoes off, exhalation, curtains drawn, body fed, words spill.

Sometimes we have to get off the train once in a while. Even if it's just for a day or two or longer. Sometimes we need to try and slow down the forward-motion and take a side-step. Before you know it, a year has passed or a decade has dissolved into a few faded memories and you've withered on the vine. There's no stopping the orbit or the changing seasons or the direction of the winds but we can choose the direction of the day. We pause, we breathe, we take in the view. We ground ourselves and get back on the train, whether it be 11am or 11pm, we take our ticket and we get on board.

We forget to look around and observe the world outside from our own individual perspective. It's not uncommon knowledge that there is not one true perspective as we all experience the world in our own unique way. There are only so many words we can use to convey how we experience 'life as we know it'. Even the most articulate of people will never truly paint a picture of how they view the world, even with a novel's worth of perfectly formed sentences detailing each breath and thought as they occur in real time. I am sure they will make a very good translation but there will never be another individual sat inside the cosy confines of a person's brain and be given the opportunity to look out at the world through their eyes. It's too easy to get caught up in our day-to-day dramas or routines. Trust me, I know. Sometimes we have to be the ones to throw that bucket of ice cold water over ourselves when we are tempted to hit the snooze button once again. Sometimes we need to be the ones to give ourselves a hard pinch or force ourselves out the front door and lock it and throw away the key. It is only until then that we can start to change the cycle and change our perspective. Everything takes a little work.

It doesn't matter that you skilfully performed that famous 'trip dance' when you fell over your own feet in public, hoping that no one would notice or that the old woman who screeched 'I am not an invalid!' when you offered to help her on to the bus the other morning made you feel no larger than a penny. It doesn't matter that you waved to the stranger who you thought you recognised only to discover they were waving to their friend behind you or that your shopping bag split on the journey home, causing apples and potatoes to shoot out in all directions and inevitably forcing you to face the cumbersome decision of letting them roll away forever or scrambling to pick them up in red-faced silence. It doesn't matter that you spent the whole day with your trouser flies down on the same day you decided to wear cartoon alien boxers or that you tried to push the door which had the word 'PULL' in large capital letters plastered on the front of it. It doesn't matter that you found yourself plugged into your headphones and Wilson Phillip's 'Hold On' came on shuffle playing loud enough to be heard on public transportation when you are surrounded by people who are indiscreetly trying to hide the smiles creeping on their faces. It doesn't matter. I don't feel I have been successful in completing my day if I have not sent red-hot-lava-like blood rushing to my face or wanting one of those inexplicable sink holes that you hear about on the news from time to time, opening up beneath me and plunging me into the perfect hiding place. A small dose of humiliation from time to time keeps us humble and keeps us human. Despite the soaring sense of mortification each time I find myself dealing with another 'situation', I don't think I would have it any other way. I like my ego kept in line, thanks.

I find myself residing here, in the mouth of the monster. Ready to be swallowed whole, ready to navigate the messy, acidic belly of the beast. Ready to be slowly digested, guts exposed, bones brittle and weathered. At least it is warm here. At least I am sheltered from the elements.

There are days when I am convinced that I am the relic of the person I used to be. The teenager with the naïve heart and wilful tongue. The restless spirit that clung to the electric impulse of adventure, readily absorbing stories with never-ending eagerness, eternally unsatiated and unsatisfied with the idea of finality. I am not that person anymore. I am not quite sure who I am. It was with that very statement that I set about my journey of self discovery. I was unprepared the unfolding of events that transpired during my voyage.

Life can be pretty horrifying. That's what they refuse to tell you when you are small and fresh from the womb. Some of us learn pretty quickly just how horrifying it can be, whilst others glide through life blissfully unaware with the blinders securely fastened in place. Some days provide more challenges than others and require patience and casual reminders to yourself that there can be more beyond the superficial cuts and grazes. But it is never going to be easy. Especially, not for the ones who learnt those prickly lessons earlier on.

Forward can be a difficult direction to take but you bite the bitter fruit and you squeeze away the tears and realise that it's the only direction to go. You realise you learnt those lessons for a reason. They became your armour and they became your motivation. You use what you have and show them that you are still in the game and even though those scars still sting, you don't show an ounce of pain on your face.

The hardest part of all is claiming something of your own.