Category: Insights

HELLO AGAIN, YOU

I m trying to stay focused and write about what I’ve been through for the last four years and who I’ve turned into – the good, the bad and the ugly – but how could I honestly and wholeheartedly approach any of these aspects of my journey without mentioning you, given that you’re such a big part of my whole transformation? There’s the me before you and then, there’s the me after and whether I fight the realisation or not, accept it or not, learn to live with it or not, you echo within me and will always be intrinsic to my story.

And I’m more than glad it was you, I am grateful to whoever (or whatever) orchestrated our encounter, because this…this wasn’t an ordinary experience (to me,at least).

I sometimes look at my picture – couldn’t find the power to erase it and don’t think I wish to – it’s one of the few, precious, almost tangible memories I have of our time together and I wonder if you still have yours, probably not – the one you took on the International Smile Day, in October of 2019. Because of you, I was radiant, happy and playful and my eyes were screaming all the things my mouth couldn’t articulate. I miss that girl so much, almost as much as I miss you, us. I couldn’t for a long time, but I think I finally see what you saw in her and I love and appreciate her now more than I ever have in the past. She was courageous, she was unapologetically herself, she took great risks and sometimes I wish I could be more like her, but today I’m but a walking contradiction (it’s insane how many opposed views are trying to cohabitate inside me at the same time, how hard it is to find some kind of common ground between them so my mind can finally rest) but one thing remains certain:

considering all the madness and self inflicted pain that followed, even with all these years of recovery I’ll never get back, even with everything I’ve lost in this process – and it seems as though I may have lost everything – I still wouldn’t want to erase our story – except for the ending, which I have a hard time remembering what had been triggered by and can’t seem to find the right words to apologise to you for (the apology is somewhere, inside me, already written and signed, I’m sure, it’s just unbearably painful to go there, but I will soon, I promise).

Truth is that for the last five years I’ve been so busy going mad, almost killing myself, somehow surviving that, mourning the girl I used to be, my sudden and unexpected withdrawal from London and my entire existence as I’d envisioned it, trying to find answers, meaning and a reason to keep going…that I didn’t give myself permission to mourn us. Perhaps I didn’t want to, because that would have meant admitting the ultimate defeat.

And now it all hits me like a tornado. Everything I couldn’t understand then, but do now, although too late. Everything we’ve shared, the experiences that seemed surreal then and even more so today, our dangerous dance with danger, the desperation in our eyes, the urgency, the impossibility, the messiness, the pain, the obsession, the way you used to light up any room with your blonde, curly hair and big smile just like the sun, the doubts, the fears, the music, the questions we were both too afraid to ask ourselves and each other, the fascination, the many ways in which you’ve changed me, the words I’d utter that were but weren’t mine, rather felt channeled from another realm, the intoxication, the rawness of it all, the little things you used to do that showed me you were in this with me, the numberless attempts at trying to make it work for as long as we could even though we both knew it wasn’t supposed to last because the timing was wrong, how I couldn’t stay mad at you for the life of me, the growth in both of us, the few, but even more treasured moments of vulnerability between us, the “what could have been” that still haunts me…

The hardest thing to integrate, the greatest mindfuck is probably the sense that I am somehow yours but not yours at the same time and having to live with that dissonance.

My relief lays in trying to trust life, the Universe, God, whatever you want to call it, as difficult and dangerous it is to go on that path again, because for a long time I stopped believing in anyone and anything, especially myself, but who could blame me after everything I’ve been through?

But now I know this: In my quest for depth, self and meaning, I opened spiritual doors I wasn’t supposed to open. I saw things I wasn’t supposed to see. I went too far, too fast, alone without protecting the most precious part of me: the soul. It all started out in light, but then my world was slowly being pulled into darkness and I’m convinced that for a while, I had actually lost my soul to this evil, because the love disappeared, the trust vanished, everything good and holy inside me was gone, all I was left with was pain, fear, a morbid curiosity about death and a black, unquenchable hole in my chest. But when it came back, life began again and with it all the love, the joy, the curiosity, the wonder, the trust and above all, you were more alive within me than ever.

So now, I dare to believe again. In life, in love, in myself, in all the wonderful things I saw in you. In the Higher Power that aligned the stars in such a way that we collided at the perfect time, in the perfect place. I could’ve chosen the other job I’d been offered, the one with a better salary but less reggae 😊. I could’ve never moved to London, I could’ve chosen hate over love, resentment over forgiveness, victimhood over resilience after everything I’d been through as a child, but life unfolded exactly as it was supposed to because I met you.

And if I believe that whenever we spoke, my words were mine, but felt channeled somehow, as if I was guided to utter them specifically to you – and I do – then I have to believe that our last interaction must have been guided, too. That it had to happen exactly that day, at that time, in that way.

I have to believe that, otherwise I wouldn’t know how to forgive and live in peace with the part of me that had hurt you.

GreenEyed Kisses,

DECON S T R U C T E D

Those who’ve had near-death experiences claim there are tunnels and white lights, unearthly, angelic music, warmth, infinite peace and a God who speaks to them as He (or She) holds their hand and assures them there is a Heaven and a perfect world beyond this one with a special place for their soul to rest when all ends in it’s earthly form – and when they come out on the other side, they embrace the divine revelations and start to truly appreciate life in all it’s splendour and imperfection, emerge stronger, changed individuals, more attuned to the spiritual realm, more calm, you might even say enlightened, knowing they hold a deeper truth most people don’t understand, the secret to the meaning of existence itself.

Well…for me, it was the exact opposite. I came out alive, with just two visible scars on my body (but a whole village of invisible ones), but it was like something had sucked me into to my worst nightmares, my worst fears, my darkest hell. I couldn’t function. I felt subhuman. I was consumed with a deep, visceral shame, my mind wouldn’t stop creating atrocious images and scenarios of death, decay, pain, destruction, failure and a bleak, dark, funeral future (did you know there’s a band called exactly that? But I digress). I became an uninhabited shell, an empty and soulless body being dragged from place to place, inertially. No life inside, no feeling, only numbness. I lost the light in my eyes, all you could read into them was terror – the terror of what I’d seen, what I’d experienced, vivid memories of the numberless times I’d gruesomely died in my mind and the one time I almost did…for real. It was like someone had placed me in every horror movie I’d ever watched. Simultaneously. And the void, the nothingness within me was unbearable, almost impossible to carry. It’s weight was killing me every single day, repeatedly. I never knew that nothingness can hurt, but I’ve come to find out it’s an atrocious, insidious pain. And the worst thing? There is no medication, no possibility of release, no doctor who can fix it, no magic potion that can fill it. It just exists inside you until it either consumes you whole or you decide you can’t take it no more and start fighting against it. Monsters and demons were clinging to me in my dreams, I had night terrors – I would refuse to sleep because I knew that the devil would be waiting for me there and I would wake up terrified of what he’d shown me.

I was a wreck, a worthless blob completely lost in my own head and to this day I still haven’t experienced many fears greater than that of observing as your mind is slowly turning against you, mocking you, belittling you, despising you. Despite it, so many people surrounded me with love, patience, care, spent time with me, promised me it would get better, showed me that I wasn’t broken beyond repair, but someone worth saving. They saw something good, they saw possibility in me, something I just couldn’t.

For the first year or so, life seemed dull, tasteless and mostly a burden. I constantly craved London and my perfect white room where I’d been so happy surrounded by pigeons, freedom and hope even in those uncertain lockdown times – with every atom, as if my soul was being held captive there and I couldn’t do anything to retrieve it. Even if that white room represented my descent into madness, a madness I’d called for, a madness I only now understand had to happen so I could finally face my pain, my trauma, my limitations. There couldn’t have been another way out.

I didn’t want to die, but couldn’t bear to live either. I became Godless, artless, loveless, faithless (r.i.p. Maxi Jazz) and had lost all my sense of direction and self. The sun wouldn’t warm me up no matter how bright, music couldn’t touch me because my emotional strings had been severed, I’d watch comedies expressionless, was so afraid of people that I stopped answering calls and messages, lost friends who couldn’t understand what I was going through or didn’t even try to, but slowly new ones – more patient, more caring, more profound, more empathetic took their place in my life and it seems like they are not going anywhere. And the people who’d known me before and remained even after all the turmoil, after everything I put them through – those are the true heroes in my story.

I continued to isolate into my own world with my tuxie cat, kept writing although the mood was gloomy and dark, I continued to desperately search for answers – had it been psychosis or a spiritual emergency? depression or the dark night of the soul? Who was I anymore? What were my values? Why was I still here? Was my soul really gone? I went to priests, psychologists, therapists, I researched the internet far and wide, spoke to shamans, clairvoyants, angels and demons, I watched, read, compiled, but I refused to be medicated simply because I wanted to understand, I needed to go through the process on my own, I desperately needed to talk, to be listened to and understood, to be told I wasn’t insane, I hadn’t lost my soul, not to be sedated and turned into a walking zombie. I already felt like one. But most of all, I desperately wanted to understand myself, both shadow and light.

I got a job, than another one, but still couldn’t connect with people, didn’t want to connect with people, had no self-esteem, no power, no will to fight, no motivation, no joy, no sense of wonder, no curiosity. I couldn’t see beauty in anything. I couldn’t hold up a conversation, every sentence felt weird and rigid and…off and people could sense it. I lost my voice, my essence, my fire, my intelligence, my wit, my quirkiness, my warmth. Everything I’d built over the years had vanished in a blink of an eye. I was back in childhood, a frightened little girl who got abandoned, hurt beyond words, whose spirit crushed and stumped over, who didn’t think she deserved love or anything, for that matter. Existence was draining. I had no vitality, only dread for what was to come.

I HAD BEEN DEFEATED.