I am not a usual thing; I am not the standard spirited young adult, still brimming with teenage angst and aged wisdom passed down from the withered hand that put me too sleep many years ago. I am not the oh-so-common, die-in-your-mid-twenties young adult that fought, screaming at their own reflection every day in both pain and fear… “Believe me!!! I’m trying.”
I am not either of these things, because I am both of these things.
I died 8 years ago, aged 15 when my best friend told me she was tired of how much I loved her. I died 7 years ago when my mother left my father because he was a sad shell of a man that raised us on the back of the broken principles that shattered him. I died, 4 years ago when I realised my dreams were just that.
I died yesterday when I woke up and felt like breathing was a chore and living was a privilege I never intended to receive.
Every night I attend my own funeral, and every morning I open my eyes to a miracle. At night I close my door, lock it twice; slip off my slippers and slither into my bed. As the uncomfortable comforter slowly covers my head, like the end of an open casket funeral, I lay there and picture how my life would have turned out if I were one or the either.
Songs carry me to my annoyingly not-eternal slumber. The voices of the Delta slip me into a blissful mental coma, and Bon Iver sings to me of moon water and creeks.
I share my headspace with unrelenting heartbreaks, and a constant fear of my own mortality. I fear the day I scream at my reflection, so I don’t try; I fear the day when the wisdom I have been carrying slips between my fingers like sand, granulated and eroded … so I don’t try.
I have screamed at stars all alone during winter nights and I have cursed angels during my twilight at twilight. My hands have laid down lines of lead and ink, and my heart has bled on paper of all colours; from standard white, all the way to rosy pink; my mind has regurgitated my reality in the form of words on blank pages so that you may catch a glimpse of the weird and wonderful world I exist in.
I have seen the darkness of man and the beauty of his heart.
Understand me! I am the vile and venerous vilification of my history and the hauntingly splendid exoneration of my history. I am no usual thing; I am both alive and dead. I die a million times within a day, but I was only alive once… way back when.
Believe me… I’m trying