He woke up, sweating from a dream.
It was a hot night, and the room’s air-conditioning made it that worse. He knew what he had to do, when he had to do it. He knew that if he went through with it, he’d gain the ire of countless people. “But what is their opinion any concern of mine?” He thought to himself. After tonight, he’d be free. And he’d be immortal. He felt a smile curl around his lips.
He jumped out of the bed softly and made his way to the kitchen. Tonight’s going to be a beautiful night, he mused to himself as he fit the gloves on. I’m going to fulfill my life’s purpose tonight and become an eternal being. It doesn’t matter how they see it. If they knew what I know, they’d understand. But they can’t. It’s forbidden. He set out to work.
An hour later, he closed his neighbor’s eyes and went to his hallway. He climbed up on a stool and put his earphones in place. I will go out listening to the music of the God. The noose did its work alright: he had one last moment to admire his handiwork. The star looked so beautiful, a scarlet scar across white. As his throat gave out, his eyes set upon the five points of his masterpiece.
They started to glow. The song started to dim away.
“Let me tell you a story to chill the bones,
About a thing that I saw…”
He woke up, sweating from a dream.
I remember this one time I was sitting up at my rooftop with my legs hanging off the ledge and a joint in my mouth. It really was peaceful, that trip. The air was breezy and cool and the high complimented it well. But it was at that moment when my mind fell into deep contemplation. What if I just jumped off the ledge? I had nothing to lose. I was a 17 year old kid, a disappointment to my family for liking to enjoy a good trip and not giving a fuck about what my parents said to me. It seems childish to me now this incident but there was a time when I hated myself so much that I actually wanted to just let it all go. To become free from all my bonds and just pass into nothingness. It all seems childish to me now but there was a time I thought suicide would save my life rather than breaking it. It was after my grandfather had passed, after I’d lost an immediate family member that I realized that my problems weren’t problems at all. That my life was pretty precious to not just me but to all my family. Suicide seemed like an angel back then. But life’s taught me better. And I can finally get off that ledge without ever wanting to think about flinging myself off it. I’ve found my will to live.
I’m a 100 metres running, healthy eating, puzzle solving, cartoon watching, cereal eating, bedwetting, probable Olympian. I am 5 years old.
I’m a food hogging, note learning, couch hugging, human despising, hard working, teachers’-ass-licking book worm. I am 12 years old.
I’m a bong ripping, pot smoking, cigarette puffing, Monk guzzling, blunt blazing, Marshall listening, insensitive, selfish, asshole. I am 17 years old.
I’m a LSD popping, Xanax ingesting, coke snorting, methadone blowing, Hennessey sipping, paradise searching junkie. I am 25 years old.
I’m a needle injecting, ecstasy licking, valium crushing, ambien mixing, percocet ingesting, lean drinking corpse. I was 30.
Before you judge all the drug-addled, sorrow-driven, grief-stricken “junkies” out there, let us take a moment to analyze why they have reached the point where they are.
Some of you, most of you rather would say that they’re what society terms as “losers” because they can’t take what life throws at them and require assistance in handling themselves, leading to them experimenting with narcotics and finding a sickening solace in it, completely unjustified and horribly twisted in its conceptions.
You might attribute this to substance abuse considering the fact that they’re dependent on it to get them through the day. It’s either that, or they’re just party-ravers who’re looking for kicks.
But have you ever taken a moment to think why they do what they do? Have you ever taken a moment to think, as to what could have led to this scenery?
Society has pushed them to the limit that they can’t deal with things sober anymore. They’re so tired of being fucked over by whatever happens in their environment that all they seek is an escape from reality. Sobriety feels like a curse. Inebriation is comfort.
And as we proceed, to smoke weed, drink Henny, pop pills, snort lines, inject shit through our veins, we shall brush aside society’s expectations and its menacing presence from our daily lives.
Ignorance is bliss.
What is depression? The dictionary says that it’s a mood disorder causing a persistent feeling of sadness and loss of interest.
Depression has been a major game changer for a lot of lives. For example, let us look at Robin Williams. Hailed as one of the most hilarious comedians of all time, Mr. Williams was suffering from a severe case of depression. In fact, things were so bad for him, that he ended up committing suicide just to escape from it.
But to me, it isn’t what it is to most people. Depression is like an old friend. Kinda like Death was to Ignotus Peverell.
Once I got over the initial reluctance of getting acquainted with it, I found a beautiful solace in it. It never judged me for who I was or what I did. It never left me like those short moments of happiness did, as soon as something went wrong. It always came back, like a loving guardian, to hold me close to its chest and sing me songs that’d comfort me. The music would drown out the screams of pain and heartbreak. Serenity would prevail over my senses, in that small, peaceful space of mine.
And in that darkness, in that pitch black lonely street, I found something that I’d never thought I would. I found wings in depression. They’d let me soar up in the dark night, never letting go of me. I’d fly for hours on end, not caring what happened to me or where I went. Not caring about anything anymore.
I’d found what I truly desired. This was my identity. This was my solace. These wings would never let me drown in the Bermuda Triangle of love again. And I flew. Up, up and away.
Jeffrey never was the kinda guy who’d throw up gang signs and rep colors. He was the shy kid on the block, never spoke much, never interacted beyond a certain level and sure as hell didn’t resort to violence when situations seemed to get out of hand. He’d always had a way with words.
Jeffrey never sought vengeance on anybody for any reason at all. He was the peaceful kind, the one who believed in compromise and dialogue as opposed to brute force.
Jeffrey loved his parents and would ride or die for them, under any circumstances. He’d been groomed in a manner that was only fitting for any child to receive and had always made his parents proud, be it academics, extracurriculars and so on and so forth.
Jeffrey was never the kinda guy who’d go out a lot and do things he knew he shouldn’t be doing.
But Jeffrey never knew that the death of his parents might change all his values in an instant.
Jeffrey never knew that throwing up gang signs and repping colors was the only way to keep your family truly safe, in this place they called home.
Jeffrey never knew that sobriety was a long lost concept. Inebriation was the new reality of the neighborhood he’d grown up in.
Jeffrey never knew that violence would provide his conscience a serenity that he’d never experienced before.
Jeffrey never knew that one day, eventually everyone falls prey to the m.A.A.d city. Just like he had.
I don’t usually do this but I feel that I’ve hit a place where I really need to vent out what I’ve had on my mind since a really long time. Why do people lie? To cover their asses? To make sure that the world doesn’t get to know what kind of a heinous monster they really are? Or is it something so fundamentally human, that no person can escape it? I’ve said my fair share of lies to people. A bit too many, actually. I’ve lost track of what I’ve said to whom. But the biggest mistake is saying that first lie. That first lie, which leads to the second, then to the third and before you know it you’re neck-deep in a pool full of lies. I just lost the person who mattered the most to me because of this habit of lying. We were supposed to complete 8 months on the 15th of July, but now, she can’t even stand the sight of me. Which is justified. She took my shit for almost 8 months, stood by me when I had no one and then some, and I fucking kept on lying to her. It’s not until you lose someone that you realize the cost of losing them. I probably just fucked up the best thing that ever fucking happened to me. I deserve it, yes. But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe, if I stay the fuck away, she’ll finally be happy. She’ll know what happiness means, and she won’t have to put up with a lying cheat to get to know that either. She’ll be happy. Even if that comes at the cost of my sanity. Because that’s all I want, really. Her happiness. Nothing else would make me happier than her happiness. But then, how am I gonna be okay? I love her, and I’m gonna change myself. But it isn’t gonna be for her. I’m gonna change for myself. I’m gonna become a better person. Maybe she’ll come back, maybe she won’t. Only time will tell. I really hope she does. This? This is gonna be my first step towards redemption. After all, it’s better to go down with a fight, right?