21 DIARIES
Muthoni Ivy@ivymuthoni709024
1 day ago
Sometimes sleep deserts you in the middle of the night and you sit in the most chaotic of silences with your mind and a dosage of Donepezil- a bitter pill of clarity, that means to awaken my past that I put to sleep but who’s in charge I can tell it is not me for sure.
The voices are not mine, I’d recognize my own. I can spot the compulsion and the chill that is too different, strange even. The room is brighter as if it has a secret light source and the ceiling fan is a few moments slower, the curtain ahead sways between moments and my eyes dance between the dimensions trying to figure out what is real and not. My logic puts up a huge fight to hold on to sanity, and because in real life, horror stories don’t really exist.
The depth of my mind runs quite far below and I keep thinking if I resist the compulsion, if I am strong enough, or fast enough I might actually outrun it but its just wishful thinking. Perhaps my all too familiar room is my demon. Perhaps that is why I never think I could move out. But again, perhaps my memories haunt and suck on me till all that remains is a brain full of paranoia, more wishful thinking, and reasons I find to justify all the odd odds, insomnia, too much insomnia. Maybe it is not a prison, maybe it is not a poison, maybe, just maybe, it is my salvation. Maybe I should stop running and embrace it back, take the risk and fly over to the strange land that is my memories.
The country is on the verge of ruin, and I follow right behind. Sometimes, you can not tell what pain is soaking through until it is lifted, but it hurts nevertheless. It hurts more, the shambles that are my country, my chest. Two wars that all do a number to you and you keep thinking that again, just maybe, that if you hold on for just a while longer, the truth will be out, justice for both my city and broken heart. I cling into the hope for a better tomorrow. In the darkness, I see a light from within, neither too bright and strong, but you can not ignore its existence.
I scroll down my phone for some action or reaction in the loneliness that hovers, but it does nothing to fill the box, so I put it down and let my thoughts run their course. Today, I thought about the friend I lost a couple of weeks ago, yesterday, before up to the day I heard, and tomorrow, too. All too predictable but just to me and the familiar stranger in my head. I keep saying that if I pick up the phone and call she would pick and we would laugh and I would never tell her this because I might jinx it and I would tell her that we needed her forever. We do. So I cling to delusion and a refusal to face the reality of a burning down heart. I toast away and burn a candle and a blunt to the mess that is my life and blast hard rock through my headphones.
I think of my home. I prefer thinking of it as my home, that was. My home that carries so much pain, so much ache, a long lane of forgotten memories swoon in like it was waiting to make a grand entrance. It is not the worst that hurt as the good ones. I find my appreciation manners quite lacking because normal people would rejoice at the load. I am not a normal person however, and before dusk, the bad overthrows the good and deems them useless, posing a “what was the point” question. But unicorns are not real. My wishes on my childhood bed did not involve so much pain. I should move on.
The night is going down, and the ghosts are leaving. My voice is becoming my own once again, and my cheeks already hurt from all the smiles and yawns coming my way. My sleep deprived brain feels tired, yet it is only 5 in the AM. If I get my coffee and catch my morning train and go to the gym and smile with friends and sometimes strangers and act normal and be nice and polite, I just might survive the day.
#nirclecircle #xosonita #21diaries #poetry #literature
