growingandlosing

[growingandlosing]

Streams.

Of Consciousness. 

The worst thing about depression is that the experience is insular. It’s a personal hole that words are ill-suited to describe. 

Trying to paint the picture, there are few colours in the palette.

Running helped. Laughter soothed. 

I tried to drink it away I tried to put one in the air I tried to dance it away I tried to change it with my hair

I ran my credit card bill up Thought a new dress would make it better I tried to work it away But that just made me even sadder I tried to keep myself busy I ran around in circles Think I made myself dizzy I slept it away, I sexed it away I read it away.

Away

Solange, Cranes in the Sky

There is a lifetime to solve life’s problems however. 

 Lord,              when you send the rain              think about it, please,              a little?      Do              not get carried away              by the sound of falling water,              the marvelous light              on the falling water.          I              am beneath that water.              It falls with great force              and the light Blinds              me to the light.

James Baldwin, Untitled

[growingandlosing]

*Written (25/5/16)* So it’s a Wednesday…

Revisiting journals from five years ago is the closest that I will do to time travel...

“When I die, fuck it, I wanna go to hell

Cause I'm a piece of shit, it ain't hard to fucking tell

It don't make sense, going to heaven with the goodie-goodies

Dressed in white, I like black Timbs and black hoodies”

 There’s no explaining how shitty this feels. But (stay with me)  if hell had a bar, and I became its bar-tender, to my patrons (Pol-Pot and Hitler), I give my best attempt at conveying dense and bitter failure, our drink of choice, our fucking speciality. Here goes.

 Failure grips your body, and manifests a musty smell. Its effects in two senses, chase you down and leave you fucked. It does so again-and-again; bitter failure leaves your irrational and panicked, your senses heightened and exaggerated in dealing with ordinary situations. As a result, a red traffic light, or the body language of a barrista, is a damnation of your soul, instead of an incidental event.

Failure makes it difficult to make decisions; your best and worst cases aren’t that different,  hovering between infinite misery and eternal displeasure, you forget which is which and cannot see the point in choosing.

 Failure makes you shit everywhere, figuratively speaking, metaphorical shit? You leave a metaphorical shit at home, with your friends and relatives, on the way to work; since you feel embarassed to mention your scatalogical excess, you make up other excuses. Perhaps you’re tired, feeling under-the-weather, sports results not going your way? No, you’re a long-time drinker of bitter failure, and as well as making you feel putrid and empty inside, you leave metaphorical shits on the outside.

.

Is there a cure? I haven’t seen one, but you can sometimes see, when afflicted failure holics can hold off a metaphorical shit, that they’re looking for something: a fabled and stupefying object, the literal miracle.

 This literal miracle conceals itself. Its holy glow presented to failure holics under extreme conditions: (1) said failure holic must renounce their vices and habits, (2) work 200% harder but expect 50% less, (3) exercise regularly, and stay off fat/ dense carbohydrates (4) pick an appropriate, moody indie track and (5) conceive of a pretend, inspired conversation/ TED talk to ad-hoc explain this to strangers.

 Why? Because to talk of a literal miracle is to concede you were once an addict to bitter failure, and of course, prone to leaving metaphorical shits behind. Metaphorical shits take a while to rub off, and even longer to be forgotten.

 As explained, it’s hard to find survivors of failure-holism but they have shared their struggles post-metaphorical shit(storms?), advice includes replacing all clothes and wearing new accessories. Restarting their Facebook accounts. But on finding your literal miracle? You can’t plan for it, nor know how long it will last. Just take yourself less seriously, work really really hard and make your (subtasks?) day-to-day activities smaller. Look after your body and sleeping patterns, read regularly. Try not to stay too long at one place, for fear the metaphorical shit becomes overbearing, take walks in the fresh summer-air.

 Finally don’t look back. Young, just-about teenaged failure-holic please don’t look back at the metaphorical shitstorms of the past, but instead to the future. We don’t know if the literal miracle will present itself, but we should act as if it could, and so be ready to take advantage. Keep moving forward, and try to hold it in.

 The end,

Adonay out.

[growingandlosing]

Twenty-six Orbits Around the Sun.

 “God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, 

Courage to change the things that I can, 

And the Wisdom to know the difference”

I am turning twenty five tomorrow.

This is my twenty sixth orbit around the sun (n.b. Why does the biological clock start when you’re born, don’t you have an identity in the womb?)

I am still twenty four today; ten years, a troubled soul.

I will soon complete the longest saga in my life, getting my undergraduate degree. I will complete my studies in the middle of August. My graduation will fall in autumn.

Depression, anxiety, an inability to process difficult events and solve life’s problems, these issues ongoing, however.

How do I remain hopeful? Perhaps by conceding my issues are largely tied or exacerbated by my degree, there is so much at stake, there is so much artificial pressure.

Ideation came in a wave today, the worst kind, the permanent period (.) to the story.

What follows is an exercise, staying grounded is key.

What can I be proud of?

I’m resilient and have pushed through to get to this final year/ final semester. 

I recognise my flaws and failings, able to integrate learning, having been in therapy for twenty months.

I am witty and somewhat clever, I have good tastes in art and culture.

I can love and am worthy of love.

What do I hate about myself?

I lie, cheat and misrepresent to elicit favour, I do not have integrity and cut corners

I am lazy and ill-prepared. 

I take my loved ones for granted and seek love from the wrong people.

I have misused sex, drugs, alcohol, to deal with my pain

I am inconsistent and flaky while expecting commitment, in short, I’m guilty of hypocrisy

What can I change?

I can engage in mindfulness and deal with stress better; 

I can rekindle my faith and use Church to find solace and understanding;

I can improve my time-management,

I can finally settle in London permanently,

I can improve my relationships with friends and family

What cannot I change?

I can’t change how long it took to complete my degree

I cannot change the awkward relationships with my family

I may have to deal with intrusive thoughts and low-mood permanently

I cannot change my height, my protruding forehead, or my ostensible inability to grow a beard

I cannot change nor am I responsible for the opinion of others, 

The supply and demand of love

Genuine love by its paucity and transience, is hard to come by and cannot be ‘forced’. But once you have it, it should be treasured and nurtured with your life.

[growingandlosing]

Illness/Acuity

So.

Here’s an ode to mental illness and mental acuity. 

Two ends of the totem pole that I vacillate between. 

These are states of minds, useful categories in describing mental health.

In my case, I have been at University for five of the last six years and due to graduate within a few months. In this time, I have reckoned with underlying dispositions and trauma(s) that make up a diagnosed mental illness. I have been depressed, I am always anxious to such an extent that ‘Generalised Anxiety Disorder’ is an apt descriptor. 

At a whim, after a day of long sought mental clarity, I turned to ‘The Road Less Travelled/ M. Scott Peck.’

In just its first pages, the wisdom and strength of its prose is apparent. 

“Life is difficult. 

It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it.”

“Life is a series of problems…

Discipline is the basic set of tools we require to solve life’s problems. 

 Without discipline we can solve nothing.”

“Fearing the pain involved, almost all of us , to a greater or lesser degree, attempt to avoid problems….

This tendency to avoid problems and the emotional suffering inherent in them is the primary basis of all human mental illness.”

My problems include a lack of social skills and social contact, exacerbated during the lockdown of the last fifteen months. My problem is my lack of aptitude and application in my degree. Between programming or completing problem sheets, I have found it difficult and I have not been willing to suffer through this difficulty. 

And of procrastination, anxiety, deep panic and mental sublimation (figuratively speaking), these are maladaptive coping strategies and dysfunctional emotional systems. In everyday parlance, I have not developed a way to cope with stress and difficulty, leaning into a short-term fix with a long-term cost.

The solution? This in part is to accept legitimate suffering.

I can take lessons from the road. Running has taught me to embrace the grind, the assault of the pavement, the sweat is earned and worn with pride, improvement is slow but certain. 

I struggled to run 3.5km three months ago, and can run four times that distance now if needed.

Progress. 

The solution is to accept the suffering of crawling before I can walk, forgetting the marathons of others, accepting where I am, accepting the embarrassment and shame for a second, letting it wash over me, before commencing with the tasks at hand.

The solution is self-acceptance: temporally, I am enough today and I am grounded in where I am; spatially, living alone in Bath and away from loved ones in London, I live alone but am not alone; spiritually, M. Scott Peck makes no distinction between spiritual and mental growth, nor should I. My spiritual growth is slow but coming, like the runs in February that set me up for the sprints in May. Be patient, be weary, be kind.

(mental) Acuity over (mental) Illness. 

Fin.

[growingandlosing]

Love-Letter-to-Black-Dog

How long has it been? 

Ten years now, maybe more?

We met in tears after

childhood was stolen.

Did you follow me then? 

Years later when I sank in Bath? 

See faces would frighten, 

Solitude was underwater.

Asked the Doctor and the Priest,

Aren’t condition and affliction the same?

Don’t all things pass? I’ve got no shame,

I’ll ask again.

Would you leave now, then? 

If not forever, for a day?

As stubborn as shadow, 

Darkest Villain, Man’s best friend.

“Black Dog,” you are 

Bullish and devoted

To causing commotion, 

Barking with wrong answers, 

To all my questions.

[growingandlosing]

On Whitney Houston and Parenting.

“I believe that children are the future” 

So said Whitney Houston, or rather her cabal of songwriters, in that hokey song “Greatest Love of All.”

I would adapt her words, 

“I believe that children are our replacements.”

Having spent the last days with my nieces in Birmingham, my daughter’s progeny, not mine, I want to reassure readers. The next generation can improve on our failings and shortcomings. 

I can see in the faces of my nieces that they’re divorced of the guilt and worry of my childhood.

My sister and her partner were educated to a degree level, taking an eager interest in their children’s schooling and development. My parents couldn’t match their accomplishments. Dare I complain?

“I decided long ago Never to walk in anyone's shadows”

Could I say that they are better parents?

An unfortunate burden in my life is navigating through a web of lies. Half-truths, misdeeds and sins are the spices of everyday experience. Acceptable in moderation, unpalatable in excess.

“If I fail, if I succeed At least I'll live as I believe”

These have been to protect myself from painful memories and negative self talk. I’m learning to show some understanding and compassion to myself. That is to meet my failures and flaws head on. 

The road ahead is not smooth, nor should it be?

“Learning to love yourself It is the greatest love of all”   

[growingandlosing]

Twenty Five Orbits around the Sun

Twenty-four.

2^3*3.

At this point, my older sister had been married. My father had made his way out from his remote village, settling somewhere between Great Britain and Sudan. My mother married my father. 

Sir Isaac Newton had independently discovered Calculus.

Forgive me.

It so appears that I am searching for sticks to beat myself up with. I struggle to find joy in this celebration. Birthdays are a pay-off for a year, or a life well spent,  that it’s anniversary would be celebrated.

How can this change?

On this my twenty fifth orbit around the sun, I will build toward a better future. I have to make sacrifices. I have to let old notions die, new ideas grow in their place. 

I have to heal. Seriously, I have to heal. 

[growingandlosing]

Unplugging. Is that the end?

Unplugging.

Unplugging Bath.

That is to work through five years out of the last six years spent in the city of Bath, North East Somerset. Every inch, every creak, every piece of pavement from BA1 to BA2 belonged to you, when it all became your home.

The significance of the moment as the train slowly pulled out of its momentary rest, when departure was inevitable, when goodbyes seemed real. 

I wonder how many students had made their farewell nod, had closed their book, ending their chronicles in the heritage city.

I wonder how few had come here in desperation. That is the truth, I have long avoided, those memories I have repressed. How important it was for me to be here. How important it felt to have space, that to have distance from the past, was to be firmly somewhere else. Indeed, that somewhere else, could have been anywhere, it became Bath. 

To speak of Bath itself is to speak as an infant might of a bath. So strange its shape, how special it must seem to the outside, a porcelain quality that befits an antique toy shop.

But once inside, the mystique wears off. That pristine sheet of white becomes familiar, expected. I begrudge myself for having taking those sights for granted.

That is not to say, like a chameleon or an amphibian in water, I took on the qualities of my surroundings. I remained myself too much of myself in a regard. 

I laugh at the attempt to distance myself, but experiences of life cannot be seen separate from those who are burdened with living them, we cannot speak of my time in Bath, without frankly speaking of me.

---

I was aged fourteen when the four walls of my bedroom became my own personal kingdom: we dared not venture far beyond for the foreign lands where even family roamed felt too hostile. 

I was young, in love with learning, passionate about education, except the environment had feral creatures. There was such merciless bullying and cruelty that the set of memories lay dormant in a secure box. While I left the jungle, it tore something out of me.

The box itself carries a suggestion of its wicked contents,the box cannot itself be hidden but kept far away. It suffices to say amidst a foul mixture of angst, aggression and pain, those memories contain the shards of broken childhood.

Then again in my later teenage years, University seemed in sight. It promised an escape.

I wasn’t prodigiously smart, could be frustratingly lazy and ill-prepared, yet I collected enough in GCSE and A-Level results that I could go to a great university.

I made a last minute decision to go to the University of Bath, in those twisted knots that only teenage perspective can tie. Anyhow in the middle of August, I called up and exchanged words with an adviser to win a place. 

A month later, there were further rewards than a designation - University of Bath undergraduate - I received ‘Student Finance’ which was the first disposable income that I ever received. Finance is freedom. I was allowed to have a phone contract. I would need to buy some clothes. I would need to go to a gym.

The sum total of those expenditures and considerations? The idea that suddenly the sullen Adonay would need to look something close to a member of society.

It bears me too much pain to think back to how I was before. How alone. How hurt. How uncomfortable. How unwell.

For once, that designation - University of Bath undergraduate - was the realisation that life need not be in this way, whether it be the passage of time,  the pressures of education that lifted before redoubling, the intensity of puberty, I cannot say. All I know or dare reflect is the binary, before or after, without or with, how much that realisation meant. Even if it so turns that maturity and growth is an onerous task and years of childhood cannot be so easily wished away, I look back at the time as a ‘light bulb’ moment.

-

I have given you my name, fine, and something of my experiences prior to leaving Bath. But what of myself? In this stream of consciousness, I realise that I have never been anything nor everything short of something, the self didn’t emerge. 

-

The self was submerged in a sea of self loathing and anxiety, what was worse still was that it was never seen as anything but normal, when the present self cannot separate itself from the sea, somehow drowning is normalised. 

-

So what of Bath, we have introduced sea, we have mentioned its University, so what of Bath.

I kissed my first girl in Bath. I lost my virginity in Bath. I have been arrested in Bath. I made my first meaningful friends outside of Bath. I fell in love in Bath. I lost love in Bath. I felt validated in Bath. I got help in Bath. I have attempted suicide in Bath. 

So raucous, does the repetition do anything for you? Does it speak to the fullness of my experience, a buffet of life experience, ingredients that don’t agree, so as to bring discomfort in digestion?

Well, I dropped my bags in John Wood Court, assisted by my brother and his friends. 

I practiced a course of study, then another, then another, then another, all true.

I leave now with a Bachelors degree in Computer Science and Mathematics, an expert in Politics, who may work in Journalism or Economics.

Master of None.

-

Stick to a metaphor, a lone voice whispers in the imagined classroom of my conscience, I sit in the back, a tireless student, writing, writing, an opus of work for an audience of one, a teacher emerges behind the desk, her presence large, her mystique hardens into villainy, she was at best my greatest critic, inspiration, now she is my doomsday, the calcification of every lie that I was ever told and the director of every nightmare endured.

-

I return to my Bath, actually I change my metaphor, I recall the light-bulb moment: life is more than this. A young boy, depressed and anxious, beyond reckoning, in a life that contains everything he reasonably wants, but nothing in what he emotionally needs.

A Maslow Pyramid, stripped of a few layers with a faulty architecture, devilish architect, that was about to topple. 

-

And now, I leave Bath, I choose now to unplug, which is to say, in the most unusual fashion, close my book, with the light transformed to clear sunshine. 

Life is more than this.

I choose to live in happiness, earnest and kindness, in the most radical acceptance of me, Adonay, a flawed and troubled young boy, who is now a work-in-progress but liberated, young man. 

I am thankful to have been in Bath. I am thankful that the Bath has been unplugged.

Adonay.

A notion. A radical notion to accept. I am Adonay. Adonay is enough.

The Bath unplugged and there I lay in naked vulnerability, thankful for the time I spent being soothed and being cleansed.

I get dressed, I think of the day ahead, the life outside of the walls, my home, my neighbourhood, the world at large, and what amazing slice, I am so fortunate to experience.

And I remark, 

“That slice of world will have me, Adonay, and Adonay is enough.”

[growingandlosing]

If you don't know what it's like to have a knife pulled on you for the pound in your pocket,

We are not the same.

If you never got into scraps over football games played with tennis balls,

We are not the same.

Did unfilled forms fall on you from parents without your education?

We are not the same.

School wouldn't send a scruffy son to stand in competitions,

We are not the same.

Police harass impoverished estates, forcing friends into crime or fathers in custody.

We are not the same.

Unless you struggled to leave your room, for streets unsafe, with mental health 'imaginary'

We are not the same.

So even if you graduate with a degree,

Pose with certificates like mine,

Say you're BAME and wear a smile,

Claim #BLM and with a cry:

Describe the difficulties of black life,

We are still not the same.

Your story is nothing like mine.

[growingandlosing]

I am sick. 

I’ve battled with mental health issues for over ten years now. In recent years, I have received medication and engaged with therapy. 

But too often, there are invasive voices: they bid me to surrender to despair; they claim that there is no hope. 

I sleep and wake at an irregular schedule but ever fortunate to see another day. I am well fed. I have secure housing and finances.

So why do I suffer? What causes this struggle?

-

I am stuck in the same routines of past. Even if the scenery changes with the season, I cannot escape, I have been circling around in the same maze after all.

-

Find-The-Good™ 

As difficult as it may be, I cling onto the faint hopes of a better tomorrow. 

The present cannot continue. Life is much more than this.

-

Love.

[growingandlosing]

The Life of Fire in Words.

Life is unfolding, 

Life is moving. 

Life may hurt, 

will life soothe

me? I will.

not leave until. 

my story. is 

completed. with the

pen as my sword. 

life is undefeated. 

Does life need me? 

I need the word

I need the fire, 

The fire won’t go, 

The fire needs me. 

The fire made the 

words. Life will not 

end as it goes with 

the fire. 

I have the words, 

I have the fire. 

My fire. My words. 

My life won’t end.

[growingandlosing]

Don’t sit with half-lovers. Don’t endorse half-friends. Don’t read for the half-talented. Don’t live a half life. Don’t die a half death.

Don’t choose a half solution. Don’t stand in the middle of the truth. Don’t dream a half dream. Don’t hang on a half hope.

If you shut up, shut up till the end. And if you talked, talk till the end. Don’t be silent, so that you can speak. And don’t speak, so that you can be silent. If you were satisfied, express your gratitude. Don’t fake a half gratitude. And if you are unsatisfied, express your disapproval. Because a half disapproval, is actually an approval.

The half is a life you didn’t live. It is a word you didn’t say. A smile you postponed. A love you couldn’t attain. A friendship you didn’t know. This half is what makes you strange even to the closet people around you. And It is what makes the closest people, strangers for you.

The half is to reach and not to reach. To work and not to work. To leave and to arrive. The half is you, when you are not yourself….Because you didn’t know who you are.

The half is that you don’t know who you are. And whom you love is not your other half. It is you in another place at the same time. Half a drink won’t quench your thirst. Half a meal won’t satisfy your hunger. Walking half of the road won’t get you anywhere.

Half of an idea won’t give you a result. The half is your moment of weakness, but you are not weak! Because you are not a half human. You are a human. You were here to live a life, not to live a half life!

-Gibran Khalil Gibran- (siir-poesia)

لا تجالس أنصاف العشاق، ولا تصادق أنصاف الأصدقاء، لا تقرأ لأنصاف الموهوبين، لا تعش نصف حياة، ولا تمت نصف موت، لا تختر نصف حل، ولا تقف في منتصف الحقيقة، لا تحلم نصف حلم، ولا تتعلق بنصف أمل، إذا صمتّ.. فاصمت حتى النهاية، وإذا تكلمت.. فتكلّم حتى النهاية، لا تصمت كي تتكلم، ولا تتكلم كي تصمت. إذا رضيت فعبّر عن رضاك، لا تصطنع نصف رضا، وإذا رفضت.. فعبّر عن رفضك، لأن نصف الرفض قبول.. النصف هو حياة لم تعشها، وهو كلمة لم تقلها، وهو ابتسامة أجّلتها، وهو حب لم تصل إليه، وهو صداقة لم تعرفها.. النصف هو ما يجعلك غريباً عن أقرب الناس إليك، وهو ما يجعل أقرب الناس إليك غرباء عنك، النصف هو أن تصل وأن لاتصل، أن تعمل وأن لا تعمل، أن تغيب وأن تحضر.. النصف هو أنت، عندما لا تكون أنت.. لأنك لم تعرف من أنت. النصف هو أن لا تعرف من أنت .. ومن تحب ليس نصفك الآخر.. هو أنت في مكان آخر في الوقت نفسه نصف شربة لن تروي ظمأك، ونصف وجبة لن تشبع جوعك، نصف طريق لن يوصلك إلى أي مكان، ونصف فكرة لن تعطي لك نتيجة.. النصف هو لحظة عجزك وأنت لست بعاجز.. لأنك لست نصف إنسان. أنت إنسان.. وجدت كي تعيش الحياة، وليس كي تعيش نصف حياة. - جبران خليل جبران -

[growingandlosing]

WEEK 10 AC* (after-corona)

I AM CORONA VIRUS.

The story begins.

The bat was benign,

he hates your kind.

The pangolin was frail,

found in markets for sale.

Human beings such hideous beasts,

Shaking sinister hands as they meet.

Animals decreed in nature’s thrall,

This viral vengeance on you all.

I AM CORONA VIRUS.

I erased everything.

I separated loved ones.

I closed it all, your cafe’s, your churches. 

I closed the schools, I’ve stopped the learning.

I plagued the old, I robbed the young.

You cannot dream, sleep if you must.

Nightmares abound. Breathe if you can.

Wear your masks, wash your hands. 

Death won’t wait, poor mortal man.

I AM CORONA VIRUS. 

I tickle the rich, I frighten the poor, 

I made you sick, I closed your doors. 

I filled your hospitals, you dare make more? 

Bring the scientists, send them bibles.

All your weapons are paper tigers,

Try anything, fight me if you wish, 

Your patience drained, throw the kitchen sink,

Your words are wasted, cups filled to the brim. 

COVID always wins, Humanity’s viral sin.

[growingandlosing]

0 BC* (before-corona)

Blank. 

Thoughts Empty.

Words. Proved Useless.

                                          In the absence of intention,

                                          In the preclusion of purpose.

Between the lines, 

                                        before rubber hits the road, 

                                        when the lights were yellow, 

                                        such that we neither will, 

                                        nor could we ever be. 

Covered in grey, 

We’ll never stay, 

                                    You’ll always lose me. 

                                    I’ll always find you.

[growingandlosing]

(07/09/19)

So it’s a Saturday…

It’s a throw-back/ It takes me back. 

I always end up feeling like this/ Never changes

I feel the emptiness/ Somethings missing

I appreciate the negative space/ Where’s the positive

…

What I lack/ Wheres the map

What I’ve lost/ Did I have it

What I was/  Back then, with them, that time

What I’m not/ The lies, we tell ourselves

[growingandlosing]

(18/03/19)

Spent the last two days* in London, it was strange. 

As I sit here, commuting back to Bath, watching the terrific "Get Out", I'm writing to unpack my thoughts.

1. London itself

A newly found song that I enjoy is by The Kinks, titled Waterloo Sunset. The guitar-playing is soft and calming, it evokes nostalgia. The song begins: "Dirty old river, must you keep rolling. Rolling into the night but I am so busy. Don't need to wonder, taxi light shines so bright. *pause* But I don't feel afraid, So long as I gaze on... Waterloo Sunset, I am in paradise."

In 2019, I have found no paradise in London. I cannot escape my anxiety, there is an awkward balance with the familiar and adversarial.   I feel displaced from the places of childhood and adolesence: my primary school has since been supplanted by an academy, modern with a clean aesthetic. My memories of Fenstanton were rough and homely. A tight group of kids from immigrant or working class white backgrounds: finding their affinity for science or sport, negoiating with their dual identies, dealing with difficult questions. It's far less serious, yet fourty kids or so were playing football with the energy of gladiators fighting to death. It's of little consequence: yet we would practice and learn by rote the multiples of numbers two to twelve. I would burn with excitement, I had to win the class tests, I had to get the answer quickly.

I miss it. I miss being young. It sucks being poor, it sucks more to be stressed all the time.