What you know about burying yourself again and again ?

The messenger

Painting by Bambou Gili

What you know about burying yourself again and again ?

About jumping on your own corpse with both feet, forcing it back in to the earth as it tries to wake up, stand up.

It used to be useful but it is no longer needed.

Still it tries, it won’t go down without a fight.

Stubborn being. But who can blame it? They said hope is the last thing to die.

They lied. It’s memories. It’s memories that keep you alive yet somehow burns you from inside at the same time.

Call it purgatory.

What you know about perpetually swimming in a sea of memories, child ?

Your "if only”s floating around you.

Dark green algae, bushy and terrifying like tentacles wrapping themselves around your exhausted body.

Your heavy feet.

You kick, you try to break free.

They’re wrapping themselves tighter

You're tired of trying. You stay still.

They're pulling you down.

Down, down, down.

Towards the abyss, towards the place where your nightmares are made of.

Child, stop playing, you know you’re not going down.

Or are you ?

What you know about laying awake at night, surrounded by ghosts ?

Pleasant company in the midst of your loneliness at first, but overstaying their invitation. Haunting you

Forever ?

"You've lived a live remember Babygirl?" they whisper in your ears.

A bittersweet shiver runs down your spine.

They smile, they get frenetic, they get erratic as the quiet around you gets louder, as your body is pinned to the bed, now your new home.

Memories, ghosts, reminiscences of idealised past lives, awoken at the slightest sight, at the sightless sound.

Taking you in their arms, forcing to dance.

Ma pauvre chérie.

Have they thought of your tired feet ?

What you know about grieving your own potential, child ?

Your own future. Aborted. Stillborn. Pseudocyesis.

What you know about seeing in your mother ́s sigh what you should have done ?

In your father’s wet eyes what you should have become ?

In your brothers’whispers what you now have become ?

What happens when the giver can no longer give ?

You’re convinced you can read minds,

Your can read their pity, can’t you ? Or is it your own, child ?

“If only, if only, if only.”

Think about it.

One day you think you're driving the road towards contentment.

(Poor girl don’t even dare saying peace.)

They’ve already given you the direction. It’s a not-so-simple forward pathway.

Babygirl, you know damn well the past is a nice place to be in, except nobody lives there anymore.

You know because you've tried. You keep on trying.

Stubborn being.

But you’re driving forward now, windows open, the sweet fresh wind caressing your face.

You’ve even started feeling the sun again.

It tingles your body nicely.

Sometimes, you feel fire in your lower belly too.

Your mouth is full of sweets.

You’re about to light up a ciggie.

Then you glance through the window as you pass by them.

What was awaiting you, what was supposed to be yours, waving at you sacarstically from the sidewalk; taunting you, shining in all their glory, like a beauty queen.

You start feeling the bile rise up in your throat, you want to stop the engine, yell at them “you stole my life !”, get out of the car, jump them, pull their hair out, strip them of their costume, YOUR costume, wear it and run away to god knows where.

Costa Rica maybe. Yeah, Costa Rica sounds nice.

But you can’t do that. You know you can’t do that.

You can’t stop in the middle of that road. Have you learned nothing ?

The sign says “Forward Only. No Turn Around” but you’re looking backwards again. You’re looking sideways again,

AGAIN ?

Sincerely, what are you doing ? I thought we agreed on that ?

I can’t keep coming back here.

They said healing in not linear. They lied, healing is never ending.

You’re on this road forever ma belle. No Turn Around.

Get used to it. Get used to it, darling. Can you please get used to it already?

Let me tell you something child,

Getting old is living with regrets, broken promises, unfulfilled potential, life accidents, setbacks, heartbreak, all types of aches and pain. pain. pain. so much pain.

You can’t escape it. Nobody can. You think you’re alone in this mess ?

One day you're bouncing here and there like a loose electron, the next day you need to drag yourself out your bed, your new home.

It’s a full moon in Virgo. It’s 2 am. You haven’t slept properly in a decade.

You have yet another concoction to ingest. Might as well do it now.

The night illuminates your cadaverous complexion.

Your Crusty, Musty, Dusty face.

You look at yourself in the mirror and there it finally is, you see it.

Your teeth are lot more yellow.

Your tits are a little saggier.

The gift of melanin is not magic, it didnt prevent your wrinkle to start appearing here and there.

Your flesh is soft, softer, too soft now. And there is not much you can do about it.

Remember your tired feet ?

There is not much you can do about it.

You lost the pre-catastrophe weight but your tummy stills refuses to shrink back.

Those days are gone Babygirl. And you didn’t even enjoy them to the fullest.

Someone once said that one of the great tragedies of the human condition is that we are forced to live life forwards and then think about it backwards.

Now you’re starting to look like your favorite auntie.

Getting old is a blessing. Is it not what you’ve always said? “It’s either getting old or dying.”

Now you wonder which one you would have preferred.

Actually you know what you would have preferred, we all know what you would have preferred. Why do you think I’m here?

Last sunday you've found your first white hair, it was a pubic hair.

At first you found it funny, your body truly refuses to be ordinary uh ?

As you pulled it out, face bent into your crotch, you screamed internally "but I'm not ready, I’m Babygirl".

I was there you know ? I was watching you and I laughed, I laughed, I laughed so hard.

You've buried yourself before Babygirl, just do it again.

You’ve pulled yourself out of your own womb before.

Just

do

it

again.

We don’t care if you’re tired We don’t care if it hurts.

It will never stop hurting.

Get use to that too.

You look at yourself in the mirror and you wonder what happened.

Your turn never came but look at you now, will it ever come ?

What do you even have to offer at this point ?

I mean, surely there must be something of value deep deep deep down but damn, this your wrapper is a hard one to be around, a hard one to remove. You'd have to be crazy to take on such a task.

You should have tried earlier , child

You should have at least tried to latch onto something, onto someone.

When your prefrontal cortex wasn’t developped yet.

Was this Super Duper Hyper independance necessary ? I’m just saying…

But I know, I know, you’ve tried.

Well, you should have tried harder.

Where were you when your mates were busy living like mandated ? Always trying to dance to your own beat.

Well look at you now, can you even dance now ?

Time awaits no one.

Sorry, I don’t make the rules.

Listen child, I don’t have much time left and I won’t keep repeating it.

Getting old is carrying an invisible bag full of regrets, sorrows, bitterness, silent cries. “If onlys” and "Why mes" and “it’s overs”.

Now you get the elders, don’t you ? You understand the frustration, the anger, the bitterness, the irritation, the isolation, the praying, the crying to god, when life takes the wrong turn.

Of course you understand, that’s why you’re afraid.

You think you did everything right but so what ? Nobody promised you anything.

Plus, there was never a “right” turn to be taken on your path anyways. I saw the map.

Now you know.

Yako ma belle.

There is nothing you could have done.

So stop torturing yourself.

Or continue.

I don’t really care.

I am only the messenger.

But before I go, tell me something, child.

Now that you know that the bitterness pile up like stacked up stones in your shoulder bag.

Will you learn to live with your load, to move forward with or will you let it weigh you down forever ? Turn your heart into a cesspool of venom ?

You have to choose, you know?

Of course you know, that’s why you’re afraid.

I already told you they lied, healing isn’t linear, healing is never ending.

Maybe there’s something awaiting you at the end of the road ? Who knows ?

Not me. They didn’t tell me.

So you decide.

And I don’t really care what you decide, Babygirl,

I’m only the messenger.

_