On the topic of paranoia and other mental ailments...

I’d like to touch on the subject of insanity. I sometimes think about mental illnesses and whether there are any tell-tale signs that in the end (or God forbid, earlier than "the end"), I’ll end-up dribbling in a mad house.

 

My curiosity on this subject and the prediction of its intent, is I guess linked to my need to believe that I can predict my own future - that there is no destiny. That is because I like to think that I am in control of my life, which is a hoax I know, but it makes me feel safe. Coincidentally, I also am a fan of the idea that there are loads of surprises ahead which I have no control over (Schizophrenia anyone??). This duality is seen in so many of my beliefs and therefore makes it often very hard for me to make a decision; I’m always in limbo, on the tight-rope thinking “Do I go left, do I go right, will I fall?” and wasting my time. I have no idea whether this is a sign of my “impending mental illness” or is it because I don’t understand the concept of “faith”, but I’ll leave the latter theory for a whole other blog.

 

I once read that people who took a lot of X & Charlie were more susceptible to illnesses such as Alzheimers; that people who smoked too much weed can develop paranoid tendencies, phobias, OCD, etc... Hence my paranoia about mental illnesses... It’s MAD I tell ya!! muahahahaha!!!

The “I” of “Moi”

I guess there’s a time when you realise you’ve lost touch with a parent, when they buy you something that is for a child they had ten years earlier and they truly believe that yes, this is this perfect gift. 

What sparked this blog subject? My mother giving me a book. The book is titled “Le Dico Des Filles 2007” it has glitters and stars and has “No Boys!” bannered all over it - “100% Filles” it claims! She’s done this to me before: when I was 18/19, she knew I was sleeping with my then boyfriend, but she thought it appropriate to buy me the biggest beige knickers she could find - how did she work that one out??? I gave them straight back at her telling them that she should keep them for when she turned 60, they might come in handy then, or otherwise she could use them as cloths to clean the windows! Alright, I was a shitty adolescent who felt insulted by the scarily large beige knickers, so large they could have easily covered the hole in the Ozone Layer!!

 

Her thoughts behind the book/gift are good and endearing but to me, this book represents my feeling of failure right now. It represents me living with my mother because since I moved back home at the age of 25, I have not been able to afford to move out; it represents how far I have yet to go to achieve my dreams, my goals; it represents my fear of being an adult - that fucking book. Inside, it says to the young 17 year old girl who this fucking book is intended for, it tells her “Say no to Pornography”!!! I mean what the fuck! Yes i’ve watched pornography before and yes I’ve watched it with a lover and yes I fucking enjoyed it!! It refers to marriage being “the most beautiful day of your life”, marriage infront of God! PLEASE! There are sections on Puberty and First Kiss. I need to know “how to deal with your 40yr old lover” NOT FUCKING “PUBERTY”!! I mean what was she thinking?! Books like this should be burnt. Yes that is what I am going to do with it! Burn it! This type of crap should not be published. So yes, my mother thinks of her nearly 30yr old daughter as I child. Oh I need out. When I feel as suffocated as I do now, I dream of reaching transcendence in a tropical forest in India, where all around me is peaceful, lush, wet, green, where I am alone for miles and miles, where my escape is unthreatened by anyone and no one.

 

With my bastard of a father I chose the distance, I chose the void, the precipice... otherwise, I have no doubt, I’d be dead right now. I would have hated who I’d ‘ve become so much that I would have killed myself by the age of 20. That is the honest truth. I know that because I tried to kill myself at 12 - doing that and realising that although I did not understand my state of mind (I had no hindsight), I had to put a stop to this pain, otherwise I would never find the happiness that every life is given the possibility of experiencing. So I cut my father out - I cut him out of my present and my future, but for obvious reasons, I was not capable of cutting him out of my past, I could not change the fact that he was involved in my life, that he was a part of my “formative” years. So I still reap the seeds he sowed - I still somewhat hate that encrusted part of myself, but I no longer know which part it is, since it’s so deep in my core. I’m like a tree, with every passing year, adding on a new layer, distancing myself from the pain which was once me, the pain which once consumed me. But I fight it - I fight it by being myself, by being true to myself, by never submitting to the will of another, by never allowing someone to truly break me that way again, I fight it by making sure that I am not misunderstood or taken for granted. At least I try.

 

I am at a point right now, where I am starting to know what I want. Assessing what I have, I can see that it is far from what I want. I am trying to be an adult, to make conscious and thoroughly thought decisions. I want a husband and a family. I want a home that I can call my own. I need to give, I need to love, I need to trust, I need devotion and to feel devoted, I need to belong and not to roam the earth anymore. I am trying hard to make the steps that will lead me to my goals. I swear I am trying hard. So I don’t mind being reminded of my core, because I know that since then, each new layer represents my choice to live my life. I was given this life wether I wanted it or not, but I chose to live it. So all I can say is this: BRING IT ON!!!!

To the man whose shoulder I have come to dream of...

He tries to look through her... Instantly, he forces himself not to. He’s scared of what he might see, of his reflection in her eyes. He feels intrusive as he steals her thoughts.

 

He perceives his love as a curse on whomever it choses to bestow itself upon! That’s what he thinks of himself: he’s not good enough for anyone, he believes he does not deserve her respect, her admiration, her trust, hers or whomever’s actually.

 

If only he could truly see how much she cares, if only he wasn’t blinded by his own perception of himself! In her eyes, he is magnificent! She loves the way she catches him looking at her; she sees it as affection, almost as an older brother would look at a younger sibling. This is not the love she wants from him, her lover; no, she wishes for the passionate, soulful kind, the goose-bump kind. Her only deep rooted fear is of letting him down!

 

Again, if only he could see himself through her eyes, if only he could release all his anxiety, setting himself free and consequently embracing her love, wholeheartedly; her heart is his if he so wishes. She’s concerned that if she tells him this, he won’t understand, since for too long, he hasn’t believed that someone could love him, that someone could chose him, could pick him out of a crowd.

 

He is his own worst enemy she fears, and in a way, he becomes hers... She will love him nonetheless.

Grey hair?! Bollocks to that!! White hair’s more like it!!!!!!

This is not good... Today I found my second grey hair (the first was found on Friday morning!)! Who am I kidding, it wasn’t grey, IT WAS WHITE!!! I am 27 bloody years old and I am getting grey hair?! Wat Da F**k?! And oh no, my first grey hair would not chose to join his darker friends on my head at the back of my neck, no no no, it chose its star entry at the front of my head, right on top of my forehead!! Show-off!

I told my dearest mother this and she kindly informed me that yes, “It runs in the family darling!” and that I’d have to start dying my hair pretty soon... Aiii que miseria Dios!!!!!

I was telling my friend Claire that a lot of the events in my life this year, I felt, were dragging me kicking and screaming into adulthood (a fact of life I have chosen to consciously ignore up until now) well this is the icing on the cake as far as I’m concerned! Old age is imminent!!!!

You can learn a lot about a country by what they sell in their vending machines... It’s true I swear!!!

You can learn a lot about a country by what they sell in their vending machines (“VM”)... It’s true I swear!!!

 

For example, here in London, at the Fulham Broadway Tube station, they have an “umbrella” VM! Yes, that is because in England, it rains a lot! You’ll wake-up in the morning, it’s hot and sunny, you’ll take the tube to work in your t-shirt, by the time you’re out of the station on the other side of your 30min journey, it’s freezing and pissing down with rain! And guess what? It hadn’t occurred to you to bring your umbrella with you today! So you go to the VM and buy yourself one - I think it costs £2!

 

Or in Barcelona, I once saw a VM in the Placa Catalunya Metro that sold books! While living in Barca, I once read that Spanish children under 16 read more books that any other children under 16 in the whole of Europe! So in a way, it seems logical that the Spaniards feel the need to supply books in their VMs!

 

Now, I save the best for last... In Japan, they sell Asahi beers in their VMs! Yes, alcohol my friends! As you can see in the picture above, my eager buddies were buying themselves some beer! Now, the VM doesn’t ask you how old you are... I mean if we had those vending machines in Switzerland when we were growing up, I can assure you we’d have been alcoholics by the ripe age of 11! It’s completely mad! But what does it tell you? Probably that children in Japan aspire to better things than getting drunk and therefore can be trusted not to go and acquire themselves a VM drinking habit...

 

So, dya see what I mean about VMs telling you a lot about the society of a nation? Please let me know if you’ve encountered any obscure VM products on your travels...

The Existential Dilemma of a Foetus

I am an egg

Ready to hatch

I have no home

Nowhere to run off to

No one wants me

I am the ugly ducklin’

I don’t believe to have a swan in me.

I am incomplete

I know

Premature, I guess

Yet extremely sensible

On the verge of boring

Ouch

That hurt

Be true to myself

Or just continue being me

Avoiding chance

It’s safer that way

But I won’t be happier

If that means anything

To you

I assume not

I desperately am in need of…

Something

What I am not

What I don’t have

Hatch or not Hatch

That is the question

The Young Girl Assassin

You’re the Assassin!

You killed me more than once.

I survived and moved on,

Leaving you behind

In your home-made prison.

This cage of yours,

It’s made of glass.

There’s no air

And you’re suffocating slowly,

Melting away.

You see my reflection

On all the panes,

Reminding you

Of all your crimes,

Taunting you.

I hope you know that I mock you,

That I am the stronger one now,

That you cannot reach me no more,

That I am untouchable,

By you at least.

You might have murdered me,

My innocence, my trust, my youth,

But I have faith in me:

I am ME!

Thee

If thoughts could fly,

I’d send them to thee, my love,

Without a blink of an eye,

Of that dear,

Thou can be sure!

 

Without a doubt,

I should cry out

That thou have set my heart on fire,

And by Lord,

It shall not be put out!

 

May thy love be free

To wander through

The wilderness that is my spirit,

For if it is not,

I shall be engulfed

In the moving sands of sorrow!

 

Let our minds join!

Let us run for victory!

For with your love inside me,

No one shall ever get to me!

Onegin

The thought

That I could refuse tomorrow,

What is due to my life;

That I may be denied the taste of love,

By the very one who loves me,

Who is undoubtedly mine,

Made for me!

How cruel can one be to oneself?!

 

Not all sorrow is caused by others,

It is sometimes self-inflicted,

By means of arrogance,

Or prior pain

Or plain misjudgement.

To be the cause

Of one’s own unhappiness

And having to live with it,

Is life’s greatest punishment,

Its greatest torture.

All for the sake of love,

Can we die alone! 

My African Fantasy

The freshly showered lady,

Waiting for her lover to return

And their intimacy to resume.

As he enters,

She awaits behind the door,

Just to catch a glimpse of his nightly ritual,

Of him, the man she loves:

He falls onto the couch,

Loosening his tie

In that same rhythmic way

Left to right and back again;

Then she follows his glance,

Knowing that he’s eyeing the ashtray,

Looking for that special part of the day,

When peace begins,

And the sun sets.

 

As familiarity resumes,

Their unison is witnessed

By the wildest of beasts: the lions!

His foreign accent,

Floating through the branches of the whispering trees,

Telling tales of warriors

And unforgotten love,

Myths of Kings and Goddesses;

All this,

Retorting the birds’ calls.

 

The envious lioness,

Searching for her prey,

In hope of a taste of the rush,

As are the two lovers on the deck.

As harmony is reached,

The African night appears,

Clear and mysterious,

Noises unknown, unwanted,

For sleep and calm takeover,

The evening’s run.

My Unicorn

The Queen of May

Covered in her long fur coat,

Telling me

That the white horse is there,

In all his splendour,

Shining from the Heavens.

She claims his light,

Pulling at his unicorn for more power;

But he is drained

Of all energy source:

Galloping for peace is a long road to follow,

A tough war to fight,

The Queen,

A hard woman to beat!

It whispers to me

That it can help no more,

I pray that it may,

That it finds the will, the strength

And sends more love to planet earth.

I dream of his magic,

Covering me at night,

Making sure that I’m tucked in tight.

I have faith in his goodness,
And I do believe,

That his love will save the world!

So my unicorn, don’t give up!

My Little Leprechaun

My little Leprechaun

Always on my shoulder

Whispering thoughts, unheard to others,

Convincing me

That he’s out there,

Somewhere,

Looking for me,

Waiting for my heart,

Wishing for my love,

Demanding what I can’t yet give,

My entire soul!

Why so?

Because I can’t tell you where

Or whom it’s with.

Something I have to discover still.

So, my little Leprechaun,

He’ll have to wait-up

Or move on,

Because what I have to offer

Is gone and not yet found.

Do not tell a soul

And do not make a sound,

For what I have lost,

Is not yet found.