A Journey in Four Stages
Death is not our friend, nor our enemy, but our foreshadower
Her Death Wish
(Parts i and ii)
i) Prologue – the girl
She stands at a juncture. The most critical she has ever faced. And yet it doesn’t feel that dramatic. The decision to end her own life was slow in coming. She had battled a myriad of illnesses throughout her childhood, yet all stemming from the one issue. She had never experienced/possessed/felt, what others had.
Despite the complications over the years, the moment is simple. It is pure. She has never felt so clear. This, coming after further discord – the years of teenage chaos. It was overwhelming - the emotions of an attractive young girl’s world, with its convoluted web of relationships, dramas and tears.
Yet, in sincere reflection, she knew she couldn’t have been more wrong. It was frivolous. Juvenile. And now that she has arrived at this point, all her suffering seemed just as pointless. It did not need to continue. There is another way. It makes the most sense to her.
“I don’t mind so much. It’s my choice. It’s impossible to be happy all the time. And I’m going to a better place.”
All that remained, was a question of how.
The Beginning of Dissatisfaction
Shattered from Comfort
Ripped from the only authentic Heaven
With all needs catered for.
From a warm, luminescent Red
To abrasive White
Biting open atmosphere (Exposed, Cold?)
An aching hunger
The first sensations of Fear.
Strange, encompassing Sensations
Shapes undefined and unsparing Smells.
And an understanding of blurred Faces
Touch, comfort of skin, relief in the Familiar, frustrating restrictions of the Body,
Confusion of Perspectives, the urge to shit and the satisfaction of it.
Kick, roll, simple joys of play, sounds, the sweetness of melody
Delight in known faces, luxury in routine.
To crawl and want more.
To Grow, Sleep, Dream.
A stumble, a victory.
A fall, a fail, a Nightmare. Terror and tears.
A desire, a need, a perpetual feed.
A want and a step.
To Walk, (finally), upon grass.
To copy, imitate and shape.
To verbalise those inner feelings.
To kid around with Kids.
Who become your Friends
While the Wind tickles your skin
The Sun makes you squint
The Schoolyard where all things are possible
And the restrictions never more keenly felt
The classroom to comprehend and confuse
Why? Not fair. Me. Mine. No.
Practice, Lament. A wish for more
Change, the ever constant.
Flesh altering, uncertainty, insecurity.
A divergence in bodies
A metamorphosis, pimples, pubes, pus and previews
Blood and semen and seismic shifts
The world awaiting and repelling
A blunder through it
Where to be, who to be
So much to choose from
But is it you?
An invention of self
To Fit In
Or brave it alone
A place of your own
If it exists.
To long (so much longing)
To be on the outside
Not wanting to be in
But hurting because you’re not.
A merging with another
Because the inner calling is louder
Than the appeal
Of the recipient.
Placing all your hopes in one basket
A surrender to impulse
A heart is hurting
If not yours,
Soon will be.
The Exultation of Bodies and the senses sublime
The study, the experimentation
The acquisition of knowledge
The frustration of finances
Merged into the workforce
To yield and to harvest
An ideal foreign
Contrary to yours
Already moulded by upbringing.
The conditioning of Country
A culture ingrained
A wedding, a death
A family departed
The finality of it
A blind eye is easier.
And then there are Dreams
The devastation of Rejection
There’s somebody else with more
And you want more
And what you Need
And what you desire
Are two different states.
The Conflict within your soul
Never lets you forget what you are
Even if you are still learning
The years fall away
And love may find you
And it may not
And the world is deviating
Though you know it’s really the same
And your perspective shifts again
Only if you knew then
What you know now
And the responsibility of that
And all the rest.
The solace in forgiving
The enchantment in wisdom
The more you acquire
The less time there is to utilise it.
And before you are ready to accept it
To pass on what you know,
Your turn has come
Even if no one is listening.
There is a will
A catastrophic urge
To leave a part of yourself behind
To have it
Not been for nothing
Because you know that you’re dying a little every day
And soon there will be no more time
And you’ll wish for more
Or maybe you won’t
But yet, still, you must accept
With no small level of apprehension
That your story cannot be changed
That it has all come to this…
(to come Parts iii and iv)