Sunday, 26 April 2015


Generally, I'm believed to be that guy who walks around bearing a smile on his face, seemingly happy about everything every little thing on the planet. I'm the last person on the planet anyone would think suffers from Depression, especially of  the severe form , but I do. Imagine this; I may have a fantastic day and then something sets me off in a way I can't control, I go down in a spiral of self hate despite the fact that the day went well.

Sometimes I look into the mirror and ask myself “how could this have happened to me?” we are much too young to deal with most of our problems, unfortunately they push themselves on us until we are forced to make a solution; No matter how drastic they seem.

The last few years have changed so much. I’ve been subject to pain, depression, sadness and every form of agony that a human mind can experience. Life happens to all of us quite alright, but for some people it’s never the way we want it. A wrong turn here and there and you’re stuck in the labyrinth of melancholy forever. And when the anguish surpasses the breaking point, there’s no turning back. You’re stuck with misery forever.

If you’ve ever felt the sense of grief as deeply as I have, you might agree that the aftermath leads to such consequences as:

It gets compulsive. After a point sadness is a sort of habit. You can’t really function without the empty ache somewhere inside you. Somehow, after you’ve been exposed to such an intense feeling of grief for so long it feels natural to exist with a tinge of lingering sadness. And it’s not like you don’t laugh or joke around, life is pretty normal except that there’s a customary sorrow that just won’t go away.

When you've suffered abrupt depression, everything seems a bit poetic. Yes, that’s one of the cool things. Being sad adds a touch of poetry to your life. It gets perfect when you’re in the car with the earphones on and a sad song plays and you stare out of the window feeling like a tragedy magnet. But in fact, being sad is not poetic at all because in the end it only makes you feel like shit. It’s like performing in an empty theatre with no audience to watch you.

You become kinder. A person who has seen pain and sadness up so close can understand other people better. Most of the people so easily forget that others are human. But one only understands grief when you’ve felt it physically. That’s why I believe distress makes a person more humane. Sad people are kinder, more compassionate and forgiving. They care about other people’s feelings because they know how it feels when no one cares about theirs.

You become introspective. When you’ve spent so long wishing for happiness, you do tend to think more deeply about what makes you happy. And then you just think more deeply about everything. You also tend to overthink your decisions because you’re scared you’ll go wrong. You can’t afford another mistake and yet another regret.

You appreciate more. You appreciate the small things in life and see beauty where others don’t see anything. Most people just enjoy the music but a sad person understands the lyrics. For us, a rainy day and a good book or Music are as close as we can get to Happiness.

You become a creative person. It is the last but not the least thing that happens to you when you’re a gloomy person. In fact, it is the only actually good part. All these years of misery that you have stacked away in your heart flows out through your creative abilities. Most of the time people don’t even realize it. You’re just writing or painting or singing or whatever to let it all out and eventually when you look back you created a masterpiece!

I wrote this article six months back, i just didn't want to publish it, i think its long due. In the next article I'll talk about the past few months exclusively. Its been a rollercoaster of emotions actually. I guess, in the end we’re all a little sad. Some scars don’t fade away because they are the evidences of life, of the physical truth that we all Lived. (Thanks )

Tuesday, 6 May 2014


On that very may morning , I was shaken out of sleep, there was a colossal loss which lingered deep down. Sadness hovered over me like the planets around the sun. It was not a fluke that I saw you in my sleep, and it's still not a fluke that you  kept starring and never said goodbye knowing fully well how much I've missed you.

I dreamed that you called my name; that I turned, making one of those funny faces in cinematic slow motion, which in turn made you smile. I dreamed that with one look you told me everything I had ever wanted to know. We faffed around smoking in the supernatural darkness of night floating across the tops of cities contemplating what next to do. It was such a beautiful dream till I saw the very thing that shook me out of sleep, I can remember vividly how you stared at me from across the road, as if telling me to stay. For some reason, I could have sworn you never wanted me to go, that the long stare was supposed to make me understand what you felt but couldn't express

I woke up with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, the feel from that dazing revelation which i woke up from not only rendered me emotionless for the better part of that week but enhanced my very perception on how  we are, it made me understand how strong our connection still was, and how whatever we had still waxed

It’s not been upto a year since we last  met, since we went back to leading totally separate lives on different sides of the world. But the other night, I dreamed of you and I miss you, but I don’t want the you in real life, whatever that form may be. I miss the you back then, the one who dared to steal moments with me when no one was looking, who risked hurting others in order to inch closer to me. I was all you could see then, and nothing else mattered. We were reckless and even cruel to the people close to us, but we were blissfully happy, a willingness of the heart that burst thunderously on us because we finally found what we wanted for a long time – each other.

When I woke up.

I could still smell you.

Still feel where my hands had been.

Your hands against my hands.

You loved me.

I rolled over.

You weren’t there; but you were. You were in my bed, and then in my shower, then on the bus to school and all day you sat beside me until we rode the bus home together, ate dinner, and climbed back into bed where we kissed that morning; it was so real. 

Someone once said  'all the bright special things fade so fast and they never come back but i strongly believe that separation is only an illusion. 

Our day will come soonest...

Saturday, 22 February 2014

We Remain (XVII .I. MMXIV)**

  The first time I met you, we smiled, you led me into the house applauding how different i looked in person compared to photos. we sat in the confines of your living room; conversations over glasses of 'Chateau Petrus wine' turned into laughter over dinner at that delicious little soba spot in SoHo. I felt as alive and warm as the buzzing recess of that restaurant. you just seemed like the average, all too simple type and Somehow, I knew you were going to be a ton of fun.

You suggested we head out and drive around town, unaware how terrible I was at directions. I braved my navigational incompetence and helped us navigate, convinced I made the right choice. , we drove all around town, buying, drifting and laughing as we made life out of all our moments. when darkness fell i knew that for sure; my navigational incompetence was gonna pose a problem but nonetheless we made it all the way home.

You dropped me home and said goodnight.

The day after, you surprised me with a free spa treatment. I remember fidgeting in anticipation of the first haircut i was gonna get in years, let alone alongside you. And when you sat for the haircut, and you asked me to sit and get a haircut, a goofy smile dominated my face to which I turned back around and sat down to get the pampered treatment i so deserved and desired. I knew you were going to be unpredictable in the best way.

The first time you visited my neighborhood, I showed you my choice confectionery,since i knew very well that you still had your sweet tooth, you smiled and asked that we get something to eat but i declined cos we had a long evening ahead, didn't wanna get all nauseous from eating and driving. I was feeling playful and started pointing at all the places i loved to visit, then half-jokingly you asked me to tell you all about them, I smiled and i knew we were gonna have ourselves a time around all these places..You were someone of unapologetic self-awareness, an infectious hunger for knowledge who constantly questioned others’ apathy. I was a nomadic spirit constantly leaping before I looked, who threw most caution to the winds that carried my whims.

You brought me outside of myself.

We never really even drank much on our meetings—it was actually refreshing how liquid courage was unnecessary to get to know you. You sent me silly Whatsapps of your room and made me laugh and reflect; I listened to your musings on the weather and the way people drove around us, firing off questions in attempts to understand the way your mind worked.

We spent hours together exploring, drinking wine everywhere (driving around, getting clothes , on the couch watching Dstv), smoking weed, playing games or simply lazing in the sunshine on your patio balcony and sipping wine with cake, while spying on your neighbors down below with the overachiever garden. You knew your way around the stove but you didn't love to cook; you tried making some food for us to eat, which in turn turned to buying burgers from a fast-food shop and i laughed and ate to be nice.

It was a gorgeous, endless winter.

The distance between Africa and America became too far but not close enough.

Backwards to five days before. The last Saturday, where I stormed out because i felt angry not because of the way i felt but from the anxiety in my mind. I struggled to say bye partially because of the looming sadness I left knowing it may be the last.

I poured my fears out to you. In that moment, we were just two people equally together and alone. In that moment, I wanted to go back in time to the person you were and talk to you, tell you things would be okay. But I know you already know that they will be.

And then we realized, is this as far as we can go?

These are words of preservation, honoring a world in which you and I lived these days, sprinkled with silly jokes and weird animal nicknames. And I just wanted you to read them and know what they meant to me. I’m smiling because I will never view this city in the same way.
This is an I miss you, a thank you for being everything you are. For meeting me on that warm January day, for asking permission to lie with my name, for challenging my thoughts and giving me wings in a city that can be so harsh and frigid and wretched yet so maddeningly beautiful at the same time. For finding the courage to be vulnerable with me, even if it was only for a moment and the most you could find within yourself to give. And to let you know that I understand.

Like you said, maybe this isn’t goodbye, but the start of a fresh page for both of us.

Saturday, 18 January 2014

Spilled Black Ink**

I wonder what I would tell you before we parted again. Would I just tell you goodbye again and watch you walk away as I seethed in pits of bitter unrequited feelings , or would I open the faucet and let those years of pent up feelings flow?

I'll miss you much.  Not a day goes by where you wouldn’t be on my mind. Through the years, you've brought out the absolute best in me.

I’ve never learned to say goodbye to you because you linger on in all of my moments. Even in the months we didn’t speak, as my eyes opened in the morning felt your presence and at night you crept into the crevices of my dreams. Could you believe that you still hold a special place in my heart after so long?

In the time when I finally decided it was time to forget you, I began to search for fragments of your being in my potential mates. I knew it was impossible to recreate something that felt so perfect, so I tried to redefine perfection. I tried once and failed horribly. I tried again and failed even more.

As I turn back to you and immerse myself in your warm glow, I wonder if I’m turning back to you just because I’m scared about those failures.  I have decided it isn’t fear that has pushed me back to you, but the need to look at us again with mature eyes.

You were the first person who pulled me off the shelf and read my story. You pushed me further and asked me questions, helping me discover myself. I can argue, as corny as it sounds, it wasn’t just a simple romantic connection, but a spiritual one that had occurred when you first walked through that door. You strived, in your simple way, to lift me from the trenches of depression and show me it meant to feel cared for. You strengthened me, cherished me, and shaped me into a better person. It was when I met you that I learned what it was to smile, laugh, and love and actually mean it. You became my companion.

You also shattered me. After you left, I singlehandedly picked up the shards of my wounded self. I was restored to my previous state, but now with the knowledge of how it felt to be cared for. That newly formed dimension was now barren, and I did not i don't know  how to cope. But I also learned to care for myself, and I'll be fine and be less dependent.

Now I look and wonder if I should just say goodbye and let you slip from my hands again? 

Thursday, 9 January 2014


  I was sitting on the beige couch in the living room. The TV’s playing Modern Family reruns on mute. My heart beats in my chest like it’s trying to escape. I wish I could run away, myself. Disappear off the face of the earth. The dreadful conversation starts something like this:

Look, For once can't you just be merry.

I don’t understand. What do you mean?

I mean, no talk about how I give you joy and whatnot .

Just be yourself.

I was totally lost and caught off-guard, i never saw that coming, ever! That was most disturbing ... We fail to remember that Nobody’s perfect. Depression is a shape-shifting, ever-present monster. It is a monster that many battle; some slay the beast, others are swallowed whole, sacrificing life and limb to its gaping jaws, but most are stuck in an eternal stalemate, neither winning nor losing. I think I fall in this category; I've struggled with depression for years on end, often I feel like I've finally won the battle but I always face the harsh reality that I may live this way through my Life.

 My depression took the form of  a dense gray fog, obscuring all of my senses and causing me to heave and choke, unable to catch my breath. It was a python as thick as a tree, squeezing the life out of me, tightening with every move I made. It was a cancer in every one of my cells; a dull ache that couldn’t be numbed. It was every one of my worst fears realized, ready to pounce as soon as I woke every morning from  night after night of restless, soul consuming insomnia paradoxically paired with bone-deep exhaustion. It wasn’t poetic, it was dirty and lonely ,terrifying and full of tears no one could hear. It was the knowledge that the monster couldn’t get to me, that the pain would stop if I just died. But despite all of my imagery, it was not poetic. It was not lyrical. It wasn’t a heroic effort to maintain a grip on reality or sanity. It was a quest to conquer the monster and stay alive. 

I was prescribed anti-depressant after anti-depressant, each one worse than the last. They obliterated any ability to feel anything, leaving a black void that let the suicidal thoughts come screaming to the forefront of my mind, without anything to distract me. I swallowed five sleeping pills, and woke up the next morning not knowing whether to be relieved or disappointed. I was taken off the drugs after.

By far the worst part of depression wass the response from people without depression. I wanted to scream at everyone who told me to “just smile” or “try talking to someone.” Everyone was always trying to fix me. I didn’t need  fixing. I needed someone who cared enough to hold me until I could breathe. I needed someone to talk to and trust me to be able to fight this monster. Im well aware this monster may be bigger and stronger and smarter than me, but keeping it at bay is possible. I'm sure I'll live through this though** 

                             Thanks for Reading…

Monday, 9 December 2013

Labyrinthus Illuminabit**

  It was a july  morning, and I was getting ready for my morning activities, when I got the text – was it a text or a call? I can’t remember anymore – from my Ex telling me that Alex had passed on. Of course, she did believe me now. I woke in  the middle of the night, afraid, talking nonsense; Why on Earth did I dream about him lying in coffin a week or 2 weeks before he passed ? I was in denial.        

   I remember that summer when I told my Ex that morning she  was tired and in the state of suspended disbelief. I remember yelling and crying, and I remember when I went to bed, my heart raced like i was gonna give up. I remember not being able to sleep. I remember afterwards, thinking I had ESP or some other psychic connection to Alex and the other victims of my unruly dreams. And I remember going downstairs to get a drink of water, and then losing total appetite. I remember finding the note i wrote of all the victims  and I remember panicking and blaming myself and waking up to tell her. I remember trying to totally dissociate myself from reality in a damning quest to understand myself more. My life had become an elaborate labyrinth, so twisted that I could barely fathom or come to term with; having transcended from the ordinary to who I am presently.                                                                                                                         

  I had to pray and read some books to understand why it was so hard to bear the loss. And it eventually hit me.  We don’t mourn what we lose, we mourn what part of us dies because we can’t see ourselves in the context of that thing anymore. We lose a job, a partner, control, sanity, love and we feel as though we are suddenly incapable because we’re always relying on something else to make us feel that way. We’re scared that we’ve lost yet another thing that confirms we aren’t failures, another person who could have infused us with just a little more hope. We’re distraught over the fact that there isn’t another, It’s rarely about the thing or person, it’s about us. Because we don’t want to exist unless we’re wanted.

(And yes, the headline is from the Mary Lambert song.)

  We have people murdering each other and slowly killing themselves with every meal they purge and wrist they slit and slating themselves against others because they don’t agree with them and inflicting torture on each other and themselves because we’ve been convinced that the only way to attain ideal existence is to either tear ourselves down or beat ourselves up until we’re finally what we “should” be– no matter what it takes to get there. It’s was not an issue of culture or of gender or of society anymore, those issues are all symptoms of the fact that it was an issue of my humanity, and just how out of touch with it I was.    Thanks for reading ! 😊😊😊

Saturday, 26 October 2013

Dark Complexity...

  I don’t want to be this person. No one does. No one wants to admit that they are unable to move past something which happened so long ago that not even the most hopeless romantic would justify it. I know when I’m being pathetic, and letting something eat me from inside like a rotten tooth, and I don’t like it any more than I’m sure other people like to be around it. I know that people are holding their breath, waiting for me to make a scene. I know that everyone thinks I should have gotten over it. I hate being him, but its who I am.

  Part of me wants to ask you to let me go, even though I know how ridiculous that is. I'm almost always livid towards everything around me. If I really think about it, I understand that you are not intentionally stringing me along or periodically giving me false hope for something we might have in the future. You’re probably no longer a part of my life, and you don’t even acknowledge me. As much as it pains me to admit, you likely don’t think about me. Your days probably turn into months without ever fondly looking back on the time we spent all day talking with our fingers laced. Those memories don’t exist for you — or, at least, not in a way you have to acknowledge. You can store them away for a rainy day when you want to think about something sweet and forgotten. I have to live with these memories, constantly and reminding me that they are everywhere I go.

  I know that it’s not your fault. But I want to let go. I want to walk away from what we had and make every day a conscious step towards something more positive, something where I don’t factor someone into my life who no longer cares about me. I want to be brave in a way I always used to be, but haven’t been for some time. I want to return to the me who laughs at everything the loudest and is always up to try something new. I miss me, and at times have almost forgotten who I am. Part of me believes that the moment I truly let you go will be the moment I get me back — that you are, in a way, crowding my life and preventing me from living fully. But I know that it’s not a step you can take for me.

  I love you more now than I ever did, I think. And I know that part of this must be because I cannot have you (at least I think so), and things are always heightened with desire and longing. But I don’t know how to pretend that I don’t still burn for you the way I did when I was allowed to express it, if not more intensely.

  Please know that If I stop reaching out. If i stop making a fool of myself. If i stop being this person that I never wanted to be. I am working every day on making my life something beautiful and fresh and interesting, something that has nothing to do with you. I hold nothing against you — even if I wish I could, even if that would make everything so much easier — but I know I can’t be around you. I’m working up the courage to phase you out of my life (and my mind) completely, so that one day, I’d just run into you at a supermarket and have a nice little chat about what we’ve been up to, then go about my day as if nothing happened. But right now, I know that I couldn’t. I know that seeing you unexpectedly would destroy me. One day, I will get there, though. I’ll be me again, and I’ll have forgotten this brief interlude of sorrow. I hope you meet me when I’m that person, so you can forget who I am today.