Parkour: The Cigarette

I will setup a theme for you here. It rains every single day now. The skies are dark, the trees are always wildly shaking because of heavy winds. I-I am having this issue, the nerve above and between my eye and eye-brow keeps on pumping. It’s not stopping from a very long while, every-every day it, it-just keeps on pulsating 5-6 times a-every single day.

The whirlwind just makes me shiver with cold and getting out in this Manhattan cold is just probably a once in a lifetime mistake to do. I refrain from going outside every day and spend my thinking about myself and the music I listen to. I-I don’t feel like sleeping at all. I do know about the consequences of what happens when you kill a bird and squeeze its soul. It’s been 7 hours, since I’m just lying on the sofa playing “Soul to Squeeze” by Red Hot Chilli Peppers. I was observing myself in the Ikea mirror which is just opposite to the sofa. I was looking at the dragon which is printed on my Superdry t-shirt. I don’t dare to see my own face, because it just gives me the feeling of terror every time I do. I just notice the cello tape on my mouth. It was 7 full days, since I had uttered a single word from mouth.

I moved my focus towards my packet of Inspiral 5mg. Took out a pill, went towards the kitchen, got a ladle of warm soup I had prepared earlier and consumed the pills. Went back towards the sofa, sat down with my diary to draw random things. Though, I don’t feel like drawing much, so I started writing. Sometimes, I’m wondering about what it is like to be yourself. I am almost 22 now, it’s been 5 years since I left home and all I do now is just call my parents at night for a chat. I started drawing a person with a transparent body where the intestines, anus, lungs, kidneys and brain was visible. I wrote a lot of words around that figure, the words were often around how the body works biologically and how my thoughts are dendrites but completely separate from a neuron cell.

I stopped all of a sudden, the instinct stopped flowing through my blood and brain cells. I kept my diary aside. Opened a note in my phone and wrote, “I want to write a story about a phase. The description should be vigilant words said by a magician or witch, the way they say for doing some black magic. Write about the validation a teenager won’t get for being stressed. My parents haven’t broken up, they haven’t beaten the hell out of each other, Write why my thoughts flow like a scheduled series one after another, referencing to the previous thoughts and how it makes my head feel very heavy and tears just wait to drop”. This was a note to myself, so that I can cover that topic, whenever I get the natural instinct to write about something. The natural instinct where I want to runaway from reality, go sit somewhere alone and just start writing like “BIM BIM BIM BIM”.

I wanted to write about it now itself, It was 2 AM. So, I thought why not respect the idea now itself. I picked up the black parkour. I love parkours, amazingly beautiful pens with a lot of great shape on the tip. I started writing, “I remember the days from last year, when I was all alone lost in the midst of July. The feeling of discrepancy and hate just kept on growing myself. I had continuous arguments with myself about why I can’t hate my father with purity”. I wrote, “I often had a lot of arguments with my mother and she was able to feel the disappointments I am having with myself and all the fights I pick with other people. She told me once that she is very scared and worried for me and I should come back home. Maybe, rent a place away from home and stay alone, but stay in the South Carolina itself. She told about a dream she had the other night where I was lost in her dream and she felt like I wasn’t finding a way to go anywhere ahead.”

The instinct was gone. I got up, took a cigarette out of the box, lit it up, went towards the window and took a few puffs full of relief. I kept on observing the environment outside my window till the cigarette burned out completely. I felt the itch again, I jumped into the bed, took my pen out and wrote, “I remember, I got out of house in a very young age to work and make my own money. Soon after a year, some personal things started hurting my mental peace of mind and I just got addicted to that state of mind. I did not give a fuck about helping myself or becoming happy. I just liked that miserable state where I was full of agony. I often tried to talk about this with people. But, whenever I tried, I felt taken aback because I was a teenager and no one takes a teenager seriously.”. I continued, “The excuse was simple, they said, it was my age which was codding with me. I often felt pissed off at people, and started closing my heart. I often wondered why my thoughts were causing me so much addictive trouble. I did not have parents who broke the shit out of each other, divorced or anything. I did not have a childhood where I was harassed or physically abused. I did not have a childhood where I was often pumped with different drugs by others. I have had a simple childhood, then why all of these problematic thoughts now ? I have believed that childhood is a reminiscent for adulthood and a lot of problems/solutions are related to your childhood.” I took a break, not because the internal instinct was dead, but just so my mind asked for a distraction. I opened pinterest to copy some drawings, found a really cool one-line art of a drummer and tried mimicking it. I failed at it, so I got back to writing.

Now, was the moment when I wanted to write really complex things, because my heart just started feeling the isolation and I was listening to the song, “Otherside” from the Californication by Red Hot Chilli Peppers again. I wrote, “I want to draw lines every where, on my shirt, on my hand, a tattoo maybe, but I really want to draw a line. A line between the fear of calling my mental state a joke or calling my state a serious problem. I am very scared of that, I am scared to say that word. It has been hard for me to face it and also runaway. That word is too heavy to say, but the symptoms aren’t less to ignore.”

I stopped writing with one line on that page and the line said, “Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there”.