Vignettes of Ruin and...

Posts Tagged ‘fear’

Tropic of Cancer

In The Nightmare on July 18, 2012 at 9:29 pm

I am fragile.

And I am no longer sure if I mean it in an abstract kind of way. I am thinking about my body and how I haven’t been looking after her. For years I thought she was fat when she wasn’t. I refused to allow my picture to be taken. I dared not step outside without make up on, so disastrously ugly I was. Untrue, perhaps. But it was how I felt. I think of how I have stuffed it with instantaneous gratification, and starved it of sustenance. I have clawed at it’s skin until I scarred it. I have condemned it to a relationship that does not love it. Each day I feel that bit closer to the realisation that forces of nature will never cause life to take root and grow from within these bones.

But something else has seeded there, where life should be.

I don’t know what it is, but I feel a paralysing terror every time I am reminded of it’s existence. At first I dismissed it. Nerves perhaps, but nothing serious. Should be gone tomorrow.

But the next day, it was still there. Give it a chance, I thought.

Weeks later, still there, but looming larger. Impossible to ignore.


So this is fear, in all it’s stark white purity. This is what it’s like to lie awake at night and try and reconcile oneself with their vulnerability, their fragility, their mortality.

In the dark, Vincent is oblivious to my pounding heart as I cautiously spread my fingers over my abdomen, tentatively pressing down. Yes it’s there, oh God it’s still there, how did I let it come to this.

I tell myself that panic is futile, that I must be logical. I need to see a doctor. Undoubtedly, I will be sent to hospital. And I will do this after the holidays, after I have finally paid my bills and when I have some money, that is the only time I can do it.

The funny thing is, it doesn’t really physically hurt. This monstrosity, growing where my womb should be idle, it is hurting me only in unexpected ways.

I must ask your forgiveness, dear aching body!

I am sorry for what I have done to you. I am sorry I did not love you enough to protect you. I am sorry I did not cherish your miraculous existence. You gave me a voice when I had none. You made it possible for me to walk upon the sand, to see the sun and catch the scent of the sea, you made it so that I could hear bittersweet music and run my hands through my dog’s fur and feel warmth, you made it so I could do anything I wanted.

And this… this is what I have done. This is what I have done to you.

I am sorry.


Medicatus (Holy Words from the Bastion of Fleeting Mercy)

In The Nightmare on September 25, 2011 at 4:31 pm

And Medicatus said on the 15000th day of the first age, come to me my child, follow me into the grey lake where the searing coals of suffering become cold diamonds.

Bow to the God of Inertia. Cut the  cord of strife that has tied you to the heartbeat of the Earth and allow yourself to drift away upon the surface of vagrant waters.

Just don’t look back.

Don’t look back to the lake shore where the effigies of the people who once were loved, now cast in pillars of salt, stand like sculptures commemorating a glorious past.  Their white eyes, emptied of your shared memory, only condemn you to a lonely onward road. They won’t allow you to turn the hourglass upside down and reverse the ravages of living in times where nothing mattered except the wanting of times that none of you had.

Never look ahead.

Never look ahead and give credence to the fears that brought you here to my kingdom. The fear that the black clouds gathering over the rolling fields of golden destiny beyond are the mantle of despair you have refused to wear. You couldn’t bear the weight then, and you won’t bear the weight now. Don’t follow the stony, puddle- splashed path that emerges from this lake, winding through ragged, thorny briars and desiccated thistles brings you to the domain of the Tower. Because once you reach it, you cannot turn back. This overwhelming obstacle to completeness, ascending into the sky with such startling certainty will only compel you to obey its form and push open its heavy wooden door with both hands and step inside. There will be nothing else for you to do, but climb the ever-tightening spiral of its ancient staircase until you are confronted by the uppermost glassless window. The assault of an urgent, impetuous gale that seems to push and pull you towards it until there is nowhere now to go, but down.

Just don’t look below.

Because in the receding depths, when the water rushes and roars into your ears until you think there is no room left for sound, you will be able to detect the faint cries of some troubled soul. In hearing it, something in you will awaken as the cry becomes an unbearable wail you cannot ignore. You will try to flee from it and so open your eyes, only to be confronted by the horror of what condemning your suffering has done. Below you, bound by weeds and silt, the bones of your life are trying to grasp your limbs and drag you down with them, the yawning, gaping sockets and holes where eyes once beheld you with love, where lips once kissed you as though in a dream, where fingers once reached out for your desperate hand: now only tormented remains exist. Their memory, contorted by your bitter recall, their faces, lost in your determination to eschew the fact that you once had it all before your own self loathing crushed it.

Unexpectedly, you find your voice and with it, the realisation that anguished lament you’ve been trying to escape has always been coming from you, a long pitched scream, tearing up the atoms inside. So you open your mouth to let it out, let the scream out and let the water in.

But only the idea of drowning has its solace.

So don’t look down.

Instead, take this tiny white pill and stay here, cradled by distance, coddled by safeness. Close your eyes and forget where you are and who you’ve been. Let me take the world away, piece by bitter piece, until a chemically constructed calm settles the battles in your blood.

Forget the machinations of suburban indoctrination. Forget the house, the car, the dogs, the little children. Forget the gym and rocket salad. Forget the gas bill and Sky Sports as an added extra. Forget garish romanticism of the 80’s and how nothing good has happened since. Forget the job, unchallenging and patronising. Forget relationships and constant compromises. Forget failure and death.

Just forget.