Dear Friend,
are these letters for you or for me?
Life comes at you fast. M asked me the other day how I go back to friends after long periods of silence, I replied that I face it head on, remorseful, acknowledging my shortcomings. I didn't mention the shame - how it claws at my throat, a pervasive feeling spreading through to my fingers; unable to call, unable to type. It's a feeling that I am still getting used to - this shame that comes after going through such periods; a feeling I could always understand but never really relate to. Life does come at you fast. And yet, it seems like each day trudges painfully on.
I have been trying, to no avail, to remember the last time that I woke up at least the littlest bit excited for the day. I find myself wanting to spend more and more time in The Dreaming, struggling to get there and yet still terrified of this place I want to run to. Dread and the best intentions are how my mornings begin, and when night comes, I am left hauling my dread with me to The Dreaming. It all is very exhausting.
I'm tired, not tired enough to sleep
How are you, friend? Someone pointed out to me, during an open mic thing where I read one of my letters to you, that it reads like a one-sided relationship. Going on and on about myself and leaving no room for you in the conversation. I feel, and want to apologize for that but I do not know if an apology is needed or is the right reaction. There are so many questions: “do you feel I offer you nothing in return for your listening ear?”, “how do I be a better friend to you, for you?” and “are these letters for you or for me?”. I wonder what you think of these questions, if I am even right to ask them. I have no answers, only knowing that I am still questioning myself because perchance this means something, has to, whatever it is - me and words, you and I.
I presume that I have been writing this letter for the past month. In a few minutes, it will be the 1st of December. Like most things in my life at the moment, it appears I am also struggling with this as well. I feel overwhelmed - it seems like I have so much to do, I am doing so much, and yet nothing is happening. It almost seems like I am drowning and fighting, in futility, for air. Almost, I think. “… I get spooked by addressing no one. When I write, I write to connect.” Quite possibly my favorite quote from my favorite essay. I find myself agreeing more and more with Peter as the days blur by. I am beginning to think of these letters as little bubbles of air escaping to the surface as I drown - a call for help? evidence of effort? or just a sign that I am still here, still alive? Does that also help in explaining why I seem to only be able to write these in bursts and not on any consistent schedule like I would prefer? I have more questions than answers these days.
I feel like I am throwing the walls up again; tables, chairs, anything that can be used as barricades for my makeshift fortress. It probably explains the missed calls, sleepless nights and unread texts. I fear that all I am doing is complaining, whining, and being a burden. So, I say nothing. I isolate, cocooning in the safety of my home listening to songs from days when my fears were simpler, in hindsight of course. I still feel untethered but in here, I can forget that anything else exists.
is my life truly mine? or to be lived for others?
As my worst time of the year approaches, I realize that the year ended for me once I returned from my last trip to Calabar. I have been on auto-pilot since I moved my small box from the car to its current spot in my room; I have still not unpacked from that trip. Chores and family errands help in the passing of time, and only the presence of two temporary working roommates aids in knowing which day of the week it is. I get bursts of personal productivity, but these have become few and far in between - from a couple of days in the week, to a couple of hours in the week. There’s the nagging thought that I am wasting all this time, but then I find solace in my weak argument that one can not waste what was never really theirs to possess/control. I wonder if this is one of those phases that passes on its own, or one I have to force through; I am so tired.
I can appreciate the weakness of my argument but…. I am also fully aware that with each passing day my inability to be productive at this point in time, in a society that aggressively rewards productivity, that I am on the verge of making myself a burden. There is genuinely nothing I would hate more, being more of a weight than I already feel I am. In order to avoid this fear becoming a reality, it means that I must resist my natural inclination to isolate, be minimally visible and just exist till this whole ordeal is over. I understand all this rather well but still find myself rejecting it rather vehemently. Living is only living if it is done on one's own terms, I whisper with fragile certainty. I have no idea what I am doing.
I am fortunate, I know; I have some of the most amazing people in my corner. I am also unfortunate, I think; I have some of the most amazing people in my corner. To not commit and fall short of society’s expectation of productivity is to make these people worry. To make someone worry is to burden them. I would rather avoid this outcome. This means that I either commit fully to society’s desired levels of productivity or find a workaround that society still considers productive enough within reason. I must find a way to live true to myself while acknowledging that to varying extents I am accountable to all these wonderful people in my corner. In fear that I might have lost you, I will summarize: I owe my family and friends a duty of care to always be the best version of myself, and where that is not possible at the moment, to continue to strive for that best version of me.
I am currently re-reading Kane and Abel by Jeffrey Archer. The last time I read it, I felt tethered to a world I felt I didn’t belong in; I was a teenager struggling to be free. Now, I am older and missing my tether; I think I am still reeling from that loss. Jeffrey Archer is such a magnificent storyteller. I have just finished A Prisoner of Birth for the third time and I have never been more grateful that time takes everything from us; it reads even better than when I first read it years ago. I am now on a mission to re-read his books that I read those days I felt tethered, searching for something familiar. This seems like a good place to start, a go-back-to-the-beginning if you will.
Jinbei says to an inconsolable Luffy, after losing his ‘only’ brother Ace, “It may be painful for you now, Luffy, but fight it! … What’s gone is gone forever. But think about it, you still have some things left, don’t you?” The question echoes through to me when I close my eyes at night in search of sleep that never comes. And then I smile; the answer in one of my favorite panels from One Piece.
Let’s go back a couple of paragraphs, friend. I am fortunate, I know; I have some of the most amazing people in my corner. There is nothing unfortunate about this, not even now.
I have so many things to tell you, after being silent for so long. I am however conscious of ranting, hearing only the sound of my voice and not making space for you, not listening to you. Do you have any plan for the holidays? Do you like these holidays? I am not a fan of this time of the year and all the festivities so I gather I will probably spend those free days at home, safe in my cocoon. I hope you have a wonderful end to this year, last minute shots sailing in and all of that good news. I hope you allow yourself the time and space to be with friends and family this season, society’s productivity be damned. We all deserve a break!
Thank you for reading me, listening to me. I fear this particular letter might be more for me than you. I admit that in hopes that there is also something for you in here, that I am more than an annoying buzz in your ears. If I do concede that I owe my family and friends the duty to strive to be my best self and not be a burden, then you are not exempt, friend. I must try, and can only promise that I will, one ‘bubble’ letter at a time.
Have an absolutely splendid week!
Happy New Month!
Signing off to Memories (feat. Kid Cudi) by David Guetta:
I just wanna let it go for the night
That would be the best therapy for me
Sine Cera
Osondu