The Itch

I have been writing messages and sending them, and then deleting them. Even though I have found out that I do not have access anymore. Yet I write them out wishing hoping they get through. Once I realize they aren’t getting through, I delete them. How pathetic is that, my friends?

I put on these songs at night which make me feel closer, because we shared a love for music. we used to individually bring songs we had heard and thought the other should hear. Which leads me to remember the drives, my god the drives were a godsend. For both of us I suppose. Very early on we had come to the understanding that we were each other’s safe haven.

I brought it up once, the safe haven thing. Whether it would be wise to bring your safe haven where you were running away from. I got a response I was honestly not expecting, that’s what is going to be the best part, I won’t have look around or leave my house for my safe haven. It will be waiting for me when I get home. It left me breathless. It shook me to my core, I felt that response right down to my toes.

I keep going round and round in circles. Thinking about all the answers I got which actually took my breath away. It was a slow process you know. The sort you don’t realize until you are smack dab in the eye of the hurricane. My hands, ears, eyes itch for lack of a better word. I rarely have a shortage of words. They itch because they are unable to do what they did previously. The running of fingers over the rug. The once in a blue moon catching of the expression of complete and utter admiration. The sound those specific words, in that specific way.

Coming back to the drives. They were honestly what kept me sane for a better part of four years. Not that I couldn’t go on and remain sane on my own. But that thrill of just having this one element all to myself. That one element which was all mine. All my craziness was welcomed with open arms. The one element which I was proud was mine. I was ecstatic that I was asked to oblige, to cater to random requests, I thought those were my privilege.

Nothing was off the record. Everything and I mean everything was on the table. There was nothing that couldn’t be discussed. I loved the thrill of arguing, because I wouldn’t even know and my anger would be dispersed; like a sweet scent in the wind. I am an extremely primal individual. I have always known this, I have always worked hard at pushing them away and keeping them packed. Due to the fear of misuse or a wrong action being taken.

But oh how they reared their head in the company. That was always what was in the driving seat, my baser instincts; the ones that required me to leave my marks. Possibly because they were accepted and acknowledged and understood. They were also reciprocated. With such panache that it took me some time to come to the conclusion that this is what was being done. That territory was being marked. When animals mark their territory, it ensures no other animal is able to set up their roots in that territory. Whether in terms of their mate, or their resting place.

I thought the territory had been marked. Once territory is marked it is extremely difficult for anything else to change. That was it. I thought the territory had been marked. Little did I know I was being naïve? Oh how naïve of me to believe every word that was uttered. It was such a sweet aphrodisiac, I forgot everything else for the time being.

That drug, has been coursing through my mind, body, and soul since some time now. In the olden days, whenever someone fell ill, the doctor would make use of leeches. This stemmed from the need to rid of the contaminated blood inside the body. Even further back, small cuts would be made in different places on the body for the same purpose. Do I need a leeching, to ensure the drug is completed out of me? How do you leech away memories, any ideas my dear confused sweet readers? How do you leech away the imprints? Is it easy? Is it ever possible? I don’t think it is. I don’t have access anymore to my particular brand of drug. It was custom made for me. How do I live, breathe and most importantly sleep without it.

Silly me in this case, I am unable to attempt replacing it also. It makes me feel sullied, like something is being stolen and snatched from me. How dare someone else try to make me laugh, how dare some try and make space in my mind, why is this person even trying to converse with me. That is how dirty I feel. Like life should cease to move on. Hahahah I feel this is too drab and drastic for a few of you. Because you might say, life goes on.

Yes love it does. Things come to a semi normative state. Where the present becomes a way of norm. Forget it, move on, don’t think about it, you are worth more, you don’t deserve this. All of these platitudes are BULLSHIT. A kind advice to all you readers, don’t say these things to someone like me. I will want to gouge your eyes out, or simply yet, write you off. I would stop listening to you. Have you ever had to get over something so beautiful that you thought this was custom made for you?

If you have not had the need to do so, stop telling people to move on who are currently in the same state as me. It isn’t easy moving on from something you thought was made for you. Specifically you. Our religion (Islam), tells us that each individual is made in pairs. They are sent down to be joined in this life. I thought this was my pair. Honestly, I wouldn’t possibly be this crazy had I not believed that.

Life is full of moments when you need to take a leap of faith. It is imperative to human growth. Without taking leaps of faith, no human being can actually move forward. They can’t and if they do, then they didn’t really believe this was it did they. How is it possible to actually forget and move on?

I seem to be all talked and cried out. These are ramblings. There are no rhyme or reason to what is being put out. All I want to do is ensure that I don’t go crazy thinking all of these thoughts. Keeping them inside might just kill me. Regardless of what has happened, I do not want to die. These scars, these thoughts, have haunted to an extent that sleep is nonexistent. I might as well just go out of my mind now, rather than later.  Conversation is difficult, so why not use words on paper to ensure something is used as an outlet. Since I have lost access, barred from my reprieve, my happily ever after.