Paranoia

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We often think of paranoia in the context of irrational projections of our own personal conflicts, due to perceived (although perhaps sometimes real) judgment imposed by those who surround us.

But what happens when it is ourselves we do not trust?

As independent as we like to think we are, collective normality – or what we believe to be such – is the only reassurance when our own bodies revolt against us, leaving us to suffer from new and excruciating experiences.

I remember the first time I white-spelled from a spliff. We sent smoke signals from sugarcane fields, but upon finding no sweet nectar, embarked on a quest for munchies to satisfy our voracious appetites.

As my eyes hovered over a wide range of vibrant and sparkling packets of crisps, suddenly the world around me went white….and then black.

I was alone.

I was afraid.

“I’m fucking blind!” – I wanted to scream. Instead, the words trickled out of me in a quivering whimper, repeatedly, like those who chant for mercy upon undergoing a violent exorcism.

Fortunately for me, I was in good company. My head fell onto his shoulder, and as he stroked my hair to the rhythm of my sobs and splutters, he said these words:

“Don’t worry, this happens to me all the time.”

Suddenly,

I was not alone.

I was not afraid.

The shared experience reassured me. I was not an alien. I belonged.

It is this same reassurance which has enabled me to make peace with other significant, yet at the time of first encounter highly unsettling, novel sensations within my body, mind, and heart. All of which had initially provoked me to believe I was isolated in my experiences.

There was my first UTI, where I was convinced I had broken one of the most precious entrances to my being through wreckless promiscuity. My first serious bout of depression, where escape from life was contemplated on the daily. The first time I was ever struck down by someone who claimed to love me, which nurtured the weed of self-loathing and guilt over simply existing.

And yes, as independent as I am, and as much as I love my own company, nobody wants to be alone when they feel pain. Misery truly loves company.

And when we are alone in our suffering, isolation becomes deafening. Panic grips us, and we feel ourselves falling into a dark abyss with no hope of recovery.

Cold water surrounds us and our pupils begin to freeze over, as our arms swish about in desperate attempts to plunge through the surface. But just when we think we’ll survive, the tides keep rising…lifting oxygen beyond reach just a little bit more…

We want to scream. Instead, water fills our lungs. We drown. Alone.

We are doomed to exist in a body that does not respond to the commands of our own minds. We fear what we are capable of, and how we may alienate or damage ourselves as a result of our own foolish actions.

It’s the fear of accidentally leaving the oven on, and burning the house down when you’re alone at home.

It’s the crippling anxiety that sends uncontrollable shivers down your cold and naked body after a shower in winter.

It’s the compulsiveness to check your handbag at least 100 times to make sure to have your boarding pass and passport before embarking on a new adventure that both excites and terrifies you.

Hello self-doubt, what an unpleasant surprise. I was expecting you at 3:00am before my next job interview. Oh wait, I don’t want the fucking job…so why would I care anyway?

Although solitary animals (myself included) live alone to avoid egotistical competition against other members of their own species, exceptions must occasionally be made. Even if only to reaffirm that we are capable of expressing ourselves by way of the vocal tract.

Through laughing at the absurdity of British politics today, or crying after a series of excruciating boardroom meetings. Through screaming in ecstasy at the peak of climax with an ex-lover who’s been back for a quick fix to indulge waves of lustful nostalgia, because arriving together in orgasm were the only moments where you both ever truly felt in sync throughout your entire relationship.

Keep me warm.

Keep me safe.

Touch me.

Don’t touch me.

But whatever you do, even if we sit together in silence, let us occasionally share experiences.

But ultimately, let us converse with darkness. Let us explore ourselves, our insecurities and our vulnerabilities. Let us understand ourselves, so that we may understand why we distrust ourselves.

Let us make peace with our paranoia.

The heartburn of a hedonist

bloody hands

In a world of wide open spaces,

And boundless freedom,

I am enslaved to foolish fantasies

Swimming in red wine

Trapped in a bottle.

 

A hedonist and a rebel,

My hair knows no authority,

Entangled in the fingers

Of a thousand lovers,

Invading bars and motel rooms,

Dancing wildly in the streets for thrills…

 

Yet all I long for,

Is to find sanctuary

In you.

 

The artist in me loves the architecture,

The political activist in me despises the oppression

Through which, such splendor was created

Built brick by brick

Upon glistening backs,

Marked with red stripes

Broken.

 

Isn’t it funny,

How we all get off

To the sting of whips,

And the confines of chains.

 

Acid churns in my belly,

My racing heart bleeds fire,

My hands are stained

I am guilty

Of selfish whims

And destructive indulgences

Notice me,

Love me…

Lest I hold entire cities hostage.

 

Give me your eyes,

A gateway to the secret garden

Of your mind

Where I may plant visual memories

Burning with an eternal flame

Taunting you,

With recurring persistence,

To madness.

 

Give me your lips,

So that I may forever wear them around my neck,

And savor the warmth of your breath,

As I drown in all your kisses…

Laced with betrayal.

 

Tragically,

History with you will never be made,

Even though it feels like I have loved you

With all the love,

Of a thousand lifetimes.

– The day Notre Dame burned

Sessions of intimacy

I always knew you were watching me,

And that I had begun to raise the tides

Of your intoxicating  blood

Coursing

Pulsating

Through every organ

In your body.

Yours is an invasion

To which I respond

By spreading open the floodgates

To the haunting cry

Of my insatiable desire.

Release.

I never expected the truth to manifest so intensely,

So passionately…

With my fingers sliding beneath

The red lace of my knickers…

They say I’m too young to love you…

I guess it’s a good job,

That I don’t love you.

It’s more than that…

It is the very law of nature.

“How many orgasms have you had today?”

He asks…

“Three so far,

But the sight of your ecstasy

Will induce many, many more…”

“I want to taste you.

I want to taste myself,

On your lips.”

The Aphrodisiac of Infidelity

To be honest…

You arouse me

Immensely.

But you have made yourself

The guarded property

Of someone else,

And I am trying

As hard as the parts of your body

To be a good girl

For a change.

– The words that launched a thousand illicit ejaculations

What drives us to caution those who want us, but are prohibited from having us?

Is it an act of moral conscience, or manipulation motivated by lust?

We all want to be exempt from accountability…

Try as I might to live by a strict code of consideration for the deluded souls who enter relationships believing in a happily ever after whereby their partners fuck them and only them for all eternity, experience has taught me that infidelity is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

I remember, his hand on my knee as he whispered a bitter protest in my ear. Earnestly, he insisted that in another life he would have pushed me up against walls and induced tremors through the earth of my flesh by way of his tongue slicing through the jungle…

Making me sing symphonies, loud and fierce, past the point of no return.

“No, I’m not a home-wrecker.” – The biggest lie I ever told. Subconsciously, I always knew this to be true…even as I begged him not to touch me.

This is where lines begin to blur, for what is the point of consent when we are forced to belong to someone else by the union of ‘true love’?

I am no longer ashamed of the supposed sins I commit, nor will I deny myself pleasure.

Life is too short to regret our indulgences.

PS. And I think secretly, we all get off to the idea of a really magnetic soul leaving their significant other (even if just for a moment) to hungrily devour us inch by inch, top to bottom.