I slowly take a sip of my coffee mug then put it aside, letting the caffeine I just consumed reach my blood, then give it some time to get to my heart, begging it to quickly pump the heavenly caffeine into the rest of my body parts. Feeling reliefed, I lift my hand of the table to reach the tense side of my head as the migraine's devilish pain slowly fades away..
I take more sips, forgetting my coffee inbetween each sip and the other.. because that's how coffee is taken.. Slowly.. Because coffee isn't only about caffeine, or its taste, coffee is a ritual..
I finish that coffee in a 30 minutes matter or so.. making sure that the last sip I take is cold.. it has to be.. because if not, my caffeine consuming process fails, and I get to have my ever-lasting friend, migraine, back.
-I stare blankly across the window, dreamy, as if nothing awaits me, forgetting about all of the things that has to be done, all of the wrong things that were already done, and drift away... But instead of flying out of the window, having long travels and going on imaginary voyages the way a teenage girl does.. I do it in reverse, zooming into the crowded city in my head, passing through its gate, reaching the insides of my skull.. then start walking slowly across its streets while scanning the buildings around me..
Nostalgia..
negativity..
disappointments..
hatred..
and fear..
that's what bulids this city..
I get a feeling of amusement as I wander around this mess.. I pass by a group of (Me)s gathering around a little version of me, kicking him onto the ground..
And the scene satisfies my psychopathic needs..
I start thinking about what a wonderful place this world is.. it's my own utopia, my secret place.. only I is here, and all that's here is I.
I light up a cigarette since smoking here aint gon' kill me.. and the only atmosphere I'll hurt is my skull, and I don't really mind. "I am free" I think "Just like this imaginary black smoke I'm exhaling.."
- I think I should be happy now, but infact, I'm depressed, but I'm only depressed because I want to, because it helps me think clear, think coherently, it amuses me, it's like a morphling's drug, a smoker's nicotine, a human's bread, a plant's soil and a sailor ships. We're inseparable.. I treat it very carefully.. not letting it paralyze me, but not letting go of it.. I'm not saying I'm a drama queen, Nor am I an emo. I'm just like everybody; I'm nobody; I live normally, I laugh, tell jokes, and dream.. But to me, depression is a life style; a group of little things that makes me happy -if that makes any sligh bit of sense : the hoodies I wear, the books I read, the cheesy poetry I write, and the things I draw.. the short walks I take at sunsets, plus the moments of solitude I give myself dawn.. I call those depression because I find depression in these little details, and I think depression gets to find me through them..
Depression gave me this city right here, the city made of, for ,and from me. My own little secret place; the place I run to when the outer world is boring, when it's lonely, scary, and unfair.
-Having walked an exact hundred miles, I reach my destination.. the museum, I walk in, cross the main hall until I reach a small door with the word "nostalgia" written on it.. I slowly open the door, making sure no other me sees me. I walk in then close the door behind.
small windows are every where, each window shows a scene.. that's my grandmother's backyard, there's a mall.. a classroom.. some people.. familiar faces.. old friends.. family.. many places, many words.. I have ti look through twenty windows before I finally find what I came for: I see myself looking confused, and there's a person next to me, a girl, she looks confused too. we both are sitting on a bench but not next to each other.. Instead, we seem as if we're trying to keep as much distance as possible..
I smile "it's her..." and I feel something growing inside me. Something like..
..longing,
despair,
Anger,
love..
..madness..? I know not.. But it's something between being miserable and having your lifetime wish being granted.. And whether it's good or not.. it hurts.. it's causing so much pain.
"Dude, da hell you doing." my brother's voice brings me back to my senses..
-Ah? Umm.. I..I..am studying, what else would I be doing?
-You ask me? you're the one looking all nuts with tear-filled eyes.
-That's Spring allergy, ya know.
-But it's winter..
-uhm, yeah.
...
I finish that coffee in a 30 minutes matter or so.. making sure that the last sip I take is cold.. it has to be.. because if not, my caffeine consuming process fails, and I get to have my ever-lasting friend, migraine, back.
-I stare blankly across the window, dreamy, as if nothing awaits me, forgetting about all of the things that has to be done, all of the wrong things that were already done, and drift away... But instead of flying out of the window, having long travels and going on imaginary voyages the way a teenage girl does.. I do it in reverse, zooming into the crowded city in my head, passing through its gate, reaching the insides of my skull.. then start walking slowly across its streets while scanning the buildings around me..
Nostalgia..
negativity..
disappointments..
hatred..
and fear..
that's what bulids this city..
I get a feeling of amusement as I wander around this mess.. I pass by a group of (Me)s gathering around a little version of me, kicking him onto the ground..
And the scene satisfies my psychopathic needs..
I start thinking about what a wonderful place this world is.. it's my own utopia, my secret place.. only I is here, and all that's here is I.
I light up a cigarette since smoking here aint gon' kill me.. and the only atmosphere I'll hurt is my skull, and I don't really mind. "I am free" I think "Just like this imaginary black smoke I'm exhaling.."
- I think I should be happy now, but infact, I'm depressed, but I'm only depressed because I want to, because it helps me think clear, think coherently, it amuses me, it's like a morphling's drug, a smoker's nicotine, a human's bread, a plant's soil and a sailor ships. We're inseparable.. I treat it very carefully.. not letting it paralyze me, but not letting go of it.. I'm not saying I'm a drama queen, Nor am I an emo. I'm just like everybody; I'm nobody; I live normally, I laugh, tell jokes, and dream.. But to me, depression is a life style; a group of little things that makes me happy -if that makes any sligh bit of sense : the hoodies I wear, the books I read, the cheesy poetry I write, and the things I draw.. the short walks I take at sunsets, plus the moments of solitude I give myself dawn.. I call those depression because I find depression in these little details, and I think depression gets to find me through them..
Depression gave me this city right here, the city made of, for ,and from me. My own little secret place; the place I run to when the outer world is boring, when it's lonely, scary, and unfair.
-Having walked an exact hundred miles, I reach my destination.. the museum, I walk in, cross the main hall until I reach a small door with the word "nostalgia" written on it.. I slowly open the door, making sure no other me sees me. I walk in then close the door behind.
small windows are every where, each window shows a scene.. that's my grandmother's backyard, there's a mall.. a classroom.. some people.. familiar faces.. old friends.. family.. many places, many words.. I have ti look through twenty windows before I finally find what I came for: I see myself looking confused, and there's a person next to me, a girl, she looks confused too. we both are sitting on a bench but not next to each other.. Instead, we seem as if we're trying to keep as much distance as possible..
I smile "it's her..." and I feel something growing inside me. Something like..
..longing,
despair,
Anger,
love..
..madness..? I know not.. But it's something between being miserable and having your lifetime wish being granted.. And whether it's good or not.. it hurts.. it's causing so much pain.
"Dude, da hell you doing." my brother's voice brings me back to my senses..
-Ah? Umm.. I..I..am studying, what else would I be doing?
-You ask me? you're the one looking all nuts with tear-filled eyes.
-That's Spring allergy, ya know.
-But it's winter..
-uhm, yeah.
...
