On: Battered...
This article is best enjoyed whilst listening to the song "When It's Cold I'd Like to Die" by Moby https://youtu.be/eRA3XKe3jXs
This was supposed to be that year. The kind that ushered in a new dawn. The kind where the memories warmed your heart and allowed you to bask in the euphoria of silent wins and happy but unexpected endings.
This was supposed to be the year I changed my fortunes. A new place. A new city. A car. A girl or two (yeah, I think I am polyamorous) and maybe some much-needed financial respite for my aging folks, coupled with some grounded plans for the future of my siblings.
This was supposed to be the year of newer beginnings, clothed in the old garb of an honest living. This year, I was supposed to be the new me. Smiling and happy. Getting rid of the stench of my depression as I flaunt the sensual fragrance of success and its many variations.
This was supposed to be the year when the famous stars aligned for me. In perfect unison. The universe, taking note of my dreams and aspirations and saying "yes" to every good thing my mind thought to envision. The year of my many manifestations of success or at least the semblance of it.
But it hasn't been that year. Sadly. It hasn't been the kind of year I would normally look back on and smile and write a positive epistle of all the good things I got along the way trying to see the light in the darkened shaped abyss that doubles as a tunnel. Nope. This year has been tumultuous and it has taken more from me than it has offered. It has drained me of all my passion and ambition and pulled me closer to the edge of insanity than any other year before it. This has been the year I went from, passion to passivity. From vigor to voicelessness. From hopeful to "fuck it!"
This year has treated me like it didn't care if I survived its onslaught. It has battered me; left, right, center, and each blow and kick, reminiscent of that time I was assaulted by a cultist back in my university days over a chick. This year has bullied me into enjoying the bullying thinking I was on the verge of some sort of character building. Each punch, I would take and say thank you to it and return the next day for the next dose, in my head convincing myself that I deserved all of it; that maybe after enough punches, I would get a warm hug that says, "I only did that because I loved you". But that assurance never comes. Each day the same punch follows. Some days the punch is heavier than the former. Somedays the punch is sheathed for a slap and on those days I sheepishly assume that something good is on the horizon; something that would make me see why this year has been so cruel but understand that it does all it does out of love. But again, that assurance never comes.
And the battering continues. I take the punches in solitude. Only able to share this pain and angst with a very select few. Some of them, too busy taking their own punches they can barely spare a moment for a comforting smile. They too try their best to shield the blows and kicks and they too often are deceived into thinking respite is on its way, and like me, they eventually get used to the abuse that it becomes almost impossible to function without it. I remember speaking with her and she asked me "why do people always ask you to think of the things you already have when you try to complain about being unsatisfied with where you are in life?"
"It's annoying" she added. I nodded.
It is annoying. More so because it is often intended to sound soothing; a way to help you be more appreciative of what you have at the moment as opposed to wishing for things in the future you have no control over. But that's the same reason it's one of the silliest of motivational tropes because in asking you to be grateful for what you already have, it is assumed that you aren't. And that's worse: the feeling that people think you are not grateful for what you already have simply because you are unsatisfied with where you are in life.
It's annoying because no one loses their ability to be grateful just because they developed an affinity to seek more. But that's unfortunately how such interactions are often interpreted. And it's for this reason that we take these punches in silence. Myself and my other comrades. It's, for this reason, this year has continued to batter and abuse us and we have never once shouted from the mountain tops in hysteria because we understand that when we do, we'd be faced with the ever judging stares of those who think "oh, but you have so much to be grateful for already".
I liken it to a woman being abused by her spouse. Beaten and battered daily but since she lives in a palatial home, drives a good car, her neighbors and family think, well, at least you still have so and so. It's like as a society we have assumed that the antidote for a year that has been terrible and unkind and cruel to us is not to complain about it but to be grateful that at least whilst it punched us into a pulp, it still allowed us to wake up the next day so we can get punched some more. And I know how this must sound to some. How there are people who'd say "but hey, you know there are folks out there that have had it worse?" Well, if there are, then I feel bad for them just as I feel terrible for myself.
I feel bad for anyone who has had to deal with the constant abuse that this year had offered in droves. I feel bad too that you can't even complain about it like I am doing here because you have to keep a brave front and survive just to go back into the cold blows of the same year again. I feel bad for those who have had to go in and out of their depression like they were going into a convenience store. I feel bad for those who may never understand why some of us choose to hold tight to our pain and share tender embraces with our abusers. I feel bad because I understand why.
This was supposed to be the year I made strides I'd be proud of and took steps I'd be hopeful towards. This year has been everything but hopeful. And normally at this time of the year, we are all supposed to make a round table and spill our guts on what the year has taught us and all that good stuff, but in all honesty, I've learned nothing from my abuser, this year. Maybe, I've only learned that in a few days, I am likely to be passed off to another abuser and hope that, unlike my current abuser, the new one has more slaps in-store than gut-wrenching punches. And maybe, just maybe the next abuser of a year might be kind enough to choose to hug me back once a while and care enough to lie to me saying, "you know I only do this because I love you".
And maybe, just like I am with my current abuser, I'd believe that lie too. Just enough to get through the onslaught that is to come with each passing day. Or maybe one of my comrades in this battery called life will get lucky in their little corner of abuse and in their celebration of better moments, the rest of us, pained, tortured, depressed, may get to live a little vicariously through them.
Again, this was supposed to be the year. But fuck it! Maybe next year.
Man...