Category: Life

Anxiety, Coping System, Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Shorts, Sleepy time, thoughts, writing

Sleepless

I. Ogunbase

I am tired

From the moment I decided to wake up from whatever dream I was having

Tired because of how long the previous day had me feeling

Tired because of the hours spent overnight thinking

Tired because the thoughts in my head prevent my resting

So I wake up tired.

Headache banging, my impromptu alarm clock with no snooze button

Mouth dry and clammy as my body has redirected the liquid to its exit by my eyelids

Exhaustion caused by the mental alchemy of turning depression into physical defects

The shot glass remains ever empty, but I can’t deny the impulse.

The thought of the brief release as it wrecks my nerves.

The bitter aftertaste as the burn travels down my throat

So I look up, past the clouds, with a sincere hope that my Creator is looking back at me.

“I’m here… I’m lost… When you can please holler back at me…

Because the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer and I’m not coping properly…

And I’m using all I have, to do all I can, but things are not as it should be…

I know I’m not the best, I don’t think I measure up to the rest, but please turn your gaze back to me…

Because I’m tired…

…oh so tired…

I’m getting tired of being me”

Anxiety, Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Pain, Poem, Prose, Sleepy time, Thoughts, thoughts, writing

Shot Glass.

I. Ogunbase

Adrenaline and emotional pain, poured into a shot glass for your heart to drink.

You’d call it poison, I’d call it life.

Life, like the pound notes entering your pocket, but bleeding through the hole at the bottom as you try to pay the debtor for “one more day”.

Like the great staircase leading upwards, whose only requirement is that you step on the head and bodies of others to ensure there’s enough space for you to claim as yours.

You’d call it deplorable. Some would say “Competition”.

Competition as basic as who gets into work the earliest to bask in some sweet brownie points of being “ever ready” to get to work. Or is it the excellence in one’s field as they struggle to show that their work is worth taking notice off above others?

Or maybe it’s the “trying-to-1-up-you-by-showing-you-how-much-I-can-provide-for-you-when-contrasted-with-how-much-you-can-provide-for-me-” sort of battle, as couples hug in public as they joust in their individual mental landscapes.

Some would say its healthy.

Others would liken it to alcohol.

But after the first couple shots, the burning feeling in your chest dissipates as your body temperature rises from the pot of emotions bubbling underneath.

Words start to slur as words decide to stop lying on your behalf. Memories merge into an amalgamation of horror and fancy as you play the “What If?” game with yourself.

Then the world spins, and you taste the exotic dish of hard granite and dirt on your lips to pass the night.

And for a moment,
however brief,
It
all
just
stops

And then you awake.

 

Coping System, Descriptive, Emotion, Life, Pain, Thoughts, writing

Insignificant Spec of Worry

I. Ogunbase

For a long time, I’ve always thought Adulthood got clearer as one navigated through the madness it entailed. I figured, one would encounter a rough map or a vague set of guidelines which would make the whole experience more streamlined…

I guess…

As usual, however, I’m proven wrong and my thought process is seen as naive.

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything, longer still since I’ve cried out of anger and hurt but even those tears have failed to convey the message across.

That I’m tired.

I’m tired of everything.

Everyone seems to have an idea on how everyone else needs to behave. Always. And it’s become so deeply pervasive in society that opinions and impressions are enough to ruin your future prospects without even missing a beat.

And life would eat you up as everyone else walked over your dead corpse, without so much as batting an eye at your lifeless figure. The only record of you being a statistic.

But it’s society, right? Society molding you into the average human needed to turn the work wheel into another day, earning the pisspoor paycheck that companies reluctantly give due to their contractual obligation to the government.

It… It hurts worse from family though. Because it’s usually from a place of love, as they try to advice and protect you from the evils they’ve seen of the world outside.

The evils you can see with your own eyes.

The madness you’ve decided to tolerate in your own fashion because you deem it suitable enough to not give you a bother but the family can’t allow that.

You figure that you can just slip into their shoes and do as society does but family and society forcibly remind you that you’re different from them, so you have to act different from them. That you must adhere to rules you don’t understand and tradition you find issues with.

The young wide eyed boy suddenly dull to the environment around him as he wonders why he should even care.

I used to think that when I grew up, I’d be very much myself, with my own quirks, working alongside everyone else with the only difference being our names but I’ve been proven wrong.

Repeatedly.

They say my identity won’t have to change, I just have to change how I do stuff, even when said stuff are not the things that I would want to do on a normal day. Having to conform because it assures my future progresses as smoothly as they hope it can.

I’ve stopped blaming them. Long ago. After all it’s not their fault. We were all unfortunate enough to be born with a darker shade of skin that would set us back in more ways than one.

The deep and dark realisation that no matter how hard you try to forget, you get reminded that you’re still not an equal.

You’re just a diversity statistic.

Maybe this is what it means to be depressed.

Either way…

I am tired.

Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Love, Pain, PenPractice, Shorts, Sleepy time, Thoughts, writing

Sleepless… 

I. Ogunbase

What I saw was the “could-be” version of her.

Not the “current”.

I fell for the demo version of her, because she was worried her reality would make me turn away.

I can’t blame her. Maybe I would have run. Maybe I would have stayed, and helped put back her broken frame, piece by piece, till she resembled the perfection that my Creator made her to be.

Either way.  I did stay.

Here.

In love with the reality in front of me.

Looking at her naked self, as she strives to preserve what little shell she has left, because her last companion left her with the damages and walked out of her life.

Either way.
I’m here.

So I roll my sleeves up, retrieving some glue and some sandpaper in hopes that I could assist in making her whole again.

But she doesn’t want me.

So I’m here.

And I don’t know what to do.

Anxiety, Descriptive, Emotion, Life, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Prose, Shorts, Sleepy time, thoughts, writing

[Sleepless]

I. Ogunbase

I have to remember to release my breath.

I don’t want to die, I just want to sleep.

But the grip around my heart just tightens, as my chest heaves up and down. My palms are sweaty, and I find myself staring down the ceiling.

The once-white ceiling, now transformed into an artistic piece of daily worries, superimposed upon my inner insecurities. Fear being the curator, I’m seated at the exhibition and treated to a nightmarish tour.

I have to remember to breathe.

I don’t want to die, I just want to sleep

Forget my today’s worries and rest within the bosom of nothingness for the few hours I have between today and ‘tomorrow’

I just have to remember to breathe

I just want to sleep

Bae, Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Love, PenPractice, Prose, Shorts, Thoughts, writing

Out the Window.

I. Ogunbase

The beauty of the shiny green pastures wheeze past me gracefully, as they remain static in their growth, dancing only to the soft wind that blew across the quiet land. 

Back when it was just me, enduring the quiet rides by the windowsill of the Virgin train that ran all the way back to the place I’m duty bound to call Home. The carriage maintains a just above average hum, of the occupants discussing the day’s events, retelling stories of past memories, making plans for the weekend in London and the likes. 

It’s at times like this, where I look towards the horizon and watch the night sky slowly take over the activities it’s day sister has relegated to him. The purple haze at the horizon point, slowly painting the sky into an artistic blue, before place the yellow dotted wonders that make up the starry sky. Sometimes, if I focus enough, I remember the days when I’d sleep outside with my family, back in Nigeria, on the cars of the house, due to the absence of light. 

And we’d indulge in our dreams of the future but most importantly, the quiet companionship under the starry sky. 

Reality however, has a odd way of taking things off you when you believe it is all you could ever want. But Life, as it turns out, would make it clear you don’t need. 

The train used to be just me. 

Then I introduced myself to you, in the blue dress as you sat quietly in the corner, watching the minutes pass by on our mutual’s graduation celebration. I hadn’t thought that far ahead when we exchanged names, and I pestered for your number. 

Here you are… next to me, and as we spend the journey watching a movie as the train makes its way back down to the place we call Home. Your focus is on the scenes taking place on the small screen of my tablet surface, while my mind’s focus is on you. You. In my serenity, causing me no comfort.  

I can’t look out the windowsill anymore, to the beauty of nature that the Creator blessed the Earth with, because you now stand in the way, and any attempt of mine to look past you ends, with me just looking at you. 

But. 

I think He gave me a better view of the beauty I’d like to keep on seeing for as long as He’d let me see…

You. 

 

 

Late Night, Life, PenPractice, Shorts, Thoughts, writing
I. Ogunbase

Over the last couple months, I’ve lived, loved and lost. 

I’ve enjoyed a wonderful set of months that words don’t quite come close to explaining it. Ironically, I haven’t done much so maybe it’s the relative peace of mind I’m enjoying. And that’s coming from someone who worries a lot. 

I’ve loved and still loving, to be completely honest with you, the lady in my life has she has taken it upon herself to become the deterrent to my not so pleasant self. She’s awesome and I try to let her know everyday 

And I’ve lost. 

If you’ve stuck around to listen to the conversation I have with myself this has to be something that has cropped up over the years.ive lost friends, attitudes, some hobbies and some aspects of my personality I’m still not sure I’m supposed to lose, but methinks that’s a different conversation. 

That said. 

The future is more focused now and all I’m focusing on is the intensity of that which I don’t know. The uncertainty at taking the next step in a life journey without actually knowing what the step will lead to. 

Its like standing at the helm of a cruise boat staring at the possibility of a sunny trip, torrential downpour and storm, wondering where the steering my lead. 

It’s all confusing.  
All these information being absorbed and yet my mind can’t sift through fast enough to figure out my next plans. My eldest sister would argue and say I have no forward planning. 

Before I’d argue but now I’d agree, albeit in a rebellious reluctant attitude, but how can I have forward planning when I’m don’t know what forward I’m trying to move towards to. 

Society popularly teaches that the early 20s are when you should be unsure about the future as you try to find your feet, but I can’t help but wonder if that timeframe is extended. 

I know what I’d like at the end of the tunnel, but I’m left second guessing if it would be worth it. With everything else suddenly fighting for priority, would my destination at the end of the tunnel change? 

More importantly, is this how people’s dreams die? 

At the murderous hands of uncertainty and non-existent clarity? 

Coping System, Emotion, Life, Prose, Shorts, Sleepy time, Thoughts

Sunset

I. Ogunbase

​The time is past sunset now, the dark blueish tint enveloping the night sky above.

It’s a Sunday. Stereotypically evident, by the lack of cars on the road, and the orange glow of lighting in everyone’s home. It’s the day to cut back. Society would have you believe that should be a Saturday but it’s a lie.

Sunday is when you rest. Sunday is when you reflect.

In a few short hours, the subsect of the world of which it remains night goes quiet as the mind relegates to it’s battery saver state, preparing for the morning wake and the subsequent actions that follow. Clockwork really, as the body gets set back into its routine of making money and pretending to look busier than they actually are in hopes of making more.

Typical stuff.

When I was younger, I used to fantasise that I’d be sitting at the edge of a building, or beachhead or balcony, watching the sunset in the horizon. This…dream would usually be populated by close friends and a girlfriend, conversing, laughing, socialising and eventually being comforted by the silence of being next to loved ones, as we gaze into the distance of where our deepest dreams lay accomplished. The sunset would usually be in its earliest position, the orange glow bathing us in that warm hug of loving goodness, just before it dips below the horizon.

The sunset is different now. My fantasy having being transformed by life experiences, the orange tint is absent. Now? It’s just me at the edge alone, sitting with my eyes closed.

It’s relevance in being open is useless here.

After all, what’s there to see but the dark purple mix of warm and cool, painting the sky in the uncertainty of what the future might hold. I had once believed that my path onwards would be one taken together with a group of like-minded people, walking hand in hand.

My naivety has been cruel to me. I once led myself to dream that we’d all congregate in years time, together on that edge but even I knew that to be a lie.

Maybe it’s time I get up from the view before me and return back to the house.