Nothing, everything

 my eyes are blank with quiet contemplation i am unraveling the cacoon of comfort crying beneath my feet i begin again. what is it about mirrors that are so distracting? is it that we are forced to look at ourselves so clearly so intimately so deeply, an act of forceful introspection of violent denial of silent acceptance you are not what you thought you were you are not who you think you are you never were. on a rainy afternoon, i tell my dad what i think about the rain i tell him that i appreciate how the rain leaves the smell of renewal and revival i think of how thunder storms cause damages and floods i do not realise that these too are necessary for change what if i could physically change anything about myself  at any moment last week, i would have changed my tummy it would bulge less and shrink more and never make itself known last year, i would have changed my hair it would be straighter, less kinky,

Today is my third day out of psychiaric hospital. For obvious purposes I cannot say where I was but I can say what got me there. I had lost parts of myself along with losing my past relationship and I underestimated how much I needed to grieve. I became depressed and suicidal, but I did not really want to die. I wanted to stop feeling everything that I was feeling. I did not know how to handle the pain of abandonment. So, I got help. Well, I was partly forced to get help by my mother. I would like to share some of the things I learned and will probably need a lifetime to master.   Being kind to yourself is really difficult! I struggled with being kind to myself because of my deep rooted feeling of unworthiness. Once my psychologist and I started unpacking this we realised that I take on way too much energy that is not mine, and feel deep sense of failure and defeat when I do not rise up to other people's standards, having severely neglected my own wants and needs. I have lear

I can't remember the first time I became aware of my blackness. I'm sure it happened as early as primary school though. One particular experience that I remember is how the word "ghetto" would be used to describe mannerisms like being loud, or having a heavy African accent, or certain words or phrases that are used by black people. Obviously then, this would automatically mean that black people were "ghetto". So my black friends would be described as "ghetto" while my white friends would be described as "cool" or "part black" with it being a compliment rather than a critique. Of course, there were some of us that figured this out and decided to try and bypass this critique by forcing ourselves to behave differently. To be reserved and quiet, which in my case eventually led to becoming afraid who we are and denying our true selves. To make matters worse, there are, to this day, environments that either accept or quietly deny bl

I'm in my room listening to trance/deep euro house, drinking wine and contemplating whether to have a koeksister or not (a South African sweet treat which is basically a doughnut covered with syrup). I think I might just have one. I am probably going to be very annoyed with myself tomorrow. No. I am probably going to stand in front of the mirror staring critically at my tummy five minutes after I eat it. "I am allowed to indulge", I tell myself. I have just broken up with who I thought to be the love of my life. It has been difficult. I feel like I am supposed to be learning something about life; how hard it is and that it goes on and all those dismissive thoughts. Instead, I am learning that I can break very easily. Or perhaps, I bend easily, like paper. But paper is also extremely resilient and its maleability and fragility can create the most incredible origami. What do I mean ? What am I saying ? I think I am trying to encourage myself. my fragility has been ten tim