Chapters 3 - 5 {{"The body and the mind do not always travel together"}}

"I keep dancing on my own . . ."

Chapter 3

Not a day goes by when each living person does not undergo some form of trial or another.  In most cases, days alternate from good to bad in uncontrolable oscillations.  My case is not at all exempt from this fact of life - only slightly different, slightely more extreme.  I found myself experiencing points of utterly over-extentuated joviality which often subsided into complete dispondency within hours on the realization that I had nobody to share my happiness with.  And so I have been caught between the two extreme emotional poles for near the entirety of this year . . .  It is not until most recently that I have discovered that I can detatch myself from the influences of society, not by seclusion and isolation, but rather by means of meditation and self-awareness.  I later discovered my "zen zone", which I will admit has been a blessing during this examination period.  I had thus found a means of coping with the hardships that come with the pursuit of a quality education and experience - as well as of binding that pestilent, pervasive and most depressing fear and anxiety which has plagued me for as long as I can remember.  Pressure has been both ally and mortal enemy in my struggle to the top.  The challenge has been finding a way to use it to my adventage against academia - though anxiety and fear of the unknown made this that much harder to achieve.

I maintain that nobody deserves to go through what I have had to endure for the duration of this year - the first and second halves taking more than I had to give!  Prometheus alone knows my suffering - bound and punnished daily for daring to be that special one who defied the odds for the greater good.  Life became my eagle, each evening picking at my every fibre, ripping my flesh sending stinging vibrations of pain along the length of my spine and all the way to my toes.  I worked more than most around me.  I spent endless hours chasing the story, writing paragraphs and articles and essays - all the while cramming Chinese characters.  I wasted away in the recesses of the library and in the end yielded nothing!  I failed . . .

My marks failed to reflext all the pain and sacrifices I had to endure in the first semester.  They ommited the tale of how I stayed when all had left this town and returned to their homes and loved ones, or how I had given up on sleep.  They left out all the tears I shed as I walked back from my first exam.  Tthis was my first drama practical - the "voice" exam.  I was nervous, having no idea of what to expect.  I turned to my best known way of hiding my true feelings and of calming myself: humour.  Worst mistake ever!  I fear that I may never forgive Ms Gehring for shitting on me for being me - after I had been told that drama was the one place I would never feel chastisement.  That was the day I longed for death most.  Mere hours later I would be debuting as a stage actor, and there I was in my room, crying, shaking like I had never shook before and praying to God to give me strength.  I snatched my pocket knife and carbed into my desk.  I stabbed and stabbed at it, but it gave me no sense of pleasure.  And so, stopping short of stabbing myself, i cut!  I cut depper and deeper into my arm.  Deeper and deeper I sought to cut, but no blood came out.  Nothing but more pain came of it.  I yearned to be free of this world and all its bullshit!  I snatched up my hood and left - not caring about where I was going or where I would wind up.

I found myself at the Counselling centre moments later - no recollection of ever deciding to venture down there.  I exchanged smiles with the lady at reception, and asked if I could see someone immediately.  I do not remember what I told her, but I do remember crying.  I had not cried that long or that hard with so much emotion and so much pain in memorable history.  My tears were shed from emotion, from an unmendable sense of pain and from feeling of anger, rage and resentment towards the world that I had never known before then.  I could not finish a sentence for sobbing, weeping each time my mouth opened.  Imagine it.  The pathetic of the grown, bearded man weeping like a small child in front of a woman whom he had only just met still haunts me till this very day. I felt emasculated and lost.  I wanted nothing more than to die - but something kept me from killing myself.  A sense of conscience or a divine intervention, I do not know.  What I do know is that having survived first semester has mad me a stronger person that I ever was.

Nobody remembers that coward who commited suicide at University, but all remember the great author that captivated the world with their imaginary worlds and words of sheer brilliance.  The dream is that some day I will be that author, and that all will remember me is what has kept me going all this time.

This realization, however, came with time.

Chapter 4:

In the meanwhile, nobody knew.  I did not want anyone to know that I was broken beyond repair at that time.  I did not want my weaknesses known to the world.  I lied to everyone, and told everyone I encountered that I was all right.  I lived life on the surface as normal - going out, going to the odd lecture, going out on dates (I would mention them all, but this is the story of MY LIFE after all, and I really do not wish to share the limelight with anyone.  I will add, however, that there have not been as many as many believe - and that the only most notable one was my last, which took place a little under a month ago with a girl who I find most curious in every way.)

This kept me going until the time came for me to go home.Home ... was different.  All of a sudden, I saw my house of upbringing as too small compared to my room.  I know, it sounds strange - but I felt like a giant in my own house.  Perhaps it was the fact that I no longer had an entire space to myself that was entirely my own that made the house - which, if i might add, knowing that failure to elaborate on this will certainly inspire critics and general haters to take to arms and besmirch my great work with profane comparitory remarks out of pure spite, is not at all small, though not overtly big in stature either.  It is a comfortable  home inhabbited by my bully of a mother ( who I love most dearly, regardless of our constant bickering and territorial squabbles), my near-ancient grandmother (who I love most dearly also, irrespective of the fact that she blames me for every single thing that can and does inevitably go wrong!  Honestly, only thing she is yet to blame me for is stealing her false teeth . . . which, I will admit I am rather considering now), and myself (I dare not go into details explaining myself for fear of presenting myself as exceedingly vain.)

The time to return to Grahamstown presented itself, and I felt rejuvinated!  I had a lot of energy and the momentum to spread it out so as to not overdo it and exhaust myself.  The exhaustion was inevitable, though.  I did, however, manage to survive it . . .  The second semester has presented itself with a few epic adventures - many of which were undertaken in the utmost of sober states of mind!  I found that although supressing the urge to drink came with great personal self-restrain, I paid less and less attention to it because alcohol no longer had an effect on my state of mind.  I reached a stage where I completely missed that state of intoxicated euphoria and went on straight ahead to the post-consumption nausea.  I saw this as a sign to basically cut my losses and focus on paying my debts.  Yes, alcohol had ceased to affect me positively, but that does not mean that I stopped drinking.  The heaven's will turn purple the day I quit the bottle.  As wayward as this may sound, it is as real as the nose on my face.  Alcohol is a part of me by choice.  I drink because I like it and used to reap its benefits, which I hope will be restored during my upcoming stint in Pretoria.

Chapter 5

The year is almost over.  I now lay on my bed, torn between studying for my final paper and packing the clutter that has plagued my room for the entirety of the year with the odd exception such as when I had a particular young lady previously mentioned coming over (nothing happened) and on the occassion where my dear mother visited me in Grahamstown, to name a few.

There were streams of alcohol, magically conjured at times by hope and desperation for salvation from the confines of reality.  There was weed (which I pride myself in never having bought all year.  Say no to drug pushers, just think twice before you refuse weed on that very odd occassion) in times of utter despondency at the unavailability of alcohol.  There were nights of sheer confusion and the odd afternoon (such as on my birthday . . .  I was out cold by the end of supper - which I barely even remember.  How I got to my room that Sunday afternoon remains a bit of a blurred mystery. But alas, birthday binge-drinking seems to be the Rhodent way of welcoming in a new year of striving to reach that promised state of maturity most parents envisage for their children.  If at first you don't succeed, keep drinking and maybe someday you will!)

I am sometimes harassed by flashbacks of nights passed and experiences shared - whose intrinsic details remain a complete and utter mystery.  There are faces with no names, names with no faces and unidentified blurs who still greet with enthusiasm at the most random of times.  Nights spent at the Mathews House - ending off at the Monastry (Mon is the best cool down spot in town.  That is where I venture off to at the end of most nights out; to practice my unskilled swaying skills and spasmodic dancing moves) in a blur of Dubstep and random grinding fuse with days spent in intoxication, marvelling at the most random of natural facts and possibilities.