Thursday, December 31st, 2009

If you promise not to think I’m insane, I’ll let you in on something. Promise? Ok, good. Well, recently I’ve realised that there’s a spirit living inside of me. And I’m sure it’s female, as she’s so emotional. If these things have a gender that is. Hey, remember I made you promise not to think I’m mad? Actually, this spirit is what’s keeping me sane. I won’t say ghost or angel, as I don’t believe in things like that. I didn’t really accept the idea of spirits until this happened. Having one inside you kind of changes your mind about these things. Also calling it a ghost or an angel is too narrow a definition. I mean, I don’t think she’s a messenger from God or a dead person. But who knows if that’s really what ghosts and angels are anyway? That could just be the myth. Real angels possibly don’t have wings, look pretty and dress in white. And ghosts might not be milky apparitions that float about haunting people.

But I’m getting off the point. Let’s back to my spirit. How do you know she’s there, you crazy person? I guess that’s what you’re thinking now. The answer to that is quite simple really. I can feel her. Now that might not be enough for you, but hey, it’s plenty for me. On second thoughts, that’s possibly a little misleading. When I say I can feel her, I suppose that’s not strictly true, it’s more that I can sense her. It’s like something’s in me that’s not, well, me. And how I feel her is through me. She uses my body and its chemistry to communicate with me. She’s pretty clued up like that. The biggest issue with this whole thing is that she’s nocturnal, so lately I’ve had countless sleepless nights.

Here’s an average night for you. Ok, so I feel relaxed and ready for a night’s sleep. I put my book down and turn my bedside lamp off. I settle down under my duvet, put my head on my pillow and close my eyes waiting to drift into unconsciousness. When suddenly, out of nowhere, my heart starts beating so fast and hard that it’s like I’ve just finished the 100 metres, not the 4th chapter of my book. It’s so loud I don’t just feel it, I can hear it in my ears, and almost taste it for christ's sake. Really, it’s like there’s more than one heart beating. And it’s her, forcing me awake, as if she's got something really important to tell me. Or she just wants some company.

Before I knew it was her, this whole racing heartbeat thing used to freak me the hell out. I used to panic that there was something wrong with my body, that I was having a heart attack or something. Now I realise it’s her, it gives me comfort. I just wish she’d let me sleep more. I try and tell her this, reason with her, say that I’m tired and I have to get up for work in the morning. But like I said before, she’s emotional. She’s driven by emotions and doesn’t understand reason. I don’t think she understands words.

So instead of letting me sleep, she crawls up and down my chest, up and down, up and down, making me restless and uneasy as she produces these waves of anxiety. Usually I toss and turn, trying to distract myself. Then I think about stuff, try to solve the meaning of life or worry about losing my job and becoming a bum, anything big enough to take my mind off these intense feelings. Occasionally, sleep manages to pull me under, but then I wake up suddenly gasping for breath, as she drags me to the surface of consciousness with a surge of adrenaline.

I get bored of trying to sleep, of waiting till she’s finished telling me what she has to say. This is where my eyes spring open and soak up the darkness until I can make out the shapes of my bedroom. Except, have you noticed that your own wardrobe looks sinister in the dark? Mine takes on the appearance of an upright coffin, its door left slightly ajar, beckoning me in. Even though I’m sure it was closed when I went to bed. The darkness plays tricks on your mind, but they’re nothing compared to what she can do with your body.

At this point I’m beaten and resort to the only defence I have. I turn on the light. She hides almost immediately, or perhaps she rests when it’s light. Whatever happens to her, I’m in control of my body once more. I don’t think she leaves me altogether, as I can still feel the echoes of her presence. So I leave the light on, keeping her quiet. I read but I can’t concentrate, as my mind is still on her. So I end up reading reviews of trashy films I’ll never see, the horoscopes of everyone I know and what the latest fashion trends are. Like I give a shit.

If sleep still doesn’t take me away from her then, I get drunk. She doesn’t seem to like alcohol you see, or maybe she gets drunk too, I don’t know how it works with these supernatural beings. But she doesn’t bother me when my mind’s swimming with the blankness of booze. Look, I know this isn’t going to do me much good in the long run, but it’s the most pleasurable way of dealing with her at the time. I’m not a medium, psychic or psycho you know, so I’m a novice at this.

But the other night I tried something different. I decided that instead of fighting her, I should just attempt to listen. And yes, when I say listen, I mean hear. Like every couple who cohabits. As she communicates with emotions they're what I should be listening to, not ignoring them or blanking them out with booze. So that night, I went along with her. I lay there in the darkness as my heart pounded and the anxiety gripped my chest. It took all of my might to stay still and not turn away from her. But I kept motionless, staring up at the dark walls bending in over me, my ceiling light stretching out its black spider-like legs towards me and let the full force of her energy flow through me. I felt her rush into every gap, every hollow inside of me. Places I’d long forgotten. She filled me up and up with strong emotions until I thought I was going to explode.

And then they came, tumbling impatiently down my cheeks, hot, wet and furious. Mad at me for being kept in for so long. I hadn’t cried for years, not properly, not silently. The feelings got weaker as the tears flooded out, as if each one took a bit of them away. The next thing I knew it was morning, and I felt nothing. Well, not literally nothing, I guess I mean I didn’t feel tired or achy or dizzy or, or, or. Maybe this is how people feel when they say that cheesy line about feeling themselves again. The thing is, I’d had the best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages.

Since then she still bothers me at night, but not as much as she used to. And even now I don’t really know what she’s trying to say to me, but I'm more in control of her. In fact, she’s beginning to feel like part of me.

Monday, December 14th, 2009

I had a fear of loneliness 9 days ago, but then something happened. It was during what they’re all calling ‘The Big Freeze’. When the temperature went as low as minus 17 degrees celsius even in London. So it snowed. And snowed. And when we thought it was all over and the authorities had enough grit to fight the freeze, it snowed again. Ducks mysteriously disappeared from frozen ponds, pigeons fought over frozen fried chicken, even bus and train timetables froze. Then they had to freeze their ridiculous demands, allowing people to work from home, as most of us were snowed in.

I stayed in my flat for days. I didn’t see anyone, didn’t speak to anyone, didn’t smell anyone, had no contact at all, except by email. At first it was refreshing, possibly how a model feels when the artist finally says relax after hours of obsessive scrutiny. But then the loneliness attached itself to me like an endless empty corridor in the Overlook Hotel. It’s a state where echoes are all you can hear, and even then, they’re inside your head.

I became restless and began to stalk up and down my flat, up and down. I stopped at the mirror in the bathroom and stood there, staring at myself, looking for answers. Should I attempt to go out? Or call someone? But I didn’t really have anything to say anymore. Words didn’t seem enough these days. A guttural roar or the longest sigh ever from the deepest, darkest places inside me would be the only honest expression, but I guessed that most people would prefer a polite ‘Hiya, how are you?’ and I just wasn’t ready for that yet. I traced the lines that fell from the corners of my eyes to across the top of my cheekbones, before laughing at my reflection. I attempted a different laugh, one that created new creases and wondered how long I’d have to laugh to make those lines permanent. I then did that thing where you stare so hard into your own eyes that they start to look like someone else’s, a stranger’s.

After a while I was peculiarly overcome with the need for fresh air, so I rushed to the lounge and threw open the window, despite the cold. I swallowed the cool breeze for a while before turning back towards my sofa, and sitting there, looking straight at me, was a black cat. I looked at it in surprise, then shock, and then with something entirely different. Because the most astounding eyes looked back at me. They appeared to be smiling, welcoming, as if this was the cat’s home and I was the guest.

Now it was my turn to be frozen, and I stood there totally still in the headlights of its bright green eyes. All of a sudden its pupils expanded, growing from slits to great big saucers. I felt oddly drawn towards them, a piece of pathetic matter entering a powerful black hole. My heart was beating fast and I looked away before I became overwhelmed by this strange feeling that was simultaneously happening inside and outside of me. I realised that I was now standing very close to the cat, yet I hadn’t been aware that I’d moved. I laughed to myself quickly. It’s a cat, only a cat. But where had it come from? A spine-tingling draught brushed against my skin and I turned back towards the window, ready to close it. But I was distracted by the snowflakes that had begun to fall. I gazed at them as each one created a unique path in the air, gliding soundlessly to the ground where they joined the powerful mass, capable of stopping trains, schools and economies.

The cat began to purr. It was gentle, comforting. A warm sound. I looked at it and saw that it was watching the snowflakes too, with wide eyes, pupils like slits in the bright light. And those eyes, they weren’t simply green after all. In the reflection of the light I could see that the iris was made from a palette of luminous colours. Lime green, moss green, emerald green, turquoise, topaz, indigo, violet and sunset pink were sparkling and shimmering in two crystal clear pools. At that moment, the cat turned its head to look at me. Its eyes appeared open and honest, and full of what looked like, longing. Whatever it was, its expression knocked the breath out of me. I gasped and its pupils expanded in a flash. I felt my eyes widen in response and I had the vague sensation that my legs were about to buckle under me. The cat blinked its eyes slowly and it was the first time I noticed the thick trim of long black eyelashes at the top of each eye. The blinking was hypnotic.

I opened my eyes and found myself sitting on the sofa. Hesitantly, I looked round at the cat and its iridescent eyes met mine. It stared into my eyes for a long time. Its pupils trembled as excitement seemed to pulse through them, causing them to glitter. It was searching for something in mine and finally seemed to find it as its eyes suddenly stopped glittering and became still. This had a calming effect on me. My mind released all its thoughts and I felt like I was floating. Then as I looked deeper into its eyes, new thoughts came to me like I was reading them from its irises. Pleasurable things, uplifting and euphoric. I felt my heart beat faster and a different expression flickered across its eyes, causing its pupils to tighten slightly. I tore my eyes away from its gaze. It was now dark outside, the only light that was coming in was from the streetlamps. How long had I been staring at this cat? And it was just a cat after all. The thing was, when I stared at it for a long time, I forgot it was a cat. You see I didn’t see the fur then, the tail or the whiskers. Only the eyes and the expressions deep within. But how could a cat know the first thing about feeling wistful? Or inadequate? Or lonely.

I switched on the TV to distract myself and tried not to look at the cat. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a normal cat, that was for sure, and I didn’t want to fall into its trap. I’d heard stories about cats, especially black ones, having supernatural powers. Changing into human form to spy for witches and demons. Or worse still, that they are actual witches themselves. Or was it just me going stir crazy with cabin fever? I was clearly losing it. Just as my thoughts were going to push me into a downward spiral of negative emotions, the cat began to purr. The vibration flowed through me, a positive charge absorbing all the negatives. The rhythm was regular and comforting, making me feel at home in this flat, my flat, at last. It was a familiar feeling from a long time ago and I realised I’d known him my whole life.

I switched off the TV and moved closer to him, listening to his purr get louder and louder, watching his tummy rise and fall. Instinctively I then curled up into a ball next to him, my face close to his belly. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. I lay there in the most comfortable silence. Talking, words, would have made it uncomfortable, or at least, not as pleasurable. I stared at the dark shadows seeping into the walls and indulged in the subtle concepts and figures only the darkness can convey. Soothing ambiguity, the sweetness of mystery. Tree branches in an embrace, shapes of fantastical beasts, unicorns, phoenixes and a stallion with a heroic rider.

The streetlamp soaked the room in a sepia tone, putting me in the centre of an old photograph. A perfect moment frozen in time. A family in a rose garden having tea. A porcelain-skinned dancer in the middle of a graceful move. Best friends smiling together before they go off to war. Two lovers on their first date. Oh how sentimental! What was I thinking? I was about to wrench myself up when he stirred and his fur surrounded my face, my eyes, my nose, my lips. It felt so cosy and smooth. A divine musk filled my head with hope and I breathed it in as deeply as I could. It seemed to break through a barrier in my mind, unblocking it. I inhaled deeper and deeper, thoughts becoming less and less, just concentrating on the sensation of breathing.

I lay there for I don’t know how long. Time didn’t matter anymore. It was like it was frozen. Maybe it didn’t really exist. He didn’t seem to think so. I was so relaxed and the feeling of things slipping away made me happy. My breathing and his fell into the same rhythm and it was the only sound. The only ‘thing’. Well, what else was there? I’d forgotten. I don’t want to say what I experienced exactly. It doesn’t have to be put into words. And what happened next doesn’t really matter. But I will tell you anyway, in case you’re interested. Or it happens to you one day and you need to know about ‘after’.

I heard what sounded like a flutter of wings and he sat up in a flash. It was even darker now because not even the streetlamp was on. I couldn’t see anything except his eyes and somehow they were glowing, his pupils large. I looked into them and they burned into me. His expression was so intense, as if he was concentrating on something deep inside me. He wasn’t reading anymore, he was writing. Inscribing something on my soul, I'd like to think. I heard the fluttering again and thought I caught a glimpse of white out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t be sure. His pupils contracted the tiniest bit and his eyes became green as the other colours disappeared. I sensed he was leaving me, but I knew it wasn’t his choice. That made it easier. His eyes came right up to mine as the last bit of turquoise changed to green. The edge of his eyelids drew inwards and down, making his eyes look sad. They then disappeared in a swish of his eyelashes, before he opened them again. He gave me one last look, and then he was gone. I realised that the window was still open.

I felt sad, but not alone as I lay there in the dark. I could still smell him on my cushions. I stayed in the same position for a long while, comfortable in my own home by myself for once. Then slowly, I began to move. I uncurled myself, unfolding my arms and wrists and sat upright again. I unwound my whole body, stretching out from my toes to my fingers and then took the crick out of my neck, regaining my human posture. I turned the TV on and the loud, raucous noises sounded unnatural at first. Then the phone rang and I realised it was now morning. My voice cracked when I answered it, like I hadn’t used it for years. My friend chattered away at me, telling me last night was the warmest night for ages and it was the end of The Big Freeze. I made plans to go out that night.