SURVIVING WARFARE:

by: sana ahmed

My horrendously untreated and most mistreated psychiatric sickness robbed me of my beloveds. Mister Reason and Mrs. Rationality.

The two simply dashed, vanished, pirouetted away. Without leaving any reasonable trace. Any traceable, and/or reasonably justifiable hint, clue, or trace.

Thus, I was rendered a slave — pitiful, vengeful, reviled, and vilified. Shackled to my core, I morphed into my punishment and my enslavement. Assigned to me by fate and circumstance.

I dug my own grave. I fell into that grave. I got shoved, stoned, pushed, and pummelled into that grave. My grave. An unmarked grave.

Sad and sorry, painful and hurtful, the slavery suited me. A girl-woman-child, with soft brown skin, oh-so-pretty hair, and black-brown eyes.

I got trapped in my own mind. Trapped by entrapment. Slavery of the typical kind.

I was the infamously famous, the laughing stock. Brouhahas emitted at my expense. I got downgraded to the utmost inexpensive, worthy of no thought, pence, penny, or dime.

I paraded myself at stockyards, at houses of worship, at houses of slaughter. Places where leaders herded brainwashed flock. A virtuously chaste medley of the loud and proud, the mass murderers and the mass butcherers.

Yet, I was ordained the crackpot, who, exclusively and always, smoked pot. One who had got caught in a frightful and unintended snare. That was filled with fright. No-nonsense-frills. Filled to the brim with fraught, the frightening and fearsome kind.

Yet, somehow, I always managed to output colour, pattern and design. Thusly, quashing the worse that lay within. With my best fashionably-induced foot forward. I was deemed a fascist fashionist.

With a keen sense of fashion, flair, and lady fauna. Mixed with the high, and the low. An outward/inward dichotomy of its own.

The onslaught persisted though. I was shamed, and shamed. Defamed, again and again. And, then shamed once again. I was the crazy and psychotic, the selfish and unapologetic bitch, the conniving and illogical brat.

In short, I was deemed my own worst enemy. Deemed by my beloveds, my many kindreds, my spiritual allies.

My blood, the blood of my bloody blood, akin to me through kin, the clansmen, and those most wretched, clanswomen.

My mind — at the time, newly anointed with venomous and monstrous monstrosity — got captured. Boom. Pow. Kerpow.

In manners most heartbreaking. In fashions most heart-shattering. Death-defyingly and tragically, most outrageously insane.

I sat down. My mind, too, took a seat. This time, at the very back. Right by, ye olde back burner.

That was the mind I left behind. The mind, year after year, in desperation, I, subconsciously would yearn for.

A mind that was most sensitively sensitive. Respectfully respected and adoringly adored. That mind, my former informed mind, was kind and serene. The same mind, that was poetically, historically and politically inclined.

I, me, and myself; my consciousness, subconsciousness, unconsciousness; meter, reason, and rhyme — the entirety of my prized possessions — were thus, all conquered, captured and shackled. Without my will. Without any of the aforementioned meter, reason, and rhyme.

The loathsome beast lay siege. It won the battle, war, and the mother of all wars. First, second, third, and fourth.

War of words. Word and world wars ensued. The beast frolicked.

It played in playful plays. Though woeful ways for me. It played playfully, not just in playgrounds.

The beast, and its disciples, delightfully consumed delectable offerings. And, to their many delightful delights, and to my own miserable miseries, the play would go on.

Debasing my base. Debasing my being. Tarnishing each one of my many blemishes, freckles, and moles.

The cavalry, the entire cavalcade, the esteemed motorcade of the army itself — stood by, nourished, and witnessed my downfall.

Each self-professed well-wisher, each legally-bestowed, legal drug peddler, wound up to degrade me. And my will to live died a thousand and one deaths. With no poetic justice, no prose, nor poetry.

The deepest, and most deep-set of reigns, the third Reich to be precise, rich in reigning wisdom, supreme in supremacy, reigned violently, aggressively, and unreasonably.

Against my mind. Against the turning tide. It established a substructure, a basecamp. Its headquarters. Inside of me. And, my very own mind.

I was subjected to tyrannical onslaughts. My mind treacherously deceived itself, myself, and other millions, and billions of other worldly selves.

My former prized possession, thus, committed blasphemous acts. Punishable, unreasoned acts of treason, and unreason.

That empire bulldozed my beauty, charm and wit. Obliterating and un-liberating free thought. Or, any in-depth self-reflections. That were worthy of an afterthought. Or, thoughts I ever possessed.

Annihilating in ways utterly stupendous, any impressive potential, that once breathed inside of my mind.

My tongue was removed. Cut the fuck out. Cut out. Removed at its base, by generals reigning supreme at the basecamp.

My eyes gouged out. As commanded by the right-hand men, the henchmen. The devil’s own. The devil’s battalion, consisting of millions and millions, of big and little minions.

Vultures preyed on my swollen, rotting, and decaying body. Tanks and artillery, bow and arrow, punctured my lungs, suffocated me exclusively to near-death experiences.

Flashbacks within flashbacks. So on and so forth. It was the truest kind of torture. To let me live. My emaciated being yearned to embrace kind death.

My breaths, each and every breath, my almost-last breath, left me by the wayside. To fester. In breathless, rather unromantic breaths.

Deaf, dumb, mute, and blind, I searched in darkness. Felt my way around. Spun around. Upside down. I wandered the seven seas. Drowned each time.

Submerged in torture. Self-inflicted torture. Torture of epic tortuous proportions.

On my own, I got lost. I was rendered aimless. Solitary.

My mind had turned against me. Turned me into a monster. I was unable to recognize my own reflection.

I tried repeatedly to capture my face. My essence. Much like Vincent Willem van Gogh had done before me.

I blamed the devil. Not a handsome devil. I nevertheless blamed that same devil. I blamed the devil’s cronies and compadres.

The assholes. Un-medically negligent. Though medically-trained mother fuckers of an un-unique kind. That’s who I blamed.

As I lay dying, I disregarded, held zero belief in, higher supremacies. I spat at my own reflection. Dreamt of death. Hoped for death. Envisioned death.

Before, during, and after each moment of crisis. Even when I rarely, most fortunately, found solace in the habitual act of, taking toast with tea.

Death deserted me. In my most pressing time of need. With each tick, each tock, each moment.

Followed by minute and minutes. Hours, days, weeks, months, year and years. Ten years. Nay, three-thousand-six-hundred-and-fifty days of the most insane, mundane, and un-mundane time.

Indeed lots of time. I wound up standing single-handedly and solitarily solo.

My dreams were two-fold. Yearn for death. Or, yearn to bring back my past. My heyday. My glorious heyday. Before bullshit ruled my antennae. My mind’s airwaves. Prior to desperation that resulted in thoughts of drugs, followed by thoughts of death.

Victorious victory had left. I was alone. Ensnared in the deep depths, akin to the seventh level. I was in the worst kind of solitary confinement.

My comrades, my compatriots, my most sweet confidantes — Zola, De la Rocha, and the kind, aided my thoughts, with their seasoned, time-bending, mind-freeing thoughts.

They were my fellow friends. Who, too, were captured in practical, proverbial, physical and metaphysical prisons. I empathized with the residents of islands. Deemed by the civilized as, Robben and Alcatraz.

The sun had set. The sun never set. The sun could not set. The sun had set not long ago. I envisioned the sun.

Imagined sound. I dreamed a little dream, as I went up and down, the river of death.

Help came. More than a decade later. In the land of the sun. I ran to capture it. The rays, lights, and flickers. I joined my kind. Raped and battered folk.

Who belonged to the suns, moons, stars. From time immemorial. To galaxies far, far away. Ones, I could not, in all fairness, even fathom to comprehend.

At present, in this moment, I sit. Think, process, relive my past. I do so, obsessively, hurtfully, and wisely. About time. There will be time.

As help came to rescue me from my mind. And, advised by my handfuls of fans, well-wishers, lovely beloveds.

I stay on a secluded imagined island. My very own imagined community. For as long as it takes, I shall annihilate bad thought. I will take time, and emerge un-pungent. At last victorious.

Thus, a well-deserved nod of gratitude to kind souls, minds, and bodies. Who were kind, kinder, kindest, most kind. Who warned me, and warded off all types and forms of unkindness.

As I ran deaf, naked, and blind, convulsing wildly in open gutters and sewers of the reasoned and civilized kind.

You watched me. You mocked me, and, you, well, you my friend, you threw stones at me.

And to you, you rat, you dog-like rat, to you, and each one of you, and your rat tenets, facets, richly endowed with putrid rodent, foul odour, and filthy filth, to every inch and core of you,

I will say this calmly, matter-of-factly, rightly, and, to quote you, reasonably:

Fuck you, your stench-filled, asshole of the most epic kind, rodent, rat, mice and mouse type and kind. Let me repeat, just once more, loud, gay, proud:

Fuck you, you mother fucking wench, wrench, cunt, cheating bitch, asshole, jerk, who jerked off to massive amounts of ego, with fucked up senses of rhyme.

Here’s a jolly old, fuck you, to you, you, and you. Your god will plant sweet smooches, and greet you, and your shitty self, with open arms, at the gate of mister, madam, mademoiselle, the very confines of, hell.

Farewell to you. Farewell, in peaceful peace, for I bear no arms. I leave you in peachy-keen, poetic, terrific, and serenity-filled peace.

Let’s part, walk away in separate ways, let’s unlock and un-embrace. Let’s agree never to lock eyes again, to never set foot in our respected, and guarded territories and turfs.

Adieu.

I levitate.