I was thinking of my friend’s brother, who was hooked on heroin for about 5 years. I wondered, perhaps he wanted it. He’s a person who accomplishes what he sets out to do. He’s incredibly driven and naturally talented. If he wants to do something ─ that is, if he wants to experience something ─ it happens. If he wanted to experience everything heroin has to offer, he succeeded. He felt the addiction in its completeness, and much later, the withdrawal, and then finally, the freedom from it all.
That’s when I realised something. A lot of the things I’ve been through, when I was younger, I kinda wanted them too. I wanted to experience being an addict. I wanted to know how it feels to be fully medicated. I wanted to understand how it feels to be depressed, and everything it entails. Not just a surface-level awareness, but a complete submersion.
Now, as a high-functioning depressive living in a comfortable but unhappy hermitage, I’m experiencing something else I always wondered about.
And that thought has given me a new hope.
I have experienced this lane of life to its fullest, there is nothing left here to absorb, to ponder, to assimilate. I have witnessed this fragment and lived inside its entirety. Now, I am wondering two things: What other fragments have I inhabited? And what experiences lie ahead; what other lives do I desire?
My sister inspired me. She said, she always wanted to write a book, but I really could. She said, perhaps an autobiography. With this suggestion, she shone a light into the prism of my mind and illuminated innumerable new perspectives.
I have written before about the many selves within me, and there are snippets scattered across a seemingly infinite sea of anonymous blog posts. Perhaps they do deserve a proper home. And maybe, thought re-telling them, I myself will gain new insights. It might just be nice to remember them.
There are so many fragment inside of me. Dark and light, chaos and balance, torment and ecstasy. This is one such fragment.