Reflections in the Mirror of a Distorted Mind I

She made me do it. I swear I didn't want to. This is not me. This is never me. I am different. But she… Helena. Always Helena. Eleni of old. Helen of not so old. A name that haunts the ages. In the beginning was Troy. And then it was me. And then came The Vampire Diaries. Funny, isn't it?

*

You were supposed to ask me questions. Come on. Ask away, or close, it matters not to me. Ask and I will answer. Honestly. Most of the time. What? My sentences are too short? Short. That's how they always were. I think. No. No, they were not. I remember now. But how can that be? How did I transform long sentences into short? People change, you say. You don't say.

*

What should I tell you? Whatever I want? Your job is to listen and mine to talk? But then why are you the one getting paid? You smile. Or you smirk. I can't tell. Can I have a drink? I always carry a flask full of vodka with me. No? Why not? It's not proper you say. But if things were proper I wouldn't be here, would I? Right? Don't sigh. You don't know anything about me yet. When you get to know me, and I'm not sure that you will, then you can sigh. Then you will want to sigh.

*

You say I should start at the beginning, but which beginning? The beginning of this session? Of my life? Of the rest of my life? Okay, I was born… But I guess you already knew that. Anyway, my family was rich. In idiots. My father was an idiot. My mother was a moron. My sister is bipolar and I think I have multiple-purpose disorder. No, not personality, purpose. I exist to fulfill many purposes.

*

Go on, laugh. You want to laugh. I can tell. I guess you meet crazy people all the time because of your practice. Oh, I always wanted to know, why do you call it practice and not job? I see. It doesn't make any sense, but anyway, if you say so… I think you need to sleep more. Those bags under your eyes suggest… I know this isn't about you, but since I'm the one doing the paying I should be the… No?

*

The beginning, right. At the beginning was the light. Ha ha. Where's your sense of humor? What? You think this is not going to work? You are giving up on me already? That was fast. And I was just beginning to like you, you know. I am driving you crazy, I can tell. I just hope that you won't pull a gun on me like that shrink did in that TV series… What was it? Whatever. Okay, I will talk.

To be continued.

The image was taken from here.

 

Short Cuts 4

That night trip to the falls. Magic. I don't have to ask you. I know you remember. How could you not?

The blanket on the rocks. The sweet red wine. The whisper of the trees and the thunder of the water. And the stars above. A sky unlike any other. A wonder unlike any other.

***

Where are you now? What are you doing? Is that flame that once pierced your eyes and engulfed my soul gone?

I wish not. As I wish you'll seize to fight. You'll never find happiness where others do. You scare people. They can't handle your honesty. And that's my fault.

***

Friends move on. Friends make new friends. Friends forget. And sometimes are forgotten. But not lovers.

Young love is an ode to the misery to come. And yet. Give me young love and I'll be willing to sacrifice everything at its shrine. Now that I know better.

***

They say that people can't save us. We can only save ourselves. But how can that be? How can that be?

If there are no people in your life, there's nothing to bind you to this world. People may be our killers, but they can also be our saviors. Different people. The ones who are right for us.

Make me, I'm begging you. Make me into someone else. But, alas, I know you cannot hear me...

The image was taken from here.

 

Short Cuts 3

Someone once told me that I was going to drink my life away. I wish they were right, but they were wrong. I know how I'm going to die. Out of boredom. Like my favorite poet did.

Death. It follows my thoughts wherever I go. It breathes into my ear. It makes me want to live. And die.

***

Is there a part of you that still loves me? I wonder. But why would there be? Your eyes are now open. To all my flaws.

And yet. I always think tenderly for you. Because what I had with you was truth itself. Our love made me who I was meant to be. No matter that I hate who I am.

***

The first words. Those I didn't write for you. But that is of no importance. She's now yet another picture in the pantheon of my life. While you are more.

The muse. The conscience. The first person that ever made me admit my mistakes. And whom I've failed.

***

The songs. The music that we've heard lying on a carpet in my house. The lyrics we sang along to.

Your paintings. Your failing. Because you could create miracles if you put your mind to it. But you never believed in you. I still see them. Every day. As a reminder of…

To be continued.

The image was taken from here.

 

Via - Chapter 1

I have killed my daughter. Or, actually, no. No, I haven't. I have simply killed her soul. And that is worse. But she regained it. At least partly. And that is good.

My thoughts come out in shards and splinters, torn or chipped off from the mosaic of a dreadful life. That's how my life has been. Until now. Now it's simply sad and pathetic. Can I call this progress?

Where do I begin? Telling my story I mean. Dreams? I used to have some. Plans? I didn't even have the time to make. Love? A word well known, but a feeling almost alien to me; erotic love.

I do have hope though, and it resides on the face of my daughter. Her name is Chara, which means joy in Greek, but joy is something that she found very late in life, and for that I am to blame. I am to blame for everything actually, everything bad that ever happened to her.

The past. I remember it. I can't escape it. I used to be good when I was young. I was a good daughter, a good student, a good Christian. And when I grew up a bit I became a good spouse, a good housewife. And I became bad; a bad mother.

I never loved my husband. Never. Because I had no word in choosing him. My father did that for me. It was the late 80's and at the time we were living in a village south of Nicosia, here in Cyprus, that could remind someone of Europe in the fifties. The law of the father was the only law of the house, and no one dared disobey. So, just after I finished school and though I wanted to go and study at the university in Athens, he just picked a groom for me and that was that.

At the time I couldn't even describe how sad I felt about this turn of events. Depressed? I didn't even know the meaning of the word back then. Angry? Oh yes, I was angry, but I kept that inside because there was no meaning in expressing the fury that was boiling within. Disappointed? Definitely.

I haven't talked about this to anyone yet because, well because, I am me. And the me of today has no friends and no allies. And I haven't even dared say it to my daughter, though these days our relationship has started getting a little bit better. OK, there it goes, the big secret: I have only loved one man in my life, and that was my teen love, Panagiotis.

Oh him. Him I could love for ever after! But I haven't seen him for a lifetime. The last time we've met was when we were both eighteen, twenty-seven years ago. I remember. His dark eyes. His tender gaze. Our first kiss at the back of the classroom during a break. The way he held me in his arms at the final school dance, the party of our lives.

I was taller than him but that didn't matter. I was a better student but that was of no importance. His eyes and his arms, that's my version of paradise. A paradise that I long to rediscover, but where and with whom? Isn't every paradise of the past a paradise lost?

Where is he? What has he done with his life? There are ways to find out, but I wonder as to whether I should even try to do that, as I'm certain that he's moved on with his life, that he is happy. Who am I to intrude? But…

I want to know. All I have to do is strike a few keys, type in his name, and see what comes up. So easy. Oh blessed epoch. When I was young a simple phone call was considered a-kind-of luxury in our part of the world. Do it! I command myself. Do it. I have to. Otherwise I won't sleep all night, as I'll keep thinking about him.

I type his name. I hit enter. I wait. Not for long. A common name and surname. Too many results, from Cyprus, Greece, England, Australia and South Africa. I go through the links, visiting profile pages in social media and webpages, and I finally spot his profile. He aged well. I check his About link. It says nothing about his work and there's no mention of any family relations. I feel myself smiling. Just a little.

I scroll down his posts. There are links to some articles, youtube videos, and photos from some places he visited and with some friends. I try to see if I can recognize someone else in them but I don't. New friends probably. Or relatives. I don't know.

I go back to his profile picture. It's a good one. Close up. His hair is longer than I remember, his eyes the same black, though they seem a little sad or thoughtful, I'm not sure. I look at the other photos. They are bright there. I can't help from wondering about what happened to him. I have this feeling that there's been quite a bit of suffering in his life. Or maybe I'm just projecting.

I turn off the screen. I take a sip from my glass. Vodka with ice. Russian. Always Russian. The ice is about to disappear at the bottom of the glass and the drink will soon turn warm. I don't mind.

I drink a lot these days, perhaps out of boredom, or probably because it would be impossible for me to forget my circumstances, even for a little while, otherwise. An author said: "You know me. I like thinkers, but I love drinkers…" Would he love me?

"You are pathetic," I can almost hear you scream that in my ears, but I don't care about what you think. If you were in my shoes you'd most likely react just the way I do. Loneliness is a bitch, and something has to tame it. Chara, my daughter, my savior, is not here right now, so vodka will have to do.

A note on the title: In Greek "Via" means violence and that's what this book is about; violence against women. But in the Latin languages the word has a completely different meaning, a meaning that also resonates when it comes to this story, and that's exactly the reason that I chose it.

The image was taken from here.

 

Memories of Drunkenness

1

Alcohol takes me down.

It brings me up.

And gives me joy.

And makes me paranoid.

2

Wine is my curse.

Wine is my curse and my salvation.

Wine makes me feel depressed.

Wine makes me cry.

3

I want to kill myself in my sleep.

I want to kill myself without wanting to, without pain.

I want to kill myself because I can't help it.

4

This room looks scary, like the world inside of me.

I cry for help, no one listens.

The walls are bending, closing me in, walling me in.

5

I remember yesterday and I hurt and I bleed.

I remember yesterday and I lose my footing in drunkenness.

My whole life seeks to be bouncing on the trampoline of insanity.

6

Have I become an alcoholic out of necessity or stupidity?

7

My dreams are the only things that worth something, though they are in black and white.

My life is a farce, a zero, for whose ending I can't wait.

I'm trembling as I'm begging for death.

8

I have become a loner, absolutely.

I have become hot-headed, resolutely.

I can feel the injustice in my bones and I break down.

Which injustice though?

9

I walk every night.

I walk every night in rage.

I walk every night and plead for the morning not to come.

It always does.

10

I'm a good actor!

I handle my madness and my addiction with admirable skill.

No one gathers that I'm an alcoholic apart from myself.

No one pays attention to me apart from myself.

11

Does anyone, I wonder, hear me now as I fall with a bang?

12

Last night I smashed the side mirror of a car in a dark street.

I had nothing against it but…

Well, I saw it, I broke it.

13

Silence is bleeding.

It's bleeding words.

I want to speak, but have no voice.

14

The hatred is raging inside of me.

The hatred and the contempt.

For other people.

I want to kill someone but I can't.

I lack the strength.

15

I like this fall, this plunge into the darkness of insobriety.

I like this pain, the only thing that truly belongs to me.

I like the fact that I'm not me, because truthfully myself is someone that doesn't quite fill my eye.*

16

Mira… Christina… Mira… Christina…

Why have you abandoned me?

Why are you not here now that I need you?

Why?

17

I'm becoming more afraid of the darkness.

In the darkness my fears come to life.

My mistakes seem monstrous.

In the darkness… In the darkness I seek my shadow!

18

I sleep a little, I wake up a lot.

I don't live the days, I just go through them.

I'm afraid of dark places, I shiver in the light.

19

When was the last time that I got drunk with joy?

I miss it, I miss it all, all that I cannot have.

Christina…

20

I saw you last night, I saw you with someone else.

You've moved on, even you have left me behind.

You placed a black veil over my soul.

I went and threw myself into the sea to drown.

And then I swam to the shore.

And then I came home and drowned myself in raki.

I've been filling my insides for hours, I've been emptying my being for hours.

And as usual, I've accomplished naught.

21

This fall suits me in the end.

And so does this madness.

This decadence suits me.

I try to convince myself.

22

I no longer speak with anyone.

I have nothing to say.

I can't stand them…

It's myself I cannot stand.

I haven't got anyone I can talk with.

23

I was laying in my bed crying, crying, crying.

I was laying in bed metaphorically slapping myself, hurting it.

I was laying in my bed screaming: Get up, get up, get up, but that I could not do.

My strengths had abandoned me for good.

As I did them.

24

Someone beat me up good last night.

I don't remember why.

I can only remember the bruises, because I see them.

A dark eye, swollen lips, hurt ribcage.

The remains of the fight.

Oh, yes, I also remember a promise I made:

"I will pay you back in kind," I said.

The only problem is that I don't know who it was.

25

I've started to confuse wakefulness with sleep.

I can no longer spot the distinction between them.

I spend days sleeping standing, and nights laying awake.

Do I see dreams? Or do they see me?

26

I want to hit rock bottom.

I want to hit rock bottom.

I want to hit rock bottom.

But is there a way back?

27

I will become a beggar for love.

I will become a beggar for mercy.

I will go to Christina and ask for help.

To ask for love.

I will go to Christina…

28

I will not go to Christina.

No, I won't go to her.

I do not deserve her sympathy.

I do not deserve her love.

I will save myself.

All by myself…

29

Little by little I drink less wine.

Little by little I consume less alcohol.

Little by little I diminish the darkness.

I tremble and yearn, I feel passion and fear.

Little by little…

30

I'm looking for a chance, something to lean on.

Something to lean on in order to rise again.

I'm sure that I can do it, but I cannot.

The body got used to something else.

I must tame it.

31

Sleepless nights, sleepy days.

But, at last, something seems to be changing.

My dreams have started becoming colorful again.

I'm on my way out, into the light.

32

Salvation will not be long now.

I know it, I can feel it.

Where shall I seek it though?

Where shall I find it?

33

I must kill solitude.

To kill it, I must.

I need friends, and lots of them - where are you Captain?

I need love.

To give and to receive.

I need to exit the highways of silence.

I need a cloud of joy to rain on me.

I need to become me again.

I need…

I need so much.

I need a life!

Thus…

So long darkness.

I no longer fear you.

Farewell depression.

You'll no longer oppress my being.

Goodbye wine…

But, oh no, you I will not abandon. I love you so. But from now on you will not drink me, but I'll drink you, in moderation.

So long my goodbyes.

Welcome home new life…

* A Greek expression that I've decided to keep intact in this translation. Someone that doesn't fill your eye is someone that you don't think highly of.

This poem, if someone can call it so, is taken from a novel I've published in Greek seven years ago, and which I'm in the process of translating to English right now.

The image was taken from here.