The Shadow Self

The gold seemed to glisten on the mushroom, giving it an air of royalty and importance. It was almost as if some care free dealer had taken the time to paint the little bundles of poison that colour to make them seem expensive. A sharp contrast to the magnificent gold, the blue that adorned the stems of the mushrooms set off clear alarms in my head. The blue blotches against the yellowish white mushroom stalks seemed to be that way almost as a warning to all creatures not to ingest this mushroom. The blue blobs looked dangerous. They looked a perfect colour to signify what they are. Poison.

My recently proposed to fiancé looked in anticipation as my friend Shane and I palmed the dried “Magic Mushrooms” and stuffed them into our mouths. The taste was appalling. It tasted as though we had thought ourselves to be beasts of the earth and sat down to feast on nature itself. We chewed the poisonous but surprisingly easy to access mushrooms and swallowed the paste that now resided in our mouths. Now, we wait for the “magic” to happen.

I sat on a beach chair in the sun, hand in hand with my fiancé as we chatted while I waited for the Mushroom Trip to start. Just as I began to express my disappointment in the quality of the illicit drugs I had purchased and ingested, a sudden wave passed over me.

I was flooded with almost animal like senses. The sun seemed to shine brighter than it ever had. The wind blew and i could feel every ripple of wind as my clothes seemed to tremor. The most pronounced sensation was my visuals. Everything was brilliantly sharper in resolution. It was almost as if my mind had set my eyes to a lower quality setting all my life and I was finally seeing the world in all its glory. As incredible as the visuals were, there was a slightly ghastly side to them as when i looked at her or Shane’s face – they seemed to melt and distort to make an uncomfortable swirl of face. To say it was unnerving would be an understatement. But nonetheless it was extremely interesting.

Shane and I laughed and stumbled about like idiots having ingested the Psilocybin Mushrooms, having the time of our lives. My loving fiancé watched over us, making sure neither of us did anything silly in our drug induced states.

I stumbled over to the refrigerator and opened it. The cool air from the refrigerator seemed to seep into my very bones, and I stood there for a moment, just taking in the experience. I grabbed a bottle of water and drank the contents as if my life depended on it.

After an hour or so, nature called and I hobbled towards the bathroom. The pictures that lined the halls had come alive and they swirled and twisted as if to amuse me. After what seemed like a lifetime, I finally entered the bathroom and made my way to the toilet. I relieved myself amidst a series of events my mind had produced such as the bath rocking back and forth and the toilet growing and shrinking as I tried to aim carefully into it. What an odd experience. I went to wash my hands, and as I did so, i caught a glimpse of Him.

People had always warned me against staring into a mirror while on psychedelics, but this didn’t seem bad at all.
I finished washing my hands and proceeded to stare into the mirror – for some reason the sight of myself in that state drew me in more and I could not bring myself to look away. The longer I stared, the more I began to realize where those concerned warnings came from. My identical image seemed to have morphed and changed.

As I looked into the mirror, the person that stared back at me morphed and distorted in the most grotesque way. His/Its features began to darken and the most evil smile appeared on his face. I was looking at my reflection but I have never felt fear like that in my life. This THING in the mirror wanted to hurt me. But how when the Thing is me?
I did not move much, simply frozen in fear by the dark horrible version of myself staring at me. No words were exchanged but I could sense and feel the evil and malice in this creature. The bright white light in the bathroom did nothing to stop this ghoul I saw standing before me. A knock on the door brought me back to reality and as I excited the bathroom, I could swear I saw the Thing in the mirror give me a sick grin.

I told everyone what happened and they all laughed it off as me just “tripping”. But I knew what I had seen and it was haunting me. There was a sense of primal fear that something unknown was going to kill me.

As the Psilocybin began to wear off and I was more conscious, I googled what had happened to me. I suffer from sleep paralysis and when I read up on it, it was comforting to know I wasn’t alone.
So I began to probe deeper and deeper into what I could have seen in my drug induced state. All articles led me to the same conclusion.
I had seen my “Shadow Self”.

As described by scholars and enthusiastic psychedelic users, the “Shadow Self” is merely our repressed bad feelings about ourselves. What we see is a physical manifestation of what we as individuals perceive to be the worst parts of ourselves. The hatred, anger, depression. All the negative feelings we suppress seem to come to light and manifest in that way when you have done Magic Mushrooms (with the theory summarizing that the Psilocybin in the mushrooms allows you to access parts of your brain you don’t usually do).
It is brilliantly clear to me as to why our conscious mind would suppress such a horrific thing. From the bottom of my heart, I can say with complete certainty that seeing the horrific figure that is me standing and looking at me, would haunt and stay with me forever. The article did state, however, that the only real way to become “one” with that separated and estranged hidden part of you, is to engage and understand it.

With this new found knowledge, I went back to my bedroom while my fiancé napped on the couch and Shane lay in the grass “being one with nature”.
I walked across the shaggy carpet on my bedroom floor and it felt as though God himself had made the carpet. I seemed to glide effortlessly on the carpet and did not have to take any physical steps.
I reached my bedside at last and opened my hidden stash of illicit goodies.
There were 2 grams of these mind opening mushrooms left. I HAD to make peace with my Shadow Self. The 2 mushrooms were chewed and swallowed before I had time to second guess myself.

I sat in my darkened room waiting for the second dose of the Mushrooms to kick in. Even just sitting on my bed, feet dragging back and forth over the Carpet of God – I felt absolute bliss. But at the back of my mind, the other ME was still terrorizing me.
I finally started to feel the poison enter my blood stream and I knew it was time. I went to the bathroom in my bedroom, away from the others in the house. I tentatively walked into the bathroom, all the while avoiding the mirror. I positioned myself, took a few deep breaths and looked straight up and into the mirror. Nothing.

Just as I was about to release a sigh of relief, I could see the features of my reflection darkening. I could sense the hostility and malice and fear crept rapidly into my heart. Within seconds, He was there. Taking advice from the strangers on the internet, I began to speak to myself/Him.
“We are a team. I mean no harm for either of us. We are one. We are the same person” I told him. His lips moved in tandem with mine, as you would expect a reflection to. I finished the sentence and waited to see if my mirror mans demeanor would change. How wrong I was.

Completely opposite to my expression, a cruel smile spread across his face as I saw His/my arms reach out from the mirror and pull me in. It felt like a dream. I couldn’t feel my body. I couldn’t speak. I could just see myself in the reflection.
“Let’s go and see our beautiful wife to be, shall we?” I heard my voice say.
As He turned away from the mirror, my vision went completely black until I felt myself tether to him. It was as if we were joined by an elastic band. I went from being trapped in the mirror to be slingshot back into my body. Except something felt wrong. I was in my body but i was watching everything unfold from behind my eyes. The Man in the Mirror was controlling my actions. It felt like I was a passenger in a car and all I could do was watch.

………………………………………….…………………….

We laid eyes on my beautiful fiancé as she lay sleeping.
I watched my body walk over to her and He/We stood watching her sleep. What was he going to do? I was beside myself. I tried to scream but as a spectator in your body, your screams mean nothing.

My Shadow Self sat down besides my sleeping bride and played with her hair. Maybe this is some misunderstanding. The Shadow Self clearly just wants to coexist – I thought.

He could obviously hear my thoughts and hopes because as soon as I had that thought, He let out the most maniacal laugh I had ever heard. It resonated pure evil.
Almost as if to prove JUST how evil, I watched from behind my eyes as my hand reached into the table besides the couch and took a hunting knife I kept for protection out. I watched my self stab my fiancé so many times I lost count. He didn’t seem capable of stopping and I just sat – like a dummy – behind my eyes. By the time he was done, the couch was just a complete mess. He had at many times stabbed right through her and into the foam. There was blood and bits of her flesh everywhere. He also made sure he left her with a smile on her face and carved her throat open from ear to ear. “To make her smile one last time” he told me.

I felt my body stand up and walk towards the door. He stopped to glance in the mirror and I saw the evil diabolical smile on his face.
“Let’s go and find Shane now”, he said.
“Then you can take control again. I just needed a bit of fun.”

Boys Don’t Cry

After my last post, an avid reader of my blog and friend, contacted me and asked we write a piece on this topic. I immediately agreed as it is an epidemic. Now I’m not going to lie. It’s a morbid topic but it definitely needs to be addressed. I mean it has, but I feel the small audience I reach might need to hear a more personal side to the issue. I think it’s important for me to try and get the word out as I’ve seen first hand that mental illness/ sickness whatever you want to call it is heavily overlooked here in African countries. So this is it:

We sat side by side. I can’t remember who scored first, but by the end of the FIFA game, I was not triumphant. With pride on the line I told Vintage Mozart, “First game was warm up” and we played another. Every goal I scored brought out the more competitive side to me, and the trash talking and bragging followed (as it does in FIFA games). Memory fails me again as to what I said or did but the words to come out of Mozart’s mouth were “Now THAT’S toxic masculinity at its finest” (or something like that).

I looked up “toxic masculinity” to quote exactly what it is for this post, but it’s complex and goes into so many different layers it’ll most likely bore you. So here’s my interpretation based of my mate Mozart’s accusation towards me.

Toxic Masculinity is being the MANS MANS. The alpha male who seeks to dominate and compete in everything and against everyone. He’s the ultimate man who doesn’t want to lose. He’s aggressive and pushy and asserts his “dominance” not only over women, but even over members of the same sex. The guy who works out at the gym and wears tight shirts so you can see he’s the MAN! Now I won’t lie, I do fall into a lot if not all of those categories. But this isn’t an article about me. This is an article about we, MEN, as a populace. And how Toxic Masculinity is LITERALLY killing us.

We grow up and see in pop culture movies how men “should be”. Hard. No feelings. Aggressive. Primal almost. And we view people who aren’t hard and brave faced as soft. That’s where the terms Alpha and Beta males came from. Those who lead, and those that follow. Now I don’t know if you’re born it or you can change it, but I believe most men fall into one of the 2 categories. Egotistical as it may be, I think I’m pretty Alpha. And many people have said I am so who am I to argue. And as an alpha, you want to gym and be bigger than everyone. You want a nice car. You want to be seen as successful. And definitely doing better than the beta males. But going off statistics and just the daily news, maybe this “hard man” mentality isn’t without it’s disadvantages.

Feeling like an Alpha, you never want to show emotion. The only acceptable emotion you can show is anger. And for the longest time, that was my go to emotion in any situation I didn’t like. And looking back, you come to realize it’s destructive. We become so hellbent on being Alpha that we’d rather fight than back down, take a breath and talk this out rationally. But this isn’t the biggest issue pertaining to being an Alpha and having Toxic Masculinity. The big issue is the silence. And I’ve held the silence myself. So I’m speaking from experience.

No matter how Alpha you are, you feel sad. As much as we try convince ourselves we don’t have feelings, we do. We get frustrated, sad, hurt, anxious and even depressed. And the most toxic trait amongst men is to push those feelings down because “men don’t talk about feelings”. I’m late to the bandwagon to talk about it, but we as Males as a collective need to do away with this self destructive trait. You can still be a Mans Man but tell your girlfriend or brother or friend when something’s got you down.

I went through a family trauma years ago coupled with dropping out of university, and being young and alpha – kept a straight face and pushed the problems down. Or rather swallowed the problems with excess amounts of alcohol. It can destroy who you are if you harbour these feelings of hurt and pain and when it eventually bubbles to the surface – the impact will be catastrophic. To you, and all those around you.

My family and I were dealing with a loss, but “being a man”, I was the shoulder to cry on. I was so focused on being a man that I didn’t check my own emotions. Emotions I knew were there but I drank them away. It got to a point where I was having dark thoughts. Driving without a seatbelt. Self harming in subtle ways. I’m not ashamed to say I needed help. But I didn’t see it at the time. The alcohol and burn marks I’d leave would ease the feelings I had for some time. But as I said – it takes a toll on you and those around you. After an horrendous incident I caused at my cousins house (under the influence, no less), everyone could see the state I was in. Luckily, those I had hurt both emotionally and physically didn’t push me away, instead they sought help. Luckily for me I had an incredible support system that helped me get out of that dark place. It’s a place of despair. A place in which every situation you imagine, everyone would be better off without you. You start to feel like a burden and don’t want to hurt the people around you anymore. And for most people, the best way out is suicide.

And that’s the problem. A lot of gents don’t have such support systems or don’t have people keeping an eye on them for their wellbeing. And so when life gets too much, they take their lives. “Suicide doesn’t get rid of your pain. It just passes it on to someone else”. Those with dark thoughts of suicide, what if your mum finds you? Or your little sibling? Or your significant other? How do you think they’ll feel not only finding you, but realising they didn’t have a clue what you were going through. That they could have prevented it if only they had known. But they CAN’T know unless you speak.

And I can say now. To talk about your raw feelings like that is hard. But it’s the first step to getting better. To being better. I learned that no matter how big or manly you are, emotions affect you the same. So the best way to show how much of a man you are is to be able to face the demons and talk about them. Confide in someone. Write in a diary. See a psychologist. JUST TALK. I know it’s hard to bring up the conversation but FIND A WAY. For your sake and all those around you.

I encourage the youth and people my age. Those who feel we need to be men, through and through – be a man and speak up. Those traveling and going away to university, or branching out to live on your own. You’re not alone. If you’re feeling lost or in a bad place, there’s ALWAYS someone to listen. You just have to be willing to talk.

They say the silent killer is blood pressure, or diabetes or this or that. The truth is, amongst a sadly great number of males. The silent killer is their silence. Their pride.

Don’t pass the pain on to someone else.

Rambling As Usual

It’s been a while since I’ve posted on this site. I’ve been a joint writer on another blog and in doing so I’ve neglected this page which is where my writing started. So hello to whoever reads this. It’s been a while.

I’ve been in a slump lately. Mainly in regard to writing, but also some aspects of life – I guess. I’ve always been proud of my physique but as of late I’ve really let myself go. We went through quarantine and I set my mind on becoming the best version of myself during that period, but I indulged and let myself get worse. There’s been a lot of close death around me. And that’s been eating at me for days on end. I’ve grieved, but I always question the pain I’m feeling, because I know for a fact the people close to me are experiencing grief to a much greater degree than I am. So how can my grief compare? It feels almost selfish to be sad knowing how much others around me are hurting.

I talk about it a lot to my partner and confidante, but it haunts me to a greater degree than I could ever explain. I’m torn between feeling the grief and feeling the pain of those close to me. I put myself in their shoes and when I even imagine what they’re going through, I feel my heart break. I used to rely on alcohol to numb those kind of feelings when I first experienced grief but I learnt that isn’t the way to cope. It’s self destructive. I feel like the unhealthy eating habits I adopted were a coping mechanism. Eating pleasurable foods gave me some sort of happiness I guess. But I’m still hurting. I hurt every day. I lost close family, but the people around me ( I don’t want to say who exactly because I don’t want to make it public), had closer relations to those we lost. I question how they function in life. I look at them and I see the strongest people I’ve ever seen. They get up every day, no matter how hard – and get through each day. I don’t know the purpose of this post, I guess “as a writer”, this is how I get things out. Maybe it will bring me some peace, letting it out like this. I’m also scared. What if those I love don’t get to see certain milestones in my life. I’m terrified of losing more people. Losing people shows you how little control you have in life.

I’m hurting, but the hurt is more for the people around me. I want life to be good for them. I want them to be happy. I don’t feel happy all the time, and as I’ve explained – my grief is irrelevant to theirs.

I just want to stay home and not see them because I feel the pain in them. But at the same time I want to be there and try and make them happy. I wish I could take their pain and bear the brunt of it. I wish I could take all the hurt and let them live completely happy lives.

I guess the message I want to give whoever is reading this is that if you’re going through anything, mental health issues, grief, money problems – I hope you find the strength to continue. I hope you get through it. Keep fighting and don’t let life get you down. Love those around you as best you can, and appreciate them. My mother always told me “Don’t bring flowers to my grave. I won’t be able to enjoy them”. Love and cherish those people you value in your life. Be strong but also learn to get support and love from those around you. Allow yourself to feel whatever you’re feeling and don’t suppress anything.

Be at peace. Find your peace. Help others find peace. Spread love. We’re all stronger together.

Survival of The Fittest

Isaac could see the blood gushing from his leg but strangely enough, couldn’t feel it. It wasn’t adrenaline causing the pain blockage, but rather the fact that he was more focused on the fuselage protruding from his shoulder. A piece of the aircraft had penetrated his shoulder at some point after the plane fell from the sky over the Kerguelen Islands. No inhabitants were around to help the downed aircraft. Being around 3300 kilometers away from the nearest populated location, not much help was to be expected. The shock from the crash subsided and Isaac screamed. With noone but the dead around him, he screamed and screamed and screamed. 
The fire in his shoulder woke him. Dazed and confused from the trauma of the crash, as well as the copious amount of blood lost, he struggled to focus on the figure in front of him. Isaac’s eyes adjusted to the sight of a man holding blood drenched metal looming above him. 
“Don’t move.” The figure said. 
“You’ve lost a lot of blood. I’ve done what I can, but there’s not much else to do”. 

“Whe. Where is everyone else?” Isaac asked weakly. 

“You’re the first I’ve found alive.” Came the disheartened reply. 
“I’ve, I’ve seen you before. Where do I know you from?”
“I was a flight attendant on your flight. You must have seen me handing out drinks. My name is Matthew.”

“I can’t feel my arm. What’s going on?” Isaac asked timidly. 

“I made a tourniquet with one of the seatbelts.” Matthew informed him. 

“It’s to stop the bleeding from your shoulder.”

“Thank you. Help me get up. It’s getting dark and we need to see if anyone else needs help.”

Nobody else needed attention. It was a small chartered plane. 3 of the 5 individuals on board were dead. The pieces of human strewn amongst the bits of metal from the aircraft lay scattered in equal amounts across the terrain. Seeing this, Isaac felt the warmth of the vomit travel up his throat, and watched it spray out his mouth and into one of the many puddles of blood soaking into the earth. 
Looking into the dark night sky and seeing the dire situation they were in. It was clear to both Isaac and Matthew that nobody was coming to save them any time soon. They slept huddled together under a tree, covering with large branches and leaves they managed to scavenge. 
“Hey. Matthew. Are you awake?” Isaac asked staring into the night sky. 
No reply from Matthew. Isaac could feel the tears welling up as he felt the desolation and despair closing in on him. Soon enough the warmth of the tears fell fast on his face. 
The early morning sunlight woke the pair up. Isaac couldn’t move. The injuries he had sustained were covered in yellow puss and a putrid smell emanated from them. They were getting infected. Matthew suggested he would scavenge the wreckage and see if there was a first aid kit with medical supplies and clean water for them to drink. Isaac lay still. Deep in his thoughts about the death from infection he felt was imminent. 

Matthew had never seen such a bloody mess. Had he any food in his stomach he would have thrown it up. One of the bodies was intact, but for the most part, legs and arms were littered about the floor. Torsos with heads attached lay motionless, wasted in pools of blood. There was no first aid box around. Isaac would have to pray and hope to God someone came soon. They sat together. Matthew did his best to construct a make shift shelter to keep them from the elements. He used more branches and logs to build a roof of sorts to protect them. They had not eaten a proper meal since before the flight left. Isaac needed to eat to gain some strength back to try and fight off the infection. 

“Why not take a walk around and find us something to eat?” Isaac suggested. 

Matthew obliged and spent the best part of the day trudging around the island, ducking through thick shrubbery and hordes of insects. But to no avail. There was nothing worth eating. He didn’t know what berries and wild growth was safe to eat, and why risk getting sick by just eating it. Hungry and beaten, he made his way back to Isaac. He informed Isaac of the food situation and they agreed on what to do. Matthew made use of dry wood and constructed a fire by their camp. He walked, with a sense of purpose, back to the crash site. There wasn’t much left that hadn’t started to rot, but he found meat that was still in tact that they could eat. The meat was just about on the fire when they both grabbed onto a piece each and tucked into their fellow passengers. 

The skin was slightly burned by the hot flame. The flesh itself was deliciously prepared almost medium rare. The meat was fragrant but after the first few bites they began to enjoy it more and more. Blood dripping down their chins, they looked at each other and laughed. Matthew picked up a leg (he thought of it as a drumstick) and bit deeply into the calf. All inhibitions had left. They were enjoying their meal. They no longer even thought about what they were eating, they were merely content they were filling their stomachs. The abundance of blood from the meat seemed to be quenching their thirst too. Neither man could remember a time they had eaten anything more delicious. 
What little was left of the passengers lasted them 3 days. At first they were repulsed by what they had done. But why should meat go to waste. The hunger had begun to set in again and they had finished the human they had, and had still been unable to find any animals to try hunt. Not that they could hunt. They were physically weak and had no tools. Isaac had grown much weaker and the infection had begun to spread. Matthew looked at him pitifully. If he let the infection completely consume Isaac, there would be no more edible meat left.
He lay a hand gently on his next meal before getting up to look for something to do the job. He found a suitably sized rock and set about it. The first hit cracked Isaac’s skull with a satisfying thud. Matthew did not stop and bashed and bashed until Isaac’s brain and skull were a mushy mess and his body lay twitching. All that physical work had made him hungry. Time to cook and eat. There was enough meat on Isaac to last at least another weak. 

~ Alexander Hickey

The Cost of Failure

The cigarette burnt steadily in the ashtray. The sound of the second hand progressing around the clock seemed to grow louder and louder. He stretched a shaking hand to the table next to him and clasped the whiskey bottle, already open. He filled his glass, rather than pouring a tot. Just as soon as he filled it, the glass was empty. He couldn’t have an empty glass, could he? He topped it up again. This time taking a small sip from the glass. He put the whiskey bottle, now nearly finished, on top of the folded newspaper sitting on the table. The newspaper that had driven him to drinking like this. Well the newspaper didn’t actually make him drink, what he had done had caused that. The newspaper merely made it known to the world. 
Everything he had done was to help. He wasn’t by any means poor growing up. But even at a young age, he always wanted to ensure those around him that he cared about, had enough too. Since starting his company, he had made it a point to hire family, and friends he was still close to. That way he could make sure they were looked after. He took a drag of the cigarette, staring vacantly at the blank wall. The wall that had once had countless beautiful (and expensive) works of art adorning it. The art was one of the first things they had taken away. Well his family was the first to go. But the art followed quickly. Be shifted his gaze from his naked wall to the newspaper. The article that had outed him for inside trading had ruined him. Damn Mike Springsteen. Mike had been a close friend of Dexter since University and had started working with him as soon as the company birthed. Mike had, however, decided to sell Dexter’s secret to multiple newspapers. All that for money. The very thing that drove Dexter to do it. Money to help his workers. His family. 

Dexter was close friends with James, owner of Jammie Pharmaceuticals. James had, in passing, said that they had patented medicine that helped slow down cancer. This in turn would make shares in the company go up. With this new found “knowlege”, Dexter bought an incredible number of stocks to then sell off once their value increased. Mike, being the kind of guy he was, thought Dexter did it for his own betterment – and went to the newspapers with this information. Now, after investigations and interrogations, Dexter’s stock trading company was unraveled. His assets had been ceased and he was facing criminal charges. But at least he had his whiskey. Well at least while he could afford it. He gulped down what was left in the glass and proceeded to drink from the bottle. 

He had worked his whole life to provide for those he loved and now he had nothing. Nothing to give to them, nor anything for himself. Even his bad decisions had been made with everyone else in mind. He didn’t care about money himself. He just knew everyone else cared immensely about it. What Dexter cares most about was his son. His wife could barely look at him when she stormed out, taking everything she possibly could – signaling the fact she would not be returning. He could live without his business and the fancy things. What he couldn’t live with, is life without his wife and son. A liar and a thief. That’s what his wife had called him. He would no longer leave behind a legacy of goodwill and charitable actions. Now all that would be left behind when he goes are the misdeeds and bad decisions he had made. 

On unsteady legs, Dexter Alexander stood. Bottle in hand, empty though it was. There was nothing left for him. He was a fraud. A cheat. His wife took his son to her mother once the police had come around the house. He had lost his company and all the friends that he had hired. He walked out to the balcony of his penthouse apartment. The cars on the street zoomed past, but they were merely a blur. After the sip that finished the whiskey, the cars and street became closer and closer and closer. 

~Alexander Hickey