I Contemplate Death Like It's on The Menu.
(an essay about...well, it's about life)
hey, friend. March is in full swing, and i’m wishing you any semblance of quiet and wellness. i have a few things to say before we begin. firstly, this is Muscle&Bone’s 20th essay and i cannot explain how grateful i am for this sweet, growing community and the gift of your attention and interest in my pieces. you are helping me realise my dream of being a full-time writer, among other aspirations.
secondly, to celebrate, i’ve created a Buy Me A Coffee account. i am inviting ease, abundance and reward into my life. there is absolutely no pressure, but if you can, i would appreciate any contribution you could make towards funding me, so i can continue balancing university and writing, without as much of a financial strain on my shoulders. i will never make this newsletter paid, because i don’t want to deter people from reading and being able to access diverse literature. so, this is the next best way to support me financially.
lastly, i’d like to announce that as part of this 20th extravaganza, if you cannot afford my poetry book, Waiting on a Rapture, please email me. i will gladly send you an ebook. in exchange, and we can make somewhat of a bartering game from this, all i ask is that you leave an honest review of the book on my Goodreads, or any other social media site you enjoy and recommend the collection to friends if you think they would like it.
cool, that’s all. have a look at the media recommendations at the bottom of this essay. all my love <3
content & trigger warning: very light mentions of suicide, death and bullying. please read safely, darling x
it has been ages since i’ve felt peace like this. after quite literally labouring through February, anxious about the state of my health, actively experiencing a mental and spiritual decline, and cornered by financial deadlines and university obligations, i found myself holistically unrested and miserable. but March. my God, March has been a warm embrace. i have felt called to silence and study in a manner that i haven’t known before. i’m reading genres of books i used to read as a teenager, praying and studying the word of God in a way i never used to and listening to loud, rambunctious punk music, that drives me to natural catharsis. i cannot ignore how calm i feel, even as the weight of the world cements itself on my shoulders. i am a new-age Atlas, dancing with a sprained foot.
admittedly, i entered the new year with fears and traumas that have weighed me down consistently and without mercy. the past buried me in its dust. as difficult conversations and painful memories came back to me, much became abundantly clear and perhaps, affirmed something i knew, even as a child. i am chronically depressed and now, living with PTSD. this is not some fun, ‘fetch’ announcement. it also isn’t a sign of resignation or defeat, contrary to what many people who are afraid of such conversations would admit. this is me just being honest, for the sake of my own health and wellbeing and it matters for where this story is heading.
as the month progressed, i felt myself slip back into a place that severed me. i wanted to be alone. i wanted to be loved and surrounded by loved ones. i wanted to punish others who broke my heart, who knew the significance of the moment i endured and still dealt tactlessly with my emotions. i wanted to forgive them. i wanted to forgive them, desperately. i wanted to forgive myself for anything and everything. i wanted and wanted and wanted again. February was a month of complete severance. and thought. i would have these thoughts about things that happened in childhood, like when i was 8/9 and bullied by these kids in an old Catholic school. i was desperate for their friendship and they hated me in a way that only children know how to hate. they were only children. i thought about not being able to remember anything that happened between the ages of 10 and 13, because what could i possibly need to remember when diabetes was quite literally ripping me to shreds? i was in perpetual denial of this chronic illness and i too, was only a child. a child who, on occasion, wants to crawl through a fire and come out restored and made new for the world before her.
after the internalised shame crept back in throughout the days and these memories washed over me, i realised something: i contemplate death like it’s on the menu. i have never spoken about suicide, because i am not suicidal. however, i have been prone to suicidal ideations, especially as a child. i didn’t know what they were, only that i often wondered if being dead would allow me to rest. the irony is that this was a passing thought. it was fleeting, like wondering if i was going to eat chicken or minced beef for dinner. sometimes, i could taste the coriander and feel the turmeric, practically yellowing my teeth. that is to say, i could taste death, not approaching, but there, always just there. on the table. i was faced with mortality at a very young age. and goodness, i think it liberated me in this strange, perilous way. as i contemplated what death was, who it was, and what it meant, i also grew comfortable with the idea of losing other people, of losing versions of myself and desires i previously had.
i had grown to love the exercise of letting things go. so, i am going to say it again and this time, breathe out when i do: i contemplate death like it’s on the menu. i no longer have suicidal ideations, by the way, those stopped when i turned seventeen. but what i do have, are moments of recognition that i will die one day. that we will all die one day and that it is okay to say this out loud, without feeling like you are spreading a virus. i am not affirming or calling death toward me, i am simply acknowledging it. i am acknowledging that after seeing the strife and violence of wicked thoughts and depression in February, i can feel and see the colour and joyousness of my thoughts in March. the dichotomy is real and necessary. i am also encouraging you to recognise your rage, your grief, the weight of the world and the weight of your inner worlds and the things that haunt you and to tell them that they have a time and place; that they are not welcome to stay around the year. and then, tell them that you will see them when you are good and willing to see them.
i dare to contemplate death like i’m deciding on a glass of chardonnay or cranberry juice because my thoughts have power and i can will the impact of things that have severed me previously. the words that have hurt me in the past will not be on my menu for the future. the slit they left on my throat when they lied about my actions and my character, will not be on the menu. the rejections, bullying and self-annihilation, will not be on the menu. tonight, i will indulge in fish, a cold glass of naartjie juice, with tons of ice and a succulent slice of pear. tonight, i will remember that i am going to die and then live. and live, vicariously. with vigour, as a tiger would (as Tiger Woods would, sorry, that sounded funny in my head and i had to share it).
let this be something hopeful that you can carry. i pray the glass is not half full, but overflowing for you this month. Keaton Henson gorgeously sang: i still have art in me, left. you do, even when everything is overwhelming you. even as the tides are turning and the past is catching up to you. there is an invitation to sit with certain things and to let other things go. we cannot carry everything all the time though. there will be seasons, weeks, and months of sitting with these things. then, there will be seasons, weeks, and months of letting things go.
as our friends, the Anglicans and Catholics say, ‘for dust you are and to dust, you shall return’, so give yourself room to reimagine death and renewal in ways that feel simple. order the food you don’t usually order, the kind words to yourself, the soulful taste of laughter and optimism. believe that after and during the storm, there is a moment of reprise. i am living mine at the moment. it is a possible life. gift yourself the pleasure of ease and the truthfulness of joy, especially as some of you walk into the valley and others, into the canopy. it gets easier and sometimes, you can make it easier. it gets better, but sometimes, you can make it better. not everything is about patience and waiting. there is something in the actively doing and engaging, digesting death can be that too. whatever ‘death’ means to you, of course.
yours,
Thando. x
🎞️:
Ocean Explorers - National Geographic
Jane - dir. Brett Morgen
No Other Land - dir. Basel Adra, Hamdan Ballal, Yuval Abraham, Rachel Szor