Inside the Mind of a Bon Viveur

Bon viveur: a person who likes going to parties and other social occasions and who enjoys good food, wine, etc. (Merriam-Webster)

The cold has set in, and in a twisted way, I relish it as it engulfs my heart.

My shoes crunch the gravel to tiny bits as I walk back home under the harmonized distorting of the sky.

I’m on a lonely road, but the glitter on my cheeks tell a different story. I’ve been labelled, judged and scrutinized for my preference to be lost in a crowd with the music blaring, preferably. Hence, I choose to revel in a party.

You see, the cold is getting to me. As I walk on the gravelled path, my heart feels heavy with all the unsaid words. How is it that the words aimed at me can bring me down to a place that I thought I’d risen from?

When it gets overwhelming, I think of the quote, "Anybody trying to bring you down is already below you." But, sometimes, the words hold a ring of truth to it.

So, am I guilty? Or shall I plead not guilty?

I’ve been asked this question countless times, the ‘why’ behind it all. In the mind of others, I’m a person who’s shallow, with no substance unless I ingest one. A person who’s obtuse, because how could a person who parties so much be anything but? A person who’s headed down the path less taken and wearing it down.

But, I’m here to plead my case, and tell you the truth that remains unspoken.

I began this fateful journey to escape the expectations held for me and from me. The expectations weighing down on me to be a good daughter, friend and a partner. I was drowning in the effort to be just that, every time I reached the goal, the rung was placed higher, and I felt I had to prove myself to feel worthy, to feel like a good person who’s worthy of praise, who’s worthy of existing. But, what is “good”?

Being lost in a crowd set me free of my own thoughts of guilt and self-blame that plague my mind like the drugs that plague my body. A place where I can let go, and instead entrance myself with the colors, lights, senses, and emotions that were lost in the rush to feel important.

I feel powerful with eyes on me and I don’t shy away from the gazes that seem to make me uncomfortable everywhere else. I dance, letting my body flow with the music, the bass keeping in time with my incessant heart.

The drugs are a part of it too, enhancing the joy and overwhelming love I feel but forget about. The wonder I feel when I look out at the sea, glistening like diamonds in the moonlight, vision blurry in HD. The delicious realisation of your insignificance in the vast universe a minute entity inhabiting a tiny fraction.

A happiness that can be bought.

The psychedelic and galactic visions and the stark transparency on the faces of strangers around me is enough of a drug. Emotions, energy and desires are laid bare in each pair of eyes.

I could sit here and pretend that these events aren’t superficial or pretentious, or evil intentions disguised under eclectic interiors, a facade hiding the corruption of mind, body and soul. But, if you’re walking down a path that is quite possibly dangerous, you have to embrace a few thorns in your side.

The gazes that make you feel powerful can sometimes cloak roving hands and eyes, unfocused eyes filled with barely-controlled lust. Sex, deceit and lies are present in every corner.

I am told I need balance, but I want to tip the scales, I want chaos so I can silence my mind in the white noise and the buzz. I want to imagine for one second that the world isn’t what it is.

Yet, I choose to be present under its very shade, because I’d rather be free in hell than a prisoner in heaven.

I see the duality in people as clear as day under the cover of darkness. I can see pain, despair, anger and true emotion reveal itself in the haze. I see the love, affection, laughter and wisdom present in these emotions, and I see the depth, the depth we are willing to dive into in order to break through to the surface.

Is it wrong or is it right?

I do not know, but, to me it feels just right. My inhibitions are in sync with my feelings and I feel in control of my emotions, I feel renewed each night I step onto the floor where the spotlight is.

So before you talk in hushed whispers or speak boisterously about me and my choices, consider this:

Would you rather be free in hell or would you rather be a prisoner in heaven?

I rest my case.

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