Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

When I was seventeen, I lost my mind for the first time, and the world became a frightening place. I lost my understanding of reality, when the bipolar beast reared its ugly face. Suddenly, my brain malfunctioned and made me paranoid, I no longer trusted anyone, and believed they wanted to ruin me. It was like my life had been destroyed, and I was living in a post-apocalyptic, nightmarish dream. Attempted suicide so many times the hospital staff all knew me by name, oblivious to reason, I was convinced a microchip had been implanted in my brain. I watched afraid as everything I knew and loved went up in flames, in order to refrain from harming myself or others, I was placed in restraints. Traveled across Canada by bus in order to escape and get away, running away only made it worse, and I was locked away again. Days turned to weeks then months, as I slowly returned to the me of yesterday. There is nothing in this life that compares to the anguish of mental illness and its...

One loose thread is all it takes for an entire tapestry to unravel. An entire year's labour of love can come undone in seconds. Emotions change as quickly as colours in kaleidoscopes, a single misperceived look or pointed barb can turn the comfort of calm into an atomic bomb. When personalities can range from laidback to neurotic and back again, there is no guessing when moods will sour from resentments repressed for far too long. Like earthquakes that strike unexpectedly, and level entire cities in an instant, the ego can take control, and tear families apart in minutes. Strong, silent matriarchs are reduced to tears by their ungrateful children, siblings, once inseparable, act more like polite strangers who tiptoe around politics or religion. Effective communication is the only tool capable of scaling the walls we build when we are hurt. Alas, it is a rare talent that so few of us possess. Unless assertiveness is an option, conflicts will snowball until ...

Auto-erotic asphyxiating whilst gazing lustfully at his own reflection, Narciso was in disbelief at his own perfection. No need for a partner when you are an Adonis yourself. why ruin the fun of self-adoration by including someone else. His arrogance was unmatched, but he was apathetic, why would he care when he was such a fine catch? Delusion ran wild for he was convinced his weak chin was chiseled, clearly confusion corroded him as he believed he was a leopard when he was more similar to a lizard. Narciso wrote his own fate that day he passed his last mirror and became too aroused, his face was still torn apart by shards of glass when the paramedics arrived at his house. In his passion, he had mistaken his reflection for the real thing, so caught up in masturbating that he hardly felt the blood dripping. With skin ripped, like meat cut by a butcher's blade, he was committed, still entranced by the thought of how handsomely he was made.

Growing up gay in a big city, there was no end to stories about acquaintances who had been diagnosed with HIV.  It was said they were 'positive' as though saying so made it any less frightening, or any less real.  The threat of contracting it was omni-present for a young boy who behaved promiscuously and often engaged in recklessness, all the while thinking with the wrong head.  Fortunately, for me, I managed to steer clear of HIV, three letters that I convinced myself were a death sentence, but I have many friends who were not as lucky.  They inspire me, though, as they have shown me that a diagnosis need not be the end of the world.  These friends have fulfilling lives, and continue to work towards achieving their dreams, like their diagnosis was merely a hurdle, and not a setback.  I am inspired by their resilience, and take pride in having strong people like them in my life. There was so much ignorance then (and there still is) within the community....