Psychosis, Queerness, and the Ghost Who Loved Me
When the walls stopped talking, and just smiled
We are the rainbow that lights up a cloudy sky. We are the beautiful array of colors that shine through the water. Our reflections will stay beautiful. Because that’s exactly what we are.
They will keep talking. The walls will keep taunting. The mirrors will stay defiant.
But our colors…our colors will stay strong.
When will they see that?
People see us as candy. They play with us, looking at our colors and eating us up.
But we will survive. Because after every storm, there must be that first light that breaks through the cold water. There must come a rainbow.
I wanted to believe it. But in my darkest moments, all I could perceive were my shattered reflections in the thousand drops of rain in those dark nights.
Slowly but surely, I recovered. I began to taste the person I truly was.
And it all began with a packet of AirHeads.
I feel the AirHeads in my mouth. They swirl around, a taste that is hard to describe. Sour? Sweet. I just don’t know.
The blood on my arms glare at me — reminding me that no one will ever accept me.
We will always have our share of upturned eyes. Our share of raised eyebrows. It’s in the job description. But when we are on the ground, we will find the strength to get back up.
I’ve had my share of sand kicked in my face. I’ve been on the ground. And I know what it feels like to be utterly alone.
Laying on the ground, thoughts of liking men and defying norms swimming through my head, my thoughts go back to a time of innocence.
Before all the blood, before all the sand, there lay a kid who knew who he was. And he loved it.
As a child, I knew I was special. I would run around my school like some pink pony, showing off my colors. And man, it felt good. I was comfortable in my skin, and no one had the heart to tell me I was wrong.
That was until my heart got broken by how they see us. That was when my whole world came crashing down.
My dad says out of the blue, “Rohan, you have to be straight. No one in the family likes men.”
Teenage years hit me like a train. Everything collapsed, and I would isolate myself in a lonely bench of my high school, knowing I was a pink pony. And it hurt like hell.
Horses galloped around me, and they were the most brutal, most judgmental animals I would come to meet.
So I found myself on the ground once more. Hey sand. I’ve seen you before. Wanna make me bleed some more?
The only friend I had were my cut-up wrists. The only sexuality I could trust was straight. Straight as the strings of an instrument that proved to be my only friend.
All I had was my guitar. I would play that thing to death. And from the grave rose the voices.
I started hearing things. They told me what I was — a gay teenager. They filled my head with thoughts of intruders.
That was when my diagnosis came in. Psychosis.
I no longer knew if I was gay or not. The thoughts felt too split between a pink pony and the voices that haunted me.
My bleeding arms kept smiling at me. Watching. Like they knew something I didn’t.
And they did. They were right. Because right at that moment, I knew nothing.
I saw it in the walls, I saw it in the mirror. I saw it everywhere. And it haunted me. And…I kinda liked it. I liked the way they smiled all-knowingly, because I knew nothing.
The walls said things, and I believed them. I believed I would never be me again.
Will I ever?
The walls follow me everywhere. Lunchtime at school calls for more. But one person pulls me back from the edge. Jimmy Page. I blast his guitar plucks in my Sony headphones, and for just a moment, I know something.
Oooh, oh, baby, I’ve been flyin’
No, yeah, mama cares, ain’t no denyin’
Oh, oooh yeah, I’ve been flyin’
Mama My, ain’t no denyin’, no denyin’, no…
Why can’t I just sink into this feeling?
Feeling was a word that didn’t have a meaning.
Jimmy’s songs? They comprised what little meaning I could salvage.
I see two people in the mirror — a psychotic mess and a homosexual misfit.
Which one am I? Will I ever know?
I take a run, and, just for a moment, I feel like myself again. This….this feels nice. Just me and Jimmy. And I run across the entire school ground, pointing at my chest. “Yeah, that’s right. This is me.”
Those minutes were fleeting…I still returned to the mirrors, the speaking walls, and the blood on my bedsheets.
Dreams became the language of comfort I found solace in. And one particular dream stands out.
That night, I slipped into a deep sleep. The AirHeads on the ground turn into a tall figure. I gasp and spit it out.
Wait. Is it the intruders again?
It still felt real. Intruders? Intruders I know.
The elderly man didn’t seem intimidating enough.
It is my Thatha.
The man I knew for all of my childhood. The one guy who saw who I was, and unconditionally accepted that multicolored animal.
An all-knowing smile on his face, he beckons. “Ro, I’m here. And I will never leave you.”
He takes a deep breath and points outside. “That is our bike. Remember the streets? The fire that burnt from our neighbor’s house? I used to drive you all the way to the fields. Your eyes would smile at me.”
I looked up at him, tears in my eyes. “Thatha…ever since you left, it’s just been me. Me against the world. Fighting. When I look at the mirror, I see a broken man. Damn Thatha…that’s all I have.”
He picked up his handkerchief, wet from days spent alone. And I saw how much he needed me.
“Rohan. Just look at me. Look at me. These are the hands that cooked you butter chicken. These are the limbs that biked you to the mango trees in those fields. I…I have to show you something.”
A smile tugged at his wrinkled lips.
“You know, I always knew. Deep down, you were born to stand out. I still have that book I used to read to you. Let me show you.”
He took a step, and stumbled. I caught him in mid air, and we held each other.
Wait. I’ve been here before. I’ve held onto so much. And they all let go.
Will this one be for real?
The real me, still shuffling around in his bed, had tears coming down his face. As my dream got thicker, I held onto what was real. Dreams came and went, but the real me, grounded in a pink pony, stayed alive.
The next few moments happened in a metaphysical realm. All I knew was the man that cared for me. The guitar plucks, the mirrors, the walls…they didn’t say a word. They just served as audience.
I don’t need Jimmy. The walls? They can’t change who I am. Because now…now I know exactly what I am.
I saw my Thatha. I saw the one person who accepted me. In the reflection of his eyes, I still saw a psychotic, gay teenager. But I saw something more…I saw hope. Hope for all of us teenagers to fight.
I woke up in a flurry. The blood on the ground had dried up. The walls didn’t speak, they just smiled. And me…I started healing.
I know who I am. I know where I came from. And no one, no one, can kick me to the ground.
I will forever question what it means to be gay. That question will never fade. That little bundle of joy I was, running through the elementary school, that will forever be a part of me.
And as I rub my eyes, I see things more clearly than ever.
The psychotic man in the mirror knows, more than ever, who he truly is.
To my fellow gay teenagers, believe in yourself. We are pink ponies.
We are the rainbow that lights up a cloudy sky. We are the beautiful array of colors that shine through the water. Our reflections will stay beautiful. Because that’s exactly what we are.
Today you would see me in my full colors. I know who I am. I know who we are.
The walls have stopped talking. And I started speaking.
Psychosis struck me, and all I had in that moment were those talking walls. Those smirking mirrors. That disappointed look in my family’s faces.
But what my Thatha showed me is that we can push through. Sometimes, the most alone are the strongest.
The question remains — will they see that?
We are strong. We stand together. And we will fight.
