The Worst Of All

I have always been one to find oxymoronic expressions laughably ironic.

But after experiencing all that I did last year, I have to ask this rhetorical question that could defeat the purpose of the opening line of this write-up, “What could be more ironic than experiencing one?”

2023, arguably and by many metrics of measurement, was the worst year of my life. The oxymoron here, ladies and gentlemen, is that 2023 was simultaneously the best year of my life. I am making this claim knowing fully well that subsequent years can make what I went through look like minor character development.

That certainly is a certainty so long as the future is uncertain. So, let us unwrap the year and see where Phaze might go from here.

Where Have You Been, Phaze?

Firstly, I have to admit that I have greatly missed doing what I love doing best – writing and publishing unhinged rants for internet strangers who could be doing anything else apart from consuming my pseudo-intellectual shitposts.

I won’t say here that I am an unloved child and that I have a weird way of expressing my love to those who equally (or on an inferior/superior scale) love me. So, this should make it obvious that the first paragraph of this segment can be summed up as, “I love you and I also missed you guys.”

It has almost been 4 months since I last published anything here. If you read my last piece, I mentioned that I’d achieved the goal of publishing every week for a year (52 weeks). Now, before this period came, I’d already decided where I was going to go from there.

I said I was going to try my hands on something I had on my mind for a while – content creation. The idea of being freely creative in what you do is always something that I have enjoyed doing. Creating videos, as well as writing, have come to be my primary form of creativity. Which is why I took a break from one to focus on the other.

For about 5 months, I created video and audio content for my podcast (The BigPhaze podcast). Every week, ladies, and gentlemen, for about 24 weeks (24 episodes), I uploaded a new episode.

Forgive my horrible use of metaphor, but rather than this poor attempt at what appears to be me sucking my own dick, I more or less am just realizing how hard and consistently I must have been working. Considering also that I shoot the videos and audio (1hr30m long) and edit them using Adobe Premiere Pro and Adobe Audition which I had to self-learn. I also handle the promotion and social media, guests' logistical concerns, and practically everything else. Upon all these epiphanies, I think it is fair that, without coming off as a cocky bastard, I ought to pat myself on the back for a job well done. Innit, my bruvs? Innit?

So, I’ve been off doing that, and now the podcast is on a break because the First Season has come to an end. Although as a matter of fact, that isn’t the only thing I've been off doing.

I am not sure if I ever revealed my true identity to you guys, but I am actually Batman (I’m delusional and schizophrenic). So, now that you guys know, there’s no point in being mysterious.

A Recap Of 2023

 ACT 1, SCENE I

The year started with me getting a cake for one of my classmates and my good friend. One of my plans for the year was to be an intentional and active friend. He was so happy when I surprised him with the cake. I hope I can do it again this year…

I had my biggest Ws and Ls last year. It was crazy. It was beautiful. But most of all, it was quite the experience.

By the end of January, I decided I was going to do something I rarely ever do – socialize. That’s right. I am an introvert. Deal with it.

My friend, Olaniyi, had organized this little social thing meant to bring his friends together. Given that there were going to be friends, mutual, and strangers there, it was a good social safety net in case I found myself getting exhausted after a couple of “hellos” and “his”.

It was a good space. I met some new friends there, and I equally got to share a social space with some friends whose relationship with me never extended beyond pleasantries and formalities. We played some games, I had a drink. It was a good way to end January.

February, I went back to my home city, Ibadan. I hadn’t been there in a while. God, how much I miss the City of Brown Roofs and its people. Especially my parents.

The power situation (NEPA) was very bad there, so I never stayed there longer than a week. But this one week changed the trajectory of the rest of the year (and possibly even the rest of my life).

I heard some friends were organising a new edition of a particular event which is held annually. This was the 4th time, so they titled the event “The IVth Experience”. It is an art-themed event for musicians, writers, and every fan of an elevating experience. I went with a friend of mine from the University Of Ibadan who brought some sticks of weed with him.

At the event, around 1 AM when it started, I sat next to a gentleman who wore stylized glasses that gave off the vibe that he was a tech guy. About an hour or so into the event, I was starving because I left home early to join my UI friend so we could make our way to the event together. Given also that the cost of the ticket for the event was 15k because it came with a buffet and all that good stuff, I thought I’d save the extra space in my stomach until it was time to eat at the event.

The gentleman beside me, who was already gisting with me about different artists and genres, offered me some snacks he was eating. At this point, I didn’t know the snack was laced with weed (edibles). And while he was eating his slowly and taking his sweet time, the ignorant me voraciously chewed on the snack as though I heard they were sharing food at the event and I snuck myself in so as to avoid death by starvation from whatever hellhole I crawled out of.

This wasn’t my first time with weed, but it was my first time with edibles.

Later that night, my friend who brought his weed called me up that the fun was happening in the backyard of the event. I got up to join him and he offered me a stick. This wasn’t my first time with weed. I hadn’t smoked for over 3 months (I smoked weed occasionally from 2022 when I tried it), so I made him promise me that it wasn’t anything heavy. I just wanted an elevated experience of the art-themed event since I am such a sucker for art.

Without going into details, I basically overdosed without even knowing it. The weed I smoked and the one I ate must have been different, so they made me go haywire. For a while, I wasn’t quite myself.

I had a very rough night. I was a mess. I wanted to sleep so badly so everything could end, but it never ended. I was living through hell. My anxiety came back, I was hyper-conscious, and everything. I developed trauma and from time to time, I suffered PTSD.

It was one of the longest nights of my life, and trust me, I have had long nights. I was hallucinating. At the same time, fears that had been buried deeply into my subconscious managed to make their way to the conscious level, and I had not the way to control them.

 ACT 1 SCENE II

“I am the fault of my own, and I am living through the pile of hell I had managed to stack up through my misdeeds and the pigheaded decision to never give in to my conscience each time it would submerge at the darkest hour of the night, and the brightest day among all days… I am the fault of my own, and I am living through the hellscape I created. How else can it be that I am suffering through a night where insignificant events I never paid attention to all led me here?”

“What if I had chosen to spend the night with my family instead of roaming the night in search of self-actualization by basking in a relationship with art? That which transcends the material world, as I justify to myself? What if I knew what edibles were before having an unregulated consumption of them? What if I’d asked my friend what strain of weed was in his blunt?”

“What if, instead of looking for a rational loophole of where things could have gone right or wrong, I simply am to accept how largely my ignorance has faulted me by defaulting on our oath to be irrelevant in cases where the cost of its presence is mightier than I can bear? What if I should just get out of my own head and thus accept this self-imposed suffering?”

These are fragments of the many thoughts I had to combat on that long night. If you are familiar with the older things I’ve published on this page, you would have an understanding of how my mind works.

I have plunged deeply into my own brain, stories that would make gods shiver, and tales that would make the angels die in awe. So, poorly, I romanticize my own predicament as I say poetically to you through these lines I have written:

In the labyrinth of my own mind, a daring plunge I took,

A journey profound, where echoes of stories shook.

Into the depths, where neurons weave their tales,

A poetic odyssey where the mind's mystery prevails.

Beneath the canopy of thoughts, where dreams intertwine,

I unearthed narratives that could make gods incline.

A symphony of neurons, a dance of cosmic threads,

In the tapestry of consciousness, where the soul treads.

Whispers of forgotten lore, secrets held in cerebral quivers,

I dived into the abyss, where imagination delivers.

Stories, potent elixirs that make the divine shiver,

In the sanctum of my mind, a storyteller, a river.

My thoughts, like ancient hieroglyphs, etched on the mind's wall,

Each memory a constellation, a cosmic call.

I've journeyed within, where galaxies unfurl,

A celestial narrative, in the cosmic swirl.

So, in the recesses of my cerebral domain,

I've woven tales that gods might find arcane.

For in the labyrinth of the mind, a poet's endeavour,

To plumb the depths, where stories last forever.

-------------------------

I am well familiar with some effects of things that temporarily affect your brain. Intelligence on steroids simply wasn’t on my list.

I understood it better because I studied psychoanalysis through Sigmund Freud. So, rather than be consumed by myself, I chose to address myself appropriately. It wasn’t easy because I am my own greatest critic.

This reminds me of a quote by the classical philosopher Plato who once said, “The first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself; to be conquered by yourself is of all things most shameful and vile.” I am here now, and healthier. So, it is safe to say I won that battle.

Although while that is Plato (philosophy), Freud (psychology) would suggest instead that rather than conquer yourself, you should be in terms with yourself. I believe it was Carl Jung who said that the human psyche is a loose collection of sub-personalities.

Consider it like a personality distribution gained from your parents and those that preceded them. You get the temper of your dad, the emotionality of your mom, the creativity from your grandpa, etc. Each of these identities is deeply etched into your psyche, and rather than suppressing them or being a totalitarian over yourself, you should come to terms with yourself.

Anyways, to wrap up my story.

I can barely remember how I ended home. Even now. But I was hospitalized the same morning. None of my friends knew what was going on (and they couldn’t) so I was on the road to recovery all on my own. For months. If any of my friends are reading through this, they’ll be shocked by how they never had any idea.

I decided at the hospital that I was never going to smoke again, and I have stuck by that promise till now. Next month (February) makes it a year since I totally quit. Now, my choice of vice is women. They are 10x addictive and stronger than weed. I am sure my fellow Yoruba men out there will agree with me.

That is quite the transition from my January that seemed mostly peaceful. Right? Well. Things don’t often go our way. Life has a way of doing things without our consent. I am not saying life is a rapist or anything, but it does have a way of giving you a false sense of security before positioning itself right behind you where it can properly give it to you. I returned to my school (OAU), and I began my healing process. I went back to working out and I spent more time outside.

Do you want to know what life and a dog have in common? They are both what we call a bitch.

The purpose of this level of vulnerability is to tell anyone out there dealing with one form of mental health whether trauma, depression, anxiety, or anything else, it is possible to overcome it. The person who often comes out of these unwanted experiences is usually a different person. Sometimes, a better version of who we could be. And sometimes, we are stuck.

Talking and being vulnerable about your journey and recovery is a very healthy practice. You are stronger than the challenges life throws your way.

But hey, enough of this feeling and mental health stuff.

It is kind of gay. Isn't that right, my fellow gigachad post-modern testosterone-fueled alpha males?

 ACT 2 SCENE I

The period between March and July was as beautiful as it was ugly.

March 14th was my birthday, and the only memorable thing that happened was me announcing to my friends that I had a podcast coming out. Aside from that, I did what most men and most introverts do on their birthdays. Be unnecessarily mysterious, melancholic, maybe even sleep? And if your feelings are in the right place you can feel lonely too. For me, it was all of that.

All the money I saved up for the podcast was put to work in April. I spoke to a friend of mine who I knew was a photographer and video editor. I had N200k to work with, but I was gullible.

I invited him to my house, and for over 2 hours, we spoke and went over the plan for my podcast. He was to teach me video editing, take my professional pictures, and rent a studio to shoot 8 episodes. All of that with a 200k budget.

I invited a brilliant friend of mine from Lagos to come be my first guest, but because of excuses and laziness from my friend, Tunji Martins, I ended up hosting that friend of mine for over a week before he finally got tired of excuses and he left.

I could fill books with all the red flags Tunji Martins gave me. But I chose to ignore them because Ile-Ife (where my university is) is a village and I never thought I could find any other person whose studio is located on campus to make navigation for my guests easier.

He treated me like shit and made it appear as though he was the victim of all the pressure and bullshit I called him on. But one day I finally had it. There is this Korean adage I heard while watching Jumong the other day. It goes a little something like, “When a cat pushes a mouse into a corner, the cat might get bitten.”

I had just returned from an AIESEC Conference in Abuja in April, and I was ready to see what could work this time as far as progression was concerned on my podcast project. It was after all my major project for the year (given naturally that it is to be a career and not a job), so why not give it another shot?

Upon my return, he promised that he had fixed up and we could shoot.

 ACT 2 SCENE II

Just to make this work, I would miss important classes, stay late on campus, and save up for my guests’ transportation fares, etc. I even missed a test just based on how much I would linger around the studio while we waited for some unspoken person to bring the tripod, cameras, microphone, and I hoped to God maybe Tunji Martins’ brain too because he never seemed to take it with him from home.

These all seemed bearable to me – a man dedicated to achieving goals he has set out to achieve (even at the detriment of his already declining mental status). Bearable until I showed up at the studio on the day he promised that we could shoot. Whereupon getting there, he revealed to me that we could no longer shoot, and at the same time, he had to travel to another state for his NYSC service (roughly 2 months).

This strained me greatly seeing that we managed to shoot and upload the intro episode of my podcast, and subsequent episodes were to follow weekly. I’d also already paid him, and from the money, he had installed a couple of things on the set, so I shrugged and asked if we could shoot about 4 episodes so I could upload them in time before he returned to Ile-Ife.

He agreed, and I called my department president, the president of AIESEC in Ife, a 400L psychology student, and Olaniyi (my very good friend). They all agreed to show up the next day as scheduled.

To avoid going into details… Just with the first guest of the day, his three cameras would develop faults 5 minutes into the podcast episode. This was a recurring problem throughout the 1-hour shoot with my guest. By the end, I discovered that his audio equipment was faulty, so the episode was a failure.

Yup. You can imagine just how I felt at that moment. I flew up and every piece of his bullshit I had to consume to make this work came right out of my mouth and we almost got into a physical altercation.

I had to call the rest of my guests to cancel, and on that same night (because I left his place late) I had to cut my hair low because I suffered a terrible headache. And for the first time, since started paying for my haircut, I decided I was going for a low cut to avoid headaches.

I requested a refund because he neither taught me video editing, took my professional shots, nor successfully shot any podcast episode. He left Ife the following week, and till today, I haven’t gotten a dime from him.

But he changed my story because I learned not to be reliant on people to such an extent anymore. So, I began saving up to be a one-man production crew for my podcast. That’s right. I did not give up. Rather, I was motivated. But that was a costly character development – literally and figuratively.

*Just like October passed Girl In Red by, so also did May pass me by. I was healing through my trauma, the collapse of my project for 2023, the loss of my money, as well as losing my job.

I stopped exercising (jogging and working out) because it didn’t seem too helpful with my mental health. And when I needed to be among my friends the most, the session in school ended and what was to be a one-month break turned into 4 months.

My neighbours probably assumed I was a vampire because of how much I stayed inside and avoided the sunlight. My mental health was as gloomy as my room – I liked the darkness and the alluring aura of nothing but the fuses with tiny red lights as the only glimpse of illumination my room had at night.

Woe is me…

 ACT 2 SCENE III

In July, my mom died.

A tragic event happened back home, and I was made aware of it through the sorrowful narration of my younger sister over the phone.

My mom was rushed to the hospital, and for two hours, that she was dead was all that was in my head. This was yet one of the many long nights I was to live through. But this time, not from sheer hubris. I was yet again a tragic hero. One borne of hermatia.

Have you seen the meme where a teenager who had been paralyzed all his life learned to walk again only for him to be paralyzed again after an accident and then under the newspaper is a picture of God saying, “Stay the fuck down”? Have you seen that meme? It is quite the dark humour.

Yeah… That’s how my situation felt. Since I am already talking about God, I seem to remember something Fyodor Dostoyevsky said. To paraphrase him, he basically said there has to be a God. Otherwise, who will be laughing at the stock of humanity?

My mom was resuscitated at the hospital. She lived. She’s alive today.

But temporarily, I was living through anguish. All my friends had gone home. Whom do I run to for consolation and pity points? Shall I have to return to the religion which I had stepped out of? I am to be a nihilist?

You can read about that experience HERE.

My thoughts for the rest of the month were darker than Michael Blackson at 11:37 PM. I couldn’t help myself. I contemplated the meaning of life and my own mortality for days and weeks following that event.

Here is Shakespeare’s Sonnet 29 which captures my mind during those days:

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

 ACT 2 SCENE IV

The month of July was long.

I watched a show starring Neil Patrick Harris once before. It is titled, “A Series Of Unfortunate Events.” My story thus far has maintained the title, but not the theme of the show because rather than be a pure tragedy, it is a tragi-comedy. A luxury I could never afford.

Following the temporary loss of my mom and my friends leaving the school to go be with their families. I was still staying back in school for plenty of reasons, one of them including the fear of PTSD upon passing through the streets that led me to develop a trauma.

Another reason why I stayed back in school was that I didn’t want my parents to see the mess that I’d become. But more importantly, I loved my solace – my freedom.

Although unbeknownst to me, gradually and ever so slowly, this solace turned into abject loneliness. It puts into view a quote I love. It was said by Charles Bukowski. It goes like this; “…and when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. what do you call it, freedom or loneliness?”

I was lonely even before I could admit it. I mean, of course, I was lonely. How could I not have been?

But I liked it.

Some of the best things (and darkest) things I’ve ever written have all come from moments where I was the most melancholic. Listening to sad songs, thinking about what is – the entire shebang. At the same time, writing very close to a self-imposed deadline works too as far as being maximally creative is concerned.

My therapist said to me during one of our podcast episodes that a good level of loneliness and sadness is necessary for a good psyche. I didn’t believe him initially until I’d pondered over all that I managed to achieve during my desolate hours.

But to flashback to a period in July where, even by my own self-diagnosis, it was imminent that I find a way out of this loneliness that ate deeply within me. So, here, I decided to give a shot at being intentional about another person – a girl from the University Of Ibadan whom I’d previously met and found to be rather enchanting.

She wasn’t to serve as an object to satiate the longing for a company. She was to be more. For I never considered the option of intentionally falling in love with someone until I realized how much I needed to be healed – to love and to be loved.

She was to be more.

Without any cliffhanger, here is a foreshadowing of what my fate was to be; it was a simple case of, “Does the person you want want you?” This is quite a depressing tale, won't you say? But I was pitiless, you see. How could anyone choose to be with someone as pitiless as myself? I could barely accept myself and my state. My mind was a mess, yet she was not Felix, so how could I expect her to Fix-It?

We’d been talking for long, the girl and I. But then it was time for us to meet again at an AIESEC event that was held in Ibadan. I was happy that she would be there. The excitement wasn’t the same for her. It was never reflected in any of our interactions.

On the day we were to meet, it was late at night and every other person who travelled from other states for the event was already present at the venue. It was time to get food, and I left my phone in the room I shared with 4 other people. We locked the door and one of us held the key to the room.

At the scene where we were to get food, I saw the girl I’d been looking forward to getting romantically involved with some other guy. For a second, we locked eyes, but she looked away – dismissing my presence and invalidating the excitement with which I looked at her.

What I’d been attempting to fix had fallen in one fell swoop.

For a moment, an overwhelming sense of loneliness descended upon me. Despite being among friends and strangers, it didn’t seem like anyone knew me. Everyone was going about their businesses as though I was merely an extra in a movie where he is supposed to be irrelevant to any story or sub-story.

I was temporarily lost, and desperate to be acknowledged by someone. Anyone.

I managed to make my way to my room where I waited by the door until the person who held the key returned. It was a long and anguishing wait. But I had neither my phone to serve as a distraction nor any immediate friend to confess to.

The event was to last 4 days, and I was gloomy for the most part. It was a colourless event for me. This was the cost of choosing to socialize after days of ostracizing myself from the rest of the world.

“The bottomless abyss which I’d managed to creep out of looked attractive compared to this place” – I thought to myself.

But I had wonderful roommates and I also met some interesting people. The people I met, especially one in particular, were the highlight of my temporary stay in Ibadan.

I returned home to reflect on many things.

 ACT 3 – Finale

August to December saw some dramatic changes in the trajectory of my life in 2023.

• I managed to get some money to independently work on my podcast

• I went back to working out and exercising

• I read a lot of books

• I travelled to Enugu

• I ate a lot and regulated my sleeping pattern

• For 5 months, I managed to host over 24 students from the universities of Abuja, Lagos, Ibadan, Akure, Ilorin and Obafemi Awolowo University

• I focused on my mental health and recovered about 95%

• I got closer to my friends and family

• I managed to love someone

• I met people who were fans of either my podcast or my writing which felt very motivating

• I tamed my “all over the place intelligence” and now focus it on productive thoughts and actions

These are some of the major things that happened between those 5 months.

And sometimes when I look back, I am happy for the horrible things I went through. They broke me apart and built a new me – a better me. One that could face the futility of life in the face of death and give it meaning. One who dares stare into the abyss

When Carl Jung said, “What you want will be found where you least want to look”, I believe he was referring to protagonists like myself who find themselves deeply embedded in a tragic story.

I am a product of my experiences. And speaking now as a man who survived almost all that was thrown his way, I am grateful for the experiences. They made me.

This may sound like a cliché, but more and more, I truly believe that what doesn’t kill you has the potential to make you stronger. If you don’t voluntarily take on challenges to empower your character ahead of an uncertain future, and when other challenges come your way, they might break you apart. If you survive, in the ashes will rise a phoenix. A phoenix ready once more to take on the world and its challenges.

This is probably a philosophy Jordan Peterson shares. The better you are as an individual, the more you are likely to have the ability and capacity to reduce the level of suffering in the world – however micro and macro.

I am rarely one to have regrets.

I believe life to be a pool of experiences which we each draw from. Something on our terms. Other times, not so much. Perhaps Shakespeare said it better when he claimed that; “All the world is a stage, and all the men and women are merely players.”

Own your experience. Live it.

A Whole New World

Life is a movie. Isn’t it?

How does reading a chapter of mine feel? Depressing, and perhaps humorous? I presume?

I mean… It wasn’t totally a bad year. You know. Sometime in the last quarter of the year, one of my neighbours who is a chef decided to do cook spaghetti so luxurious it made me feel like I’d been poor all my life.

Eating the spaghetti felt as though peasants like myself have a mouth undeserving of its great taste. And trust me, for someone who has ordered food and eaten at different restaurants all his life, this spaghetti was superior to every other spaghetti I’d ever eaten.

The spaghetti stir fry was so sweet and luxurious that the last time anything felt that good was the first time I had a blowjob.

The spaghetti was sweeter than the first time the words “I love you” left my mouth.

My brothers and sisters, this spaghetti made me want to write a petition to Merriam-Webster to make the picture of the spaghetti come up anytime someone searches for “delicacy”.

I am absolutely not kidding.

Have you guys seen Ratatouille? That scene where the villain ate some food that took him back to his childhood? Yeah. That spaghetti was my ratatouille.

I have to admit to you, life is fun. Chaotic for sure, but it is fun. It is beautiful. You rarely ever know how your story will turn out.

This is why you have to choose to live, and not just exist. Find joy in reading a book, holding hands with someone, eating spaghetti, writing, anything… You need to live. Death is as uncertain as it is unwanted.

Never give up on pursuing what means the most to you. Thanks to Tunji Martins, for example, I was able to discover the potential that lies within me. Through my trauma, self-reflection, and exploration of dark literature, I get to have a richer and fulfilling experience.

More people had it worse than me. Most people never get to climb out of the abyss. So, go gently into the world and remember to talk to people.

After 24 episodes, the first season of my podcast has ended. And right now, if you were to ask me the biggest thing I’ve learnt from talking to people for over 30 hours, I would tell you that the most interesting thing I've learnt is how beautiful and chaotic each person is.

Sometimes you only have to get past pleasantries with certain people. And the moment they open up about their thoughts on anything, or a revelation of their personal lives, you get to know what ties them together with you in the things that make you both humans.

The pain, suffering, love, sadness, joy, passion, ideas – their humanity – it is all so beautiful. Maybe understanding another person, truly, can make them feel heard. Feel scene. And even less lonely from whatever shackle of unpleasant experience they are bound to.

So, dear reader, go gently into the year 2024, and any subsequent year, and have an adventure which justifies your existence. And your death.

You have reached the end of this chapter of my life. I hope you found this meaningful.

Epilogue

The name of my podcast is The BigPhaze Podcast. It is available in video and audio format. Find me on YouTube and Spotify. Consider following me here, as well as Spotify. And if you find yourself in a good mood, you can subscribe too on YouTube.

Lastly, share this with a friend if you wish to support me.

I will see you again some other time.

Cheers!