The Purge

The Purge

By Jade Trueman

Listen to this song whilst you read the piece.


[When  I  stare  at  the  abyss,  I  ask  myself,  why  the  hell  do  I  exist? My  writing  is  a  series  of  simultaneous  side  thoughts  and  conversations  which  I  have  with myself,  in  my head.

Try  to  keep  up  with  the  scenes (imagine them), overlays  of  expression  and  real  heart reflections.]

I’ve  come  to  realise  that  I  am  an  empath.  A  vessel  of  reflective  lessons.  A  walking unit  of  purgery.  A  vessel  who  constantly  undergoes  a  process  of  refinement;  one  who  has  the responsibility of sharing these lessons with everyone around her. The  last  few  months  can  be  described  as  a  whirlwind  of  180  degree  actualisations  ‘of  self’.

I  went  from  playing  it  safe  and  living  life  according  to  the  expected social norms which parents  from  a  nuclear-esque  type family set  out  for  you.  To  the  complete  opposite. You  know  the  usual:  go  to  school,  pass  really  well,  get set  for  the  university  battlefield  (by battlefield  I  mean,  fee  stress,  emotional  stress,  coming of  age  stress  and  actual  academic performance stress),  meet  a  potential  spouse,  save  yourselves  for  marriage,  have  x  amount  of kids,  have  a  white  picket  fence  etc.  And  by  any  means  necessary  stay  obedient  until  the  day you  die  or  face  the  risk  of  going  to hell  and  being  labelled  a  heathen  for  an  eternity.

And  there  I  was  in  a  pool  of  self-pity  and  the  relentless  desire  to  break  out  of  anything  related to  ‘social  norms’.  I  guess  I  got  what  I  asked  for.

Something  found.  Something  that  could  never  be  searched  for.

Life  has  a  funny  way  of  humbling  you. It  has  a  funny  way  of  just  showing  up,  saving  you  from  eternal damnation [if only I listened to my intuitive feelings  though]…

*Physically takes  a  peak  into  heart  and  re-members  the  cascading  embers  of  light once  felt  and  pushes the  dark  spaces  away;  in  order  to  try  and  savour  the  beauty  of  pure  intensity  felt.*

She  was  such  a  beautiful  onlooker. I  arrived  at  a  place.  A  place  I  initially  wasn’t  even  meant  to  be.  She  stared. I  glowed  on  this  particular  day.  An  inner  glow  of  understanding  selfworth  and  manifesting  a curated  speech  about  ‘when  children  start  learning’.    Stares  exchanged.  She  saw  me.  Beyond the  self  I  had  been  identifying  with.

But  when  do  children  really  start  learning?  I  declare:  at conception!
Nothing  and  yet  everything  was  new.
She:  Wonder  set  ablaze.
I:  Set  with  intent,  coupled  with  naivety  and  just  blatant  ignorance  of  how  the  mating  dance comes  to  form.

Curiosity  took  over  me.  But  none  has  ever  pulled  me  this  deeply  before. Typical  of  a  Piscean  tide.  So  typical.  And  the  fact  that  my  Venus  rises  in  Pisces.  Lord,  have mercy!  I  am  not  surprised  that  love  at  first  sight  manifested  in  actuality. Why  did  I  feel  this  way?  Why  could  I  not  eat?  Why  did  sleep  refuse  to  visit  me?  Why  did  I  not care  about  the  conditions?  Why  were  the  dimensions  of  my  rudimentary socially  cohesive judgements  not  in  place?

Dimensions – Sarah Godsell
“I  love  your  dimensions
The  way  you  go  down  so  deep
I  hold  my  nose as  I  dive  in  to  fetch  you

The  way  you  go  up  so  high
I  gather  my  balloons
As  I  float  to  find  you

The  way  you  go  so  wide  big  sometimes
I  must  untie  my  arms  to  wrap  them  around
you,  with  the  whole  world  in  you
Giving  you  indigestion

The  way  you  go  so  thin  sometimes
You  turn  sideways  and  disappear
I  must  speak  nicely  to  the  wind
If  I  am  to  see  you  again “

The  intersection  between  realising  that  nothing  is  a  coincidence  and  knowing  that coincidence  could  potentially  be  the  only  truth?
Metaphysics,  divine  synchronicity: The  purge  I  say.
The  purge  of  innocence  which  slipped  beneath the  patented  wind.  It  slipped away  with  passionate  breaths,  which  lay  upon  the  wings  of  a  beautiful  hummingbird.

I  guess  I  had  subliminally  been  seeking  for  her  for  months  on  end. Years  in fact.  My  growth  had felt  like  it  had  been  stunted  for  3  years.  I  termed  my  life  ‘a  state  of  never  ending  limbo’.  I had  even  written  long  reflective  pieces  to  myself  about  this  particular  phase  of  my  life.  LIMBO had  been  personified.  Limbo  was  about  a  dance I  had,  with  conscious  and  emotional  paralysis. Unable  to  make  decisions  which  would  set  off  ‘adult-esque’  related  choices.

Inadequate adulting, I called it. Weak, is what my mother called it. Naive is what the world called it.

Unable  to  move past  the  notion  of  being  24  years  old,  stuck  in  the  social  category  of  being  an  awkward  17 year  old  tween,  stuck  in  the  category  of  having  a  particular  connection  with  identifying  as  an emotionally  based  30  year  old  and  simultaneously  feeling  like  I  had  the  romantic  capacity  of  a 14  year  old  confused  girl. But  what  was  this  urgent  feeling  which  I  constantly  needed  to  fuel?  What was this high which I had to attain?

The  conundrum  of metaphysical  transformation  and  supplication.  What  was  this?

Let  me  tell  you:  it  was  Naivety.  And  Naivety  is Decorated  Silence.

Naivety  seeks  those  whom are  consumed  by  the  state  of  limbo.  Naivety  desires  those  who  are  in  need  of  tainted  body armour. [In order to build character]. Naivety  will  find  you  when  you  think  you  have  everything together.  Don’t  get  it  twisted, just  like  death [hence  the  CAPITAL  N], Naivety  will  find  you.  Naivety, like death and loneliness , has  been personified too.

Blinded  by  the  angst  of  eggshell  seas.  I  knew  that  things  would  never  work  out.  You cannot undo  the  hurt  left  by  others who visited her seas before you.

Trust  is  like  diamond  which  has  fallen  into  the  ocean.  But  this  is especially  true  when  people  thrive  off  self-inflicted  re-occurrences  of  pain.  When  they  continue to  chase  diamonds  lost  at  sea.  Never  to  be  found  again,  unless  a  special  case  of  wonder reveals the  coordinates  of  the  depths  of  flowing  waters.  It  matters  not  how  much  you  show admiration,  or  how  close  the  diamond  wants  to  be  to  its  claimer,  it  is  the  responsibility  of  the claimer  not  to  wear  precious  stones  to the  ocean. And  this  is  when  the  purge  of  eggshell  seas  take  over.   You  clutch  your  knuckles  in  between  your  toes  and  sway  back  and  forth.  You  think  that  you have  grip  and  control  of  the  state  of  ‘self’.  You  normalise  and  intellectualise  falling  in love. You  think  that  the  synergy  is  normal.  That  your  composure  is  as  balanced  as  the  flex-zone. Until  you  realise  that  you  are  the  diamond  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  And  that  your  composure is  a  reflection  of  your  insatiable  desire  to  be  clasped  in  the  heart  of  her  ocean.

But  reality  hits  and  you  are  never  to  be  found  by  the  claimant  who  initially  clasped  you  close to  their  ocean  floor.  Unless  by  a  magical  occurrence  of  fate  the  claimant  seeks  to  find  you despite  the  depths  which  they’d  have  to  submerge themselves within.

Back  and  forth  swaying  and  cross  dimensional  thoughts  of:  ‘All  basic  reasoning  out  the  window’. You  sit  at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean,  reflecting  the  rhythm  of  desire  lost,  ever-flowing  like  the fading  shadows  found  between  a  stingray  and  the  ocean  floor.  You  sit  at  the  bottom  of  the ocean,  in  precious  form,  and  continue  to  be  just  that. A  precious  idea  of  what  was.

As  I  repeat  and  repeat  and  repeat:  ‘I  still  adore  you,  you  adore  me  theoretically,  so  now  I’ve gotta  shut  the  door  on  you,  so  I  can  find  out  who  is  next  for  me’.  Jean  Grae

Yes,  the  ocean  was  within  her. She  had  no  desire  to  find  me…


  • You know the feeling of not being able to take your eyes off something really beautiful. I just experienced that whilst reading this. Amazing Sis♥♥

  • You have quite the story to tell my friend. Sounds like after this transformation I’ve got to get to know you again… I feel as if no amount of seeking will locate the diamond at sea. But by coincidence that diamond may end up in the possession of one who truly values it. But then is anything really coincidence? You seem better poised to answer that. All in all, beautiful writing. Thank you for sharing and for the emotional experience I’ve had reading and rereading your words. Much love!

  • Wow what a refreshing read, absolutely love your story Jade, there is so much that any person can relate too. Really well done!

  • Words fail me to explain how beautiful amazing this is! We’ll done Jaded one! Wow ? proud of you

  • Oh wow hey…this is so so amazing, beautifully written i must say. You are really talent love….do explore this God given gift….Mcwaaaah!!!

    PS: I actually wanted to read more hey….?

  • Beautifully written which such honesty. You so genuine and an amazing writer. I want to read more J… Wowww! !

  • This work is utterly poignant, enchanted and soulful. Very deep insight with a touch of mystic. Yes! Beautiful!

  • Jade!!!!! I could feel myself gathering momentum with the music as i read your piece. Wow, in my feels!

  • Humm vraiment j suis toucher par ton expiration on dirait shakespears bravo j suis très ravie de t’avoir comme soeur j sent que demain on pourra désormais mettre ces oeuvres comme litugi dans les établissements africains et pour quoi pas mondial vraiment une fois de plus “café” continue ????????

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.