CW: mental illness, OCD, intrusive thoughts


The scent of the fragile delicacy seems preserved within my very senses. The lingering taste of that lick – I still remember it, after all these years – ghosts dancing on my barren tongue. Ghosts – waltzing along my tastebuds as though it had happened just yesterday. The delicate innocent depth of vanilla, protected by the sinful shell of milk chocolate – made even more devilish with the spontaneous crunch of roasted almonds.

I wasn’t aware then. I wasn’t aware – in that sensuous moment, that this pleasure would forsake me soon. That the glorious licks of this angelic treat would cease to please me in the near future, as it had in the past. That I would become so consumed with the remnants of intrusive thoughts – the ghosts of ideologies and images, that would hold monopoly over my mind, over my entire being. Ghosts of butterflies that needed space to spread their wings. So much space, such large deformed wings – that there was no space left for me. No room left for my likes or dislikes, my personality or my creativity – no space left for my weekly innocent Magnum down-time. On the rare occasion that there was time, I felt guilty for enjoying myself. For letting myself feel beyond disgust, numbness and loathing.

I walk past the ice-cream counter on my birthday, and after four long years, I wonder if I could still lick again; if I could still love again. I wondered if the vanilla would scare the bad thoughts away by kissing my forehead or if the chocolate notes would heal my cracked hands or if the spontaneous nuts would whisper jokes in the insides of my ears.

Sometimes, nothing feels the same. Sometimes, I don’t feel the same – I am not who I used to be (well, not completely at least). But Magnum, Magnum is still the same and for 6 minutes and 35 seconds, the world seems the same; I seem the same.


Photo by Uliana Kopanytsia on Unsplash