Reading back through my old posts was like receiving a letter from an old friend. It was a little wave from somebody I like and has reminded me that I still am the person I used to be, shallowness and banter et all, it's just that my circumstanstances have changed.
Although life has been crap for a good while now and I can't honestly see it getting any better, if I could go back two years, I do not know what I could tell myself that would have helped or made me feel better. And as depressing as that sounds, the past two years have been exactly as they should have been. Mind you, doesn't make me feel any better right now. But I suppopse it doesn't make me feel competely resigned either.
It could be so much worse.
I could be ugly.
Sunday, 11 December 2011
I am capable of loving beyond anything I allow myself, or other, to believe.
I don't buy this shit that American's spew out that letting your guard down and letting love in makes you stronger and is beautiful., blah, blah, blah. Love makes you vulnerable- open to be hurt by others. I often think that I feel much more acutely than others which is why I am so determined to shield myself from both love and hate. They affect me too drastically. Every now and then it bursts out of me and I feel so ashamed that I want to cut myself off completely from these people. Even my best friends. It would be a lot easier if they could forget I existed thus forgetting the times I've cried in front of them. The times I've left myelf completely open. I feel enslaved to them, like they have something they can use against me.
Given the choice, who really would elect to feel pain?
Don't they realise that this is a cry for help? That sitting here quietly is my way of waving a white flag? I have a scream inside of me. Right near the bottom of my chest bone. Sometimes- most of the time- it's so loud I'm sure it's about to burst out and make the people around me jump. That happened one time I was in my car.
October 6th 2006. My head was spinning. My breath was coming in quivering rasps. I was driving through the empty lanes in the pitch black and I just screamed. Once. Then twice. It was so full of pain, so desperate that I was sure that it was heard in heaven and it filled them with guilt. It descended into hard breaths out. Air had a problem getting into my lungs but had no problem getting out. Twice as much came out than went in. Then my whole body shook with shock. And then the pain became hazy, muted and numb as acceptance and realisation washed through me. The sheer horror I felt made me realise that I am now lost.
Given the choice, who really would elect to feel pain?
Don't they realise that this is a cry for help? That sitting here quietly is my way of waving a white flag? I have a scream inside of me. Right near the bottom of my chest bone. Sometimes- most of the time- it's so loud I'm sure it's about to burst out and make the people around me jump. That happened one time I was in my car.
October 6th 2006. My head was spinning. My breath was coming in quivering rasps. I was driving through the empty lanes in the pitch black and I just screamed. Once. Then twice. It was so full of pain, so desperate that I was sure that it was heard in heaven and it filled them with guilt. It descended into hard breaths out. Air had a problem getting into my lungs but had no problem getting out. Twice as much came out than went in. Then my whole body shook with shock. And then the pain became hazy, muted and numb as acceptance and realisation washed through me. The sheer horror I felt made me realise that I am now lost.
I am terrified.
Of everything. I'm terrified of how alone I feel. I'm terrified of the fact that I hate being around the people I'm supposed to love the most. I'm terrified there isn't a God and I'm terrified there is one but He has forgotten about me.
After three years at a good university, after spending £20,000 on feeding my brain, I know nothing.
"I don't know why this job appeals to me."
"I don't know what I want to do."
"I don't know what I've been doing all summer."
Well, that's just not good enough is it?
I'm terrified all these things make me a failure.
Now, I'm sitting here doing the only real thing my degree made me good at- writing. I can't tell you what significance Plithy the Younger had during the Last Crusades or how the Cuban Missle Crisis was sorted out in the end but by God could I write about it.
Even if I did blag half of it.
After three years at a good university, after spending £20,000 on feeding my brain, I know nothing.
"I don't know why this job appeals to me."
"I don't know what I want to do."
"I don't know what I've been doing all summer."
Well, that's just not good enough is it?
I'm terrified all these things make me a failure.
Now, I'm sitting here doing the only real thing my degree made me good at- writing. I can't tell you what significance Plithy the Younger had during the Last Crusades or how the Cuban Missle Crisis was sorted out in the end but by God could I write about it.
Even if I did blag half of it.
Write One True Sentence, Write The Truest Sentence You Know
The posts I'm about to upload are not the most pleasant to read. I know that one freind in particular (Hi Carla) is going to read them and please, please know that the last thing I want to do is upset you. Please understand that I wrote these words during a really dark time and when I was blaming everyone for my unhappiness. I just needed to write them because I felt like if I put everything down on paper, I would be able to make more sense of it and I wouldn't be so confused and scared.
However, I would like to make a request. Write one true sentence, write the truest sentence you know and then be assured that I will read it.
I'm sorry if what you read upsets you and I hope it doesn't make you too angry although you probably have every right to be. Everytime I wrote something like what I'm about to post, afterwards I would think of one morning in October when I was half an hour away from leaving when you called me. Just called me to see how I was. It was then I decided I could never leave you and whenever I have a bad day, I think of how you called me when nobody else did. And I realise that I am still a hopeful person and that is because of you.
However, I would like to make a request. Write one true sentence, write the truest sentence you know and then be assured that I will read it.
I'm sorry if what you read upsets you and I hope it doesn't make you too angry although you probably have every right to be. Everytime I wrote something like what I'm about to post, afterwards I would think of one morning in October when I was half an hour away from leaving when you called me. Just called me to see how I was. It was then I decided I could never leave you and whenever I have a bad day, I think of how you called me when nobody else did. And I realise that I am still a hopeful person and that is because of you.
Back Again
For the past year, I haven't uploaded any writing onto here. Mostly because I got a job so now my life consists of the following; get up, drive to work, make tea, answer e-mails, attend meeting, answer e-mails, have a telecon, have lunch, have meeitng, answer e-mails, engage in banter, make tea, answer e-mails, visit vending machine, drive home, eat dinner, go to bed. With this and the fact that for half the year I have been living in a valley like something out of Rosemary and Thyme thus have had zero contact with the modern world means I am a little behind.
But I think I may throw myslef back into this. It seems my only outlet right now so I guess it's better than nothing?
But I think I may throw myslef back into this. It seems my only outlet right now so I guess it's better than nothing?
Monday, 4 October 2010
Class Room War
As I sit here, in a local coffee shop, I am simply perplexed by the apperance of the school girls in here. Now, I am certainly not one of these holier-than-thou women who complains about todays youth as if my childhood has been completely forgotten. But I just cannot believe how vain these girls are. Yes, their skirts are shorter, and they wear their ties really short and stubby but I am looking at one girl right now who has her shirt unbuttoned down to her bra. She looks about 13/14. Each of them has the same hairstyle; extreme side parting and long. Each of them are coyly taking it in turns to look at themselves in the window and adjust strands of hair to appear disheveled. Really? I only left school three years ago. When did these girls decide they want to appear as sexualised vagabonds?
We're in the statistically whitest/most middle-classed place in England. The only thing from keeping these girls from already having their second child on the way by their seventh sexual partner is their sheer ignorance and naivity from growing up in a place like this. Put them in an inner city school and the outcome would be very different. The class war continues...
We're in the statistically whitest/most middle-classed place in England. The only thing from keeping these girls from already having their second child on the way by their seventh sexual partner is their sheer ignorance and naivity from growing up in a place like this. Put them in an inner city school and the outcome would be very different. The class war continues...
Monday, 6 September 2010
Check
Okay, so I said I hate summer. Maybe I was a bit rash. Well, I wasn't because summer rather ironically pales in comparison to its sisters autumn and winter but there are is one thing about summer that is inescapble. Some songs, you can only listen to in the summer.
Two Can Play That Game by Bobby Brown *cringe and shy away* is, to be fair, a good example. Picture this- you're sitting on a train cutting through the grey washed outskirts of London, droplets dispersing as they hit the windows, then slide down on to the cold, hard tracks. You're listening to music through your headphones, you can feel them waiting to be used, sitting in your ear and you ponder what to put on. It's not Bobby Brown, is it?
Summer '10 song: The Cave- Mumford and Sons.
Two Can Play That Game by Bobby Brown *cringe and shy away* is, to be fair, a good example. Picture this- you're sitting on a train cutting through the grey washed outskirts of London, droplets dispersing as they hit the windows, then slide down on to the cold, hard tracks. You're listening to music through your headphones, you can feel them waiting to be used, sitting in your ear and you ponder what to put on. It's not Bobby Brown, is it?
Summer '10 song: The Cave- Mumford and Sons.
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