Laid Here

I haven’t attempted poetry since primary school, but for whatever reason these words just came to me while I’m laid here unable to sleep. Most probably not poetically correct, but hey:

Laid here
Just past midnight
Deep in thought
Contemplating
Wondering
Exactly what I’m doing here

Feeling scared to fall asleep
As though closing my eyes
Will let nightmares be real life
Yet at the same time
Scared to stay awake
Same thoughts racing through my head

Trapped and lonely
Scared and small
In a world I barely know
And definitely don’t belong
Fleeting thoughts of death
The greatest comfort

Could it all get better
If I just ‘met the one’
Took the medication
Sang the psychiatrists’ song
Or just ‘put it all behind me’
And tried to move life on

Or is it some kind of destiny
Some black cloud just for me
A greater plan from greater minds
To keep me on my knees
Simply fear that I’m still so young
With so much more to overcome

You can’t tell how to kick it
When it doesn’t want to go
So for now it’s going to circulate
Until it can own my mind
A mass depressive engulfment
Of some unearthly kind

Midnight, 13/1/15

Bad Timing

Being suicidal for the first time in several years on a day you have to spend waiting at stations with a million possibilities to jump in front of things. Not so great eh

Beetroot Boy & The Bearded Smackhead

Stuck being far too sober at a flat party. So I’m writing a novella in my head based on the people here. The title says it all really. Might as well go get drunk again

Where Is My Mind?

It’s nearly 2am. I have a lecture in 7 hours. And I’m sat looking over Liverpool’s docks in clothes that I’d only thrown on to go out for a quick fag. Doubting what I thought was a close friendship and failing to pinpoint any part of life that’s truly fulfilling. It’s bloody cold too.

Expectation Meets Reality

So I made the big move. From Lincolnshire to Liverpool to start my new Uni life. Totally expectant to be out every night of freshers’ week, making loads of friends and generally being wonderfully sociable. I’m not entirely sure how I thought that would happen.

So the reality kicked in. I was on my own, in a big place. The reality was that I was still the social anxiety riddled train-wreck I thought I’d got over being. The reality was hours curled up shaking on my little bed in my little room.

But I’m being expectant again. First lectures start tomorrow. I’ll have to talk to people. After all, they don’t bite, right?

We shall see

Still Just Me

That little hint of sadness wasn’t meant to be there. Well of course it wasn’t. When’s sadness ever ‘meant’ to be there. But in reality it’d been creeping up on me, throwing it’s dark cloak around me, for days before we’d even left, although gentle enough to be barely noticed, or to be disguised as just normal nerves before a new experience. But it was there now, strong as it’s ever been, claws digging into the back of my neck and shivering down my spine as I type. I have, actually, had a bloody good weekend. Good music, good vibes and good people. But that doesn’t let me shake the feeling. It hasn’t actually made me happy. For a few days, I could smile, quite genuinely, but it never actually pulled me out of the pit, just let me close my eyes on the darkness that surrounded me. And now my eyes are open again, and the gloom lays in plain sight. I am, very simply, still me

Hell and Back, & The Impending Doom

Well the ‘hell and back’ is easy to explain. I went to a rave festival at the weekend. Okay so the atmosphere was very festival and very fun, but jesus I have never, ever felt so out of place, being the middle-class posh kid amongst a mosh pit of shirtless men and girls with their arses hanging out their shorts. But I camped, didn’t get lost, made a friend (although possibly at the expense of another – didn’t realise she was an ex – oops) and I’m still alive. So it’s not that bad, eh?

But the impending doom? Another festival this weekend. A rock festival, much more ‘me’. And in Poland, one of my favourite places. But there’s just that feeling, like any time you’re going far away, that all the worst imaginable things are going to happen. Something along the lines of taking something, and ending up in a Polish hospital with no health insurance. And I’m going with 3 friends – the best friends – but I can’t help feeling we’ll all want to kill each other after 6 days in such close proximity. But we shall see

So it’s nearly midnight here and I’ve gotta be up and on the road in 5 hours. Still on a coffee and a fag. Sleep time, I’ll post in a few days if I survive it…

I Hate You

I hate you. Okay so I thought I loved you for a couple of years. I thought maybe you felt the same, or you would at some point. I thought every time we met up there was a chance something great would happen. It took me two years to realise that letting you borrow money didn’t mean you loved me. Us doing drunk shit at parties then having feelings thrown back in my face didn’t mean you loved me. And you meeting up with me and hitching lifts didn’t mean you loved me. You ruined my relationship with someone who did love me, and who I loved back, because you knew I’d lose anything for you, for just the slightest chance. But I’ve learnt now. And I’m strong enough to say I hate you.

But That Was Love, And It’s An Ache I Still Remember

Wow. Talk about re-awakening feelings. I hadn’t seen her since we broke up. My decision, felt right then, and I thought I was best off moving on. It just didn’t feel right. Now seeing her and not grabbing her hand and holding her feels so bloody wrong. Only know you love her when you let her go?

Depression’s A Hopeless Romance

I have, of course, read Prozac Nation, and watched Girl Interrupted, time and time again. It’s all so bloody romantic. Lovers willing to sit aside Elizabeth Wurtzel through it all, cradling her on the bathroom floor until the pain goes away. Bursts of creativity shining through a depressive exterior. A last ditch suicide attempt eventually re-affirming her desire for life. And the first time I read it, I started to think everything would be okay. I’d find that person, work my way out of the pit and realise I had such a thirst for life. But is it ever really that romanticised? Or does it all hinge on days laid in bed, impending doom filling your mind like a cloud of the thickest smog. That’s where I am right now. I guess we shall see.