For Thomas

Words fail me. 

Dear Sam

You are worth a book, not a sentence. 

My best friend

My saviour

My second soulmate

For all we are and everything we are not.

No need for words now. They are superfluous to instinct.

Love 

Frodo

For Jesse

Dear Jesse

So I finally get around to you. This is kind of my absolution in a way. The closest a non Christian like me gets to closure of all the things they did in their life which they regret.

I don't regret you, I regret the way I treated you. I regret the fact you were scared of losing me when we were together, maybe I made you feel like that. I regret the way I took out my moods on you, and the fact I didn't get help sooner. I almost did the unthinkable whilst I was with you, I tried to kill myself and ended up in a psychiatric hospital for a week. And that was just after we first started dating. And one of the main reasons I did that, apart from the fact I was unstable from being off my med's, was regret, and absolute disgust at how I could treat someone so close to me. How I could betray my best friend like that. 

I regret the way we started, how can anything beautiful every truely stem from someone else's pain like that? And at the time I didn't consider it, because I was just a loose cannon, someone so consumed with sadness and self doubt that any tiny hope of happiness i would cling onto and drag down into the dirty depths with me. 

You made me so happy, and laugh so much that I almost felt unworthy of it. You gave me some of the happiest times of 2010, and also the saddest, but if I had a choice, and could do it all again or not at all, I would. I am a better person because of us. 

I know one day you will find the perfect woman for you, and damn I will envy that bitch, but it won't be me. I'll be the friend at your side, holding your hand through all the up's and downs. And I will always be their J. I will be your guardian angel. Will you be mine? Because sometimes I don't think I can do this on my own. 

I went to the doctors and i'm taking my meds now, i'm listening to other people. I'm listening to my body and i'm not treating a serious mental illness with contempt any more. I'm determined to beat this thing, and it won't be easy. And one of the main reasons for that is you. Because regardless of what you will say, I feel like I lost you because of bipolar. I feel like if it wasn't for that we would still be together, and we'd be happy. As much as I try and shake that thought I can't. Because although there was obviously more in the picture than just my moods, it's all interlinked, i.e I wouldn't have stopped trusting you if it wasnt for you leaving which was mainly because of the bipolar, and you would maybe trust yourself around me more if you didnt think the slightest disagreement would have me running to a razor blade.

You're an amazing guy, I wish you would start seeing it and appreciating yourself. Realise the world is your oyster, you are loved more than you can ever know, and that more than anything, you are worth something more than money can buy. Priceless. 

I feel like I lost you in 2010, completely. In 2011 I guess more than anything I would like you back. 

Love always

B x

For Leah

Hey,

6 months ago I promised you an explanation. It was the least of all that you deserved, yet at the time I couldn't bring myself to solidify the feelings into words. Now is my attempt to try, and if you delete this without going any futher I understand. But I had to write it, for me, and because I felt I owed it to you by way of obligation. I can't put right what I did, but I can try.

The funny thing about doing something so horrible like that, is at the time it didn't seem to matter, at the time I didn't see it as any more than just another come back in the bitchy little game we played for so long. The funny thing is that we weren't really the one's playing the game. We were just the pawns in someone else's game of chess. You never directly did anything to hurt me, it was all smoke and mirrors, my closest friends from the online world telling me things you'd done/said. Telling me about the way they had been treated by you etc. And it doesn't even matter who they are or what the issues at the time were, in retrospect it all seems so petty. The point is I shouldn't have listened to them and only believed what I, myself, saw. 

At the time I posted the pictures because someone else was going to if i didn't on an alt account, and I didn't think that was fair. Kinda skewed logic to say the least, its not like i was exactly "helping" you. But in part my conscience used that to justify it.

I'm sorry. And the truth is i can't even put my finger on WHY at that precise moment I did it. I can't remember my feelings from that far back. All i was left with from the whole thing was not some satisfaction or any sort of pleasure from humiliating you like that. It was just sadness, and contempt for myself and the part of me that would actually do that to you.

Out of all the regrettable things I did in 2010, what I did to you is at the top of my list. And from the bottom of my heart, or failing that, whatever lurks in the depths of me, I am sorry.

I know our paths probably won't cross any more-I barely come on iam and haven't logged on ps3 in 4 months - but I still felt the need to send this, on new years eve, to close a chapter of my life i'm really not proud of.

The perverse reality of the whole thing is that you made me a better person. Mistakes don't define someone, they show them who they are not. And you showed me that i'm better than that.

If you ever need someone who owe's you a favour, then i'm that person. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I just had to try. 

Happy New Year, and i do hope it's a good one for you and that you can find your happy. Being as i'll never probably speak to you again, I can be completely honest. But I don't find myself wanting to mention the bad things, I can only remember the good stuff - you made me laugh, were actually fun to be around, and damn girl, you're the best flirt in the business! ;) As for all the awful things I said - you are not fat, infact I think you are beautiful. 

It's funny too, whenever I hear that song "California Girls" on the radio, I think of you.

Goodbye Leah

From the worst friend you've probably ever had,

Bev

Dear D,

Today you grow one year older in my mind, though for the sake of history you will always be 20, immortalised in memory.

I remember the day we first met, the day i broke your leg :) well, it was your fault really, you should totally have jumped over me when i slipped on the wet floor in front of me, instead of falling over me into the road! I should have known you had a death wish then, lol. And when I got up to help you, the first thing you asked was if I was okay. I was fine, but you my love, were sat with half your bone peaking out of the skin. Despite that, my first thought was, damn, that guy is FIT!

You did a nifty move with asking for my number... "I should take it for my insurance"... But you seemed a little taken aback when I said "Nah, you should take it so you can call me". You always loved the fact I was forward and asked for what I wanted.

Remember the first date? You made a song for me on your guitar.. something about my eyes being like dark pools of chocolate you just wanted to melt into. Pfft, we both know the song was shit, I told you that though and you laughed and said you couldn't concentrate 'coz I was too pretty, such a pimp! Later you said it was my bright pink hair that made you feel like you were about to have an epileptic fit! But that hair rocked, and you could hardly talk, you looked like a punk god. I've never seen a guy rock blue hair like you did... even if it only lasted a week because you had that wedding... you know, the one where you puked all down the groom...

You were so far off the rails you made me seem like I was right on track. I should have noticed it looking back. You were in free fall, and I was the only thing barely clinging on.

I never wanted to date a drug addict, least of all fall madly in love with one. But you were my soul twin. And as much as my head was telling me "no" we were attached with invisible strings. I didn't care if you were punking, bleeding, high on smack, or smashing my dad's car window by accident. I just remember the good bits I remember the Rehab letters,  and when you got published. I was so proud, and jealous. I felt like you were the one with all the talent. You could out write Tennyson if you tried, and I struggle with Plath.

I remember when we kissed the world stood still. Our eyes locked. It’s so hard to describe. It’s not like love at first sight, really. It’s more like...gravity moves. When I saw you, suddenly it’s not the earth holding you here any more. You are. And nothing mattered more than you. And I would do anything for you, be anything for you...I became whatever you needed me to be, whether that’s a protector, or a lover, or a friend.

You couldn't come into a room without me feeling all over a ripple of flame, and if, wherever you touched me, a heart beat under your touch, and if, when you held me, and I didn’t speak, it’s because all the words in me became throbbing pulses.

I love one man; I love him while awake; while sleeping; living; dead; love him. And if I can’t have you then God doesn’t exist, because without you is living without a soul.

Happy birthday baby, wait for me. You're worth a lifetime.

I love you- immortally, eternally, with all the fire in my soul.

Yours

B x

P.S Death for me won't be like leaving, it will be coming home

I really feel exhausted today. I never normally feel tired in the day except when I wake up, but today I feel it all through my body, this numbness, lethargy that just weighs me down. I wonder if it’s just exhaustion from exercise or the new pills they gave me. I agreed to give them a try after speaking to my friend, they really worked for her. And really, what do I have to lose except my madness?

It’s foggy outside. The dull damp clog of the air feels like my insides.

i still love you.


urgh, i had to say it somewhere, and i CAN'T say it to you. 


stupid, stupid girl.

I hope i'm your favourite mistake, because you're the only thing that ever went right for me. 

i wonder if insanity is realising that you gave away the one thing you always wanted. the one thing that you cannot live without. well, you can live without it if you try, you can struggle on, but like the philosophers stone, without it, everything is finite. you crave it. but if you gave it away in the first place, do you really have a claim on it? can you ask for it back? do you even deserve a second chance?


no, of course you don't. so don't even think these silly selfish thoughts. don't dare to dream. 
stop.


do NOT let your mind go down that path.


some things are worth more than me. you are one of them. better to love you from afar than hurt you again. because that is something i will never do. 


i hate these dangerous thoughts, and i don't know where they come from. they are not thoughts that dwell in my mind, but thoughts from my heart. and those are the most dangerous kind, because they will not listen to reason. they will not listen to me screaming NO NO NO. i know i cannot love you as you deserve, only with all my diminished ability, so i will not think it. i will not dare to hope it. i will not let myself entertain this madness. because it is, madness. and you deserve the bright glory of the sun, when all i can offer you is the moon.


blinded by you. my light belongs to you. i have nothing to offer except a pale reflection of love.


i am not worthy.

i think sometimes realising you are unworthy isn't so much self-doubt as selflessness.

I cry because the future has once again found its sparkle and has grown a million times larger. And I cry because I am ashamed of how badly I have treated the people I love – of how badly I behaved during my own personal Dark Ages– back before i had a future. It is like today the sky opened up and only now am I allowed to enter.

To all the people in my life,

this goes out to every person who has come into my life and taught me something, i love you for it.
to every person who caught me when i fell, over and over again - one day i will catch you.
to my beautiful, intelligent, sparkling, spectacular friends - i adore you, you complete me, and i can't imagine life without you.

to my parents - i respect you more than you know and know you half as well as i'd like, i'm going to change that.

thomas - what a year my dear! we've been to hell and back together, but im happy to call you my friend and blessed to have you in my life. i'm sorry sometimes if i take out my moods on you, or criticise you more than a friend should. i will never ever forgive myself for the way i treated you. and i don't really talk about that a lot, because it's one thing i've done which really disgusts me, and for you to actually speak to me after that, let alone forgive me and be pretty much my bestfriend/soulmate shows what a kind and wonderful person you really are. you're my best friend, and i care about you enormously and will always love you, so i say it straight - sometimes maybe too straight, but it's the way i am as you know. have an awesome vacation, i'll write lots and take some pics for me! can't wait to see you in 2011 and touch fingers like ET at the airport, hehe. i miss you, even though we've never met i still feel like you're missing!

jesse - keep making me proud, believe in your dreams and follow your heart. i love you and never ever want to lose you. ever, ever, ever. i guess i hope we can talk a while tomorrow, if we do it will make my christmas day :)
"i'd catch a grenade for you
put my hand on a blade for you
i'd jump in front of a train for ya
you know i'd do anything for ya "
bruno says it better than i can, but i mean every word. have an amazing christmas and just enjoy the time with your family. no sadness mister, not on my account. you deserve all the happiness in the world.

carlo - sometimes i think we're actually quite alike in terms of our sadness, i really think we might be suffering from the same thing. we have days we're happy, and days we're sad. but ultimately we get on with it and always come out fighting. i admire you so much for just keeping on keeping on, being brave and trying to look for the goodness in everything. i hope you have an amazing christmas, enjoy your 2 christmas dinners :)

finally, last but always in my eyes first:
dave - another year without you, it doesnt really get any easier. i have days where i sometimes hate you, but even more times i remember you with love. we only have memories now, and all out dreams are dead. but you were the love of my life, and maybe if souls really do transcend death, one day we can be together again. it's a romantic thought, but it's one that's got me through many a dark night. so please, save me a space my the fire, i'll be a while yet baby x

merry christmas everybody - this is the first year i've said that and actually meant it.

Love B xxx

courage

is not killing myself

when every fibre of my body screams

do it.

do it.

do it.

i wish i could move beyond this feeling, but it grips me like a vice, tightening until i want to scream.
but as if i'm living in some kind of dream-like reality, i can't.  i can't even ACT how i feel - can't hurt myself, cant cry, can't show on the outside any of this inner hell.
fuck, i can't even show it in my eyes, my voice. even the crease of my fake smile has to be perfect so none of you have a clue how dark and desperate i'm feeling.

so i lie here and distract myself. anything to take away from the pounding in my head. that little voice that screams FAILURE, FAILURE, FAILURE. the voice that won't be silenced no matter how much i achieve or how much i drink. so to distract myself i turn up the volume - LOUD- and i listen to every Ian Curtis song ever made and i relate. so completely and utterly, that for a while i am lost in the music. lost in his final words, forgotten like the stark, oppressive beat of the drums.

and i wonder. what happens to all the forgotten people? all the people like me.
i thought depression was cancer.
i thought depression was rape.
i thought depression was suicide.
i thought depression was you leaving me.
well no, it turns out depression is far more insidious than that. depression is waking up on christmas morning and not having one damn reason to get out of bed. knowing there are no family, no presents, no friends, no lovingly prepared christmas meal.
depression comes in a plastic container.
depression is a microwave meal on christmas day.

it's funny.
when someone hurts me,
it always brings me straight back to you.
the. day. your. brain. was. in. my. hands.

I am an invisible woman.

I am a woman of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids -and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination -indeed, everything and anything except me.

Why am I so anxious? And then it hits me. I'm not anxious, I'm lonely. And I'm lonely in some horribly deep way and for a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely, and how deep this feeling runs. And it scares the shit out of me to be so lonely because it seems catastrophic - seeing the car just as it hits you.

i was going to write this in an email, but as the characters imploded on the page, i realised i wasn't as much writing this for you as for me.

so it's christmas time. i love christmas, not because of the presents, but for what it means to me. the best christmas present i've ever had was when i was 9. my grandma was in a coma, dying from sclerosis of the liver, and on christmas day she came around. now there's nothing quite like being in a hospital on christmas day. it seems so sterile, even the tinsel lacks cheer, as if the hollowness and soullessnes of the ward has imprinted itself on the décor.

i remember sitting in a sterile plastic chair next to my granma's bed, holding her hand, and eveywhere there were wires, so so so many wires. as with any dying person she was hooked up to so much equipment that it almost seemed like an artificial organism had attacked her. there was the machine that breathed for her, the machine that did the beeping when her heart beat, the machine that kept her free from pain, the one that let her pee, and so on. i tried not to look at the machines though, because as young as i was, i knew she was leaving us. i've always had an uncanny ability to feel the touch of death before it strikes.

i was looking for it when she opened her eyes, and i was the first to get the nurse, though mum was fast behind. i remember them giving her water, her throat was dry as she'd been taking liquids through a tube too. she was fading fast, her pulse was erratic (as evidenced by beeping machine), and her eyes had a glazed look, but one which screamed serenity (if serentity is something which can be screamed without proving oxymoronic, but i digress). i knew something was really wrong with my grandma because the doctors were hovering now, and even at that age i knew the men in white coats were an ill fated omen.

when she spoke it was a whisper at first, barely more than a breath, but i can still hear it this day. i remember it because she, at the time, sounded like a mad woman with her cracked and raspy sounding voice.

"i love you. never be afraid to love, or to lose. and write, always write. i love you"

and moment later, after only this one sentence, as suddenly as she came around, she went away. and this time for forever.

it was the first time i ever saw someone die, and because i saw it, i have never been afraid of natural death. it seemed so placid, so meant-to-be, almost like the final step of a race where you walk over the finish line. but beyond death, her words stayed with me, long after the tears of her parting. and at 24 years old, i've tried to always embody them as best as i can.

its funny how my favourite chistmas is the one where my grandma died. but i value those words more than any gift, any gold, any silver, any bit of tacky overinflated-priced shit. the real chistmas gifts, the ones that actually matter, cannot be bought.

today reminds me of that day.

it feels like a death. but a beginning. a lesson. i take something away from it.

i love you jesse, with everything, and i guess all i wanted was for you for christmas this year. but if i can't have you as my boyfriend, i don't want the tacky replacement for that. we're worth more than that. and i'd rather remember what we had in sadness, than cling onto something that makes me happy but feels like i'm being untrue to myself.

i was going to say to you, all or nothing, but when you started walking away before i even asked the question i   guess i felt like i was worth more than to ask that.

i'm sad, and lost, and heartbroken in a way, because i know this really is the end. there is nowhere for this to go. and i dont know where all the love goes when two people decide to not love each other anymore. but the fact i can walk away from this in the first place suggests that maybe i didn't love you as much as i thought.

i know you will make me proud, and i will love you always.
im tired of wiping up my tears.
all i wanted for christmas was you.
now i don't want anything.
and they say true happiness comes from wanting nothing. so maybe some good will come.

why don't people fight for things anymore?

you know what?
i'll tell you. 
the secret.
the one that took me the best part of 25 years to figure out.
love ISN'T everything - it's something, for sure, maybe even a big something, and it might be the something you get out of bed for in the morning. it might be the something you pin all your hopes on. but it is NOT everything.
never let your heart get in the way of your head. 
love, but love sensibly, love because there's a reason.
do not lose your head.
do not forget all the pain someone caused you in the name of "love".
do NOT try and make a future because you love someone, when in reality, if you look at the cold hard facts, they don't deserve it.
don't love someone in spite of all evidence to the contrary. 


i guess in 2010 i learnt an important lesson. love really isn't everything. it never was. i was just blinded by it for too long.

Whether you’ve been in a relationship for ten years or ten weeks, you know how crazy love can make you. On any given day you’re insanely happy, maniacally miserable, kooky with contentment, or bonkers with boredom—and that’s in a good relationship. Why do you think we call it being “madly” in love? You have to be a little nuts to commit yourself, body and soul, to one other person—one wonderful, goofy, fallible person—in the hope that happily-ever-after really does exist. And yet we can’t help ourselves. We throw ourselves into love time and again, even though we know real-life love is no fairy tale. We stress out and make up and do it all over again—and why? Because nothing makes us feel more alive than the exhilaration and exasperation of everyday love.

 i felt my heart taking root in my body, like i've discovered something i didn't even have a name for.

i love you MORE

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sometimes people just reaffirm your faith in humanity when you least expect it, and from the least likely place...

why do i have high standards that are impossible for people to meet?
for me they aren't even high standards at all. they are things i EXPECT.
friends? why fucking bother. they can't even light my fire, let alone keep out the dark.




sad.


i'm sorry. i didn't deserve you anyway.

i wasnt meant to feel this alone. if there is any kind of destiny, this is not mine. this is not me. if i was drowning not one person would come to save me. or at least not one who in his heart of hearts wanted to. fake friends from a fake world, thats a youll ever be. goodbye.

Who has never killed an hour? Not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past it is all you can hope to accomplish. So you kill the hour. You do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. If you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. And when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body. The only clue might be the shadows beneath your eyes or a terribly thin line near the corner of your mouth indicating something has been suffered, that in the privacy of your life you have lost something and the loss is too empty to share.

Perhaps the rare and simple pleasure of being seen for what one is, compensates for the misery of being it.

every Frodo needs a Sam. where is mine when i need him?

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Frodo: I can't do this Sam!

Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn't. Because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding on to Sam?

Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo and it's worth fighting for.

I do not like to be touched, but it is a strange dislike. I do not like to be touched because I crave it too much. I want to be held very tightly so I do not break. Even now, when people lean down to touch me, or hug me, or put a hand on my shoulder, I hold my breath. I turn my face. I want to cry.

I was conflicted even about so primary an issue as survival. I wasn’t sure I wanted to ambush my own downward spiral, where the light at the end of the tunnel, as the mood-disordered Robert Lowell once said, was just the light of the oncoming train. I saw myself go splat on the pavement with a kind of equanimity, with a sense of a foretold conclusion. Self-inflicted death had always held out a stark allure for me: I was fascinated by people who had the temerity to bring down the curtain on their own suffering — who didn’t hang around, moping, in hopes of a brighter day. I knew all the arguments about the cowardice and selfishness (not to mention anger) involved in committing suicide, but nothing could persuade me that the act didn’t require a perverse sort of courage, some steely embrace of self-extinction. At one and the same time, I have also always believed that suicide victims don’t realize they won’t be coming this way again. If you are depressed enough, it seems to me, you begin to conceive of death as a cradle, rocking you gently back to a fresh life, glistening with newness, unsullied by you.

Are you angry? Punch a pillow. Was it satisfying? Not hardly. These days people are too angry for punching. What you might try is stabbing. Take an old pillow and lay it on the front lawn. Stab it with a big pointy knife. Again and again and again. Stab hard enough for the point of the knife to go into the ground. Stab until the pillow is gone and you are just stabbing the earth again and again, as if you want to kill it for continuing to spin, as if you are getting revenge for having to live on this planet day after day, alone.

this is drowning.

it feels like someone punched the air out of my lungs. clean out.
they're just saturated, unable to pull the oxygen out of the air. unable to inhale a damn thing, and instead of converting life giving oxgyen they exhale an oily thick steam of yellow puss.
is this the first step of dying? when your lungs just stop working. when you cant walk 10 metres to the toilet without needing 20 minutes after to get your breathing in control.
how limiting. when your body is starting to slowly pack in, but your mind wants to live forever.

i feel like a prisoner, locked in a sleepless cell, screaming for the keys.

i hate it
when i get so crazy
i scare myself.

this is my suicide dress
she told him
I only wear it on days
when I'm afraid
I might kill myself
if I don't wear it

you've been wearing it
every day since we met
he said

He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn't need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear.

Ask the girl with the dirt in her mouth.
Ask the girl who is all poem
now, all shapes between the shapes
she carved into her flesh
like a tattoo artist falling in love.

with what remains un-inked, the border crossings
and blue edges
and the razor bleeding
in her hand.

You made me confess the fears that I have. But I will tell you also what I do not fear. I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake, and perhaps as long as eternity too.

the photograph.

The photo has been cut; a third of it has been cut off. In the lower left corner there's a hand, scissored off at the wrist, resting on the grass. It's the hand of the other one, the one who is always in the picture whether seen or not. The hand that will set things down.

How could I have been so ignorant? So stupid, so unseeing, so given over to carelessness. But without such ignorance, such carelessness, how could we live? If you knew what was going to happen, if you knew everything that was going to happen next--if you knew in advance the consequences of your own actions--you'd be doomed. You'd be as ruined as God. You'd be a stone. You'd never eat or drink or laugh or get out of bed in the morning. You'd never love anyone, ever again. You'd never dare to.

Drowned now - the tree as well, the sky, the wind, the clouds. All I have left is the picture. Also the story of it.

i often wonder why i look at the stars so much.

i guess sometimes you have to look outside and see the enormity of everything, so you realise that you are in fact quite small, and quite insignificant. and something as small and insignificant as you doesn't really matter, so all the silly problems in your life aren't really problems at all.

i look at the stars so i remember i'm mortal. and nothing a mortal can do is ever going to change anything. you could say the universe is the perfect antidote to my over inflated ego.

Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.

"Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun."

- Romeo & Juliet 

i never really believed in "cool" until i met you, and i realised that for all my swagger, i was speachless.

to my coolest friend, and his song!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sTSJYZyouek&feature=related

i'm in love with life at the minute. everything. i'm so happy i could cry. my world is finally spinning in time, long may it continue!

Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who's in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It's like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven't seen in a long time. It's only a natural feeling.

What happens when you find your missing piece, and its 3000 miles away? 

Answer: the journey of your life.

I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.
Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let’s buy it.

i believe everyone is beautiful on the inside.
but not me.
no.
not me.

i want to slit my wrists.

but i wont.
so lets not entertain that thought.
and keep typing until it goes away.
because if i wasn't writing this, i'd be running a razor blade across my wrists. and i'd do it the proper way. lengthways, where you open your veins up, and just bleed out. i guess you're wondering if that hurts? i've tried it before, it's like the strength is draining out of your body. it feels like dying. and in a way its beautiful. because the more you bleed, the less you feel, and you transcend into euphoria.

the last time i tried that though i bottled it, and ended up screaming the house down in the middle of the night. psych ward taught me one thing. if i ever slit my wrists again, don't scream for help. "help" is a subjective word. you think you're helping me by making me talk about being raped. i beg to disagree. that just makes me angry. and when i get angry i want to stick a knife in you. i want you to hurt like i do. if you want to know how i feel,stab yourself through your fucking heart. but not so much that it will kill you. stab yourself so that you'll die slowly. over the course of a lifetime.

some ways it seems that life is not LIVING, its an extended DYING. yeah there are lucid moments, but the pain, the epic all consuming, wretched sadness, is worse than death.

i do not want to remember.
i want to MURDER you.
for taking my life from me.
i wish you were alive, just so i could kill you. i'd make you scream. for every little girl you ever touched i would BURN you. i would BLISTER you. i'd make you live off your own fucking flesh or starve to death. what a pretty way you'd die.. eating your own liver..

i'd laugh. like you laughed when you stuck your fingers inside me and dug your nails into me. oh, and when i screamed in pain and you beat me back to senselessness. and i'd wake up with your cum mixed in my blood.

remember when you made me suck your cock whilst you ripped the hair from my head? i do. my nerves like fucking electric, scalp bleeding. raw. HELPLESS.

i wish you were alive, so i could mutilate you.  if you think i'm sick, then my congratulations, you created me- this monster who wants to kill. but unlike you i can restrain it. i can bottle every impulse, my own toxicity. store it up. wherever souls go after death, you'll be their. and so will i.

can't fucking wait.

bipolar is like living with a dormant volcano. one minute the sky is blue and pretty, everything lies dormant and beautiful. the next, you're sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss. and no matter how hard you will it to stop, you can't stop falling. 

you can feel it, descending further and further towards that primal rock bottom. the part  that tells you to make yourself bleed or vomit. the impulses to kill. the impulse to do ANYTHING except feel the pain, the loneliness. 

you push everyone away, which is ridiculous really, because its the time you need someone the most. but you're too scared to open up and show that brutal side. you're too scared of your thoughts, the impulses. and all you really want to do is just lie next to someone who loves you, and cry. but that option isn't open to you. because the sickness destroyed every meaningful relationship you've ever had. so there's no-one there. not one person on the fucking planet who understands. 

and that's all you ever wanted. someone to care. someone to get it. someone not to run when you scare them. someone to hold you when you can't take being you anymore.

You made me your Queen.

Then stole my wretched crown.

And dashed it onto the rocks.

Along with your worthless life.

But a Queen without a crown is still a Queen.

And this is my kingdom now.

A hard place where the furrows of my soul are ploughed by pain.

But it is my pain.

And my place.

Here you cannot touch me.

We all leave childhood with wounds. I wonder if in time we may transform our liabilities into gifts. The faults that pockmark the psyche may become the source of a man's or woman's beauty. The injuries we have suffered invite us to assume the most human of all vocations - to heal ourselves and others.


I wonder, if the abuse has not made me who I am. Then in a twisted way should I be thankful for it? The fumbling ball of tepid feeling I am today would simply not be without those prior events. Instead of regret, should I not be pleased that I am one of the rare few on this planet who can truely call themselves a survivor.


A bit like a cockroach.

Life.
It comes with no rule book.
It comes with no destination, and if you have one in mind then there are no maps to get you their.
Navigate by your heart and the stars.
It's your life. Put your arms out to the limits and keep fucking reaching.
Failure is an option.
But not for me.

Dave

i still miss you.

you didn't just end your life that day - you ended mine.

i just wish i could have put you back together again.

remember holding your head in my lap, and all the blood.

sometimes when i wash my hands i still see it.

rivers of red running down the plug hole.

the last parts of you mixing with the water and being washed from my skin.

i remember sitting their for hours.

until you went cold.

and kissing you, even though you had half a face.

tears and brains and blood.

all mixed together.

it was eternity. me and you.

i could feel your soul in that room.

thats why i didnt want to go.

thats why i didnt call them.

i remember it getting dark.

and then it getting light again.

just me and your corpse.

i remember you leaving, i felt it. when your parents came in.

to see me.

wrapped in your chocolate blood.

dirty dried blood.

i just remember holding on to you.

and not letting go.

but the medical people came and they made me let go.

they tore you from me.

and put you in a black bag.

took you away.

and i remember screaming

"He's afraid of the dark!"

when they covered you up.

But they didn't listen,

and i cried for you.

i cryed so much they made me have a drip.

and they took me away to a cold, dark hospital.

but i couldnt see anyone.

because they didnt know if i'd killed you.

how funny, they thought I might have killed you?!!

so i couldnt see my mum

or my dad

and i was left all alone

except i could feel you.

id sit at the bay window

all day.

then after a while my mum and dad came

and tried to love me enough

to make me speak again.

but they couldnt

didn't have a heart left.

you took it.

i didnt want to live anymore.

but in that place,

i didnt have the option.

i was too tired to die.

too tired to move.

sightless sockets and that bay window.

looking at the grass.

and then one day,

the grass changed to my back garden,

and i was home.

and i spoke

because words made my mum smile instead of cry.

and i didnt want her to cry anymore.

and words made dad's heart pains get better

so i didnt speak for me

i spoke for them.

BECAUSE UNLIKE YOU I'M NOT A SELFISH SCHIZOPHRENIC FUCK.

i LOVE you.

but i fucking HATE YOU.

and i can do better.

you might have died that day.

and part of me did too

but i will NOT be your legacy.

it's a god job you died.

because right now

if i could

i'd stab you through that fucking vacant hole you called a fucking heart.

REMEMBER, that one you PROMISED me.

So yes.

I miss you.

I love you.

But overwhelmingly, I FUCKING DESPISE you.

If words could kill.

This letter is a bullet.

Because you are dead to me.

As I was to you.

And it might be a tad retrospective.
But I'm dumping you.
I refuse to be your emotional prisoner.
Have a nice death.
Don't wait for me.
I ain't coming!

cough medicine.

16 bottles in 7 days...Is that normal? When do I admit its the only thing in my life preventing me from completely breaking down.
In a lot of ways i'm grateful for the ability to numb myself with anaesthetic for £2 a bottle. In other ways I wish i'd discovered it sooner. Nothing like wasting your life laid out on your bed completely high as fuck and glazed over in your eyes. DMX, Codeine, i'll drink it all if it stops me from feeling.
I stopped looking for someone to save me and instead found an answer in the medicine cabinet.

It is soft and warm, and I am not soft or warm but I imagine that it would be nice to be that way. I have never known it. I know a cold, hard, raging fury deep inside of me and I am tired of it. I am tired of the feeling, I want to die so I don't have to feel it anymore. I would like to be soft and warm. I would be terrified to be that way. I could be hurt if I were soft and warm. I could be hurt by something other than myself. It is harder to be soft than it is to be hard. I could be hurt by something other than myself.

"By means of shrewd lies, unremittingly repeated, it is possible to make people believe that heaven is hell -- and hell heaven. The greater the lie, the more readily it will be believed."


Is it a sign of tolerance or insanity when some of the things Hitler wrote actually make sense?

A decade of cutting away
dead flesh, cauterizing
old scars ripped open over and over
and still it is not enough.

Something was welling up inside me, clenching at my heart like a fist. Biting my lip i placed the razor shakily on the washstand and reached for the soap, fixing my eyes on the rising foam as the brush swirled round and round inside the cup. But the pressure inside me didn’t stop. It swelled between each of the knobs of my spine, pressing out between my ribs. It felt as though i might explode at any moment. My hands jerked and eyes burned,eyelids scouring them as though they were lined with sand. Frightened, I gripped the edges of the porcelain basin of water, trying to force the feelings back, but on and on they came, stronger and stronger. I could not calm down. The pressure swelled in my head, forcing itself against the fragile cap of my skull. It roared in my ears, filling my throat and nostrils till I could barely breathe. I dug my fingernails hard into my wrist, leaving white half-moons in the flesh, but felt nothing, nothing but the blackness that I could not hold back. Desperately I hurled the soap-cup across the room, saw it smash against the wall but heard nothing. And then distantly, as though I were suspended above my own body, I watched my hand reach out for the razor. The pressure inside was different already, its clotted darkness streaked with a growing sense of purpose. Very slowly, hand not quite steady, I drew the blade down my unsoaped cheek, pressing it quite deliberately into the flesh until it sliced into the skin.
         The cut was shallow but it worked with the perfect predictability of a valve on a steam engine. The release was exquisite. As the blood flowed out so too did the terrible blackness. The rush of the blood soothed me, purged me. And it showed me that I am alive. I felt elated but at the same time quite calm.

I was trying to cut myself. I wanted to cut for the cut itself, for the delicate severing of capillaries, the transgression of veins. I needed to cut the way your lungs scream for air when you swim the length of the pool underwater in one breath. It was a craving so organic it seemed to have arisen from the skin itself. Imagining the sticky-slick scarlet trails of my own blood soothed me.

this is confusion.

having 50 million things to say but not being able to explain a single one.

today is one of those cold winter days when everyone seems to be busy. they all scurry around like little ants, buying shit they don't need for christmas.

first of all i don't like christmas - the modern idea of which is centred around the notion of spend, spend, spend rather than any real values.

silly me for thinking christmas was meant to be about love and togetherness, rather than the size of your wallet.

i've never asked for anything for christmas, when i was a kid i gave all my money to the children in need appeal (this big charity night on TV where all the money goes to sick/poor children).

i've always believed that the only things worth having are those which cant be bought. what i really want for christmas is a cuddle, i want to have fun with all my friends and be happy. i want a kiss from a boy i like under the mistletoe. you can't buy what i want, and i might not get it, but it's the only thing of value to me.

This darkness. What is it but a theatre in which we work our magic; where we can express our desires and our fears, our dreams and our pain. In this dimly lit place, we seek the visions that both inspire and horrify us.

it's times like these when you know who your true friends are.
only when you're teetering on the edge do you realise who will pull you back and who will let you fall.
to the few that caught me, i love you more than words can say, if i could express my gratitude, words would not do it justice.
to those who pushed me, one day you will fall.. and i will catch you. but you will not know my soul.

there is no sunshine anymore. No laughter to warm my heart, no hope to make me think tomorrow is worth waking up for. There's no manual that tells you how to operate from absolute zero. And that's all I am. Just a shell of a person where all the empty dreams are housed.

If I took my life tonight noone would remember me. But would it matter? It would be strangely beautiful to walk amongs the snow flakes under the darkness of starlight. It would be familiar to feel as cold outside as I am inside.

My head hurts, I can barely breathe from the choking tears that engulf me in soggy stiflingly floods. I'm spoilt, I know it, and I know I should pick myself up and carry on. But what if you've been doing that your whole life? And the pain never stops. Just when you find happiness, health, love, it goes away just as quickly.

I don't want to die, I just want to feel alive. And death is the only thing that feels like living for me. At least ill be a cadaver, more good would come of my death than my life, I'm sure of it.

Lets go for a walk in the snow at 2am and hope I never have to write in this cursed fucking thing again.

Goodbye.

P.s always..x

To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it:
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

At least you know you’re still alive—that’s the one great thing about post-breakup anger. You want him to drop dead—well, maybe suffer some agonizing disfigurement first—and you can’t stay his name without spitting it and you want to slap every happy couple you see on the street. Not very pretty, but it beats being numb and limp.

I would think how words go straight up in a thin line, quick and harmless, and how terribly doing goes along the earth, clinging to it, so that after a while the two lines are too far apart for the same person to straddle from one to the other; and that sin and love and fear are just sounds that people who never sinned nor loved nor feared have for what they never had and cannot have until they forget the words.

never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever give up.

If I longed for destruction it was merely that this eye might be extinguished. I longed for an earthquake, for some cataclysm of nature which would plunge the lighthouse into the sea. I wanted a metamorphosis, a change to fish, to leviathan, to destroyer. I wanted the earth to open up, to swallow everything in one engulfing yawn. I wanted to see the city buried fathoms deep in the bosom of the sea. I wanted to sit in a cave and read by candlelight. I wanted that eye extinguished so that I might have a chance to know my own body, my own desires. I wanted to be alone for a thousand years in order to reflect on what I had seen and heard—and in order to forget.

We don’t even realize it but technology is destroying the fabric of our society. More people use the Internet these days than ever. We are now socializing through boxes with virtual personalities. Gone are the days where we would actually go out to places to meet people. It’s so much easier to just log onto a chat room and create instant friends than actually having to make a concerted effort to build real life relationships. Social consciousness is now on autopilot.
         We have mass murders in High Schools, rotting polluted oceans, corrupt governments filled with greedy actors, and there is nothing we can do to stop it.
         Do we need a revolution? What would we be revolting against exactly? The price of gasoline? Not enough cheese in our Big Macs? Not enough porn on cable?
         I just think it’s human nature to be selfish and miserable. We’re all just a genetic accident. We all have this disease called life and the only cure is death.

The sky
Is a suspended blue ocean.
The stars are the fish
That swim.

The planets are the white whales
I sometimes hitch a ride on,

And the sun and all light
Have forever fused themselves

Into my heart and upon
My skin.

Somewhere a seed falls to the ground
That will become a tree
That will someday be felled
From which thin shafts will be extracted
To be made into arrows
To be fitted with warheads
One of which, someday when you least expect it,
While a winter sun is shining
On a river of ice
And you feel farthest from self-pity,
Will pierce your shit-filled heart.

Heart, I told you before and twice, and three times, don’t knock at that door. No one will answer.

I write only because
there is a voice within me
that will not be still.

Excerpts from my Dead Lover's Letters

"If you loved me with all the power of your soul for a whole lifetime, you couldn't love me as much as I love you in a single day."

"I knew as clearly as I know I am to die, that I love you more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth, or hoped for anywhere else. "

From his diary "I love her for what she has dared to be, for her hardness, her cruelty, her egoism, her perverseness, her demoniac destructiveness. She would crush me to ashes without hesitation. She is a personality created to the limit. I worship her courage to hurt, and I am willing to be sacrificed to it. She will add the sum of me to her."

From an unsuccessful suicide letter "When we die, as when the scenes have been fixed on to celluloid and the scenery is pulled down and burnt -- we are phantoms in the memories of our descendants. Then we are ghosts, my dear, then we are myths. But still we are together. We are the past together, we are a distant past. Beneath the dome of the mysterious stars, I still hear your voice."

"You are closed and shuttered to me now, a room without doors or windows, and I cannot enter. But I fell in love with you under the open sky and death cannot change that.

Death can change the body but not the heart."