ARGH!

“I was spread out daily
and examined for flaws.”
- Anne Sexton

Moan moan moan, fucking moan, is all i’m doing lately. But, people don’t have to read it if they don’t want to. This is why I’d rather write, than talk to people, because talking face to face forces someone to listen, and that’s not fair on anyone. I’d rather just depress the internet.

I’m really really really really really not in a happy place, with myself (as i’m sure you’ve figured out, if you’re a regular reader). And yet, It still isn’t depression, because I do love life. But, my eyes turn inwards and examine myself, like Anne Sexton describes. There is a large empty space that rages away inside me, and I don’t know how to block it. As ineffable as it seemingly is, I need these blogs, to try to express it the best way I can. It’s haunting for me, because it never ends. I’ve been fine these past few days, ignorant to the little mad idiot inside my mind, incessantly poking away at the normality. But today, I ACTUALLY want to scream. I wake up, wanting to scream at myself. My heart rate is through the roof, my mind is a mess. I don’t want pity, or someone saying “you’re just going through a phase”, I just want some fucker to listen!

I’m sick of everything. I’m sick of particular friends. I’m sick of how routine everything in life is. I’m sick of people and the games they play. I’m sick of wondering if I’m being manipulated. I’m sick of shouting and not being heard. I’m sick of listening. I’m sick of self important businessmen cunts. I’m sick of being the ‘confident’ one. I’m sick of love. I’m sick of feeling alone. I’m sick of using sex as a way to relax myself. I’m sick of fat mums yelling at their kids in Tesco. I’m sick of road rage. I’m sick of feeling like I’m being messed around or used. I’m sick of people telling me how much they drank on Saturday night, as if I’m expected to start drafting a certificate of achievement for them. I’m sick of background noise. I’m sick of you smiling. I’m sick of happy laughs. I’m sick of fatuous conversations. I’m sick of Leicester. In fact I’m sick of England, every city is the same, the people are clones of the other half of the Country. I’m sick of crap jobs that you spend six hours slaving at, getting intimidating glares from the boss and his indelibly upper class ignorant friends, and leave with less than £30. I’m sick of the same faces. I’m sick of walking down the same stairs. I’m sick of saying the same shit and feeling completely unable to be myself around ANYONE. I’m sick of the mindless violent idiots, threats and the pointless arguments people have. I’m sick of everything. I need someone to just sit me down and say “right, fucking well talk, NOW”.

There have been a couple of instances, that have driven me slightly mad today. A couple of days ago, my grandfather had a big heart attack. He’s fine now, he coped well. He and my grandmother are both in their mid 80s and have had a few heart attacks between them. They have been married for 53 years. He fought through the war, and came home to her. They were together, before the World had even heard of Elvis. That, amazes me. My grandfather dotes on her, it’s incredible to see, after over half a century, a bond could be so strong. He worries constantly about her. When she had a heart attack not long ago, you could see how badly he took it. He was clearly incredibly frightened. Those two, should never be without each other. When that’s how life is, nothing else matters. The negativities, the fucking idiots that plague life, do not matter. It isn’t just a person I’d quite like to feel that attachment too, it’s anything in life. And I don’t. I have an emptiness that no one or nothing has ever been able to fill, and I hate it. The light at the end of the tunnel, is forever dimming.

I’m intensely aware that when I’m in a relationship, I’m kept somewhat sane by the personality of my partner. It’s a grounding affect, I’m always in need of attention and reassurance, and I’m desperate to feel wanted and important to someone, which explains why when I’m single, I become a bit of a whore. However, at the same time, when I am single, I start to look at myself differently, and balance on a thin line between sanity and complete madness, but the madness is like another overly loquacious person, separate from the rational mind, it’s feckless and constantly at conflict with the rational mind. It’s like a civil war in my head. Some days are quiet, others become a bloody battle for superiority, and the madness is prevailing luxuriantly today. But it’s not real madness. It’s simply mad, in comparison to everyone else. Unless everyone else does in fact think in the same way as me, and I’m just not aware of it.

I’d quite like to just pack up, and escape to nowhere. Not tell anyone. No goodbyes. Just go. But then, I’d have to give up University, which starts in September. And so, I’m looking at this practically. Perhaps if I start to save a little money now, by the time I reach the end of my first year at University, I will have enough to just take off, and spend the summer in nowhere land, with no one familiar other than myself.
My list of destinations I’d quite like to explore, alone…
Rome (again)
Selous
Pu Tuo Shan
Paris
The Inca Trail
Mount Tai Shan
Venice
North Pagai
Côtes de Duras
Milan
Florence
Halong Bay
I may incorporate that list, into what is important in life. An overly optimistic list, ticking off each one, like a shopping list. But, that takes money, which means a career. Which invariably means choosing a career. Which, I just cannot do! Skegness or nowhere….
ARGH!

Time on my hands…

“Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?”
- Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

There appears to be a somewhat uncomfortable connection between the time I spend on my own, scrupulously trying to find myself; the real uninfluenced me, the peaceful me, in the jungle of my increasingly confused mind, and the quality of my writing within my blogs.

I don’t know where this comes from.

The way that I have been feeling lately is neither overly happy, nor overly miserable. It’s been as it’s always been. Just normal. Plodding along with life. It’s down to my acute awareness that I have a very comfortable life, with a fantastic family. In comparison to many others, I lead a great life. But, when I have a lot of time to myself, I start deducing that I am in fact wasting my life.

I want more. I want excitement and chaos. I do not want the simplistic life, or the comfortable life. I do not want a career. I want to see things i’ve never seen before, experience the wonder of the unexplored. I want my eyes to be as pierced by life as are the eyes of a new born baby, peering out at the World for the first time. He has so much to take in; he’s never seen a desk before, or a chair before, or the curtains before. A new born baby cannot possibly have a concept of “boring”. Everything, from that desk, to that chair, to those curtains, to the way the light beautifully changes the way the eye perceives them, to the poetic nature of sound in a simple word like “morning”, the calming feeling beautifully entwined with the smell of the mellifluous ocean at sun rise, is a wave of excitement that we as adults never get back.

I could describe the way I feel, as desperately wanting to reclaim that long lost sense of wonder and beauty. A chase that I think the entire human population is on a chase for. A chase that I think the entire human population is on the most meaningful search for. A chase that never dies, that’s always there, whether you recognise it or not. A star in your mind, that never fades. There is a certain romance to it. But this feeling only surfaces when I have too much time to myself. I do not dislike being alone with my thoughts. Because the only way I can articulate my deep interest and admiration for life, is through words, on a page, in my own lugubriously dark corner of the internet.