We used to be slick, subtle young hips, romantic kissable lips. Unbearably sharp, unbreakable hearts. With wide eyes and faith that life could never pull us apart if we were OK.

January 6, 2011 § Leave a comment


  “I am one of those melodramatic fools, neurotic to the bone no doubt about it.” – basket case.

I don’t know if you noticed, but I have a lot of self-loathing. Stilettos and Scoring? What the fuck was that patronising shit? I hold in incredible distaste the person who wrote that and I’m sorry I did. I’m sort of a car crash inside my own head. When I was younger I thought I was play pretending at problems to attract attention and make girls think I was a deep and an emotional sort. Unfortunately what I thought was play pretend was the start of the real deal. I slipped into a slow bleeding depression with anxiety. I lost my confidence because I didn’t see the point in having it. The thing is there was always two version of me. The first is a charming, polite, mad individual, well dressed and would talk to strangers for a laugh. The second is very quiet, very sad, very lonely and locked inside his own head. I’m seeing less and less of the first. It’s messy. I have little release. I wouldn’t kill myself, I’m not that drastic, I’m not that selfish and frankly I wouldn’t give myself the satisfaction.

In this situation when you are left alone the only thing that rattles inside your head is the desperate search for a solution. It is a desperate search. It’s all you want. It is what a goal is to a striker, it is what a gig is to a guitarist, it is what sex with a girl is to a thirteen year old boy, it’s the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, it’s the promised land and it’s the light at the end of the tunnel. But at the moment there is no rainbow or tunnel or promised land. It’s a fucking spiral at its hard to see myself coming back. The thought that ruins every epiphany at the moment is “This is it, this is the thought that changes everything.” And bang, it’s gone, with all the rest of the them, back into obscurity. I don’t talk to my friends much any-more and they don’t talk to me. I miss them. The trouble is I really don’t trust people. It goes back to way back in the day. I used to lie about the smallest of things just to make myself seem normal. Things that I didn’t even need to lie about. I lied because it was easier than having to do the complex explanation. Fuck, I get so worried about the most pointless shit. I play out countless scenarios in my head that I would like to happen, or ones just so I can be prepared for. They never happen. I used to be so fucking happy. I used to have so much hope. I was wide eyed with faith. The magic’s gone.

They all say the thing. “Don’t worry so much.” “Relax” . You think it’s that simple? Ok, I’ll do that, problem gone. Fuck you, oh course it doesn’t work like that. I worried I’m stuck with this. As I push further away from adolescents it seems to follow me closer. I thought I would level off and not worry so much and relax. The angst has just grown. In case you hadn’t noticed I have very few people to talk to about this. I’m worried my friends will leave it as it is. The more I write about it the more I worry that I’m a fucking basket case. It’s gone further than I thought it would. I have stopped drinking so much booze to see if that would help. It didn’t. Professional help is a few months away if it persists. I think the only redemption, temporally, even if it’s nothing but a distraction, is a pretty girl. If I come back from this it will be with vengeance.

I remember an ex of mine could see it. I could see in her eyes that she could see it unfolding behind mine, I thought I was just playing and had her convinced, but it turns out she was right. She worried about me and it turns out she was right to. I wish she had warned me more then she did.

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