Cheating death; Getting caught.

August 30, 2014 § Leave a comment


I didn’t close my eyes. I didn’t breathe it in. I didn’t feel it dance and twist in my blood. I did push that accelerator deep to the floor in the hope that I would feel the fear again. I didn’t whistle or sing. I didn’t scream or shout. I didn’t dance or run or move. I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t. I just sat there. I excepted to feel it wash over me but to be honest I didn’t even feel that. I knew I was a mess but my caring had slipped and gone. I knew I was approaching a crossroads and I knew that my indifference would steer me towards the darker path. I read so much about it. Volumes and pages and everything I could find. It was all documentations. It was all just a mirror reflecting back at me. I saw myself in every word but not a single one offered an answer. There were no answers and there was no hope. Just reinforcement that I was fucked. I was gone. I was cut ablaze. I was falling with a broken chute, asleep, indifferent to that warm, comfy looking pavement coming up at me. It doesn’t even feel dark any more. There’s a strange comfort. “I think you should see someone about this.” Says the girl who knows. Maybe she’s right. But what would they do? Pills? That’s just cheating. Who gives a fuck anyway? When did I start getting through days? When did it all happen? I don’t sleep any more. I just lie down and stare at the dark. 

That’s the problem with depression. That’s the bit no one talks about. You slip into a cycle and it stops you from caring about getting out. You get dark and you loose your friends. You stop caring. You start to really feel like your just a shadow of you. A ghost. I don’t laugh any more. It’s stop slipping and spilling out of me and now it’s just a dark whole that I’m at the bottom of. Fuck it. I’m even tired of this now. I’m done. Like, really, really. Done. 

Just a touch darker, isn’t it friend? 



I always kinda wished I looked like Elvis

August 20, 2014 § Leave a comment



The powder on the bar was just this one time, the powder on the bar” – High Lonesome. 

The night was drawing in as August began to give way to September and these evenings start to get shorter and sharper. I found myself back at it again. Pushing myself again. I know it should concern me how much harder I’m having to push myself just to feel something in my day. That dim flare lit in my blood, that light fizz that let’s me know that there’s something that’s still in there. The window’s down and the wind is rattling through the car as it pushes 100mph. I reach for the radio and drown out the engine. These country roads may not be forgiving but there’s no one else around, no bystanders here, no one to take with me should I go. I found it going into the next corner. That madness. The sweet madness I’d been chasing. 

It doesn’t feel how you think it would. It’s not like it is in the movies. When the sound drops away and the character is left in the moment. No. It’s more than that. The opposite really. In the moment that you loose control all your senses turn up. You feel the rattle and bumps in the road 10 fold to how you did but seconds before. They combine with the scene you see in front of you. A lick of road in which it looks like a strange gravity from the horizon is sucking and stretching all you can see in. And the noise? Oh you should hear the noise it makes. It doesn’t drop out, oh no, it doesn’t drop out. It comes together, all of it. From the squeal and shaking engine to the furious wind in the window to the desperation of the music; it all becomes one throbbing pulse in your ears. And these sights and sounds and sensation fold and smear into one. That how it feels when you think that you are going to die. And, if you are like me, you push it until you can push that feeling no more. 

Oh Captain, my Captain.

August 12, 2014 § Leave a comment



It won’t surprise regular readers to know that depression is something I know one or two things about. Sean Maguire died today. John Keating died today. That is to say that the man who brought those great men to life, men who had more influence than the majority of non fictional people in my life, died today. That old and tired, tragic cliché of the clown who cries backstage. It’s still a story that breaks my heart. It worries me too. If a clown who graces the arena’s and stadiums and the television sets of families around the world can’t exit the stage with a smile then what hope is there for the rest of us? Just like that I was lost again. I watched the internet mourn. An outpouring of grief worthy of a man with such a bold contribution. Who made us laugh in almost every film apart from the ones in which he made us cry, Dead Poets and Good Will Hunting, the two closest to my heart. A man who’s eyes burned with the same passion and lust for life that was so beautifully stitched into every word Keating said. The excitement of it all, a world twirling and twisting and the joys of simply being part of that lost along the way and left dizzy and sick. They’ll remember Robin Williams for the roles he played and the laughter he caused. There will be no finer tribute than that. 


Carpe Diem, 

Sucks the marrow from life, 

It’s not your fault. 

Prizes and promises

August 5, 2014 § Leave a comment



“On desperate friends, trying to reconcile their names. There is a name for men like you inside the dark, and I know your faults,I know the way you write them off, I don’t want anything to do with it no more.” – Girl Habor – Manchester Orchestra 

I closed my eyes and tried desperately to get some perspective together. To come to realise that I’d spent the previous months borrowing happiness from the future and now this was what was left. Me, adrift again. Lost again, just like that. Holding on by my fingers nails in the wild eyed hope that I will have something compelling to say just before I let go. I really hope I do. You can’t really plan moments like that though can you? It has to be off the cuff. 

But sometimes in life the gears change quick. Sometimes hopes comes on quick and expected from all the way down there to looking up at least. Like almost all of my mood swings these days I couldn’t quite put my finger on the pulse of it. But I knew it was there, and, while it’s still there, that’s all that matters. That it’s there. Should it go away again I’ll only be lost again. 

I saw a report on the news where they put two brains through an MRI machine. One was an excitable happy person. I can’t help but think less of those people yet if I had the choice to swap I honestly don’t know if I’d take it. Anyway, the other was a manic depressive person. They were monitoring brain activity to certain images through this machine that supplied heat colour maps of how the brains were running. The happy person first. It fizzed like a rainbow. It was like a internal gay pride fireworks display. I was envious. The girl watched in awe as the bright colours, green and yellow and red shot around in her brain. Then came the turn of the second person. The depressive. Before he got into the MRI machine they showed a shot of him and the reporter introduced him in that kid glove, head tilt manor that sad people find themselves being addressed in. You wouldn’t really know it looking at him. He looked okay, just a little anxious maybe. He wasn’t crying or curled up in a ball, he wasn’t cutting himself or writing poetry. But it was there. It was in his eyes. Those tell tale signs. You see them in shoulders and in the eyes. Hunched over, blocking the world behind. The eyes stay low, not venturing past the halfway mark, darting around no eye contact. 

When it came to watching his scan it was more dim moon light on a lake than the last. The dull blue light barely flickered. It lazily rolled around the screen for the 15 odd seconds they showed. That’s the difference. That’s what people don’t talk about. When you’re depressed you feel less. You are less, you do less, you eat less. You just fucking sit there and hold on and pray to any god that will listen that you can just close your eyes and pull some perspective together. 

Where Am I?

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