My Naivety – 31/05/19

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I have alluded previously that I am horrendous at making decisions as I cannot rely on my own brain.

I get caught up in fantasy, choose to see things the way I want to see them, a defence mechanism built up over many years of being hurt. Reality is usually too painful to acknowledge, so a retreat into a version of life where things are not as bad is an easy thing to slip into, and for the most part does no harm, it just makes things easier to deal with.

Unfortunately the down side of this is when reality comes crashing in and collides with the fairy tale life I am weaving for myself.

It is better to live in reality. I wish I could. But it hurts too much. The despair, the pain, the realisation, is too much. Perhaps, however, a source of this pain comes from the juxtaposition I create, in having a fairy tale life in the first place, by having hope and reaching for it. Perhaps if I embrace full pessimism, accept that my chance of happiness is not going to happen, I can live in reality. It might be depressing and it might change who I am, but maybe it would be the best option. In order to do this though, I would have to stop giving a shit about anything. And that is hard. Giving a shit gives us a reason to live. It gives us the passion to do things, to make the right choices, to act with honour and integrity, to move forward as a person. Is it fair on other people if I stop giving a shit?

I am fed up with the words from others that perpetuate the fantasy, but the actions that tear it down.

I am fed up of catching myself believing those words, only to find myself a fool again. Perhaps this is one life lesson I will never learn. Perhaps I will always be naive when it comes to the things I desire, because I want so much to believe it. So perhaps the only option is to believe nothing. To live in nothing.

Most of all I am fed up of living in my brain. If I stop giving a shit, will the thoughts finally stop? Or even if they don’t stop, will I at least be able to dismiss them because I don’t give a shit anymore? What would living a life like that be like? How would it affect those around me?

Recently, I have started recovering what is left of myself. I had been a shell for so long, and all I wanted was to regain what I used to be. This has been slowly beginning to happen, but if I chose to live a life of reality, I would be kissing that person goodbye once and for all. If I chose this path I would be essentially killing her and letting someone else walk away and live my life out. Is it fair to her? Or is it a mercy killing?

Can someone please make the decision for me. Just make sure it’s the right one please.

 

I Will Find A Way – Lucy Lyness

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youth’s ultimate beauty of innocence and hope

if ignorance is bliss, then surely, therefore, so is this

the potential and possible timelines and paths

streaming out of my body like ribbons of life, like lifeforce  itself

 

you took this, it attracted you like the murderous magpie you are

that malleable soul before you

that you systematically destroyed, inhibited, reduced to nothing

but it was my fault of course

 

no different from those that find a rare and undiscovered animal

Shoot it and put its head on their mantel piece

I sat on your mantel piece, broken remnants of a once wondrous masterpiece

now shattered into a thousand jigsaw pieces, the complete picture wiped away forever

 

that lifeforce, once so bright and strong

now a dark cloud, a demon smoke

inside every one of my cells

it is more me than I am

 

now that I have gained my freedom, why can I not be free?

still trapped beneath your limitations, your words and intentions, your strikes and misses

I wish I could twist your neck until I heard every last vertebrae snap

watch the ligaments dangle like spaghetti from my hands

I wish I could scream in your face, unhinge my jaw

and release that black demon smoke into your own being

fill you with everything you gave to me, an unwanted gift

watch your brain spark and burn under the pain

I could crack open your ribs, splinter one into a quill

remove your heart and write on your forehead

in your own blood, am I enough now?

 

At least through my anger I can purge you

I can feel something, a reminder that I was once a person

I don’t know how to start my life without you

I don’t know what to do or how to cope

you were my battle

my fight for freedom defined my every thought and action

now I am free I have nothing to live for, no purpose

but I will be damned if I waste it

I will find a reason to live

I will find a way to allow myself happiness

I will find a way to release you from my soul

I will find a way to love life again

with one foot in front of the other I will walk away from you

until I no longer hear you in my brain

until your reach no longer permeates

and I can finally fly away

Create Like a Child

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via Daily Prompt: Create

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To create is to live. I believe that every single one of us on the planet has the ability to create and be creative, and I believe that through a creative process, we come alive.

As a child many of us are constantly creating, making a mud hill, painting a picture, creating a make believe world, a story, lego structures, forts, etc. I believe that through this creative process we learn. It is a way of interacting with the world, of pushing boundaries and limits and learning about yourself.

The simple joy of creating a mud hill, playing in water or drawing for the sake of drawing seems to disappear when we are adults, and yet I believe that this process something so naturally human. It is a basic creative mode, where there is no goal, no outcome to be monitored or assessed, just fun to be had in being creative.

This is something I vow to do more of, to reconnect with that creative inner child, who has no critical demons demolishing the thing that she creates with self doubt and ideas of failure. To just create for the sake of creating and just to be in the moment with that process.

Creative Block

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Perhaps I am just destined to live my life feeling vaguely frustrated and agitated and not being able to put my finger on it and fill it.

Lately I have been feeling a creative block. Inspiration has been at my fingertips but just out of reach.

I find it so easy to slip into a numb yet frustrated melancholy when this occurs, and give up on things too easily, because I just don’t have the will power or incentive to try anything. All too often I will be struck by some inspiration or motivation but when I’m busy doing something else, and by the time I am free to do whatever it was I was feeling excited about, that feeling has gone and I end up doing nothing. That is exactly why I am writing this at this moment in time, I arrived at work today and was suddenly filled with positivity and inspiration and motivation and sunshine, but I can’t do any of the things that I truly want to be doing because I am stuck at work for the next 8.5 hours. So instead I am channeling that feeling into writing, that energy has to go somewhere, and no, I don’t want to channel it into my work, thanks. My work is uninspiring and suffocating, so let’s leave that there.

 

But I find it so hard to be creative and motivated at home!!

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I notice though that despite now feeling the inspiration and motivation, it has not got rid of the frustration. Perhaps I am just destined to live my life feeling vaguely frustrated and agitated and not being able to put my finger on it and fill it.

When I have no motivation I find myself filled with doubt, insecurities, self-dissatisfaction, self-berating thoughts which push me further into the hole that I am in, but I seem quite incapable of stopping myself from doing it. I have no internal locus of evaluation, which is pathetic, and probably why I can’t commit to anything or get my arse in gear and do things.

So today I feel pumped and I want to go to a yoga class and a Zumba class and go find a beer garden near a river and fall asleep on some grass and sit under a tree and read a book, and I want to write, and get on with some of my projects and take pictures of weird tiny objects and make a cool thing and organise my belongings and maybe hang some pictures….

I resent my work because I don’t want to be here. When these moods strike me I want to be free to do something about it. By the time I have finished work and got home my enthusiasm for doing things has waned considerably, and I tend to dick around, or hang out with people, instead of doing something productive, and I can’t keep beating myself up about it, because I have been doing something productive for 9 hours, it was just for someone else’s benefit, not mine.

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So maybe I can’t control my swings of motivation vs hedonism, but I should probably try to be nicer to myself about it and stop beating myself up and holding myself to such a ridiculously high standard, or at least I can hold myself to that standard but not expect myself to meet it every second of every day. It is ok to have blips and emotions and not be feeling it.

 

Growing Old Reluctantly – It’s my birthday and I’m terrified.

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It is my birthday on 5th May. I shall be 29 years old, and that is possibly the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to me (or is about to happen).

Why does this feel so terrifying?

Perhaps in my head I associate being in your 20’s as the time to grow as a person, achieve, make connections, set your life out and get your shit together. It is the time to blossom, to have the magical moment where you become a person.

I do not feel yet like I am quite a person. Still a piece of plaster-cine in need of molding.

My peers look at me expectantly, as though they too expect me to be a fully assembled person, and I am afraid I just am not. They live wonderful lives of conformity, doing all the things society deems we should at this age, marriage, kids, mortgages, things that I  have no interest in.

I want to go to a city centre and take black and white photographs of pidgeons and weird buildings.

I want to discover a weird bar and drink there all day talking to weird and fascinating people.

I want to meet random people and invent a new sport.

I want to listen to music loud and let it fill and nourish my soul.

I want to buy some super soakers from a pound shop and chase my friends around a town centre. But my friends don’t want to do that.

 

They want to go home in their finance cars, to a home that they have bought, where a spouse awaits with a meal and an evening in front of the telly where they tell each other about their days and then go try to make a baby.

Trying to make a baby sounds like the worst thing you can do to sex. How to make it go from sexy to a regimented boring outcome orientated activity.

But these are just my opinions. I support all choices, and I am happy for people who want to live that life, any life, but it is not a life for me. I feel increasingly isolated in my beliefs and outlook.

Increasingly I see people who are accomplished, grown up looking, fully functioning people, who I assume are older than me, only to find out that they are actually some years younger than me. I don’t know if I look old, I see my face everyday so can’t judge, but I probably do.

I can no longer use the excuse “because I’m only young”.

Mortality starts to become a little more real when you find yourself doing something without thinking of the consequences, and then hurting yourself.

My body has changed (largely because of the implant) but I am sure were I younger I would find it easier to shift the excess weight.

Yet inside I feel unchanged. Wiser, better, stronger, but not a grown up yet.

On the plus side I thought about turning 30 next year and started hyperventilating, so 29 isn’t that bad….

 

 

Who Am I?

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Who Am I? What Am I?

I have always struggled with these kinds of questions. I literally have no clue how other people perceive me. My usual answer to these questions is “quiet, a bit weird” or “laid-back, friendly?”.

I recently did an art piece using words to describe me, words that I had come up with and words I had asked other about. When it was finished I was pleased that I had come up with so many words, and I started going through them, but I realised that whilst the words written in front of me did in fact describe me, they could also describe billions of other people on the planet. Yes I was looking at an accurate description of myself, but not one that anyone would look at and guess immediately, “That’s got to be “L”!”.

So what would make someone say that? What could I put onto paper, that wasn’t a picture of myself, that would make someone say, “That’s you, definitely you.”

Is that what makes us, us? The bits in the middle, the bits that don’t seem important but that are unique to you.

I sat staring at it, feeling deflated, and wondering what I was missing. What was I?!

I am a girl woman who refers to herself as a girl when she really isn’t one anymore.

I am a woman who traces facial features, clothing hems and outlines, signs, traffic, and subtitled punctuation with her thumb obsessively, constantly and unconsciously.

I am a woman who drinks weak black decaf coffee and strong green tea. I drink weak gin and tonics and strong commercial beer.

I am full of regret and sadness.

I am full of hope and ideas.

I am a disillusioned Disney Princess who likes a drink.

I am a childless mother.

I am a walking existential crisis.

I am a health conscious smoker.

I am a workshy workaholic.

I am a depressed therapist.

I am the socially awkward life of the party.

I am a walking fucking contradiction, and I still don’t know if any of this is something people would read and say, that’s “L” right there.

What do you think constitutes as making someone “Who they are”?