Words

biting blade of burning resentment punctures flaming red skin of molten death 

stab 

               stab 

stab 

                              stab stab

                 stab

violent reminders of failings past

murderous tantra of pulsing disgust 

                      violent blood gushing

            from metal bites

exotic hate

                                                  fragrant disgust

your words the final blow

                             your biting tone final notes

         of life-songs and grave melodies

Uphill Battles

There’s always gonna be another mountain

I’m always gonna wanna make it move

Always gonna be a uphill battle

Sometimes I’m gonna have to lose

Miley Cyrus had it right.

Life will always be an uphill battle; what defines the person really, is how strong they can be and if they can keep pushing on.

It’s hard though when it seems that every summit climbed crumbles, pulling you down in its avalanche of struggle and pain as the mountain seems to climb higher and higher into the sky as your troubles pile on.

The thing is, I don’t think I can keep starting the climb; it’s getting so exhausting to start up, again and again, every day in a world where society is constantly clawing its gnarly fingers down your throat to scrape every last bit of ‘you’ out and throw it to the wasteland at your feet.

I have never been a huge fan of Miley – in the sense that I stalk her twitter or anything I mean, I enjoy a few of her songs whenever the radio introduces me to them with the news she has a new album out. I find she gets a lot of shit though. Which is really unfortunate, considering so many of her songs are about powering through the hard times and being happy with who you are.

Which isn’t really the point I am trying to make here, but it does feel relevant to me.

My point is this: depression, and the anxiety that shadows its cruel dives, is this impossible battle I have to face daily.

It’s an ever-changing, always evolving enemy that lives inside me; my every thought – conscious and nocturnal – tainted by its poison.

And it is a struggle that I have to face with the constant opinions, thoughts and bullshit of society drowning the remaining remnants of my sanity.

Today, like most days, I feel like the world is full of assholes.

Just like any rule though, there are some exceptions; maybe you’re one?

 

 

Winter Nights

Have you ever had a panic attack?

People can experience them in different ways.

Sometimes, its like in the movies; your skin becomes on fire because every atom is beating on sensitive skin stretched too tight. People crowd around you, hoping to help.

Hoping, despite the crumbled screaming mess that once resembled a human being, everything is okay.

People who have never experienced a panic attack cannot begin to understand or imagine how it feels; and that is a good thing.

And if you ever see someone having a panic attack, you’re probably going to want to help. And you might feel bad, because the unfortunate reality is there is not much you can do to help.

You just have to be patient, staying close by and being supportive. You have to try and keep the crowds of people away because unfortunately if someone has a panic attack in public, a crowd is always an eventual contingency.

In a panic attack everything becomes too much; every kind of experience or existence you can imagine becomes oversensitive. It is the most horrible thing ever.

But sometimes, often, people don’t have panic attacks in the movies. Sometimes, we become so drowned in the sensations threatening us its a different loss of autonomy all together; we seem to switch off.

We ‘wake up’ to find ourselves having spent who knows how long staring into space.

Seconds for us, eternity for friends or family.

Sometimes we know when an attack is building; we know what might trigger us. But often, it comes from nowhere.

It just bursts from within us, and completely destroys us from nowhere within.

Imagine having a panic attack when you least expect it; losing control or recognition of everything around you in the click of your fingers or blink of an eye.

Imagine having one in your sleep.

Its the middle of winter, but I always wear shorts and singlets to bed because so often I will wake in sweats and chills from attacks in my sleep.

Sometimes, its in those few seconds when you first wake up and everything is muted and heavy. When everything is still switching on, and you still don’t quite have full bodily control yet.

In those moments you can feel your muscles jump under skin stretch so tight its like every pore is pulled so wide thousands of ants are crawling in and out of your body and you can’t move and all you can do is feel every second of it and do nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Or you are so used to it, you just make a routine of it.

You wake drenched in sweat – so drenched you have to shower, dry and change your clothes because the fabric is glued to you. Or you wake, boiling hot but shaking like its freezing.

Sometimes your cat – who is kind of a dopey shit – nudges you awake because your twitching disrupted his sleep.

Of course, then he demands food he won’t eat.

That is unfortunately the stark reality of living with anxiety.

Everyone experiences anxiety – just like everyone experiences depression – at stages in their lives. But living with these diseases is different; there’s often no trigger – its just your body being a fucking asshole and turning on you.

And no matter how many people try to tell you that you are in control of your own mind, you know its not true.

And a very large part of you is terrified it never will be true.

Especially on those cold winter nights when you wake drenched in sweat, dressed in shorts and singlets.

I am writing one of two final essays right now; its 3:00 a.m. and its due in a few days. Two exams after these essays, and I will have finally and officially completed my bloody bachelors.

I never could have imagined when starting university how exhausting it would be.

If I look at the evidence, I know I am not stupid; I got in to university, and despite how difficult it has been for me to focus and get through the days let alone the years of university, I have been getting through.

P’s Get Degrees.

But I feel like nothing has really sunk in. I am so unmotivated and unfocused, nothing is sticking. Writing the notes, essays and exams it sure looks like I know something, but generally it feels like I know nothing.

I am Jon Snow.

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In case you’re wondering, yes.

I am procrastinating and avoiding this essay because I don’t want to fuck it up.

Dirty Rooms, Dirty Mind?

My room is a mess. I know it is, but I have nothing in me to care enough to clean it. Honestly, the mess isn’t even that bad. Just a pile of clothes on my bed that needed to be put away a week ago, and dirty carpet that is covered in cat fuzz.

If I am honest though, I have been avoiding cleaning my clothes (which all smell bad because my sister threw them in my room while they were damp) because I like the weight of them at night when sleeping.

I really wish I could follow that confession with “not in a weird way or anything” but that would be a fallacy.

Willingly sleeping by a pile of dirty clothes is weird. Granted, I don’t really notice mess a lot of time because I am just sort of rolling between sleep and work, but last night I did.

But it felt like there was another person, like I wasn’t alone. Like I had someone sleeping next to me, someone who I could share that kind of intimacy and trust with.

Instead of thinking about how lonely I feel in a crowd.

Milk and two Sugars, 100mg Sertaline.

There is this invisible weight, sitting upon my chest – it sinks into my skin, stretching the small space for what feels miles.

My arms feel like air, and I feel like I am floating leagues underwater. I am not drowning, but I am not treading. Every thing feels so false, like I am in a delusion not of my own making.

I find myself waking up, staring at the roof for the ticking seconds of hours gone past.

This is an average day; its only late morning so I go make some tea. While the kettle boils I lose autonomy to baser instinct; my hand drowns in its angry steam. It burns, but the pain doesn’t register.

I make my tea – tea bag, water, sitting, milk, 2 sugars and stir.

Then its that time of day again; that daily ritual that seems so fruitless but is so utterly necessary; time for my medication.

Sometimes, I just stare at the little white pill in my hand. Its so small, but this white pill is what balances me out.

It doesn’t always work perfectly; some days, I am trapped in the terrifying and all-encompassing nothingness of old days.

Other days, a true rarity, I wake up and there is no weight on my chest; everything is brighter and colours more rich. The air tastes sweet, and not like led.

Its an odyssey; at night, I am never really sure how the coming days will be.

Exhaustion is a common theme; sometimes I can sleep for days on end. Other times, sleep doesn’t come despite extreme exhaustion.