You'll have to love me when I'm gone

I could write something that's packed with fiction. I could make up my own reality about last night. I could lie my face off to this whole blog. I could submit to the writer in me and tell you that the romance is possible, was possible. I could tell you that the romance happened. I could tell you that we went back to his and fell into each others arms. I could tell you that he told me he loved me and we spent the whole night talking about it.

It didn't happen.

To say it was anti-climactic would be an understatement. Tragically. Pathetically. I thought in one small moment everything was clicking into place - but then, typically, it didn't. The pieces just lay jagged and ringing. We were sat together, his head on mine, just leaning. He picked up his phone and slowly typed 'I love u', which would have been fine if he had left it there.

The whole text?
'I love u dave :)'

Which he promptly sent to his best friend.
Yeah, anti-climactic.

Oh well. Even before that I was avoiding mirrors, photographs, anything that screams the horrible truth. I can only take myself in quick glances. A reflection in a car door as I open it is about as much as I can take. I cannot analyse myself. I constantly feel disgusted.

See, I could have lied my face off. Like I've been doing for the past few months. I coud LOL and LMAO and tell you a bunch of irrelavant things. I could haved faked it.

I hope you appreciate that I didn't.

I've been holding onto the bottom of this rope for far too long. I'm sick of the burn, I'm sick of the constant sliding back down; two steps ahead followed by two back. I entertain horrible fantasies. I would love to bathe in bleach. I would love to invest in razors, salt, ice. Anything that would override the hurt and the hating. I would love to punish myself so I don't feel like this anymore. When you're in pain you kind of feel cleansed. When something is throbbing, gaping, oozing, you don't think about wether there is a piece of work in for the next day or what lesson you have. You think about pressing down on it and intensiftying the pain, you think about buying the bandages and the antiseptic and cleaning yourself up. I fantasise about razor blades and cutting myself to the fat. The problem is that they stay as fantasies. They rot in my head. They ooze out of me. I feel that someone could smell the self pity, the urge to hurt or to ruin things for myself.

Yes. I could go and get help. I could tell someone how vividly I see myself dying. How intricately I have planned my suicide. But what would they do? Hand me the tools with which I could bring about my own demise? Once you open the floodgates everything becomes a weapon of mass destruction. I could glue my throat shut with superglue - in my head I have suffocated like this over and over again. I could leap, headfirst, out of my bedroom window and hope to hit the concrete rather than the grass.

And I could cut. Oh boy, could I cut. I could bleed to death on the bathroom floor quicker than someone could save me.

Oh, these fantasies are always there. When I smile, in my head I am suffocating. When I laugh there is an imaginary noose around my neck. When I sleep I hope that I won't wake up.

Oh, to feel good again. To feel human.

You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed...

I'm quite happy I can now blog on the go. It's nice!

Piece of writing for you all.

I sat on the train and watched the world bleed inky blueness from the windows down.
I wondered if it were possible to feel so closed in with such open spaces around you.
I did.
I wanted to fly on the drift with the sunburnt leaves swirling around my feet and smile into the wind. To inhale the hot white gusts but still feel breathless.
Instead, I sat and watched my reflection mimick my movements on the other side of the glass. In that moment I realised that she too was trapped between the panes, just sat there, staring back.

Six hours on my head still hurts and trains and people's voices sound like waves to me, the tide slowly drifting in.
Announcements echo around a packed carriage and destiny feels so clinincal, so cold.
It feels as though I'll clock in and out. In and out.
Skewered on the hands, rotating on the face, waiting for the alarm to wake me
And start it all again.

You know that I could use somebody

someone like you.

God, I feel so depressed today. You can add ugly, unloved, shit and untalented to that list as well if you want. I'm so damn sick of reverting back to what seems to be my default state of mind. I look around me and I see all the people who have felt like I have and had the same aspirations and half of them have killed themselves.

Maybe this is why I'm alone, maybe my state of mind generally just repulses people. I thought that on Friday night, maybe it's my whole unconfidence. Maybe if I believed I was attractive I would be. Pah! It's somewhat a blow to the confidence when the only guy who speaks to you throughout the whole night is a guy who's asking if your sister is single. I may as well just put it out there; I hate myself and I probably always will. Something has got to give though. I can't keep dreaming about being loved and waking up depressed.

Urgh. I hate crying. I hate it so much. I hate anyone knowing how I feel but I can't hold it in anymore not really. The only thing I've been to men in this world is a submissive plaything, yet it's better than nothing. Those scraps are better than loneliness, better than sadness. But like I said before, I run from love. I'm willing to give everything else to someone, but my heart I'll keep to myself. My heart is the one thing I need to give but keep locked away. If someone gets too close to that I turn and walk away. I ruin it.

I'd give anything right now to be held by someone stronger than me because I'm sick of being strong for myself. I'd like to cry on someone and not be questioned. I'd like to feel loved by someone and not feel uncomfortable. I think if someone loved me I might be able to love myself, And now I'm crying. I wish I could put all the walls down for a bit. The humor, the biggest thing. It's tiring to make fun of yourself to deflect everything. It's shit. I wish I could just turn around and be totally exposed, all the weaknesses out there, all the insecurities, all the sadness.

Goodbye, for now.
xxx

To love and to be loved is to feel the sun from both sides

The title of this entry is a quote by David Viscott. I don't know how many people would have heard of him, I certainly hadn't heard of him until I stumbled upon this quote. If you want to know more about him, Google him. I could sit here and regurgitate the Wikipedia entry but that's not the point.

My focus is the quote and the truth it holds for every single human being on this godforsaken planet. We all know what unrequited love feels like. Having the love radiating from you but never feeling the warmth of that special someones love back. It's painful. We all long to feel the sun from both sides, don't we? We all hope and pray that one day that person we love will turn around project their love onto us.

Why am I writing this? I don't know. Maybe it's because I wear my heart on my sleeve. The line between 'like' and 'love' gets blurred sometimes, and I just can't see the woods for the trees. Maybe it's because of my low self esteem that I will probably carry for the rest of my life. Because to be welcomed into an embrace by someone strong and manly makes me feel good about myself and it's like a drug and I find myself wanting more. The crux of it is that I don't know if I've been in love or not throughout my 18years on this planet. I'm not going to say decisively yes or no because I feel that would be writing off one of the most important aspects of my life.

I fall easily. Maybe too easily. I like to feel wanted but then when I am wanted for real it scares the hell out of me and makes me want to run so very far away. So how do I solve that problem? I don't know. Until I do I'll only be feeling the sun from one side. And I wonder is that such a bad thing? Maybe the real reason I run from someone who wants me is because speculation is better than the truth. Loving someone who doesn't love you back - whilst painful - is safe because if it changes it can only change for the better. Admiring someone silently from afar is fine because you'll never know the horrible truth. In your mind you can make up all types of possibilities and hide from the truth that can really hurt you.

So maybe when it comes down to it I'm not the gritty realist I saw myself as.

You may say I'm a dreamer - but I'm not the only one.