“There’s no happy ending.. so they say.
Not for me, anyway…”
-Dr. Horrible’s Sing-along Blog
“There’s no happy ending.. so they say.
Not for me, anyway…”
-Dr. Horrible’s Sing-along Blog
So I’m jiggling my legs like some frenetic junkie, waiting for the benzos and codeine to kick in.
It’s one of those nights where despite the warmth of the room, I feel cold inside.
My self hating nihilism is all-prevailing and the certainty that I will never be better, that I am doomed to endure day after day of misery and frustration, clings to me like a cold wet bedsheet.
The experience of staying awake all night, especially 2 or 3 days/nights continuously, not only creeps into joints and muscles as stiffness and pain, but eventually becomes a pressure inside the head, like a clamp crushing upon your brain.
Given enough time, everything about staying awake long for extended periods of time becomes unpleasant.
My best efforts to boost my mood upward, to think of positive things, and to convince myself life is worthwhile, such as trying to believe that one day I may be even happy, is met every time now by Poes’ Raven, embedded in my mind, it’s vocabulary no greater now than from it’s famous past.
‘Things are going to get better’, I repeat to myself.
“Nevermore”, comes the inetivetible reply.
‘One day, I will be happy’, I even try to believe it.
The Raven croaks, “Nevermore”.
‘I WILL be happy’, I tell it.
I wonder if it understands double negatives.
‘I will not never be happy’, I offer.
In the end,I just offer it ridicule.
‘I will not never inversely opposite become antithetically unhappy’, I say, wondering if it will fall for the syntax and reply ‘Nevermore’.
The raven just stares at me. I suppose because the raven is a creation in my mind, trying to fool myself when I know the plan, isn’t really very logical.
But logic seems to diminish exponentially as the hours continue to pass without sleep.
As does motivation, positivity, and the will to live.
I’m beginning to become so freaked out that I can’t even cry.
I want to, I can feel the tears behind my eyes, but the raw scraping of my nerves won’t let them flow.
A tiny bit less control and I’d probably be laughing maniacally. Panic and lack of reason start burning hot in my chest, a strange counter point to the ceaseless icy chill in my guts.
From experience I’ll still be awake this time tomorrow (5.30am), so there’s always some potentially delusional posts to look forward to.
Spent three weeks in an unmade bed,
A pounding in my skull,
Repeating thoughts in my head.
Like the lyrics of a song
Singing ‘please let me die before long.’
I’m trying hard to hold on to the act of holding on,
But even now my own mind wants me gone,
So the line I’m holding onto’s not that strong.
The basic problem with this kind of rope, you see,
Is that it’s tethered far too tightly to my sanity.
Maybe if I enjoyed a single moment,
Maybe if I could control or own it,
I’d be happier alive,
Given a reason to survive,
But all I get is non-stop misery.
So fuck me.
No apologies for profanity.
I’m stuck here in my head, wishing I was fuckin’ dead,
Because there’s nothing in this world that I can see,
Nothing for me.
Nothing for me.
‘He said, “I see you now, and you are so very young,
But I’ve seen more battles lost than I have battles won,
And I’ve got this intuition, says it’s all for your fun.
And now will you tell me why?”
Well the young queen, she fixed him with an arrogant eye.
She said, “You won’t understand, and you may as well not try”
But her face was a child’s, and he thought she would cry,
But she closed herself up like a fan.
And she said, “I have swallowed a secret burning thread.
It cuts me inside, and often I’ve bled”.’
– from ‘The Queen and The Soldier‘ by Suzanne Vega
Surrounded by tired clichés,
My mind dies.
A myriad of mortal, mired ways.
As is wont with mind to mend,
I’m drawn to midnight lakes’ embrace.
My freezing, bare-feet thoughtless wend
To every deeper, quiet place.
I forget how elegantly swirling stars
Weave such delicate distractions.
Flickering inside and out
Barely seen refractions.
Starlight floats in darker water,
Gently mesmerising motes.
The lake becoming midnights’ daughter,
Magic and music without notes.
More oft’ my private galaxy,
Calms more than ‘cut’n’bleeding’,
Regardless, tonight my regret remains
Highly caffeinated, thoughts still speeding.
[End pt 1.]
Yeah I lost it.
My mind, I lost that too.
I lost my heart and everything,
The moment I lost you.
Now I’m shaking and unsure of
How I’m supposed to feel,
My friend’s are so blasé
But to me it’s a huge deal.
My stomach’s in my chest,
I’ve lost track of all the rest,
Each cell in me is bleeding tears.
Although I’ve tried to act my best,
I don’t give a fuck about
Backlash or all that cost,
When all I want is gone,
Some quotes on depression from two of my favourite authors, and pretty much how I feel right now.
” In every way that counted, I was dead. Inside somewhere maybe I was screaming and weeping and howling like an animal, but that was another person deep inside, another person who had no access to the lips and face and mouth and head, so on the surface I just shrugged and smile and kept moving. If I could have physically passed away, just let it all go, like that, without doing anything, stepped out of life as easily as walking through a door I would have done. But I was going to sleep at night and waking in the morning, disappointed to be there and resigned to existence.”. ― Neil Gaiman
“Depression is the most unpleasant thing I have ever experienced. . . . It is that absence of being able to envisage that you will ever be cheerful again. The absence of hope.
That very deadened feeling, which is so very different from feeling sad.
Sad hurts but it’s a healthy feeling. It is a necessary thing to feel.
Depression is very different.”. ― J.K. Rowling
When your mind is broken
And the world is wreckage
They tell you to say:
That you’re not ok,
No, you’re not OK.
So I said it, I wrote it,
Used my blood to draw,
And what the fuck for?
Nobody listened, nobody cared,
Nobody got what I shared and I shared.
I guess that was lucky,
Because although I had tried
To express how I wish how I really had died,
Express how I hated myself and my life,
How my pain got less with each cut of a knife,
It turns out I was actually, really, OK,
Compared to how I am now anyway.
Soulmates and lovers and
BAEs til the end.
They come and they go,
So I guess they pretend.
They all seem to break
When they should try to bend.
If you ask me the truth,
All I want is a friend.
My heart seems to ache,
It won’t bend, it will break,
Because all that I want is a friend.
Still not sure which to get.
If only oblivion tasted more
Like raspberry and chocolate.
Why are these things so hard to choose?
Although nothing really matters when
There’s nothing left to lose.
Vodka? Tequila? Fifty year-old Scotch?
My favourite song that hurts just right,
Put on ‘The Crow’ to watch.
Video diary? Hand written letter?
Email or text?
It doesn’t matter, it will won’t change
What will happen next.
The worst part
Isn’t that you hate me.
It’s that you make me hate myself.
Where do the pieces of a broken heart go
If they’re too fragile to stitch, or you don’t know how to sew?
Are they put back together with some mystical glue,
Or is there somewhere you can go, to purchase one that’s new?
One thing’s for certain, it takes forever in time,
Fresh hearts are in demand, judging by the waiting line.
Installing a new heart must be hard, I’ve no doubt,
But I’m stuck at the part where your insides are your out.
This isn’t really new though, it’s not my first time ’round,
First-timers wait the longest, due to covering fresh ground.
I always ask for Adamantium, for a heart that cannot break,
But they keep giving me a glass one, and no choice but to take.
I never see who does it all, maybe it’s Santa Claus.
If he’s not received my letter yet,
I’d like to add this clause:
“Dear Santa, let’s just skip right to the end,
You can forgo all the material gifts,
If you’ll hurry up and mend
When you liked me,
I even kind of liked myself.
Now you say you hate me
Like you’ve hated nothing else…
Black is the colour in which stars shine,
And hiding underneath closed eyes,
Black is the colour in which you’ll find
Dreams and Realms Untold reside.
There within the colour of coal,
A canvas for the mind and soul,
A wonderland where you’re made whole.
Not a colour, but a tone,
It’s somewhere safe to call your own,
A place that’s yours,
And yours alone.
So this is what ‘forever’ looks like
From the other side.
A lot like broken promises
And echoes of goodbye.
Like everything you never got
But always thought you’d get.
Like each forgotten lonely grave
Of every childhood pet.
The only thing that’s certain is,
It looks a lot like loneliness.
One AM is staring at the ceiling.
Two AM, the window and the moon.
Three AM can’t tell me what I’m feeling,
Four o’clock is too large for this room.
Five is slowly breathing in,
Six is breathing out.
Seven with the sun up brings
Another day without
There are plenty of moments
Of heartache I admit,
Some hurt more than others,
And those hurt quite a bit.
But nothing cut me open
As surely and as swift,
As when you walked up
And handed back all of my gifts.
The ones that had meaning,
Given over years.
But you just dumped them in my hands,
Ignoring all my tears.
I confess not knowing what to say,
Never having felt that way.
You walked away, left me to hold
Rejected pieces of my soul.
The sun comes up, but you’re no longer here,
Just tangled up sheets and a pillow of tears.
Maybe I should thank you
For some madness in my morning,
At least it won’t be boring
I take comfort in my coffee cup,
Hide from feelings swirling up.
All that caffeinated sadness,
Barely holding back the madness.
If I could drink you down,
Would it make me drown
Scared and cold and dripping red,
A knife cut to the bone,
Something echoes in my head,
‘..don’t want to die alone..’
A gentle wind begins to stir
My Angel whispers low,
“Silly girl, you were always were,
You simply didn’t know.”
Her final words hang in the air
“Just like a glass that shatters,
You’ll always be beyond repair
In every way that matters. “
Each time you pass me in the hall
I find new depths to fall into,
When all I ever wanted was
Some kind of smile from you.
One meant just for me,
Have your eyes focus and see
Me standing there,
Red faced and feeling small.
I thought to go exploring,
Deep inside of me,
Hoping I might find the things
That cause such misery.
But what I found was certainly
No stately pleasure dome decreed,
No lands untold, or centre earth,
No, all I found was me.
And so myself and I spoke long,
And although I hoped we might,
We did not get along, but rather
Hated on first sight.
Myself confessed they hated me,
Despised me through and through.
I realised when I looked at me,
I hated myself too.
And so I’ll relate this little story,
Quite the handy alogory.
If spelunking in your mind,
Beware what you might find.
Please explain my existence,
Society, and it’s distance,
That only ever amplifies this
Self imposed resistance.
Decorating pillows with tears,
My armor but a quilt,
Alone, confused, helpless,
Masturbation and guilt.
I must have murdered an angel
In a previous life, now I atone,
Endlessly tortured and punished,
My brain is not my own,
Just constant echoes of darkness,
Alone, Alone, Alone.
This is the path I chose,
And here I am undone.
A clown without her clothes
In front of everyone.
Liar Liar Liar,
For closer to the fire,
What seemed like shining wings
Are melting waxen things.
‘As fake as a wedding cake’,
The Manson lyric goes.
I’ll be the slice left on the plate
That no-one ever chose.
Talks a lot
But says nothing.
Takes a lot
But never brings.
No more, no more,
I said before.
Yet here I write,
And now for something completely diff…
well.. ok, pretty much the same
Express Elevator Down:
to Major Depressive Episode?
Don’t mind if I do.
“I am just going outside and may be some time.”
Feeling a little like…
‘Who cares if one more light goes out?
In a sky of a million stars
It flickers, flickers.
Who cares when someone’s time runs out?
If a moment is all we are,
We’re quicker, quicker.
Who cares if one more light goes out?’
-One More Light / Linkin Park
‘Please don’t go, I want you to stay,
I’m begging you, please, please don’t leave here.
I don’t want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel.
The world is just illusion trying to change you.
Being like you are, well, this is something else.
Who would comprehend?’
-Illusion / VNV Nation
The cold air stings
Like a slap without sound.
Head thrown back,
I watch storm-clouds gather ’round.
Freezing wind whips over me,
I feel it through my shirt,
The pain it brings is welcoming,
No wounds, but still the hurt.
And I hear the rush
Of the breeze,
And the roar
Of the free-
Way beneath me.
Close my eyes, and I know
I could do it.
Just another one,
I could become,
I could become the delay
The commuters all hate,
Cos I ruined their day..
With my eyes closed.
Sarah senses subtlties
In the flight of bumblebees,
Passing in the summer breeze
On their way to places she’s
Never seen and never sees,
Beyond the flowering trees.
When the footsteps had faded,
The last box removed,
I sat and stared at the empty room,
For the only thing that you left me
Was your absence.
I am small.
I fit, I fall, am lost
Between the unseen cracks
In those lives I long to touch.
I am small.
Breathe me in, or
Sweep me up.
You’ll never notice me, or
What I want most of all.
I am small.
The things you said
Have left me stunned.
I wouldn’t say those words
But the knives go in
And blood will run,
For you were not
The only one.
The worst is not how
They cut to bone.
But the feeling now,
I’m all alone.
You’ve said things
You can’t take back,
Then ask me
To forgive you that.
You act as though
There’s nought amiss,
But I don’t know
How to deal with this.
You act as though
There’s nothing wrong,
But everything’s wrong.
And just like that,
The world destroyed her creativity and dreams,
Like an ice-pick lobotomy.
Summer fades into bygone days.
Days of errant memory.
Of weeks that claim
Not to be as bad as truth.
The trees embrace Autumn,
Changing and declaring change.
As the season slowly goes,
So too go people. Once friends.
Discarding promises of forever,
Leaving me abandoned.
It seems not only trees
Get Autumn Leaves.
Inside my lonely darkness
Lies the dream of a soft
Sad sister to a candle.
It flickers alot, and
Does not handle
Winds of change.
Compared to bright and brilliant
Social lights and flaring neon sign,
It seems small.
Fading, from the moment lit,
In darkness tries
To find her place in it.
She never sleeps or seems to cry,
Just sits and watches flowers die.
Patterns on footpaths, drawn in chalk,
Heedless of those who try to walk
On by or stop to gawk.
Prefers to do it in the rain,
Considered to be quite insane,
But they can’t ever see the pain
That fills her over and over again.
And she hates the sun,
Wet chalk is best,
Better to express the mess
She burns with need just to confess
to uncaring pavement.
And though she’s out there every day
No one knows where she goes or stays.
Even when she’s home in bed,
She’s not there, she’s in her head.
And they can’t understand
Why she laughs for no reason,
Or screams in their face
How her soul is bleeding.
Packets of chalk, notebooks of sorrow,
No tomorrow, no tomorrow.
She agrees that it’s no jest,
Dreams of dying are the best.
She sits amongst the dying leaves,
Looking for something to hold,
As she mourns in grief
Her loss of belief in all things she was told.
In the fairytale all about,
How in the end, things work out.
There was a time she didn’t doubt,
But innocently believe,
Now runs her fingers over the scars
That such untruths can leave.
Crushes dead sticks into pieces,
Hoping that the act releases
But feels nothing.
Takes her chalk and draws a ring,
Pretending it’s a solid thing,
Letting nothing out or in,
And lies inside it sobbing.
Regrets how hard she ever tried,
Now her trust has gone and died
alongside her belief and pride,
That she was to be something.
Now is nothing.
Almost midnight, a sliver of moon,
And a thunderstorm approaching soon.
Yet on the pavement Alice sits,
Chalk now smashed to dust and bits,
The outline she drew, a perfect fit,
For a murder scene and her place in it.
All she need do is just lie down
In the corpse outline
On the frozen ground,
And fall into slumber without any sound,
Until in the morning, finally found,
Her body and spirit no longer bound.
These neglected vampryic lines.
Awkward symbiotic pain:
Craving to be written,
Hungers to be read.
Demands from me
That you consume
Vanity I hold within.
Alas too oft
My veins grow thin..
If a girl screams in the forest,
With no-one else around,
Does she make a sound?
If no-one sees her body fall,
Does she hit the ground?
If she loses all her bearings
Does she still feel down?
If she’s flooded by emotion
Do you think she’ll drown?
I have too many empty chairs,
Empty coffee cups,
The aching feeling no one cares,
Just empty hallways, empty stairs.
There are too many empty places,
Where there should be faces,
Nothing but the faintest traces,
Faded postcards, old suitcases.
No one calling on the phone,
No one asking
If I’m home.
Just an endless dial tone