Though I bleed not for pain
it still fucking hurts.
Though I bleed not for pain
Though I bleed not for pain
it still fucking hurts.
is but the remnant of
deep within the soul
of a seething heart
binded by love for
I cannot say but
breathe the soul of
all they once
all they are said to have
starlight filters in
blinding us whom for
have sweltered under
the gaze of darkness.
What of this species has
what of this new born
infantile war on all of
mankind, birds shudder under
the fire of vengeance
wings clipped by
rancid longing for
something not quite
And we are alone in our homes.
And we are alone in ourselves.
Even I never imagined it getting this bad.
I’m finding it more and more difficult to exist in this house, this facade of childhood nostalgia. Will I remember the blood; my mother’s or my own? The chime of footsteps against open doors? Or will I remember the everlasting gleam of loneliness scintillating off of every cleaned-twice floor?
I cannot pretend to be the falsified perfection of a family of five.
I can be honest though.
Was it the way I couldn’t write properly? The scripted untidiness that god gave me, punishing me for my wrongdoings in a previous life? Or was he just bored? The slap wasn’t as bad as the threats. Yells and polaroid flashes would suffice for now, a belt for later, maybe even a little silence would do some good. Seven years old is long enough to know right from wrong. Oh, and the nailbiting. Come on, into the sun now. Let’s see… One, two… the rest was hidden in swirls of red and black.
It wasn’t just the small nuances that made life so frustratingly terrifying. Other kids played outside with brothers and sisters. Other kids loved their family. Did I tell you about the time my cousin touched me? It’s not as bad as that rugby game on Saturday. She’s dying now.
The places, the people, all molded into one final sweep of embarrassment and I feel so alone.
I wish you’d have told me that it’d be this bad after growing up.
Ten points to the runner up and child number three develops insomnia. I wonder why she can’t sleep? No, it can’t be nightmares. What is there to be afraid of? It’s all just a little game of hide-and-seek. She can’t be that afraid of men finding her in the night. She can’t be that afraid of fingers touching places loving spaces growing older faster every goddamn fucking day. She’s just a little girl.
The picture was brighter than words could express on white sheets of unsoiled paper. Moments, flashbacks. She’s so cute diving into that pool! How adorable her pink and blue costume is. Rewind, please. Wait. Rewind. Wait. Why is there no one in there with her? It can’t be that cold out, can it? She can’t be that desperate to swim, can she? Did you know that if you hold your breath underwater for long enough, you will die? Neither did I.
The flash burns brighter with every waking hour. Her friends aren’t good enough for her. No, in fact, it’s difficult to put my finger on it but is she… is she having fun? The screams are better when there’s no one there to hear. I’ll pretend that everything is better when the family is here. She’s normal she just… laughs funny. Yeah, it’s the laugh you see, got it from her father’s side of the family and never let it go but those friends of hers…
An umbrella, red as the heat of Christmas day. It twirls and shines in the face of the sun, beaming into a room of letters, money strewn in places we cannot see. She’s five. She won’t understand. One foot up and, oh, daddy is doing a dance in front of mommy! Why is she crying? Are they playing catches? She’s caught now. Aw, don’t be so sad, mommy. I’ll be on next time.
No one ever told me it’d be this bad. They said, in my dreams, that I’d be okay in the end. That everything would fade with every real smile and every ice cream cone and white-class education bestowed upon me. Then why did family belittle me for being me? Why do they still mock and torture and turn these fragments of me into smokey mirrors. I can’t see through the thickening haze to feel grateful for the years of that much more money. I would’ve rather been poor and happy than rich and alone.
And they’ll say, I can hear it already, you’re lying. There’s no proof. You never told us. She’s lying. There’s no proof. She was just a kid. But she’s lying.
Or worse, you should be grateful for the man he is today.
Someone please teach me what man he is, and I will dutifully study the science of pretend.
You should be grateful for the things you’re given today. The car, the house, the money, the car, the house, the money, the car, the house, the loneliness, the money, the money, the loneliness, the money, the memories, the money, the keys, the money, the words, the money, the games, the money, the money, the money, the money.
This is the way her life ends.
This is the way her life ends.
This is the way her life ends.
Not in death, but with an answer.
It’s been really difficult recently, for a lot of different reasons, and I’m finding it more and more cumbersome to find reasons to be happy.
I used to enjoy doing a lot of different things; playing games, reading, drawing, writing everyday, seeing friends, etc.. But now more than ever I just feel… tired and sad. I feel like just being awake is difficult, that’s why I’ve been sleeping more than usual. When I’m awake there’s this constant feeling of depression, like I’m worthless and tipsy with thoughts of just hating myself. I barely have any friends and the one close one I do have is planning on doing something terrible to himself. But that is another story altogether and not mine to tell.
The trouble is that I should be happy, shouldn’t I? I have a boyfriend that cares for me and loves me, a good family life and a great variety of things I could be doing. But then why do I feel this way? Why do I feel so unsettled and uncomfortable with everything? I really wish I knew the answer. That’s kind of what I’m doing here – trying to find one.
I think what makes it worse is not really having anyone to speak to. I have my boyfriend, yes, but he does have his own life to live, and I respect that. I want someone who is able to live independently and happily, and that’s what I have. When he’s gone though, I feel a lot more lonely than I should. It has a lot to do with the lack of friends in my life, of which is my own fault. Not only does this make me feel really terrible, it makes me feel deserving of this feeling, which just piles on all the shit, doesn’t it?
I guess, I’m realizing now as I write this, that I mostly just feel alone. Lonely. People have given me advice about being alone and I’ve taken it but that isn’t the point. I can be alone and happy, or rather, I used to be. But now it feels like when I’m left alone with myself, I’m actually stuck waiting for a late lift home with someone I really, really dislike. Hoorah, that person is myself.
I wish there was an easy way out of this, I know what it is, in fact. I need to get out there, make new friends and just live my life. Volunteer, get a job, do things I love everyday and without having to depend on anyone to do that. The problems associated with such a simple solution are the physical boundaries. Right now, I’m near the end of finals, but at the worst point in my crevasse of depression. Two weeks seems like enough to either go insane or lose myself to bleak Ariana. There are other things I would rather not flesh out over the internet (actually my fingers are just getting sore and my butt hurts from this chair).
I guess, patience is key. If anything, patience is what I need right now. To find patience with time and all that the future holds.
Yeah, I feel at least 5% better already.
If pills mend broken hearts and blades cut through the glass of hurt, then why can’t we, ourselves, find a way to heal unscathed?
I’ve been thinking a lot about suicide lately. Various circumstances demand my thinking on it, not all related to me, but I can admit that I’ve been there, almost all of us have. When there’s no easy way to say goodbye, or everything just feels like a passing phase to everyone else it can sometimes be our only option. I’ve done things, whether it’s the odd number of pills to numb the pain, or the cool of a blade as it replaces that pain in your mind with something more physical and tangible; I’ve been there. And I regret every bit of it.
And I will be honest about why.
There’s something about getting rid of that pain that holds onto you, like a parasite. When you’ve had that first, guilty taste of self-harm, there’s almost no stopping it from developing; becoming more frequent and more severe. I’ve felt the withdrawal symptoms of forcing myself to stop and it’s not something anyone should have to feel in their lifetime. To not be able to stop yourself from wanting to inflict pain on your own body is the cruelest fate anyone can deal to themselves. And it is true, no one else caused this but you. But I know how difficult it can be.
The fact is that there is help. There’s help anywhere, and I don’t just mean a school counselor or your parents. If you’re lucky enough to have caring, loving parents that understand you, and a school that will actually take the time to understand your pain rather than hand you over to someone else, then use that privilege. And it is a privilege, not many people have that at hand. I know I didn’t. My parents are loving people, but they did not have the capacity to deal with what I was going through and feeling. If I’m to be honest, one incident concerning them was the cause of my worst experience with self-harm. I can never blame them, but I can remember and do better.
There are other options. There are friends to go to, teachers and other family members. But when the world is of no use, when no one understands (and believe me, it’ll feel like that more than anything else), remember that you will always have one person to count on: yourself. You are the most solid fixture in your life. No matter what, you will be there for yourself every single day of the week, 24 hours a day – and you aren’t going anywhere.
So it’s time to heal from within. Time to reflect, introspect and dig deep into what you are really going through. No one can understand this better than yourself.
Take time out for yourself, firstly. And that means you leave Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, YouTube and every other social network site alone as well. Whether it’s just one hour a day or two, you need this time to think about what you’re going through and come to terms with how you really feel. Don’t really on other people to tell you how you feel about a situation. Only you can really know what you feel inside.
Secondly, be healthy. I know this is really lame to be saying and you’re all cringing and maybe even clicking away from this post, but give me a second, alright? Being healthy has some incredible benefits. It makes you feel and look good, which is the most important part. I don’t mean weight loss or gain, crash diets and things like that. I’m talking about the natural glow your body will exude from all the great things you’re putting into it. But don’t forget to add a cup of ice cream to your day. Ain’t nothing better than some good lovin’ ice cream.
Try to understand the cause of your sadness and what can be done to mend it. There are many ways to do this, and for a lot of people it comes with a creative outlet, like writing and drawing (one of which I will be exhibiting in my next post because… let’s face it, I need this as well). You don’t need to post it online, but if you do that’s great as well. Take time to write, draw or film your thoughts. This way you’ll be able to better understand your real feelings when you read it back, and a solution may appear within reach, without you even really having to try. Nothing is impossible. No matter what you are dealing with, there is a solution, I can promise you this, and that solution does not have to be self-harm or suicide. Time is sometimes the biggest of them all. It’s true when they say that time heals all wounds, you just have to be patient and meet this glorious Time halfway. There is no point in waiting for a solution to find you, you have to make an effort as well. My dad always said that if you do five things right, the rest will be taken care of for you. He couldn’t have been more right.
All of these things are a catalyst for the road home. If I’ve left anything out, let me know in the comments below!
Disclaimer (because this is necessary): All of this is based on my own experiences. Things differ with everyone, but I can tell you that one thing I said is solid, and stands for everyone: there is a solution. Guaranteed.
against the gentle breeze
he flies further into the
and finds comfort in her secret.
Three hundred and sixty
days in which I alone
to rid myself of futility and
within the confines of my
and scream in the hope that
will hear me when I’m dead.
I guess what they say is true; matric really is the most important year of your life. It’s filled with ups and downs, fleeting existentialism and the ever-so-eloquent nihilism that comes with not being able to see your boyfriend every single day of the week. Matric is a year of drama and misery beyond anything you can ever imagine, pure bliss and patriotism for the institution that drives you mad. Above all it’s a year of growth. I know, I know, you’re cringing and telling me that you’ve heard it a million times over, but just hear me out, okay?
Personally, this year has been both the best and worst year of my life so far. I have lost and gained friends with the speed of however many new TV shows pop up per hour. I’ve cried over the most beautiful boy in the world and I’ve cut my hair. All of this coupled with the many, many personal issues in between has made this year one I’ve been desperately trying to escape.
Simultaneously, this year has been incredible. My sister got married in a beautiful hotel on the shores of Cape Town. I recently spent a whole ten days with my boyfriend, playing games, preparing for exams and other miscellaneous activities. I’ve grown as an artist and a writer, and I’ve met people who’ll influence my future career in many ways
Basically what I’m trying to say is that it’s been a rough year. Many highs and lows have taken me to the epitome of happiness and the deepest crevasse of despair. It’s been one heck of a year, and I can honestly say that ‘growth’ doesn’t even begin to cover all I’ve experienced.
Now, I don’t know how it works in all the different countries in the world, but I can try to bequeath some advice for how to deal with it all.
One, keep your friends close. I know they may annoy the absolute shit out of you, but believe me when I say that they matter. The friends you make this year, and the friends you’ve kept since your primary school years are people you do not want to lose. When that final day comes, you want to stand next to all of them, admiring the people they’ve become and hoping, nay, knowing that someday you’ll all meet again on this stage, in this hall to relive the memories that painted your sky gold.
Believe in yourself. And I’m not talking about stupid exams and tests. That comes from your own sense of responsibility and/or determination – however you decide to go about it. What I’m talking about is knowing who you are and sticking to it. Sure, change comes with time and we all adapt and adjust to whatever it may influence in our surroundings, but never change for the sake of anyone else. Not friends, not family, not even some awkward, innate urge to just be like everyone else. You’re beautiful (she says awkwardly), so accept the awesome person that you are.
Finally (because I’m not perfect either and I don’t want to be too sappy), just don’t worry. Not every test matters, not every exam is the end of the world and not every party will be the be-all and end-all of your social life. Study hard and do the best that you can do, and relax in between. If you’ve learned, prepared and tried, you are doing everything right for those final exams. Whether this leads you to an A, a B or even a D, just don’t worry. You are the best you there is. And you are what matters.
So, to everyone stressing for finals, just relax! Really, I know how piss drunk you’re all going to get at Rage. Just look forward to losing your dignity that way, not over an exam.
(Ariana is obviously kidding and advises everyone to stay safe and AA!)
I know I haven’t written for a while, that much is certain. And it’s hurt me more than I dare to admit out loud, or worse: write. But the truth of the matter is that I miss it. I miss the feel of paper beneath the weight of my courageous hand, the sound of scratching as words flow and become more to myself than the face staring at me through a cheap, Mr. Price mirror.
I suppose nothing lasts forever. Nothing except my ability to complain about what I’ve lost.
Those feelings, the ones we only wish we could communicate, was nothing to me. Not that it didn’t mean anything, I was just able to express them wholly, without the pretense of “I can’t do this.” or “But New Girl is on at eight!”. I had the utmost faith in my writing. Blindly, I believed that it would last forever. I’ve read Salinger, Austen, Tolkien and even the mastery of John Green. I’ve perused works of fiction and fact, and I know that my writing may (most certainly won’t) live up to anything I’ve read so far (and so on). But it was mine. It was the solace I had from the temptation to retaliate in ways that they wouldn’t understand. A tavern of drunken thoughts to ease the pain of sobriety. To lose that; my solace violated, my tavern destroyed by angry men… to have all of that stolen from me… that’s enough to make me feel more alone than I’ve felt in a while.
And being a teenager, you can imagine I’ve felt loneliness to an embarrassingly trivial extent.
But this feels like a lot more. A lot more pain, a lot more desolation. It feels a lot more vapid, like eyes staring into darkness. Such as a star dies and collapses in on itself, forming a black hole, my thoughts have given into the darkness. No more light, bright moments or punctuating lightbulbs of “Wait, New Girl is only on a Tuesday, right?”. All meaning leaving with no trace of having ever existed.
But I guess I’m writing this, so it can’t be that bad.
(I’m a teenager, idealism is inherent.)