Monday, 21 April 2014

A Puppy In A Pit Of Tennis Balls

Hello all,
I’m not exactly sure how to write this post. Usually, I’m writing about depressing things and that’s easy for me. This week, however, I’m happy, happier than I’ve ever been before and like all things new it’s a little terrifying to start out with before it becomes more exciting than you could ever describe.
   You see, this week I’ve been texting the boy I drunkenly kissed (as last week’s post was about). It began on Tuesday. I was having a lot of trouble with this essay as the readings were incredibly boring (which was odd considering that they were about feminism, fairy tales and sado-masochism) and I was feeling like giving up. I couldn’t really think about the essay because I was focussing on the events of the night before (where he had told me that he wanted the relationship to start from the start. I said I’d like that. My head spun and I may have skipped down the driveway), and I knew I wasn’t going to get any work done this way. So I made myself a promise. If I finish one of the two assignments I had due that week, then I could text him. I finished the script-writing assignment in record time, and I’m fairly sure it’s one of the better pieces of writing I’ve done.
   So, as soon as the assignment was done, I sent him a text message. And then it began. We texted one another from 4-10 that night. The next day, he also inspired me to finish the other essay (‘not all things can be fun’) and rush it to the library to upload it with less than 20 minutes to spare. That night, I ran out of credit and desperately bought more the following day.
    In fact, it was the next day that I got a timely reminder about the progression of this relationship from one of my friends. He told me that I was becoming obsessed with him. Sorry, this is too hard, not referring to his name, so I’ll just use a pseudonym. Some of you may remember how in the ‘Beautiful Boy Tango’ post I referred to a story that was like a fictionalised diary with all these false names for my friends and family. He’s called Finn there, which will work just as well here. Anyway, my friend suggested that I was becoming too obsessed with Finn. I was reminded of something one of my other friends had said to me earlier in the week that dating someone is like sitting down on your bed and spinning your arms around. If you don’t have something to anchor you down, to hold onto, then you’re going to fall over and lose yourself in it. So, since then, I’ve actively tried to control the obsession. I don’t spend all day thinking about Finn, just those times when he’s texting or calling me. But the joy he brings me finds it’s way into every aspect of my life.
   I once tried to explain this happiness to him in a text, using this terrible metaphor; ‘it’s like a Unicorn jumping through a rainbow on the most summery day ever’. Yes, I know how bad this is. Fin texted me back with another, far better, more accurate metaphor. ‘It feels like a puppy in a pit of tennis balls’. The sheer, unexplainable joy, that wonderful feeling that you just can’t explain. It’s the single most perfect metaphor for what I’m feeling right now.
   But, there are times when I still can’t help but feel that this isn’t real. On Saturday, I was worried because I hadn’t texted him that day and had no credit. I was concerned that he’d hate me or forgotten me or something just as horrible. Yes, I’m a nervous, panicky wreck sometimes, but I’m new at this. And then, as I was watching Lady And The Tramp, he texted me and said ‘hello, I didn’t forget about you, don’t worry.’ He knew. I don’t know how, but he knew, and I may have got a bit teary. Because he already knew me so well. That’s something that happens in the crappy romantic movies that I watch. It doesn’t happen in real life. But it did and it was wonderful. The most wonderful thing I’d ever felt. It still makes me a little bit happy teary now.
   Earlier in the week, he’d asked me out on a date. I looked at my wardrobe and realised that I had literally nothing that was date friendly, so I went down to the shops. On Easter Saturday. It was busy, so busy, but I was able to get a great pair of jeans and a tight-fitting t-shirt. There was only a good jumper left. So, I made my way down to Jay Jays, which sells these wonderful licensed jumpers for men and women. I looked at the men’s ones, dismissed them as plain, boring and not to my taste at all and moved on to the women’s section which had a far greater variety of jumpers that I would be interested in. So, I was trying all these ones on, reflecting which one’s would suit the outfit when this woman came over to me and said, ‘excuse me, but we might have some jumpers in men’s which might suit you better.’ I was gobsmacked. How rude can you be? I wanted to say well, I like these and you can shove your gender expectations up your arse. I didn’t. Instead, I said I’m fine, thank you and continued to try on the jumpers (which weren’t actually all that feminine. There was a Mickey hoodie and an Elmo jumper which said Hug Me). The shop assistant slinked off, while mum fumed. She said it was rude and that it wasn’t wrong for me to try on these jumpers and that if she’d been a different person she’d have told her what for. This also filled me with the weirdest sort of joy. I’d often wondered how inclusive my mother was, how happy she was with my gay lifestyle and my interest in (let’s be honest, here) things that would be classified by society as typically girly. But, in that moment, she was willing to defend me. I knew it wasn’t just a showing for me. She was genuinely annoyed at the staff and this, to me, was ground breaking. Later, when we got home and my brother and father said that the Jay Jays assistant had a point, she stood up for me again. This matters. This matters a lot.
    In several years time, I’ll look back on Monday, my first date, and remember what I wore. Denim jeans, new dark blue sneakers, a tight-fitting blue sporty t-shirt and my Mickey hoodie and remember how wonderful that day was. From him complimenting on my hair (despite it being a complete fail. I tried to do it like I’d mentioned earlier, and it just refused to do it), taking me to Nando’s (which I’d never been to before) and watching as I struggled not to die from having too much spicy food (and not thinking my rib fear was weird), walking around Knox and unable to hide my grin at his sheer joy at seeing the dogs in the pet store, getting a white hot chocolate from the chocolate lounge, meeting his parents (who were nice, thankfully. I was so nervous, but they made me feel comfortable), marvelling at his dual computer screen set-up, before he introduced me to several new youtube drag queens and gay vloggers. Having pumpkin and fetta ravioli at his place while watching Zoella’s brother being shocked by this strange ball. But the best bit of the night came at the end.
   Watching my favourite Lush video (Boyfriend Tag), I laid my head on his shoulder. We grew closer, until I was hugging him, my head hearing the beating of his heart, my hands feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Everything else faded away. Sound didn’t mean anything anymore, only his voice and the warmth of his body. It was a moment of nothingness and yet I never wanted it to end. It was the most serene, beautiful feeling I’ve ever felt. It’s indescribable how truly perfect that moment was. One day, I’ll look back on my life and remember that moment. The one moment where all of my worries, all of the concern that this was a dream just faded away and it all became real.
    I had to go home after that, sadly, but not before the kiss, which I’m not going to talk about. Certain things must remain a mystery. I’ll only say it was amazing.
   Then, he drove me home and kissed me goodnight, and I fell asleep, feeling happier than I ever have before.
    Flashback to December last year. I was feeling down, and I wrote one paragraph which has stuck with me ever since, because it’s the truest thing I’ve ever written. I wrote;
  "One day, I'd like to wake up and be happy and be happy all day. There wouldn't be a moment where I got so sad that I feared I would never get out. And I'd go to bed and I'd look back on that day and say, 'yeah, that was a good day.' The day I wouldn't feel like crying. Not once. That's my greatest wish. That, for once, I could be happy."
   It was all I wanted. My greatest and only wish because it was something that I thought would never happen to me. I’ve spent so long being shy and cynical that I came to believe that it was the only thing I could feel. But this week has proved that all so wrong.
   Only a few weeks ago, I wrote the depressing post, where I said all these terrible things about myself. But I was wrong.
   I do have a personality. I do have interests. I do take other people’s interests, but use them to expand my knowledge. I don’t know who I am, because I am always changing. I don’t know what I want, I don’t know what I’m going to do with my future, but I am young and I have time. I have a future, even if it isn’t with my writing. My writing is not terrible. It’s not great, but it’s going to get better. I just have to keep working on it. I am not wasting my time, this is what I was born to do. Someone wants me. I am attractive. I am cute. I have everything to offer. I have everything to give. I am worthy. I have no gaydar, but I will learn. I won’t always just be the guy who crushes on the straight boy. I can talk to people. I am not stupid. I am not a caricature. My man wants me. My friends like me. They are not just humouring me. I am not nothing. I am worthy. I am happy.
   Basically, I’m happier than a puppy in a pit of tennis balls.
   See you next week.

The Playlist Of 16 Apr – 22 Apr
The Final Cut (Pink Floyd)
False Alarms (Josh Groban)
Falling Fast (Avril Lavigne)
Love You Like A Love Song (Selena Gomez)
Accidentally In Love (Counting Crows)
Hey Soul Sister (Train)
Bubbly (Colbie Caillat)
Pure Imagination (from Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory)

The Top 5 Films Of 16 Apr – 22 Apr
Lady And The Tramp
The Way Way Back
9
John Dies At The End
Sector 7*
*Because of dating and texting joy, I only viewed five films this week

Thanks,
James

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

For The Night Is Dark And Full Of Scandals


Hello all,

Do you ever get the feeling that sometimes your life isn’t real, that it’s just a dream? That the things happening to you are so different and without basis in your experience that you begin to question the reality of everything? Well, over the last month that’s happened to me quite a bit.
   You see, I’ve been out overnight three of the last four weekends. This is completely new to me. It’s almost like I’m developing a social life, with three different gatherings with three different groups of friends. However, it wasn’t just that I’m going out more often. No, it’s that I’m drinking more often. Which means that they’ve been interesting weekends as I drunkenly do and come to realise things about myself that I’d never done before. That includes one thing, one really big thing which is making me do a little happy dance inside. Anyway, because alcohol-soaked memory is weird (and I want you to have a certain level of respect for me), I present to you the 12 Things I Learnt From Being Drunk!

1.       Cross-dressing Is Awesome
This happened on the second weekend. I’d only had one drink, so I wasn’t smashed, but it was just enough to get my confidence up. I’d always wondered what I’d look like in a dress (seeing everyone always mistook me for me a girl) and was at a girl’s house with some friends, when I raised the point that I’d always been fascinated by cross-dressing. Moments later, I was in a red wig and a dress. Photographic evidence exists. If I question the logic of any of my actions this month, it would be that one. Still, it was fun and prompted several of my friends to tell me how well I pulled it off and how nice my legs were. And, thus, the confidence built within me…

2.       Something Scandalous Will Always Happen/Never Have Any Secrets
The second thing I learnt from being drunk is that some of the most memorable and controversial moments of your life are going to happen while you’re drunk. The few parties I’ve been to always end up in tears or some sort of scandalous action which results in everyone feeling a little bit guilty and a little bit awesome the next morning. I have now experienced this. Last weekend, I went to a drinking party (this was specifically billed as one, the others were for birthdays) and it was hosted by this guy which I’ve been attracted to for a fair while now. However, I’ve been keeping my attraction to him a secret. If you have secrets, never get as drunk as I got that night. Seriously, if I’d murdered someone I would’ve confessed. So, of course, I told the guy,  didn’t I? So, what happened next?

3.       Kissing Someone Is Fun
I felt guilty and, after some prompting from a friend, I kissed him.

4.       Kissing Someone You’ve Fancied For A Long Time Is Better
Now, this is a bit weird, for me. I’ve always looked at people kissing and thought, how could that be enjoyable? Your lips are just touching, what’s so intimate? I just questioned the whole thing and I was especially worried because of my sticky-outy Vampire-y teeth (technical term). However, as I was drunk, none of this mattered to me. So I kissed him. And he kissed me back. Passionately. And. It. Was. AMAZING. It is literally impossible to explain how awesome a really good kiss is. I did always want my first one to be special and memorable. And I got my wish. I snogged a guy I’d been attracted to for a while after he called me cute! (James, stop giggling, you have to write this piece!) in the most passionate and memorable way possible. What’s more amusing is that I was fairly convinced I wasn’t going to remember it in the morning. But I did…

5.       Men Kiss Differently
…mainly because my lips were incredibly sore the next morning. His tooth had hit my top lip, so that was swollen and my lips were rubbed raw because of his stubble. I’d often heard that two men kiss differently. I thought it was bollocks. I was wrong, two men kiss with passion and fire. Or maybe, it’s just me. Apparently, I’m an aggressive kisser, though.

6.       Almost Naked Virginity Is A Thing
You cannot imagine the effect that this kiss had on me. Only two weeks ago, I wrote the Depressing Post, and now I’ve been kissed by this really hot guy. I had to find a way to impart this information to my friends. And thus I invented the term PMK. A PMK is a Passionate Man Kiss, defined by its passion and the fact that it takes place between two guys. It has officially become a ‘thing’ around my friends, especially in the wake of Almost Naked Virginity (a term I had come up with to describe the strangeness of having a complete stranger being the first person to see you in just boxers). You can also have  a PLK (Passionate Lady Kiss, between two women) but I doubt that will happen to me… Basically, always make up words.

BOTTLES!  The Lightweight Always Loses The King’s Cup
Going back to the weekend I was only that drunk  because of drinking games, particularly King’s Cup. And of course I lost and had to skull the thing with like 6 standard drinks (and the rest). So I got drunk. And kissed a guy, so I suppose it all worked it. Also, I’d always thought that I’d be a really depressive drunk, but I’m actually more of a touchy-feely one apparently (which is odd to anyone who knows me. I have this huge thing about not liking being touched, or at least being given some warning), which is really weird.

8.       Certain Things Are Best Left Unremembered/The Sentient Drunk
However, it wasn’t as weird as being aware of what I was doing. I’d always thought of drunkenness as being like looking down on your actions and just being taken along by the flow. It’s not really like that. I was aware of every one of my actions. So, I would say this really embarrassing thing I’d kept a secret for years and seconds later, say why did I admit that! It was such a strange feeling, demonstrative of the separation between my head and my body. So, so strange. I will never get used to that.

9.       Real Life Is Far More Inspiring Than Anything I Can Imagine
As an aspiring writer, I look for inspiration everywhere. Sometimes, something will just come to me, other times I have to wait and struggle to find out what works. This happened with this one story. I had these two characters who had both been crushing on each other for a LONG time, but neither had admitted it. Earlier, I just had them tell one another. Now, I have them drunkenly kiss. Yeah, real life inspiration. The same thing happened at the first party after I moved the glowsticks in a darkened field to spell out DIE. Possibly the creepiest thing I’ve ever done.

10.    Everything Adults Told Me About Alcohol Was A Lie
When adults talk about alcohol, they talk about it as damaging. You’ll do things you regret and you’ll get addicted to it and become an alcoholic. Well, that’s crap. I did things which I would never have done normally, but it’s proved to be one of the best things I’ve done in ages, because now I’m actually talking the guy. I would never have had the confidence to do that before. And now I have a taste for alcohol doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly going to become addicted. It’s all about control and moderation and I’m quite good at that (that’s why this tri-party thing was so weird).

11.    Friends Are The Best
No, seriously, they are. Before I started going to Uni, I had one or two good friends (who I am still friends with!), and now, I have friends divided by circles. It’s weird and it’s amazing. Because of my friends, I’ve been exposed to all these things I’ve never done before and become a stronger, better person as a result. Going to three parties in a row was something I’d often wondered about, as was kissing someone, and to have that happen is like a dream come true. So, to the friends who I walked around with in a creepy graveyard, played twister with, talked about disturbing films with, stopped me drunkenly texting my friends and told me to just kiss him, I thank you. You’re awesome. I promise I’m not drunk, I’m just happy.

12.    I Am Allowed To Be Happy
And that’s been the best thing about these last four weekends. I’ve learnt that I am actually allowed to be happy. I don’t have to be so depressed, I don’t deserve to be. I can be happy and good things can happen to me. I’ve been more confident and smiled so much that it’s starting to feel weird (I can’t remember the last time I’ve smiled this much. I swear people look at me in the street, listening to Taylor Swift with a grin on my face and wonder what drugs I’ve taken). And that’s been amazing and memorable and beautiful. And yeah, I am happier now than I think I’ve ever been. For once, my happiness isn’t based on the crush I’ve had on some straight boy who smiled at me or because I came up with a kickass novel idea. It’s because something within me has changed and I feel better, because I am awesome and I don’t realise that enough. Oh, and…

13.    Kissing Someone Is REALLY Fun. REALLY REALLY FUN. (Just sayin’)

That was 13. No, I can’t count. So, I’m having a good week. And I feel awesome. May it continue. See you all next week.

The Playlist Of 9 Apr – 15 Apr
#SELFIE (The Chainsmokers)
Oceans (Where Feet May Fail) (Hillsong)
MMM Yeah (Austin Mahone, Pitbull)
Jump (Rihanna)
Fearless (Taylor Swift)
Monster (Nightcore)
You Belong With Me (Taylor Swift)
 
The Top 4 Films Of 9 Apr – 15 Apr
Frances Ha
Freaks
Salo, Or The 120 Days Of Sodom
Alice In Wonderland (1933) *
*Because of drunkenness and essays, I only viewed four films this week

Thanks,
James

P.S. I never thought I would kiss someone that hot. Kissing is fun. Fun kissing. Kissing. Kiss… Nope, still not drunk.

Tuesday, 8 April 2014

The Creation Of Always

Hello all,

I realised something this week. Despite writing a weekly post for the last ten weeks (that long already!), I have yet to discuss the topic perhaps closest to my heart; my writing. Anyone who has even the vaguest idea of who I am knows that I am obsessed with writing. I’ve written a novel which I’m currently trying to edit which I find almost impossible to explain and I’m studying how to become a better writer at University. However, very few of you know what I actually write about, what inspires me or why I chose to be a writer in the first place. That is what this post aims to correct.
   I’ve always been writing. I don’t really remember a time when I wasn’t. When I was younger, my writing took a different shape than it does now. These early writing projects were mainly about research into whatever it was I was obsessing over at the time. I wrote a little pamphlet about frogs once and created a whole binder about Roald Dahl (which I still have floating around in my room). It was the information that I was obsessed with. I had to learn everything there was to know about it, and if I could share that with people, then it was great and I really felt like I was doing something right.
   Even back then, I did some fiction stories. There was one about an old lady with super powers (inspired by a friendly neighbour who encouraged me to write more) and another about an evil Easter bunny. In fact, it was that story that eventually would see the downfall in my confidence.
   In my first year of high school, there was a book club run by a priest where we were encouraged to talk about whatever we were reading at the time and maybe bring in some of our writing. Well, because I’d had this Easter bunny idea floating around for a while I decided to write it down and expand it. Now, this story was insane. It was about a criminal who was dressed as an Easter bunny and placed eggs all over the globe. The eggs were actually bombs and they exploded, destroying the entire planet. Somehow, several people managed to survive and floated in space, including the criminal who was now fused with the Easter Bunny costume. He ended up with this woman and the two of them found themselves in a strange, idyllic place. Eventually, they worked out it was Heaven and they decided to visit God for some reason. However, upon reaching God, they discovered that it wasn’t actually God; it was the Devil, who was pretending to be God. I was deeply impressed with this story and took it along to the book club. Run by a priest.
   You cannot imagine how awkward this was. I was young and na├»ve and had no idea what I had done. Basically, I’d written a piece about the fact that we were all worshipping Satan who was just pretending to be God. Now I look back on it, it seems incredibly subversive for a 13 year old to write, quite challenging to society’s expectations. Of course, back then, the priest shut down the story and told everyone that we were not to bring any more writings into the club. So that was the end of that. My confidence was shattered and for almost two years, I didn’t write anything else.
   Instead, I became obsessed with television shows, particularly Doctor Who (which I stumbled upon one day, but that’s another story). However, just because I wasn’t writing, didn’t mean I wasn’t creating. Every day, as I walked to school, I used to imagine that I was watching this great TV show with a regular cast of characters and unbelievable twists. Each day, I would expand on the story, creating backstories and leaving myself on a cliffhanger until the next day (which I needed to be able to figure out how the hell I was going to get my characters out of this impossible situation). There were days when I would get depressed because I had killed off one of my ‘characters’, before I eventually either moved on or found a way to resurrect them. Basically, I lived in my own little world. I was a fairly isolated child and if I didn’t have any real friends, then I could invent my own. While that sounds sad, it wasn’t, because I slowly developed a very complicated and (if I say so myself) wonderfully developed story, and it was all mine. This great secret.
   Occasionally, I would write things down, for assignments and stuff, but I never thought about taking it further, until one day, I was talking to my counsellor and told her about the story. I told her some of the details of these key moments and characters and she was shocked as to how vivid my recollection of them was. She encouraged me to write it down, because I had enthralled her.
   Within a few months, I had started doing just that. The story changed considerably from what I had told myself as I was walking to school every day, as new characters were introduced and the story fleshed out. Some things were removed completely because I realised I had lifted them wholesale from the episode of Doctor Who I’d watched the week before. And as I wrote I knew this is what I wanted to do, what I needed to do.
   Even in high school, I used to get very, very depressed (of the level we saw last week, but usually about once a week or at its worst, once a day) and there were many times I contemplated killing myself. One day, I remember my friend was really concerned about me and didn’t want me to go home by myself, because he really thought I might off myself. However, that day I said to him that I wouldn’t, I never would. And he asked me why. I replied, because I still have a story to tell. And that’s the reason I use to stop hurting myself now. When I sense I’m getting really depressed, I think wait, you still have a story to tell. That’s why last week was so rare and painful for me. Because I’m not usually like that, not anymore. Not after I have all my friends around me to support me and critique my writing.
   For example, the other day, one of my best friends said to me that I used too much telling in my writing and not enough showing. Since then, I’ve realised the accuracy of the statement and have actively gone about changing it, to become a better writer.
   However, a question has presented itself here that I must address. What if I never get the chance to tell the story? What if it’s never published? What then? Well, I’m not really sure. There are some nights I lay awake and think about what I’ll do if my writing doesn’t succeed and I become terrified. But later, I look back and think one of two things. One, while my writing may be far from publishable at the moment, I am working on it. Two, even if my writing is never good enough, I am sure I will find what I’m supposed to do at the right time. Weirdly enough, I’m far more confident about my writing than I am about my relationships, but whatever. It’s who I am and I have to learn to embrace that.
   Oddly enough, doing this post has helped remind me why I write in the first place; because the world might want to hear what I have to say and that’s not a bad thing. I have to work hard to get better at making the means to the message clearer, but I’ve always thought that someone out there would really benefit from hearing my story, be it as a comforting hey, someone else there thinks like you, or as a bitch slap to those who need it, even if I am just writing a silly science-fiction story.
   And on that subject, here I present to you the first synopsis of my first novel, A Beautiful Nightmare: The Fall (title is likely to change);
   In the far future, a community is set up to raise a child with mysterious and powerful origins as well as to combat rising tensions in the Universe. The community of less than 3000 is housed in a multi-level complex within a hollowed out green-skinned robot body. Unable to look after the child themselves, a group called the Unit (who had discovered the child) transport the body back to the 90s to be raised by a human couple. As they wait for the child to grow up, community head Leader grows increasingly sadistic and violent, becoming a dictator for over 15 years. The citizens are powerless to rise up against him and so, embrace an ancient prophecy which predicts that the child they are waiting for, known as the Prophesised One, will cause the fall of Leader upon his arrival. However, when the day comes and the Prophesised One arrives, how will they react when they learn that their saviour is a stroppy, uninterested and depressed 18 year old who is far from willing to commit murder? The young man must learn the terrible secrets of the Body if he ever hopes to defeat Leader and save those who are terrorised by him.
   It’s far from an ideal synopsis, but it sums up some of the key points. So, that’s what my novels about, this kid who’s set up to be a god-like figure, who’s actually just a normal teenager. It’s like if Jesus reappeared today and was a knob. So, yeah, maybe I like to think I’m still a bit subversive. See you next week.

The Playlist Of 2 Apr – 8 Apr
The Broken Ones (Dia Frampton)
Interesting (Maria Mena)*
*All the songs I listened to a lot this week were part of last week’s playlist

The Top 8 Films Of 2 Apr – 8 Apr
The Silence Of The Lambs
The Devil’s Backbone
Muppets Most Wanted
This Is Spinal Tap
Trash
The Flowers Of War
Upside Down
Eating Out 3: All You Can Eat

Thanks,
James

PS. Found this while I was looking for relevant writing images. So apt.

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

Breaking My Own Heart

Hello all,
First of all I should just let you know that this is a difficult thing for me to talk about, but I also know that it’s important to talk about and that if I don’t discuss it, then it’s not going to get better. But it’s going to hurt.
   You see, I sometimes have these periods of absolute and complete sadness. But I suppose most people do. What makes mine so different is that they’re not caused by anything in particular. They just happen. Maybe they’ll be set off by the smallest of things, but the response I have is complete skewed.
   This happened to me only last weekend, on Sunday. On Saturday night, I’d gone to a party and it was great fun, but there was the usual hook-ups and I was feeling a little lonely and depressed (which is what I usually do at parties and social occasions, by the way). And when you get really, truly lonely, you have the worst thoughts. Because in those moments, you really, really don’t like who you are, you’re filled with this absolute self-hatred and you have no idea why. In your head, you’ve got all these thoughts running around, like you’re a terrible person because you don’t contact your friends or you’re an ugly, skinny little person. And the comments you think about your physical appearance aren’t the ones that hurt. No, it’s the ones about your personality, about who you truly are that really, really hurt.
   So, this party went til late at night, 1 in the morning and I was unable to get home, so I had to call home, where my parents were asleep. My mum had to get out of bed and drive to where I was and pick me up. And she was furious. The worst thing a parent can do is not talk to you, to just pretend you don’t exist. There’s just something so cruel on a primal level which I can’t explain. So, eventually, we got home and I fell asleep.
   The next morning, my mum continued the whole silent treatment thing, ignoring everything I said. I then realised I had to walk down the street to print out some homework. I told them I was going and left. The walk there wasn’t a problem because I followed the road, but on the way back, I decided to go a different way. And I get lost, completely and utterly lost.
   When you’re lost, you quickly become exhausted and frustrated and it’s not pleasant. All morning, I’d been teetering on the edge of falling back into a depressive spell, but I’d managed to contain it. And then, on this walk, I just fell into it. I listened to the saddest music I had on my phone and just let it take over me and I thought the most horrible, truthful things.
   You don’t have a personality. You don’t have any interests. You take everyone else’s obsessions and craft them into yourself. You don’t even know who you are. You don’t even know what you want. You don’t know what you’re going to do with your future. You have no future. You think your writing is your future? Your writing is terrible. Your writing isn’t going to get any better. You’re wasting your time. You’re never going to find anyone. No-one would ever want you. You’re not attractive. You have nothing to offer. You have nothing to give. You are nothing. You have no gaydar. You’ve crushed on two straight boys. That’s all you’ll ever be, the guy who crushes on the straight kids. You can’t even talk to anyone. You’re stupid. You’re a caricature. Your man isn’t waiting for you. He doesn’t even want you. Your friends don’t like you, they’re humouring you.  You are nothing.
   … I’m sorry. I just need a minute to compose myself. Even now as I’m writing that, I’m just crying and breaking down. I just can’t do this. But I know I have to do something about this. Because I truly believe all of that. And that’s not healthy. In fact, it’s very, very dangerous.
   On that walk, I was careless and almost hit by a car and I thought, well, I don’t care. And now, that hurts to think that.
   Eventually, I’m able to get out of these depressive moods by burying it. And I don’t think it’s helping. It’s not getting better, it’s getting worse. And I’ve thought this stuff about myself for a long, long time. In year 12, it used to come to me as a separate voice. Now, it’s just become me. And I have just have to deal with it. Deal with feeling like I am nothing. That I have no worth. And I can’t do that anymore. I have to find a way to get better. Because it hurts. Because it really, really hurts.
   I’m sorry. I can’t talk about this anymore. I just can’t.
 
P.S. I promise I’m not going to kill myself. It sounded a bit like that, reading it back. Sorry if anyone is burdened by this. That wasn’t my intention.

James.

The Playlist Of 19 Mar - 1 Apr
From Here To The Moon And Back (Dolly Parton)
Everyone Is Gay (A Great Big World)
Acapella (Karmin)
Sexercize (Kylie Minogue)
Waiting For Superman (Daughtry)
The Words (Christina Perri)
The Power Of Love (Gabrielle Aplin)
Fine (Kylie Minogue)
Burn With You (Lea Michele)
Empire (Shakira)
 
The Top 10 Films Of 19 Mar - 1 Apr
La Belle Et La Bete
The Fog
The Seventh Seal
The Thing
The 400 Blows
Toy Story 2
They Live
Walkabout
Escape From New York
Forbidden Zone