life lessons learned the hard way
i was tripping like fuck last night while i was trying to get to sleep and it was so real and so fucked up that it really changed my perspective on potential hallucinations and stuff
i mean generally if someone is imagining something you assume they’re crazy and keep your distance but last night my imagination actually took reality into account, the reality being im lying in bed, and in my dreams i couldn’t control my body and got out of bed and fell into my tv and knocked everything over and then got back into bed and then i heard people in my hallway so i went out to see who it was but still couldnt control my body and fell over and starting spasming in the hallway and the 5 drunk teenagers in my flat held me and told me to chill out they’d take care of me and like each time i’d open my eyes and be lying in bed and the tv wasn’t knocked over and there were no teenagers in my hallway but it felt so so real that if situations were different i would’ve believed what i saw and there’s a schema you can file under religious experiences or alien abductions or whatever else you feel you cant explain
but then again im probably just crazy and u should keep ur distance
It’s dumb how you let words affect you from people that don’t matter to you but I don’t write words at all anymore and that really affects me more than anything. I’ve been revising like crazy lately and the bulk of my prissy shorthand is basically nouns grouped together so I’ll remember them and then I sit in the exam room staring at blank pages trying to remember what an actual sentence is which isn’t exactly ideal when you have two essays to write in an hour. I’ve also been talking to the only teacher I really respect at Queens about the world and reality and how nothing really happens to write about but in hindsight you realise everything happened and you didn’t write anything about it. Talking about my friends who think they’re Jack Kerouac because they have a drinking problem and paint some distorted bullshit tragic outlook of the world and their place in it but they’re nothing like those addicts they idolize because they don’t document any of their supposed damaged beauty and all they do is get bloated and piss on people’s couches. So I wanna write more because I can and because it’s the only real trail you have to look back on especially when photos are too stark or too fresh or too close to the actual truth and through carefully chosen adjectives I can say whatever I want and remember it the way I want to remember it. Sometimes I just want to drop stones into the sea to watch the small ripples disperse around my feet and it’s cool to just do that and be content and not act like if you throw the stone hard enough or with a certain political agenda you’ll ever really leave any impact. But that would be cool too.
i know you’re all fans of catchy soundbites of least resistance but if you think someone you care about is going through something sit them down and actually let them know you’re there for them don’t just tweet the number of a hotline and wash your hands of it
i’ve become scared of everything. i was smoking yesterday and i let the ash burn onto my fingers and it stayed there long enough to give me a sharp pain and now every time i smoke i’m super conscious of the ash burning me even though it’s only happened once or twice out of thousands of cigarettes. psychology teaches us about that kind of conditioning but i didnt realise the potency of it until now. just that one experience completely rewires my brain and that’s probably why i’m scared of loss or scared of gain because it leads to loss or scared of doing anything really because if you dig deep enough into any situation the way i do you’ll find something negative about it. then you spend the rest of your days unwittingly holding the feg over the ashtray constantly flicking the ash away because of the one freak time you got burnt. fuck that.
i live in a sweet little bubble i’ve created. it’s lonely and nothing really happens but i haven’t felt the harshness of reality in a while. i can’t wait to get over it and feel it again though.
one of our teachers told us this addiction story about this fucked up drug in russia or somewhere where these guys took it and it made them completely incapacitated like they couldnt move or talk or anything basically like the metallica video but anyway the only way they would snap out of it and become functional was if they were given the drug again then they came back to their senses are were able to talk about their experiences before the drug wore off again and jesus christ i know i hyperbole everything but i feel that way on alcohol it really is like jekyll and hyde it’s like im sober and emotionless and legitimately have no feelings and then im drunk and boom it’s a different person it’s the me that can talk to people it’s the me that kissed all those girls it’s the me who remembers the past and wants to write about it and wants to write 3 books and then boom like next thing you’re hungover and moody and nothing means anything and you refuse to be creative or anything and like for reference i am functional in that state and can focus on revision etc but ya know what i mean why can’t i be alive like that as a base state
A lot has happened recently but I haven’t felt like writing about it. I don’t like my whiny writing style and I remember the second last time Naomi was here drunk she read my blog out loud to her best friend in a condescending tone and stuff like that affects me even if I say it doesn’t. Funny that the last time she was here she was on anti-depressants crying on my bed about her new boyfriend so I guess it’s just how things work out. I’m on anti-depressants too now, and after 6 weeks of fluoxotine/prozac making me numb, they changed me to mirtazapine which I think has helped a lot. There’s this conspiracy theory that says prozac is what makes all those teens go crazy and shoot up schools and I can honestly see how there could be a correlation because the 6 weeks I was on it it was like my heart and my head were screaming but nothing would come out. It didn’t change my pain it just made me numb to it and almost accept it and I remember being younger and having suicidal thoughts and how it made me really sad but on prozac it almost becomes matter of fact and that’s scary to think of in the case of someone who would hurt someone else than hurt themselves. Mirtazapine on the other hand actually helps me feel good and when I drink on them I get all tingly and it’s almost like an actual drug, which is the only reason I can imagine they don’t administer them first; like it’s just better to have your patients feel numb than to feel good.
Daryl stopped being my friend for some reason which doesn’t really bother me since I got new flatmates from Africa who treat me better than he did anyway. I struggled to think of why they liked me so much and then I remember the first night they showed up I give them blankets and curtains and a little bag of weed and we sat up all night smoking and now they call me their brother and we fist pump and chill out all the time and it’s so weird having a set of everyday friends after everybody tried so hard to distance me for so long. Unfortunately I’m still anti-social when I’m not drinking so I still have that hurdle of being really friendly with people at night then not saying a dang thing to them for the next few days but it’s kinda cool because nobody judges me for it the way other people used to. When we hang out we talk about real life Somalia and they show me their bullet wounds and talk about all the people they’ve killed or seen die in their tribes back home and it’s so hardcore it just opens my eyes to how easy we have it in this country even if all we do is bitch. They invited me over sometime and I half wanna go but half don’t wanna get shot, but a third half kinda does want to get shot because the scar would be cool so I dunno.
I miss Queen’s and I miss Psychology and I just want it to be October so I can go back. I feel like I’m a better person and better adjusted and probably will enjoy this year a lot more than last year when I still basically had no friends and was so involved in trying to help other people rather than myself.
I miss writing and I wanna start blogging again and writing poetry and all that fag shit I’ve been trying to get away from because hey my fag shit offsets the drugs I do and I was pretty good at fag shit a while back. I’m just so much more aware that nothing I do or say matters and I’m unlikely to read any of these back and that’s what stops me from doing anything really is just how pointless it all is. I wanna travel and stuff but I wanna do it my way. Like I don’t wanna take a tourist picture in front of a monument with a fanny pack and cut off shorts, I want to go get fucked up and do fucked up things and take loads of pictures that I can later attribute words to. But I know I’m still a long way off doing any of that. I’ve had this recurring thought about all of my failed suicide attempts and instead of whatever possessed me to end up in a hospital what if I had’ve hopped a train and just went somewhere for a few days; how many more memories would I have?
My dreams have been crazy lately too, like a shock video that won’t end and they’re so scary. I was gonna write a paragraph about them but it’s probably better that I don’t. I’ve always believed in energy but I’m getting more into spiritual stuff and I’m starting to believe that most of life’s questions will be answered in my lifetime. I feel like that’s why I’m still holding on is I’m just waiting for the shit to start. Like there will probably be another world war in our lifetime. There will probably be alien contact for better or for worse. That’s the kinda shit that interests me right now. So it’s so weird thinking I’m going to uni to get a degree and a career and a wife and some children and a part of me really does crave that routine lifestyle, but a part of me still wants to watch the world burn. So I don’t really know what I’m doing or where I’m going or who I even am anymore but I guess I’m kinda interested to find out.
I wish I could just wake up and be the person I want to be without having to go through this whole chrysalis period though.
something else i noticed mix together the two ideals “you don’t know what you have til it’s gone” with the evolutionary psychologist “adapt from your mistakes” maybe positivity literally reinforces a lot of things like if you think you have a shitty memory your memory won’t be appreciated and will eventually deteriorate at a fast rate also include other skills and feelings for your wife in this list but idk i’m just thinking maybe that’s a literal reason why positivity can sometimes overcome things and a lot of people aka me just rly like being negative
they tell me that alcohol is a depressant and it only makes things worse but up until now i’ve been relatively happy on alcohol. maybe not the side effects and hangovers but while i’m drinking things are fine. the only depressing part is when i come to terms with things and be honest with myself. while im sober i build up certain defences and see things a certain way but when im drinking i’ll just be honest with myself and accept certain things, almost seeing them from a different perspective or different persons eyes, and accept whether im at fault or not. this is cathartic because while sober i’ll blame myself for a lot of things that were out of my control and when i get drunk i can finally just admit i did nothing wrong or i did the best i could and find closure with that. but i guess as with everything, sometimes i’ll remember somewhere where i was at fault, and while sober i’d block it out entirely, the alcohol alleviates the immediate negative feelings ie guilt as a mere fact (i feel guilty emotionally but my brain hasnt responded the correct chemical reaction yet to feel the full reaction)
but then when you sober up you’re left with those acceptances and new realisation without the barrier of alcohol to cope with. i mean i know how your body can become physically dependent on alcohol and stuff like that and as with any drug your brain can get addicted to a certain state of mind but to me that’s has to be a contributing factor to the depressant side of alcohol and would explain why addiction effects people differently but idk
Saw La Dispute last night and met the band and got them to sign stuff and it was pretty great but I was like super drunk and kept calling everybody Jordan Dreyer and then when I finally met Jordan I was like fiehfehfiwejfiwefi I mean dude he writes the best lyrics in the world and he’s playing in front of like 50 kids at my shitty uni so I tried to let him know how much he meant to people but I don’t know obnoxiously drunk I came across awrdwqrjijg
Think I’m gonna go see them in Dublin tonight cause it’s the last night of the tour but I don’t have tickets and I’m scared of them being sold out by the time i get down so weuqhdfaiosndfoesai I dunno what I wanna do lol but I really wanna go
I got a pic with Jordan but it’s on my friend’s phone he was like holding meeeeeeee and was so super nice and polite and down to earth and amazing and cute and ugh fuck
It’s been such a weird year for me and I haven’t blogged any of it. Or I’ve attempted to blog but my head’s been so all over the place I’ve got bored half way through and relegated it to my drafts. Writing used to be the only thing I was good and now I can’t master the art of a full sentence.
But most of what’s happened this year I don’t want to attach words to because I’m not sure how I feel about it or how I want or expect other people to feel. I haven’t been myself and I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know if I accept the changes myself and I guess I’m scared of other people’s judgement.
I always feel pathetic after I write like all I’ve done is just document another phase of my failure. Nothing in my life has really been anything to look back on nevermind bookmark online for people to pick apart; including whoever it is I grow into.
At the start of the year I was generally okay, I wasn’t really drinking and I hadn’t started doing anything worse than that. I know I wasn’t happy because I never have been and it’s ridiculous to suggest I was in any way content because I know I wasn’t but I had a better grasp on things.
I feel submerged now and the gasps of air I do take are just as polluted as the water entering my lungs. There’s no letup. There’s no break. There’s just chemicals to dull the pain and to push the clock hands forward into ripping up another day on the calendar.
I’ve realised a lot of things and fallen back into pits I’d thought I’d crawled out of. It’s like without drugs I could run from my problems but when I’m on them I masochistically run straight into them, like I suddenly have the courage to face them; and I do solve a lot of issues but some just remain reopened and too freshly available to run from while sober.
In the last month I’ve had Andy and Shelby and Melanie in my flat and these things wouldn’t have happened without drugs to fuel it. But nothing’s stuck. I’ve lost all my friends at school and so the desire to do well has been sucked from me. I feel subhuman because I don’t know how it happened and as much as I love feeding off other people saying forget those guys you’re better than them there’s a part of me that obviously can’t because it’s not the first set of friends I’ve lost and it certainly won’t be the last. I remember Nomi would cry in my arms about that stuff. Not finding a circle, just faking it until it disappears. And she’s lowered herself to nothing to find a circle that would stick whereas I’m just getting hung up in the twisted nooses I couldn’t control.
I’m a bad person. I’m filled with hate and fear and a part of me likes it. A part of me doesn’t want to let go of it. I don’t know where someone as fucked me as me is supposed to go. I’ve had to accept that I’m not normal. Like maybe I had the potential to be at one stage and maybe I still do and I don’t know if it’s a self fulfilling prophecy or not but it’s like every bump in the road gets magnified because you’ve seen it before. It’s not like a different problem holding you back each time it’s like the same barriers no matter what you try.
So you’re supposed to accept who you are. And I’m sure I could find acceptance but it always seems to be with people I don’t accept. I’m sure there’s a circle of people as fucked up as me who would love to have me in their life but I’d feel gross and cheated within it.
I don’t know what I believe in anymore. I’ve started believing in energy. I believe people have a certain energy that brings them together. I feel like as lazy and unmotivated as I am I have that energy inside me to want to be someone. To want to go and do everything and just live. But I’m so damaged by everything that I can’t do it alone. I need a twin to mirror me and come get in trouble with me and have fun. I want drugs to fuel stories instead of clouding the truth. I want my life to burn words into a book you can only read once.
But I’m trapped in a sewer like keys to the world that nobody wants to take the time to fish out because it’s going to turn anyway and it’ll probably be fine regardless. I want to combust and leave a part of me on every torn calendar page. To look into the past decades from now and define time by the parts of me I left behind.
But I’m nothing by myself.