Dealing with lies at the end of it all

Did they say it would be a breeze?
Did they say you’d pass with ease?
Were you promised that it would please?
Do you feel that nothing can appease
these
degrees?

 

 

Photo Credit: vinhman on Flickr

Photo Credit: vinhman on Flickr

A poem for today

I feel blank and empty, like my brain is malfunctioning software.
There is a bug, a glitch in me, and I am frozen on the same page, unable to reload or restart.
Just stuck.
I feel these dark, sickening forces swirling thick, grey and purple, in my stomach.
It’s a poison I can’t cough up.

My heart beats like machinery in overdrive. My body can’t contain this black anger any more.
But everything in me forces me to shove it back down into the simmering pit of my feelings.
Eruption imminent.
No hope.
No cure.
This is hell on earth.

I tried to find an image that would sum up how I feel, to go along with this poem. Thankyou to the artist who created this 🙂 Can be found here.

Epiphany

Heavenly Father,

I feel that I catch glimpses of You from time to time. I never stare You straight in the face, but I’ll see some part of You, and in those times I know that it is You.

No, I will never be able to comprehend You. Never. I shouldn’t expect to be able to. I am merely human and You are God.

If I were to pinpoint You, to see You or feel You or hear You… if I were able to point to something and say, ‘that is God’, You would not be the great I Am that You are. Your name would not encompass everything that is as You would just be one thing.

Dear God, for this reason I am glad I have no evidence of You. If I could prove You, perhaps I could understand You. And if I could understand You, either I wouldn’t be human or You wouldn’t be God.

But I am. And You are.

I will be ever grateful and amazed for this holy distinction.

I’m a writer in my own mind.

My boyfriend and I have made a deal. We both have to begin writing a story, 1000 words done by Saturday week. Then we will swap and workshop them.

I like a challenge, and so this excites me. I even made it a literal event, emailing him to confirm his acceptance of it. Luckily (for him) he did accept.

The problem is, though, I can’t really write. Well, that is to say, none of my ideas ever work. My entire life I have been drawn to writing, composing storylines, poems and even short exchanges between characters in my head. I don’t think a day has ever passed when I haven’t had a concept pop into my head and I’ve thought, ‘yes, that would make a great story’. If I ever do end up publishing a book, though, it will be 1001 Unfinished Stories.

I literally have HUNDREDS of them scattered through my room in notepads, journals, on laptops, hidden away in folders… and possibly MILLIONS stored in my mind. I am a born writer. But only to myself. Only I know of how fantastic I truly am! 😛 haha!!

There is a story I still believe has potential that I started when I was 12. It is a comedy about spies… and honestly when I still read it I laugh 🙂 I don’t think I’ll ever find the motivation to finish it off though. When I was around 10-11, I actually wrote an entire story about horses into a notebook. In reality it is probably only about 7 or 8 pages long, but I felt I’d written a novel when I was that young.

I’ve written stories on animals, young love, middle-aged depression, the future, the past, fantasy, crime… even had a crack at romance (no way! It’s way too awkward to write about that stuff..).

I’m a writer.
And though I don’t have a finished book to show for it, I don’t care what you say.

You reflect green.

You reflect green.
You look like Spring.
Flowers bloom.
Birds sing.

Your face is a mirror:
The mountainside glows.
Waves crash.
Wind blows.

Why must this moment end?

 

 

 

Inspired by this guy >>

… and a beautiful day.

I had a dream…

The terrifying ascent.

Last night, I dreamt a weird dream. We were walking along a gravel path – four of us – and I suddenly collapsed and claimed I couldn’t go on. I remember seeing the number 3.6… and I think this was my blood sugar level. Yes, a little low, but nothing to be collapsing about!

Then we were climbing up a ladder. It was a huge, huge ladder, attached to some kind of concrete pole. We were ascending into the clouds and I felt so shaky and terrified. I was gripping onto the metal rungs for dear life, petrified that my unreliable body would let me down and I would plummet to my death.

Crazily, we were just climbing to reach a cafe in the sky. I reached the top of the ladder and awkwardly tried to manoeuvre  onto a stool, but somehow the risk of falling was still immense. I was so scared of slipping, my limbs were exhausted from gripping on so tight. It confused me how this was such a natural thing, and everyone else was okay with it! There was the natural atmosphere of a cafe: clinking cups, soft conversation, and stools dragging across the floor. But it didn’t feel normal to me. All I could think about was falling.

 

Hmm… I guess this is kind of how I feel now. I feel like everyone is going about their lives as normal, but I am terrified of slipping up. I can’t rely on my body like I used to. I always feel shaky and weak. I can’t hold on like other people can. I don’t remember what it is like to feel normal.

Oh MANNNN!!! I just found a piece of hair in the cupcake I was eating!

JELBFRKJGNREJHLbkjdnfjkbmnvgrljfhbmn!!!

 

I need to write this annoying personal column for a uni assignment and all I can think about is blogging and having fun 😦

Flippin, floppin, flappin uni!

 

*Regaining composure*

 

I will post up what I have so far for the column. This is the second draft, which I thought I hated, but read over again and decided I could probably use.

Suggestions on improvement WELCOME.

 

 

When Your Subconscious Takes Hold

 

   You may be the most rational person on the planet, but unless you are some kind of alien life form taking refuge here, you will have experienced it at some stage.

 

   Stress. Anxiety. The terrible stomach-dropping, swirly-headed sensation whereby you are plunged into a world of inner darkness and conflict that has no rational basis except within your own confused thoughts. You assume you have control of yourself, but by Jove! You are wrong.

 

   I’ve always considered myself one of those ‘rational’ people. I make wise decisions: I save my money, recycle, think twice before accepting drinks from strangers. I like to think I am ‘on the ball’, ‘with it’, and impenetrable. But alas, I too am wrong.

 

   This recently became apparent when I experienced a panic attack. I didn’t know that this feeling could exist, that the world could dip and spin before my eyes in such an outrageous way. But there I was, a tiny speck on an expanse of orange couch, shaking, sobbing, imploding.

 

   Anxiety hit me, as it so often does to us, in a moment of mental fragility. I was running short on time, I was late, I was expecting guests, and I was still in line for an interview at my university. Painfully, the hands of the clock ticked by as though they weighed a tonne each. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, almost choking me. But what I didn’t realise was that my irrational subconscious was about to take over.

 

   It came on me all at once: a burst of sharp, jagged, iridescent thoughts. I was 19 years old. A year had already passed since I’d finished school and I felt more lost than ever. Would I continue on at university? Would I achieve anything? Would I find myself? Find purpose to my life? Was I going about it all the wrong way? I needed guidance. I needed God. I needed a sign. But more than anything, I needed to escape this feeling.

 

   As these stress-fuelled daggers tingled at my brain, I began to feel lightning spit from my fingertips. I actually had to physically check that there weren’t sparks shooting out of them. My heart felt constricted and tight. I became shockingly aware of how I was breathing, and that my lungs didn’t feel big enough for the air I needed. I was gasping, sobbing. The dizziness began: a slow, spinning feeling of unbalance. It started to feel that I would never escape this, that I was locked in an airless, lightless, uninhabited chamber, rocked by the thumping of my own heart.

 

   Though seated safely on the plastic orange couch I felt, honestly, that I was living my last moments of life.

 

   It can creep up at any time, this feeling. We assume we have control of ourselves, however despite the fact that panic and anxiety are completely irrational, we cannot control how they impact us. While they may not leave us perched on the edge of a couch in a trembling ball every time, feeling stress is only human. We may feel we have it all under control, yet we are all subject to that wily subconscious in the end.

 

 

 Ps. post on a dress I sewed is on its way…..

(sewed?? Is that a word?? It looks weird. I’ve never thought about it.)