U turn at University

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So I have just returned home from my first term of university which involved the typical load the car up till everyone inside is like a tin of sardines, when your friends pretend to be the politest angels that ever graced the earth and of course the last night blow out which consists of you drinking so much even walking down the alcohol aisle again will make you feel hungover.

It would be fair to say even thinking about moving away to London to begin my new life studying history gave me a distinct wave of nausea and sent shivers shooting down my spine; however the overwhelmingly fantastic experience I have had so far has been unimaginable. It has both obviously and inevitably not all been roses and sunshine, there has been tears, tantrums and drama but overall the journey of self development you enter is incredible. After three months of stress, despair and some serious procrastination from essays I managed to receive firsts on all my assignments with the exception of one and my end of term exam!

However university has been about much more than grades for me, and no im not just referring to the heavy drinking and late nights waking up to people you wont recognise in the morning. I have met some of the most beautiful individuals that I have the pleasure of calling my best friends who have changed the world and the way in which I view it completely. They wiped away the tears, and hugged me so tight that all the broken pieces started to fit back together again, for friendship fundamentally underpins our success and our crucial to our development.

It is no secret that I do not really have a family but these group of beautiful people have become like family, we laugh with each other celebrate with one another and even cry on each other but hey that’s what families are for right! before I came to study at uni there was a whole in my heart and honestly I thought I was irreparable, but spending just three months with this crazy lot and I could not be more happy or successful. In my previous blog I refer to individuals who allow you eudomonia which Aristotle correlates to human flourishing – essentially being the best person you can possibly be, Alina, Rossni, Kit, Omar x 3 (a lot of Omars I know!!) Semone, Gavin, Sach, Nick and Theo, Hary sj, Harry M, Coco, Keiran and lewis have all contributed to creating this environment and words will never be able to convey my gratitude too them.

Firstly let me tell you all about the most beautiful, caring and compassionate women in the world, her name is Alina she always considers others before herself and will do anything to make everyone happy. She carries around huge backpacks like Mary Poppins with everything you could ever need from tissues, water and of course a uni essential lighters. Rossni …. remindes me of the song ‘im trying to find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful’ if you don’t know were she is look in Ians room or you wont necessarily even have to look because you will hear her. I guess your not best friends with someone until you have heard them getting down, that sound is forever etched into my recurring nightmares so thanks for that Rossni. I chose to tell you a little more about these too because before uni I was never really a girls girl, in fact girls and friendships are just two things that did not go together in my mind, but safe to say these two are my type of girls (cliche I know but I would do anything for them make them coffee at silly a clock in the morning, help them out with essays and boy troubles, hide bodies for them. You know the usual best friend activities).

Semone and Kit are the type to be best big brothers who you can always confide your troubles in, fair to say that both of these have eased the pain of living with Bi-polar considerably by showing relentless and habitual kindness and even just seeing them is enough to place a genuine and sincere smile on my face despite if it has been a porcelain day. Lastly Omar, who somehow always knows what to say and always has an ear with some profound advice, he hosts an open door policy and is the type of guy who has wisdom way beyond his youth – he continues to give me sound subjects and advice to contemplate and for that I thank him more than he will ever know.

I am conveying all this what must seem random spiel to you all, because I finally understand one of the greatest philosophers Friedrich Nieztchures concepts. He once stated ” And those that were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who can not hear the music”. Not all of these people I have mentioned can hear the music or have ever heard the music however continue to show great empathy to others situations, and im sure they have all heard my music, some like Alina, Kit, Rossni and Omar even upon occasion dance with me which is one of the most delightful experinces.

For once the life of a Bi – polar is relatively settled and dare I say it even a little normal. I had the picture of university being sex, drugs and alcohol in reality its more of a did you see with motherfucker stole my milk again. I will always be a little over sensitive and obviously have bipolar melt downs, but now I would rather go for a walk with one of these beauts that take a razor to my wrists. If there are any of you out there who needs a sign that it does get better please let it be this. hospitalized last year after consuming three bottles of pills and washing it down with a bottle of jagger if you told me I would have gotten into university, be preforming academically well and have the friends I have I would have doubted you but I guess these people are proof that miracles really do happen.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said “I hope you live a life your proud of, if you find that you are not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again”.

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You had me at ‘ciao’

I have such a distinct hatred for being vulnerable, he’s the exception though, I yearn for him- all of you – your sweet scent, your warmth and your closeness. My head is a catastrophic mess currently with so many erratic thoughts ricocheting around the deepest of my insides with such a heated intensity that words escape me.

I find it most ironic I would like to classify it as irony, but the honest truth is this –  it disgusts me with such a raw passion. After you have been that intimate and shared everything, not only refined to the physicality you shared with them but all your thoughts, fears and dreams. When you relinquished and recoiled from me it felt abstract and uncertain – to not be around them.

The most satisfying thing he gave to me was his trust and in an ultimate sense himself, for he did not care about the scars and cuts that littered my arm, it just contributed to what it meant, to what being close and accepted to him meant.

smile because you made it, your still here

Living with Bipolar is excruciatingly painful, but its crucial to remember that you are not your illness. Although at times it can feel utterly consuming, as though you are isolated and imprisoned within your own mind your not what the voices dictate you to be. life is a series of choices we consecutively make that cause a chain of consequential reactions, I am not saying we are our choices because I don’t feel that’s fair. Its human error and inevitable to have moments were reason is abolished by irrationality, but happiness is an abstract noun – a concept and emotion not a state of mind, the more people accept that its okay to not be walking around ecstatic perhaps the more truthful their happiness would be.

“Happiness is the small things” there is defiantly a partial truth within this theory, for me happiness is more subconscious; for example, when your stomach hurts so intensely because you’ve been laughing so much with a close friend or reading a bed time story to your nephew and realizing how lucky you actually are. Yes I have bipolar, yes its shit and I spend a disproportionate time contemplating launching myself in front of a train or walking across A line roofs with my eyes closed but that’s only a part of me and im beginning to accept that, although its going to take a lot more time, I feel im finally getting there, and that’s a start for I may not be there yet, but I am closer than I was yesterday.

lie to me

Tell a lie

fake a smile

“you seem sad?”

push denial

“I’m alright”

choose your weapon

carve a line

tie the knot

pull the string

self destruction

such a beautiful thing

For him

He never wrote me poems. We would fuck in his car, or on his bed where numerous other girls had been or while I was crying (classy I know). We saw each other naked so frequently I have the image engraved on the back of my eye lids and in my retina, present every time I close my eyes. He ripped my underwear off holding me down while I would caress his chest. I was always vulnerable, but there’s something about loving a broken boy, the concept of fixing him, I diddnt get to fix him of course; I just cut myself on the shards of his broken disposition.

I would wake him with kisses, whereas he woke me up with hickies, for a long time, I thought they were the same thing. Then I learnt that kisses aren’t promises, and hand holding is not a contract, we should build our bridges on today because its the only foundation that is certain.

I will always remember him though, how predictable he was within his unpredictability; I asked him one while we both got high, why it was that I could write novels about him until the words got tired of being anagrams of his name – but at the same time he would never reciprocate. He blew a smoke ring and broke it with his finger. “dunno” he said. We would inevitably fuck again later, because I was drawn to his self destruction, like a moth to a flame, I would crave and yearn for his pain.

I found him the other day sitting on my floor, staring at a picture from when I was young. “God” he said, “I really fucked you up”. And thats the moment I released we really do only accept the love we think we deserve.

Broken

Depression is the deadliest of diseases, for there are no blood tests or scans, it  hides and lurks in the corner of your soul spreading its venom and numbness until you can go on no longer. Depression isn’t the pain riddled poems or the blood stained wrists, its the night terrors and waking up in relentless cold sweats.

The book thief, is a book of which is predominantly narrated by death, maybe that is the reason it is my favorite novel to ever be written, my favorite quote simmers down to, “even death has a heart”. I must emphasis and state I am neither naive nor ignorant and I don’t imagine a warm embrace with death, yet surely it has to be better than the sweet entice of a blade, or living an absent life that doesn’t even belong to me.

When most people imagine the future, it is perfect and picturesque filled with joy, career’s, marriage and children. When I envisage my future there is nothing …. literally nothing. I should in all probability find that terrifying yet I don’t most people have a substantial fear of death, yet i participate frequently in activitys which improves my chances, no such luck, it says something about you, when you cant even kill yourself correctly. Carved on my arm is the word “fail” I remember clearly doing it after putting a cigerate out on my forearm, it was the moment I realised I had failed at every aspect of my life. Academically I never achieved what I aspired to, in truth (sorry if your reading this) but I hate the majority of my pathetic friends.

But you know what I hate the most, living with people who are not my mum and dad yet still taking part in this fucking charade, I detest them and that’s the honest truth, only no one really likes the truth,it ironic really, when you think about it, we crave it but we never want to hear it, not really.  And people would call me selfish for saying that, so you don’t.

I miss my mum more than anything in this entire world, and I would easily give up the rest of my days for just one hour with her, I miss my dad, the thing that screws us up most in life is the picture of what things were supposed to be like, A once said that to me. And maybe he was right, I used to think he was right about everything, but some people deserve the pain, they deserve bad things to happen them. I am a big believer in karma, and hey maybe that’s the reason I go to bed every night and think about killing myself whilst cutting up.

I have an extreme internal conflict when it comes to my dad hence why I rarely speak about him; I have said no more than he wasn’t  a very nice man to most, because I don’t think I could say the whole truth out loud. People love the phrase its complicated, but really im starting to think that maybe not so much, I deserved everything I got, it was all my fault. I say I don’t know why I cut, but I think deep down inside I do, I just don’t want to admit it to myself. The situation with my mum and dad really fucked me up and it fucked me over. I finally want the game to be over, but life just wont let me stop playing.

It stained me and it doesn’t mater how hard I scrub it wont go.