I’ve been particularly unwell recently, I had a really bad cold/ fluey symptoms on top of my usual issues you know and it sort of stripped me of the little things I can usually have the option of doing because I was just laid in bed sweating yknow.
I felt isolated and bored as well as sick, and it just rubbed the bad feelings around and they sunk in further for a few days, to the point where I could feel that I was physically improving in terms of my illness but still couldn’t get up properly because of the characteristic heaviness of my mental health issues.
I felt like all the calories of energy I had were being used on the heart-beating basics as dramatic as it sounds, and in feeling bitterly unhappy and lost.
I guess I’m trying to figure out how I came out of it, the visible wilting of my mum (brought on largely because of my wilting) led to me gathering the energy from somewhere to put some clothes on and let her drive me to the supermarket to get some earphones. While there, I bought myself a My Little Pony colouring book as well and some new gel pens, ha.
I don’t watch My Little Pony, but I find them quite adorable and full of friendship and sweetness and I like colouring them in because it makes the hours go past gently, especially when I can do little else.
Also, a friend of mine – I lived with him at uni, we had a sort of inside joke about them that developed into them just reminding me of laughing and someone giving a shit I suppose, and that’s a nice restful way to feel. 🙂
I sew myself together with silky ribbons,
I embroider my outside and in,
I deserve sequins and pretty buttons, so I sing in the bath,
Because it’s soothing
Because I like my singing voice
Because I enjoy the melody and the feeling of creation.
I’ve been in a bad mood in some really beautiful places.
The scene inside unshakeable.
When I write things from memory – Fresh
It weighs on me, to remember how I so regularly felt,
Straight from my real memory, I lose that step of distance between me and it.
Rather than me reading what I wrote then, and copying it down all studious,
I’m there in the awful moment where trauma put it’s foot down.
The gentle breath of digital cogs wheels me on, whirrs me into so-called productivity.
It’s the hardware really, I work with an old, well-used machine.
My feed is not an echo chamber – sometimes there are things there that make me sad and ashamed. I can’t always engage because I don’t have all the time in the world.
The hostility that might meet me would drain me of my life blood.
The electric runs through these wires, provides a receptacle and a dispenser for hate that’s displayed in my screen – I read it, my eyes take it into my heart and I learn again the state of the world and what we’re dealing with.
A bloody tradition defended so viciously by people who are made of delicate flesh and bone.
Why do you, a creature of blood, yearn for the spilling of an innocent?
Why do you defend the cruelty of those that would tear you apart if you were in a different body?
Tight metal joints
I crawled through
thorns to be with me
Heart muscle ribbons
flutter in the wind
My eyes catch the light,
it’s rays jut through my brain,
decorate my perception
I unfold my limbs and glide onward
A tiring limpness tempers me, I glide onward.
It’s not that far away but the whirr of the train tires me, the noise of the crowd, tickets, barriers, rush, the thought of the drunken tits on the way back, it tires me. Second quick train – the wait, the seeking out orange numbers on light up boards, following rows, “Is that mine?” “Which platform?”
So that when I get to you, all I can do is rest, rest in your arms and worry about the way back.
My stomach churns a tune and you listen
I stroke your m-shaped head
Uncurl your lip
Soften that threat-poise
I wrestle you down in front of the crowd
Sheath your scissor teeth
Light fingers shut your vice-mouth gentle
Become the cubs I know you are
One of the only fun things is the idea of your tongue in my mouth,
It’d be such a relief to feel alive for a change.
To feel like what I am, instead of a stony-bodied husk.
Too tired and sick of it to feel anything, too stressed to do anything but rest.
Too drained for the admin of life, brushing my teeth I’m bored.
Sticking straight face, trapped behind.
My soul exhales in a sick of it sigh.
Deadened nerves, my sensation is always a low one.
Deadweight – I can’t even be bothered to lift.
Tears can’t come out, unless I’m drunk, but that hurts my throat and my head, the sweetness makes me nauseous.
I suppose it’s a bit of despair – how unattractive, not like I give a shit, sick of it – like I said.
How does one enjoy life?
Is anyone enjoying this?
There’s so much noise,
Too many thoughts,
Too little comfort.
Pleasure’s a slippery customer.
I feel 5 out of 10 most times.
Slow days, dragging my weight through them.
Do I enjoy being in bed?
I think it’s just an escape from the noise.
I’m still stressed but at least I’m comfy here
– sort of.
The illusion of nothing to do.