There is a fine line between longing to be near, and wanting to erase your entire existence from every crevice of my mind. I walk this line unwillingly. I am a novice with words. I have none of the ones I need tell you what you mean- none of the words that will make a difference.

I am missing you, and you are missing.

Tu me manques.

Yet in the least cryptic sense, you are still here. There are life-sized crumbs of you in my every day. Your scent, your smile, the songs I know that you like. Your favourite colour, your car – both of them. So many things to remember you by. So many you-sized-holes in my every day, with no you to fill them.

You began to me as an unexpected messenger, that life could indeed have a sense of stability and warmth. That I was not meerly a hopeless fool, posing as a brave warrior, unaffected by the swarm of uncertainty that cloaked my life. How easily you lifted it and came inside to welcome me with your constancy, gentleness, attentiveness. Your gift to me was all of the beautiful qualities you effortlessly displayed, that I could frame for the world to see, and that made me feel completely safe.

We rarely know the words on the page before we enter someone elses life – but what you scribe with your actions will determine the pages that follow. Three chapters of heaven – to be with you so easily put the world on mute. Little do you know how your presence shielded me from so much of the cold that had begun to freeze me, from the inside out. Suddenly I had faith that it was not my destiny to die to the wall of pain that had been slowly tumbling down on me, brick by brick.

…And like a blanket ripped from an unsuspecting heart it its deepest dreams – you tore yourself from me. The cold has flooded back in, the pain is raining down and there are no words that can be whispered nor screamed, to show you how I care and what you mean to me.  I hopelessly sang my emotions for you into a dark and endless echo chamber, degraded by the sound of my own voice returned to me, in your absence.

This is my every day now. Wake up to remember that you are no longer, and that you somehow amounted to a series of fleeting moments in the face of my belief in you.

Never did I believe in anything so much. I believed in you more than the bruises on my soul.

And I hate to speak of you in the past tense,
You meant so much more to me than a mere memory.

But, I know the future is not where you want to be with me.

I heard this and felt electric.
I would liken it to the sort of feeling a coffee lover gets once they have their first shot of expresso. Perhaps something more intense- like the synonymous thrill and relief of an addict, when the hit is strong, and the first in a while. 

But why? Why should I care? Why should I feel anything?
It is but a phrase, sparse ink on a naked page – I simply heard it, somewhere. Those words did not, in the beginning, resonate with me yet still they were ingested, and began to create whirlpools at the core of my desire stained interior.
I had but a chance to blink, and then, I felt something.

It was this:

There are kisses that wait restlessly on my lips, reserved for you, and only you. And yes, while mine sleep, they dream of lips like yours and savour the flavour of your presence in my life. They revel in all the ribbons of affection I long to drape over you, with love soaked affirmations and fingertips static with desire. There is a restless beating drum in my chest waiting to find a rhythm in yours, and I become dizzy with this influx of tangible, yet indescribable emotion.
My rhythms syncopated with excitement.

I may not have known before, but the truth has pursued me relentlessly. 

Indeed, My kisses dream of lips like yours.

I wanted to pose with flowers
Draped all over my body.
Complimentary to me, or I to them.

I wanted to lay on the back of a tiger
That I would call King Khan, and go on
Journeys with him through his world.

And have birds of paradise in my room,
That would sing me to sleep and wake me
Up the following morning, every morning.

I even wanted to harvest the rays of the sun
And hold them safe in a jar,
Whilst I watched their streaks illuminate my world.

But most of all, I wanted you.
I wanted you by my side, in my mind, all the time… Intertwined.
The gravity that holds upright my curving spine.
Interlocked into each other, wanting with the same force.
I would stare, I would stare… I still stare.

-And then, a thought.

Of all the things I thought I could want-
The flowers, King Khan and his stripes,
The beautiful birds, the rays of the sun
Each would have to die their true selves.
Perhaps entirely, in order to be mine.

You see the flowers on my body would be limp and lifeless
Starved of the water they need to survive.
And a beast that cannot run wild for the burden I would have placed on its back; 

Myself. 

And what about the birds?
Vibrant, singing… Caged, clipped wings.
And the sunlight? In whose world would it exist, but mine?
Who else would be able to find it? 

So, my love, you see now why I cannot want you near me.
For how could I love you dearly
Without causing you to tear yourself up
From the ground you have laid your roots, please?

It’s true I want you to be mine, all mine.
But I, and most definitely you,
Would be happier to know you can exist outside of me.

And I will walk though your garden
And tend to you from a distance.
Water your roots, and take care to see you grow upright.

Because I want the love we have together to be rich.
But I understand, if I want you to live,
The flowers of your love cannot be mine to pick.

I want Intimacy.

But I don’t want to be touched all over.
I want us to breathe the same atmosphere,
Walk seperate paths, but wear the same destiny.

I don’t want us to to be written on the same page, but in the same book.
And when our chapters meet I want it to mean that I complete you,
And you me.

I want the collision to be so catastrophic,
That our ink spills all on the same page,
And merges to form beautiful words,
Interweaving and seeping down the spine, until we are bound together by A course that we ourselves have scribed.

I want to learn every essence of your being,
The dark matter, and supernovas,
Before I come to know all the corners of your physical form. 

It is said that compassion excluding Self,
Is incomplete.
So I want you to love all of you, before you begin to think about loving me.

And then I want security in the form of your word.
Not the one you would promise any other,
But the word you speak to yourself. 

Love your woman as you might love yourself.

Grant me to stay by you, and hear you breathe.
I want us to lay side by side, and for all of this to fill the space in-between.

Intimacy.

There is a difference between being unwell, and temporarily injured. Broken bones do not amount to sickness, and this article articulates it well.

Watershed Moments: Thoughts from the Hydrosphere

When people talk about reducing the stigma around mental illness, they often liken it to having a broken leg – except it’s your mind that’s broken. But does this analogy really help?

Back in June, I read this article in The Guardian by Hannah Jane Parkinson, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

Parkinson has a mental illness. She’s been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and anxiety, though some doctors have thrown other diagnoses at her (emotionally unstable personality disorder, body dysmorphic disorder, or adult ADHD). She is also (obviously) a reporter at The Guardian.

She has something to say about the standard “mental illness is like having a broken leg except you have a broken brain” analogy:

“Mental illness is nothing like a broken leg.

In fairness, I have never broken my leg. Maybe having a broken leg does cause you to lash out at friends, undergo a…

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In reference to my previous post called ‘possibilities’.

You never really consider that it is possible to make monsters out of people, with your fears. Life takes practise. Yet when we are exposed to situations with the same smell as a bitter taste what had been previously left in our mouths, it is so easy to be defensive.

It is our primal instinct to tell ourselves that there is something near to harm us, and send us back to what has perhaps been some of our darkest moments. But what if that familiar and unrequited smell is simply another human, navigating their way through life, upon the same path you came. They have waded through the same waters, and now they carry the same scent – yet simply because you saw them drenched, you assumed they had brought the water with them, to drown you.

It is a gross oversight for which I can say I am finally consciously guilty. The potential price is high. But I have wiped my eyes, and see the remnants of a place I have once been, strung all over you. I am only so sorry, that my fears meant that you were possibly a monster – and that this is the truth I found easier to accept, despite being more reluctant to do so.

Hurt can taint what may be good. Past pains leave us misunderstood.
A mixture of bittersweet regret and bravery.

But redemption can make some of these things new.
Life takes practise, and if it’s okay, I’d like to try again with you.

You left a part of you here.

I could feel it because the energy was different
And even though you were gone, you did not quite come up missing.

You left a part of you here,
And though unexpected,
I drowned myself in you
When I finally found it.

“From dust you came, and to dust you shall return.”

I beg to differ. Everyone does not return to dust. Some of us never even graced this earth that way. Crudely washed ashore, expelled from what was once the only safe haven we ever knew – but the same place that if we stayed too long would rapidly become the prison of our demise. Our final resting place, before we ever even lived.

Back then solitude, darkness, were welcome and necessary. Now they are quite the opposite. Poison in fact.

…Where is this going? I don’t know.

There is a lot of cognitive dissonance within me, and daily when I awake, my only mission is to keep it at bay. But how can I alone fight these waves? Just when I feel like I’ve trodden water long enough that I begin to swim, life itself will throw me unsuspectingly into a boulder of torment. Another rush of pain will engulf me. And I will sink and tumble in ways I never had, or in all the ways I have before. The cycle continues. I am not strong enough to stay afloat. I cannot go with the current, or against it. I am taken where life pleases, and the waves leave ripples on your skin. Dear Diary, why me? -Why anybody really?

Can we unplug the pain?

Surely you can’t stay hurt? I need to get away. For a long time. I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing. The happiness that others speak of is yet to befall me. Perhaps I am far too saturated with pain for my happiness to catch flame.

Why is everything I say sad?

I thought I came here with something intelligent and articulate to say. But the driving force was really that everything inside of me was screaming with all I had left…

“I’d do anything to be happy.”
And then I sat back and closed my eyes to see a place where the sun shines daily – Imagine a world like that.