There's A Reason...

...this is my favourite song. Music can speak to the soul. Just listen.

Elliot Minor - The Broken Minor.

We've broken now, we're fading out,
And you fall on your knees, and stand defeat,
Just when it feels like hell is freezing over,
Hold on, embrace, this symphony.

Let's play the very first line, it feels much better,
And it's all in time, it's coming together,
When the drums come in, the keys get louder,
Now I'm building a collision of chords.

This time there's no tiny voices,
It's a chorus of noise,
We're surfing a sea of places,
Now, now, now we're singing,
A fanfare of sound, pulled out from within,
We fly through the broken minor,
Woah, woah, woah we've come back down.

When you've been let down,
It's a bitter end.
Everyone stands up,
You know you're lost again.
The lights are fading and we're still escaping,
The sea and twilight that marks and fills the sky.

Let's play the very first line, it feels much better,
And it's all in time, it's coming together,
When the drums come in, the keys get louder,
Now I'm building a collision of chords.

This time there's no tiny voices,
It's a chorus of noise,
We're surfing a sea of places,
Now, now, now we're singing
A fanfare of sound, pulled out from within,
We fly through the broken minor,
Woah, woah, woah we've come back down.

I can't stop the last time,
I can't stay... I can't stay away...
It's not the last time.

Let's play the very first line, it feels much better,
And it's all in time, you know it's coming together,
When the chords start progressing,
We wait for the ending...

This time there's no tiny voices,
It's a chorus of noise,
We're surfing a sea of places,
Now, now, now we're singing
A fanfare of sound, pulled out from within,
We fly through the broken minor,
Woah, woah, woah we've come back down.

A fanfare of sound, pulled out from within,
We fly through the broken minor,
Woah, woah, woah we've come back down.

I'm Going To Do This.

I'm still going to be fatalistic. I'm still going to wish myself dead every day that I breathe. Unfortunately, that's become the mundanity of my life. I'm still going to dye my hair madly in an attempt to reinvent myself. I do that, you know. The minute I sense my period of happiness is going downhill, I change things. I do it to change my outlook. I convince myself i've changed inside, that i'm ready to accept the forthcoming challenge. I don't care if it sounds bigheaded, I don't care if you think i'm deluded, but...

I can do it. I can face whatever challenge this fucking life throws at me. I've probably been through worse, in the long run. There wont be a straw to break this camel's back, because by that stage i'll probably be so pissed off i'll set the whole bale alight. I meant it when I said i'm going to go out in a blaze of glory; i'm going to go out being that girl who said "fuck you" to the shit people tried to smear her with. It's not that I don't care, far from it. I care. I just learned to fight.

There is no distinction of good and evil when I truly fight. I don't care if you're my best friend or my worst enemy, if you're the one causing me pain, i'm gone. I'm not disloyal; i'm not going to badmouth my friends, but I will cut you out, stop the poison from getting into the wound - until i'm strong enough to deal with you.

That's just how it has to be. I'm sitting here looking round everyone I know, watching you all suffer, watching you want to kill yourselves and I get it. I know why it hurts, I know that nothing anyone says will change your minds.

But you're strong, you can adapt. It's never going to be easy, but you're strong and beautiful people and you can cope.

"Fuck it."

Feed The Rain

I have no idea what's going on in my head anymore. It's like something has stopped within, the clocks stopped ticking and time is passing faster than i have time to comprehend. I'm so tired all of the time, I'm in pain all of the time. While everything else spins and moves, my mind is numb and empty; i'm grasping at strings of reality, living in my head to avoid the truth. The truth is that I just don't know what i'm doing anymore. Life has become a monotony of money; trying to save to pay people back, getting somewhere, then losing it all again as yet another unexpected bill comes in. I used to cut this helplessness away, but now i'm too numb even for that, it doesn't reach me anymore.

I've lost something. Myself. I stare into space for hours; my broadcasts are an attempt to keep hold of my sanity. I don't want to fade away like this, if I have to go I want it to be in a blaze of triumph against the multiple disorders which have plagued my life. I want to say fuck you, but it isn't that simple. Every time I find a haven, i'm allowed to grow attached before someone sends it up in flames and it's gone. Then there's the laughing and goading, saying; "why did you bother? you knew it couldn't be this easy.."

I knew it. I just didn't want to be proved right again. Everything i've ever truly wanted has fallen apart around me. Relationships, Friendships, Societies. The only thing which is constant is me and my son. He's the only reason I haven't killed myself right now. Even as I sit here, the need to go and cut, not purely for the pain but to end it all, is unbearable. My pills scream at me from the cupboard. It's taking all the strength I have to resist, and this latest down is threatening to topple me. If the Tories get a majority government, i'll lose my haven, my home. I'll be back living at my parents in the tiniest bedroom with no privacy, sharing with a three year old.

And i'll die.

Burden.

i never meant to become anyone's burden.

the thought is more abhorrent to me than the sounds which taunt my mind when i'm alone, and i'm always alone. i hate that you had to elect a spokesperson for what you should have told me yourself. i hate that you lied to my face and stabbed me in the back. but most of all i hate myself for giving you reason to do any of the above.

the reason i've been so cold and distant isn't because i dislike anyone, or don't want to be around them. it's because i don't trust myself not to destroy you. i'm in total isolation, cutting off my heart, my mind and my soul from everyone i love because the decay has gone so deep that i'm scared of infecting you. it doesn't matter how often you tell me it's okay, or that you choose to be infected, i can't bring myself to reply no matter how badly it hurts me, how much i want to tell you i love you. i don't feel like i'm in control of myself any more. i feel like i'm lurking within watching someone else control my body. my mind is my own, but physically, i'm someone else. it's auto pilot. it's 'coping'. i don't know what else to do; if i don't shut off my mind and my heart they're going to explode; then i'll end up the same externally as i am internally: a bloody mess.

so i'm sorry. this is a short blog i know, but i can't bring myself to write florid depths into my soul when everything is closed. the show's over, time to go home. time to leave the carnival to rust.

Utterly Pathetic.

When do we cease to worry?

When something drags on so long it becomes as monotonous as the air we inhale, exhale, repeat and continue? when things just become so suffocating that you struggle to breathe and your head feels like it's going to explode into a thousand or more pieces so tiny you know you'll never put it together again? I'm worried. I'm so fucking scared that everything is going to collapse around me again and I don't want to be alone again, my heart can't take it.

First, my friends died in October, and now my uncle is back in hospital with a brain tumor -- to top that, my brother has collapsed yet again in what seems to be a much larger attack of whatever the fuck is wrong with him; i'm trying not to let them impact my life because i'm already a mess, but i can't help it. Whatever wrongs they've done me, however much they've failed me, they're still my family. My mum is deteriorating and seems to enjoy rubbing it in everyone's faces, telling us she'll probabably be dead soon.

Do I have to watch 3/6 members of my family die in the space of a year?



I fucked up. I have to admit this, because i've made a promise now, and the only way I can fulfil this is to make sure that as many people are aware of how low I am right now.

Over the last two weeks, i've been cutting again. I don't really know what to say apart from that. The first time was over an argument with a friend; i had the sense of suffocating loss and i knew the only thing that had ever relieved that was self harm. Then, on Sunday, my birthday was fucked up beyond all recognition -- i was ignored by my family, fobbed off and basically discarded. I had friends here, but I wanted my family to notice me for just that one day. Instead I got a letter through the door while I was asleep, ignored phonecalls, broken promises and hung up on by my brother. I threw my phone across the room and went into the bathroom, where I cut myself again.

It was easy to hide, long sleeved jumpers and support bandages for my dodgy wrist, but then last night, I was alone again, and I didn't need to hide them. I hated being alone so badly and that's how it started. Then, my OCD kicked in; I couldn't stop staring at the unhealed mess on my arm, a small mass of parallell lines which taunted me in their unevenness. I wanted it to be complete, and I knew the only way to do that would be to cover my whole arm. So I did.

I cut thirty more lines into my arm, and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I was using an unfamiliar razor, and I ended up cutting too deep; my body started to work so hard to repair the damage that I began to feel dizzy and sick and I passed out for around five minutes. If I hadn't had one of my friends talking to me, I probably would have just gone to sleep and gone into shock, because that's where my body was headed. It took me a while to stop the bleeding and almost two hours before I stopped feeling like I could pass out at any second. Now i'm left with my perfectly covered arm, hating myself for it.

But I did do one thing. I promised. I promised i'd never cut again to possibly the one person i'd die before hurting (not counting Damien); the one thing I hate doing above all is breaking a promise.. So...maybe. Just maybe.

to anyone who's been here; you know what I mean.

I feel pathetic.

Alive.

Today has been exceedingly strange, full of happiness and low points which have settled into a comfortable calm waiting to sweep me into the embrace of sleep just as soon as i close my eyes.

It's funny to think that an insomniac feels like sleep might actually come so early; every night thus far in my new home has been forcing myself to sleep; lying there clutching the covers, the pain in my shoulders building furious frustration in my chest as I struggle to get comfortable (the only way to do this is to lie my arm flat on the bed, stretched to the side, a pillow resting on my shoulder and then another one in a T-shape down my side. As you can imagine, this makes turning over a laborious task indeed...)

I always sleep on my side; always. They say that lying on your left side promotes your ability to breathe, something I followed strictly when I was pregnant - but it doesn't. I always seem to breathe better on my right side, something that, as an asthmatic, I cherish. The problem with that is embedded in the fact that I have always lain on my left side. Why? Why is my left side more favourable, you ask? Simple. I'm 60% deaf in my right ear.

This means that when I do sleep, I sleep more soundly than the dead, for i'm alive, i'm breathing but I can't hear you. The noises which plague the average individual don't reach my slumbering mind and it feels so. good. The problem is that when I lie on my right side, I am now acutely aware of these noises, so I turn, then I can't breathe, so I turn, noises, breathing, noises, breathing.

Is it any wonder i'm an insomniac, or why i'm losing my mind? I really am losing my mind. That's why i've been dragged off into a parallell examination of my nightly habits instead of telling you about the daytime I intended to.

Today was my 'day off'. The one day a week I don't have to watch Damien 24/7. My dad came to pick him up around 12pm and I went back to bed. In the end I didn't fall asleep til nearly 1.30pm and I got up around 3. Relatively uneventful until you add in the problem of why I was unable to sleep...

It wasn't the usual, though that didn't help. It was the sudden, crushing feeling that I was alone. Totally, utterly alone and no one was coming for another 5 hours at least. My problem with breathing and noise was suddenly worse - breathing became irrelevant as, when my hearing was unobscured, I could hear every creak, every bang, imagining sounds from outside were in my house and, when it was covered, i imagined that I was missing the sounds of some intruder creeping up my stairs to strangle me in my bed. I got up to check the locks four times before I exhausted myself with my worrying so much that I passed out.

When I woke up, I went to the shop. I felt hazy and drugged, like the world around me was nothing more than one large cinema screen and I was walking down a corridor of illusions. I did my shopping, I handed over the cash, totally numb and faking every response I was forced to give. I met no one's eyes - I still can't bring myself to do this, I don't deserve to do this. Then I walked home, two heavy bags in hand. On the way back, I spotted the worst possible thing - chavs. I'm not being discriminative here, I have genuine reasons for fearing them, as I have been repeatedly victimised simply because of the way I dress to the extent of being pushed in front of a car. The point is, I saw them, they saw me and I got scared. I ducked my head even farther down, talking to myself inside my head, begging for them to just let me pass, praying that they wouldn't kill me. Dramatic? yes. I know that now, but at the time I had images raging through my head of them jumping me and beating me to death, tomorrows paper sporting a short tribute to a young single mother tragically killed, three suspects in custody. I cursed myself for wearing my black jeans because they looked too goth, wanted to scrape the makeup i had put on off because it drew too much attention...

Needless to say, you know how the story ends as i'm here. By the time I got home, my heart was racing and my chest was tight; I had to take my inhaler just to get rid of the feeling. All the while I kept thinking; "take your pills, Kirstie. Just take them.", and somewhere else, deeper in my head said no, don't take them. You're not real on them, you can't write music on them and taking your pills is just like living a lie. I'm sick of living a lie, but is a lie better than a nightmare? It's ironic, so ironic that an insomniac should have a living nightmare, don't you think? I love irony. Even when it's gnawing into my life like a rabid squirrel and threatening to disease everything, I love it. The fact that nothing is sacred, there's nothing that can't be touched or tainted by its equal and opposite amuses me to no end. Yin and yang, yang and yin.

Thankfully, life did pick up today; i discovered that two of my favourite bands are playing in the UK between now and March - I got tickets to one of them and intend to get tickets to the other as soon as possible. This means that in the space of the next two months (from the 23rd Jan>23rd March) I will be going to 5 gigs. It's something to look forward to, and I live for those little things.

I also remembered why I love my friends. There's one person in particular who has been very special to me for a while now; they know who they are - I mean, all of my friends are very important to me, but only a few of them share a connection to me which words can never break. I'm not a very trusting person by nature. This one person knows all there is to know about me and more and they haven't run. Words can't express my love for this person, they never will. It's magick in it's purest form, it's freedom and it's empathy.

No matter how much I panic for silly reasons, I. Am. Alive.

And it means more to me than my whispering suicidal thoughts can ever tempt me with.

Finally.

New Beginnings...

i write this post from my new home, where i am comfortably seated in my bed with my little boy sleeping softly beside me. his bed hasn't been built yet, so he's sharing with me until it is. due to a slight mishap, some little screws for his bed have gone AWOL, so that's a dilemma. looks like he might be getting that new racing car bed a little sooner than his 5th birthday. 

oh well! i'm home. home. yes, this is my home; i've moved so many times in the last five years... Dunfermline to Hattersley, Hattersley to Hyde, Hyde back to Dunfermline, Dunfermline to Rosyth, Rosyth to Abbeyview, Abbeyview to Dunfermline and now Dunfermline back to Rosyth. that's seven moves in five years. but here, here i can feel the urge to lay down welcome mats.

the very atmosphere of this home is different; not caught up in the twists and uncertainty of the lover accompanying me, but mine. mine, mine, mine.  I don't have to share it, i'm not going to lose it to some prick who gets in over his head. this is my stable base for a home with my son.

i'm FREE!

muffins, you're welcome. all of you. this home is going to be a friendly and accepting one, one which helps those who need help. my rules, not my damn parents who wouldn't so much as blink if some poor person were to catch on fire, because they'd be too busy arguing about who our car belongs to. ohyes, i can see them dividing up their belongings already, the whiff of divorce is in the air - question is, who will demand it first?

..i honestly don't give a damn.