This eclipse of inebriation is the prime time.
I no longer know what it means to be in love,
what it means to love, to care.
I can only feel my own heartbeat.

I eventually became everything I still hate; jaded, misguided, selfish.
Please deliver me from this self indulgence, from this pain.
Maybe it comforts me to sympathise with myself, how pathetic?
Because honestly, facing that I'm just being a dick, that makes me feel physically ill.
Oh how we all love this self pity, how welcoming is this wallowing.

Why is it that misery is a preface to artistic revelation?
I have heard that the happiest years of our lives are a waste; we never learn a thing.
I believe that this is a lie, a comfort to give our darkest moments some kind of purpose.
In the hiccups of my life where I fall back into the arms of self loathing and depression; I remind myself of aspects that will only hold me back, regress my progress; I question my loneliness, self worth.
Perhaps this is merely a testament to there being 'two types of people', those who strive in the sunlight of their lives, and those who flourish in the eclipse, the twilight sepulcher. One thing I will attribute to that statement however; I do feel a moment of life, of fire, anguish in these parts.

Every fiber of my personal universe is telling me I need to be alone. An extrovert, classic.
I adore social interactions, I am terrified of being allowed enough time to think about myself; if you were me, wouldn't you be too? I want to scream my feelings, I sometimes imagine they may burst from my chest. Even with a significant other, I cannot; I very often feel that they, yes even they, don't know the real me, but to be fair, who is the 'real me'? Am I this creative butterfly with her wings clipped? Or am I this sluggish oaf that has spurts of linguistic artistry that suffices my ego?

duality

My two flares

my aching heart

this retched flesh wound,

this depraved echo

jeering and snide because

I am alive and still

I feel that

this is purgatory

a special hell

just allow me to be sweet about it.

-

it's when I am torn apart

that I feel the music of the world

the desperate thundering beat

bore into me

isnt that sad

when im okay I am empty

I am numb to the cosmos

I can use as many fancy words

I can imbue my thoughts

with pretension

but really

I just feel shit

all eloquence aside

I just feel sad.

I don't feel like anything

and mostly, my mind just comes up with

'I don't know'.

Fellow lifeforms, can you read me?

There's a very large part of me that hasn't ever really felt, real. It still feels like my mind is clinging to some conflicting existentialist ego that made its first appearance when we're told to grow up. There are an abundance of ways to describe it: child trapped in an adults body, alien among the human race, ghost not quite come to terms with its own mortality, etc., etc.
But by far the worst aspect is, there is no real way to describe it. Sure, the above may summarise it to an extent, sure, I might be understood for a little while, but honestly because I can't be sure of who, what, or why I am, I cannot communicate what I feel like I am. This is really my best effort.
So like almost every other human on this planet I will profess that I never seemed to fit in anywhere, but I've seen the same people say that and I've seen what fitting in is, when you're always on the outside looking in, when you've studied it but never partaken in it, you learn to recognise it. Because of this, I still feel alone. This isn't anything particularly sad, unless you allow it to be, but more a topic I'd like to put into writing. Perhaps in doing so I'll find my thoughts easier to process. I mean, they say that you're never sure of what you're thinking, until you write it down.
I digress; I was diagnosed with dyspraxia at the age of 17, a seemingly harmless, simplistic disorder. On account of how subtle it is, it has scarcely been given any notice by governmental institutions, psychological boards or educational systems. While you do learn how to deal with the physical side effects as you grow older, for the most part, the mental ones are far more treacherous, and lonely to navigate. There are a huge number of reasons for this, but I've found the most pressing is, we are as humans constantly reminded that it could be worse. So, with dyspraxia, we are constantly reminding ourselves that it could be worse. Forgo'ing our right to discuss it, vent about it or even bring it up in a social environment. Although anybody with any disability, physical or mental, can tell you that it is frustrating to live with, at the very least.
I constantly find myself without a place to fit in, because I can hardly have a normal conversation with somebody, or apply for a job, meet new people, have a relationship, without feeling completely isolated. It doesn't matter how warm and loving the person is, how accepting they are of this difficulty, because their brain is wired differently to mine, and in turn will interpret information differently to mine, I can never be on the same wave-length as them. Grounded by the knowledge that there are millions out there like this, disturbed knowing that even still we could barely understand each other, I find myself in a purgatory of sorts. A social suspension, in which I can very much recognise convention, reality (as we seem to perceive it) and culture, but cannot participate. Being an extrovert, well, that just seems like a crude joke to me.

You never know what you're thinking until you write it down..

You never know what you're thinking until you write it down..

A few days ago my other half suggested I begin a "lifestyle" blog, this sounded like a great idea if not for one overwhelming hindrance: i often feel as though i lack any particular "lifestyle", certainly nothing substantial enough to turn into words, words that people would want to read.

however what do I have to lose from trying at least?

It then occurred to me that I could just write. about anything. literally anything. I remembered a piece of advise one of my lecturers gave my class about combating writers block; "you never know what you're thinking until you write it down", the same can be applied with any practise, if you're stuck or in a rut, just do and something will come out of it.

So this is the fuel to start my blogging fire. I just remind myself, if I write, I will eventually siphon out something worth reading, right?

Recently I've been facing some facets of an existential crisis; now that my lectures have finished for the year, unemployed me rejoiced the abundance of free time, endless lie-ins, catching up on my favourite shows, going out during the week on student nights, unfortunately a week in the novelty has worn off and I'm at a loss for things to do. I say that, at a loss of things to do that satisfy or entertain me, "Get a job!" "Do something pro-active!" And lo I finally got round to starting this new, potential hobby, and updating my cv. "Don't forget to search for deep orc butts" - Sunny Matthews, 2015.

It gets to a point where I find myself in a cold sweat over wasting the best years of my life, what ever happened to carpe diem? An aspect of my life that seems to have been buried along with my reckless youth.

Months later and the stifling heat has rolled in, "it won't be as bad this year, surely!" I keep telling myself. Yet once again, laziness has set in and productivity has made itself scarce as I feel my brain, almost literally, melting. Laying on my bed in a fit of perspiration and staring at my laptop like some sort of sweaty gormless half-wit. Feeling the tides of inactivity sweeping over my summer I had already resolved to a different pass-time; I am trying to embrace all aspects of my life, good and bad instead of beating myself up over the trivial at any given opportunity. Instead of hating myself for being lazy, I now take this time and low physical energy to meditate. If I find myself on a day too humid or scorching for me to handle doing anything, I reflect upon myself, my life and the universe; trust me to always find something pretentious to gabble on about! I joke, however meditation has become a saving grace in my life over the last year; I feel as though I have really grown, I have worked on opening my chakras and achieved a higher level of self awareness. That's not to say that I have attained a guru-esque status or that I am "totally zen", yet before emotions that came up cloudy and chaotic, undefinable, pose less of a challenge or hurdle to my day to day life. 

I feel as though, were I to offer any advice, it would be that looking at problems from a different angle instead of allowing negativity to set in will yield amazingly uplifting results; try to think of the dark and the light as a necessary duality, one cannot exist without the other, neither can you exist in happiness without negativity arising.