Here I am again sat at the keyboard, fingers hovering hesitantly over the keys: what do I write about?
Its been a while hasn't it?
The uncertainty I forever feel at the beginning of these tasks is at best daunting, but at worst it lifts the lid that releases the serpent that constricts around my heart even on my best days; self doubt is maybe my oldest enemy. But that moment, the fingers hovering, the dryness in my mouth as I sit with a stillness only achieved in the deepest states of concentration, the cold coil of self doubt and insecurity in my chest, it always ends. The snake slithers back to its hole to try again another day.
Before writing those first lines I sat for perhaps 10... no 20 minutes... the clock stopped ticking I'm sure. But still I ask myself that question: what do I write about? Well I guess I'll write about me again, call me a narcissist, self absorbed, I don't really give a damn.
This time I'm talking about love, which incidentally is all I ever seek and simultaneously revile. Me and love have what you might call 'a love/hate relationship.' I'm sorry but tragic irony is part of my personal brand, its inescapable. If I sit and think about what drives me through life, be that University, work, relationships, everything, I would have to admit- despite the damage it will inflict upon my inner emo- that love is a huge drive for me. There is a lot of love inside me, so much so that at points it is unbearable, uncontainable, overflowing. The greatest pain and sadness I have suffered is borne of love in some way or another, it is an emotion that is as destructive as it is nurturing for me, and the same for many others.
In all honesty love- and its capacity for toxicity- has poisoned me as much as it has helped me grow, maybe more. Am I less developed than I could be had my foundations not been eroded by such acidic love? I don't really know, I'll disclose the truth if I ever find it, don't hold your breath though (I'm not). But yes, love has the capacity, like many things, to be deadly, poisonous and dangerous. Some people weaponise love (I sure as hell hold my hands up; guilty as charged), use it to control, manipulate, use the trust it insights to eradicate your sense of self worth. But at the end of the day once you've used loved in such a twisted way it isn't love anymore. Too bent out of shape to bare the name.
But this is not the kind of love I lay focus on, why would I? Love like that is not the kind of love that endures and now it only exists in my memories. Love has gifted me so many things that are far more worthy of my time, and I have love for far better things than any those memories hold. At the risk of sounding corny... love has given me so much strength. Love from my family, my friends has helped me but above all love of myself. Loving myself has given me a power and a strength that is quite simply put, exhilarating. Its helped me take steps towards self discovery that were just that little bit too far away before, its helped me realise who I am and who I'm not (even if I'm not all the way there yet). I stand by the love I have, I am unmovable in my conviction. I love my friends, I'm learning to love my body, I love my degree, the art I produce, the art my peers produce, the environment I am lucky enough to get to work in, I love women, all women, especially bad women because 'Dammit! Bad women provide us with the examples of resistance we need!'. I can be confident that when someone accuses me of being awful, nasty or completely self-centred, that 'NO I AM NOT!' because I have seen the kindness and selflessness I am capable of even if it isn't perfect. It has given me the strength to harden myself against those that condemn me as wrong, ugly or damaged because my beauty comes from within and if you revile me then go ahead, my worth is not dependent on anyone but me.
Yet I find myself sat here with no desire to find love; the love, the one that everyone is looking for. I can't really answer why exactly that might be, though I do have my theories. Is it simply that I am finally fulfilled by the love I have for myself and in need of nothing more? Maybe I just haven't met someone to spark that kind of love in me again, it can often be so damaging. Or maybe I have realised, truly and finally, that I do not need that kind of love at this stage in my life, the stage at which I have just embarked on my lifelong goal of becoming an artist at one of my dream universities. I sure as hell hope so. I am content with the strength and happiness that exists within me and I have no desire for anything more, why would I when I am much more reliable than anyone else ever could be, and why search for something that no good can come of when forced. Why waste time searching for love when I am already surrounded by it?
There is so much to be felt in this world, so much to see and experience and enjoy and none of it should depend solely on another, I have learnt that the hard way. At this age I would gladly welcome love but simultaneously I have no desperation for it. If it comes along, it will show itself but if it doesn't then that only reinforces the feeling that right now is my time to be alone, and enjoy it.
Monday 27 February 2017
Monday 2 January 2017
2016 is the year I dug myself out of a grave
By all rights I should be dead, yet I am fortunate enough to still be here and damn, it feels good. So I will savour that feeling, holding it close as I enter into 2017 unapologetic. No longer will I look to the past and punish myself for things I cannot undo. Instead I move into the new year with fierce determination, never again allowing myself to become as withered and limp as I once was. No longer will I apologise for my being who I am, flaws and all.
This past year has undeniably been one of the hardest of my life, but simultaneously the most rewarding, spending half of it in self destruct- writhing in my own skin as I felt myself decay. I spent months trying to wrestle my way out of my own mind only to sink deeper into its icy grip, severing the ties of many a relationship as I descended ever deeper into the grave I had dug for myself. I was resigned, uninspired and convinced of my undeniable evil; all of this seems like a distant memory now. Awakened from a dream, vaguely aware it happened, the details lingering on the periphery of my mind- dancing away from my grasp whenever I reach out to retrieve them. I say let them dance, let them evade my reach, they are but shadows of the demons of my past.
I have spent the latter half of this year growing as a person more so than ever before. 2016 has been the year I clawed myself free of my grave; digging furiously at the darkness around me until eventually I emerged, gasping and disorientated into a lightness of being I had not felt in what seemed an eternity. I emerged all at once the same person and completely reborn; I learnt to walk again, talk again, breathe, communicate, love, fear, cry, feel- I learnt to fit myself inside my skin and it was glorious. Never has life tasted so good to me as it has these past months. I unwrapped myself from the chains of my illness and learnt how to walk on my own through this world. It is undeniable that I wouldn't have got here without the continued support from the people I hold most dear, but for the first time in my life I can stand up and know that I am ok- better than ok- on my own. My happiness is no longer dependent on any single person, I am untethered, unrestrained and free to fly; free to climb up high and breathe in the crisp air of my success.
I have gone from personal decay, to seeking help, to diagnosis and continued deterioration and finally I have found myself in a comfortable middle ground. I am not my illness, but neither am I completely separate from it; I am an amalgamation of the experiences it has caused and contributed to. Within this I have found peace and comfort. I do not run. Instead I take the truth and wrap myself in it; mould it to my body, fill myself with it until it overflows. It is my armour, my shell, it is warmth and light and it is mine and only mine. I have, not only accepted but, become the truth of my being and that truth is frightening and comforting all at once; the two are not mutually exclusive. Nor is becoming that truth bad in any way. I am an imperfect conception of a hundred mistakes and successes and I am gratified to be the result of that. If even one aspect of my past changed then who is to say I'd have become this same person? In retrospect it's ludicrous to wonder what alternatives may have become my reality, other than the one I'm living, it only serves to destabilise and make you wish for things that could have been. In the end I am stuck with myself and the truth of my being and if I ever wished to move forward I had to embrace it; run at it with arms wide and leap into it without hesitation, and that is exactly what I did. After writhing, wrestling, sinking, succumbing, clawing and breaking through some of the darkest months of my life I slowly rediscovered myself and my truth and that truth is this...
I have the capacity to be a terrible, volatile, terrifying thing: selfish, nasty, vindictive, aggressive, petty, irrational. But these are not attributes reserved for the mentally ill, and by no means are they the core aspects of my personality. Everyone in the world has the capacity to be these things in their own way- this is something that I have come to realise and it has served as a great source of comfort. I am more than my worst days, more than my worst parts. I am kind, selfless, caring and above all loving; I am intense, passionate and fierce. Some people will like this in me and some people will not, but that is not important. What is important is that I like this in me, and I do. The love I now feel for myself is fresh and uncertain, fragile and unstable, but it grows everyday. By no means am I perfect- nor do I wish to be. What fun would life be if I was? So I take myself into 2017, I take all of myself. I take my love and my pettiness, my selflessness and selfishness, my kindness, consideration, anger and irrationality and I bring them unapologetically into another year only to tame them, refine them and own them ever more. I go into 2017 unapologetically myself and unafraid.
This past year has undeniably been one of the hardest of my life, but simultaneously the most rewarding, spending half of it in self destruct- writhing in my own skin as I felt myself decay. I spent months trying to wrestle my way out of my own mind only to sink deeper into its icy grip, severing the ties of many a relationship as I descended ever deeper into the grave I had dug for myself. I was resigned, uninspired and convinced of my undeniable evil; all of this seems like a distant memory now. Awakened from a dream, vaguely aware it happened, the details lingering on the periphery of my mind- dancing away from my grasp whenever I reach out to retrieve them. I say let them dance, let them evade my reach, they are but shadows of the demons of my past.
I have spent the latter half of this year growing as a person more so than ever before. 2016 has been the year I clawed myself free of my grave; digging furiously at the darkness around me until eventually I emerged, gasping and disorientated into a lightness of being I had not felt in what seemed an eternity. I emerged all at once the same person and completely reborn; I learnt to walk again, talk again, breathe, communicate, love, fear, cry, feel- I learnt to fit myself inside my skin and it was glorious. Never has life tasted so good to me as it has these past months. I unwrapped myself from the chains of my illness and learnt how to walk on my own through this world. It is undeniable that I wouldn't have got here without the continued support from the people I hold most dear, but for the first time in my life I can stand up and know that I am ok- better than ok- on my own. My happiness is no longer dependent on any single person, I am untethered, unrestrained and free to fly; free to climb up high and breathe in the crisp air of my success.
I have gone from personal decay, to seeking help, to diagnosis and continued deterioration and finally I have found myself in a comfortable middle ground. I am not my illness, but neither am I completely separate from it; I am an amalgamation of the experiences it has caused and contributed to. Within this I have found peace and comfort. I do not run. Instead I take the truth and wrap myself in it; mould it to my body, fill myself with it until it overflows. It is my armour, my shell, it is warmth and light and it is mine and only mine. I have, not only accepted but, become the truth of my being and that truth is frightening and comforting all at once; the two are not mutually exclusive. Nor is becoming that truth bad in any way. I am an imperfect conception of a hundred mistakes and successes and I am gratified to be the result of that. If even one aspect of my past changed then who is to say I'd have become this same person? In retrospect it's ludicrous to wonder what alternatives may have become my reality, other than the one I'm living, it only serves to destabilise and make you wish for things that could have been. In the end I am stuck with myself and the truth of my being and if I ever wished to move forward I had to embrace it; run at it with arms wide and leap into it without hesitation, and that is exactly what I did. After writhing, wrestling, sinking, succumbing, clawing and breaking through some of the darkest months of my life I slowly rediscovered myself and my truth and that truth is this...
I have the capacity to be a terrible, volatile, terrifying thing: selfish, nasty, vindictive, aggressive, petty, irrational. But these are not attributes reserved for the mentally ill, and by no means are they the core aspects of my personality. Everyone in the world has the capacity to be these things in their own way- this is something that I have come to realise and it has served as a great source of comfort. I am more than my worst days, more than my worst parts. I am kind, selfless, caring and above all loving; I am intense, passionate and fierce. Some people will like this in me and some people will not, but that is not important. What is important is that I like this in me, and I do. The love I now feel for myself is fresh and uncertain, fragile and unstable, but it grows everyday. By no means am I perfect- nor do I wish to be. What fun would life be if I was? So I take myself into 2017, I take all of myself. I take my love and my pettiness, my selflessness and selfishness, my kindness, consideration, anger and irrationality and I bring them unapologetically into another year only to tame them, refine them and own them ever more. I go into 2017 unapologetically myself and unafraid.
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