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Breaking

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People grow up and get over their pain. They stop ruminating over their past, all the mistakes they made stop weighing them down, stop creating fingerprints in their future and they just… move on.

Something I haven’t been able to do yet. Somehow, I’m still here, alive but not living. Jealous of everyone who was able to break in two and still put themselves back together. You see, I’ve always cracked, fractured my internal being, aways have creased and bent in ways unimaginable by the human mind. But unfortunately for me, I’ve never broken. Never had the chance to fully break into a million pieces and start again.

Or, maybe I have. Maybe I was broken to begin with and have never had the chance to feel whole. That the cracks and fractures are created on a body already broken. That the reason it’s taking me so long to be mobile again is because, I’ve always been broken in the first place.

You see, my energy has waned over the years. The want to try has decreased immeasurably. I used to have hope, belief I could be something, do something with my life. Now? I don’t know what the point is because despite the beauty around me, I remain to feel on the outskirts of it all. So far removed from life, what’s the point of living it?

Nothing seems colourful enough on that side of the story, does it?

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journal

Rock Bottom

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For the last few months I’ve been stuck in this horrible limbo of giving up on life and not quite giving up on life. And I honestly thought that no one out there would be able to comprehend such a static way of living until I met my friends. And with these friends, I went out with during the entire weekend, drinking heavily, snorting a lot of cocaine and sleeping very little each night. Before finding myself in the exact same position on Monday morning, feeling much worse for it all. I was now broke, both financially and emotionally.

The days after was filled with avoiding my bank statements which continued to decline in 100s. I was minus 200 one week and then minus 500 the next. Emotionally, my depression was reaping havoc on my days and the sister of depression – suicidal ideation would pop it’s ugly head and whisper sweet nothings into my ears. And all the while, I saw nothing intrinsically wrong with my life.

But I do remember one morning telling my friends that maybe I was developing a terrible drug habit, that my bank account was empty and that I had accumulated this horrible debt that never stops hanging over me like a black cloud over my head. And what did they do? They laughed at it all as if I was insane. Saying that their addiction was worse than my own as I only went on a gram binge every weekend, that my 700 pound debt was nothing, I’ll eventually get out of it.

So, instead of feeling insulted, I just felt like I was going insane. That my method of getting out of rock bottom was working. To drink more, snort more, smoke more, sleep less, care less and strive for less. All of which was the perfect antidote.

But I’ll tell you something now, it never was.

Hitting rock bottom is this funny thing. I thought you’d know when you reached it. When you felt the fiery ground at your feet is when you went into a sudden but cleansing mental breakdown. Kind of like a volcanic eruption, that bathes the foundation in its destructive upbringing ready for something new.

But no, it can be quite different. Quite deliberate in its torture of you. You can feel the cold ground of the bottom glazing the soles of your feet, your entire body submerged in this icy water, your nose just sticking out slightly to sniff the snow. Your organs frozen, your heart gripped in a damaging growth and your brain deteriorating slowly but surely. You can be ready to cry for help but for what? How can you explain the numbness to another, how easily and ready you are to go into a slumber. That you haven’t been fully awake for days, for months. It’s horrible. It’s how my life has been.

And I don’t know how to get out.

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Favourite Spot

I wish that I could show you my favourite places 

Like my spot by the Thames 

Quiet 

Other than the sound of the river waving back at you 

As you stare intently at the reflection of the moon in the eye of the water 

It’s beautiful 

Far more beautiful than this place here 

This place which I’ve had to accept into the fold due to its proximity to home 

That’s been overgrown by humankind 

That has artificial lights dangling by strings 

Which shines brightly at night, casting shadows against the ground 

But is littered by an array of people 

I dislike it but make do with it 

It has its own brand of beauty 

Perhaps not on the same scale as my spot by the Thames 

But beautiful nonetheless 

moments, Poetry

Meeting Charlie 

Dear  Charlie,

we are born into this world on someone else’s terms. Then we are expected to manage its monstrosities, feeding from the hand that they give us.

But if those who birth us tube down our throats that we are nothing but selfish, lazy and ungrateful we are painted the toxic view of the world from that point forward.

We are made to breath down these negative spirals and believe them to be the truth.

However, every time I meet you Charlie, hunched over a card in the bathroom stall of a club vibrating the stench of sweaty bodies and rotten feet, I smile. You make me happy again. You awake my tired body and exalt it with joy, putting a spring in my step as gibberish leaks itself away from my mouth into the atmosphere. You help me to believe in myself and rein my own destiny, a throne in my future.

And then, as suddenly as you come, you disappear again. Hanging me by the arms of a noose, lowering my depraved mass into the body of a dark, dismal well.

Only for me to look up and pray your glorious snow will fall onto me again. Bringing with it you, my dear Charlie, with all your wonderful and splendid hopes, dreams and promises.

Missing you,

the grin of a lost girl
nakedstreetkid out x

Flashback

Flashback: 4:47am

4:47 am 

I wake up

My eyes sorrowful 

Cheeks soaked in tears 

And lips trembling red 
5:00 am

I pick myself up from my bed

Shuffle out 

Into the cold stare of the bathroom 

And open the window 
5:05 am

The breeze slaps me in the face 

I hear leaves chuckle in the wind 

To the songs of birds 

And the cry of foxes 
5:07 am

A glittering gold hits against the blocked building in front of me

A shimmer of the sun 

Showing its reflection 

As I wait 
5:09 am

The sun hits the building fully 

Made from multiple windows, 

Bricked walls 

And bird shit 

But glass 

All the same
5:11 am

I glance up 

The sun’s reflection rises

A mirror of orange 

Trapped for a moment 

Ready to greet my crying face 

with grace and art
5:11 am 

I smile 
5:12 am

I leave 

random

The Devil Reincarnated 


Biscoff spread is the devil reincarnated into this beautiful, sinful, luxurious paste of mouth watering proportions that I can’t get enough of. 

Why? God, why? 

Okay, this is obviously a post about absolutely nothing but my addiction to something so tasteful that I personally have no self-control over. Given, a post about nothing is absolutely needed after the recent show of just pure sadness and lethargy I’ve been dispelling from my heart. I know some may be disappointed but I think it’s about bloody time I do something lighthearted. 
Anyway, back to my heartache of biscoff. 

It’s just so easy to scoff down! Lord help me if I ever get my restless hands on a full jar it because it will be the honest end of me! An entire jar full will easily smooth its way down my esophagus, hit the acid in my stomach, dissipate its madness into my bloodstream and cling on to the walls of my blood vessels for dear life.

All ending in a sudden (but fatal) heart attack. 

And you know what? 

I wouldn’t even care because I would be so happy to have eaten my jar of biscoff in one gulp. There will be just sheer bliss slapped onto my face, with a heavy set jaw and ecstasy lifting away each eyebrow from my glazed honey doe eyes filled with amazement. 

This is what biscoff does to you. Allows you to enter a world of pure beauty and cruelty at the same time. So, proceed at your caution. 

Or, just do whatever you want. 

I’m quickly finding that the world we live in is already as sinful and as beautiful. And there is no force of will that can go against it. 
Nakedstreetkid out xx 

journal

Exploring the Stupidity of Emotional Dysregulation 

I’ve recently experienced so many fucking emotional flashbacks that it has been unreal. 

I’ve had to delete my whatsapp and disconnect my phone because the very idea of having to communicate with another human being while in this state of mind has been strenuous. Strenuous due to the high levels of just pure anxiety it provokes. 

I should start with the fact that during the weekend I went back down south to see old flatmates and make new ones. But I was just… I completely checked out. I couldn’t process through anything, I was feeling so stupid, so embarrassingly stupid because I didn’t know what I was doing. 

The thing is, what I usually fall back on are pre-existing experiences, copying what I did there so that they still come across authentic and then applying them in a chosen situation. However I couldn’t. I had never experienced house hunting or anything of that nature. 

I found that I was frustrated with myself, my internal critic gabbering on and poking fun at me. All the while physically, my face was completely blank and any affect in my voice was barren. I realised in that moment I was dissociating. I was internally reverting back into that little traumatised girl, having the same emotional capacity, believing that I was beyond a disappointment, failing everyone around me. 

I was walking around with the belief that I was, am, inferior and that I was a defective human being that deserved to die. 
Now, this didn’t start – or rather restart – this weekend, it started about a week ago  (shout out to that boy Bobby Shmurda). This idea had been cultivating inside my own mind for so long and I had decided to – whether passively or actively – ignore what I was feeling. In doing that it had found a way to thrive into this toxic energy that not only effected my own esteem but also the way I interacted with others. 

I am so sure that I’m fucking up every single relationship – friendship or otherwise – that it seems impossible to see a way out. Now, that may just be the depression talking but it is scary and I am scared. I am frightened being in this head space, during which I’ve suppressed so many emotions that now they are coming to the forefront of my mind and just burning there. And it feels so entirely uncontrollable. 

This is what emotional flashbacks feel like. And this is what emotional dysregulation looks like for me.

Because last week was where I was completely checked out, completely numb and dissociating all the time for the slightest reason. Now, I’m feeling excessively depressed, like I want to harm myself in any sense of the word. But in the next two weeks, I’ll be as right as rain, brighter than the sun, smiling all the time, having forgotten what this pain feels like. No longer as distressed, and I’ll be happy. 

until the next time where the process 

                                                                      Starts

                                                                                  Again. 
Nakedstreetkid out x