Moments: Eyes Open


I’m laughing this time. Moving to the ebb and flow of each syncopated beat. Saturating my body with every single juicy bass bound whirl. I’m absolutely loving it.

I told you, I was laughing. A grin teasing away at each residual bit of baby fat still clinging on for the youthful justice on my cheeks. The muscles of my mouth would only rest on a smile, no bit small but restful nonetheless.

Grinning. Smiling. Laughing.

I can see my best friend. Cozy near the small bar of the club, talking to a bouncer. About what? I don’t know. But she was smiling. And that’s all I needed to see.

That’s all I needed to see before closing my eyes once again. Mimicking each wave of the music with my spine. Colours are tracking my body with their eyes, I follow along its tantalising tale.

I open my eyes once more and this time she’s smiling at me. I smile back. A genuine exchange of happiness.

Can my eyes return there? Never again.

Because I told you, didn’t I?

I was whisked away.

I was whisked away.


Misdirected Blame and the Sadness of Impermenance

I’m currently in the process of… Well, processing.

Processing what, you ask? Well, a lot of things I suppose. Mainly that of my rampant abandonment issues.

Someone who has proved reliable and important to me and my recovery has recently left to another country. Which I am happy for her as I believe it is what she wants to do, however, my abandonment issues and I are quite resentful of the fact that she has left. It troubles me day and night that she has gone and has left me wondering if it is any fault of my own that she has left. Which, I really have got to stop doing because you and I both know that projecting blame upon oneself does nothing but destroy your internal equilibrium. So, I often have to remind myself that my blame is misdirected. Not simply misdirected, no, that is incorrect, it is more appropriate to say that any element of blame should not exist in the first place.

There is no one to blame.

And I think that’s what I’m having the most trouble with. I’ve gone through numerous cycles in the last two days (I can’t believe it has only been two days, it feels like decades have passed by) where I’ve blamed her and then I’ve blamed myself. My reasoning for blaming her is that she doesn’t have to leave. And my reasoning for blaming myself is that I should never have gotten so close in the first place.

I’ve pointed this out to a friend, that what is the point of opening up to someone when they’re just going to leave eventually anyway. To which they replied:

“Everything in life in impermenant. To not enjoy and engage in the little time we have alive would be a terrible disservice to our own quality of life. People leave, but that doesn’t mean we should live in isolation, in fear of such prospect. We should grow to expect it and in doing so, we will better appreciate the time we have.”

That friend was my little sister.

I’m glad she said that to me, because it’s making me understand more. It still hurts but as I said, I’m processing.

Nakedstreetkid out x


Inhibitions in the Morning

If you check the time I decide to post something, it is in the early hours of the morning. And that is quite often when my inhibitions are low and my thoughts read like an open book. Whether that is a coherent open book or a garbled mess, I can’t always be too sure, but read it does.

I believe that says a lot of who I am as a person. But nevermind that, I think that is self-criticism rearing it’s ugly head.

Anyway, I want to go back to sleep and just sleep all day. I think that’s what depression and anxiety does to you. Anxiety keeps you up right through the night and then it’s friend depression, swaggers along and inhibits you from rising from your bed all day.

Maybe it would be perfect friendship if they did their jobs at different times of the day. And perhaps, at different intensities.

Because what I’m beginning to realise is that it’s okay to feel anxious. It can be the motivating factor to finish a bit of work or get you pumped for an exam. It shows you care. And depression? Well, it’s okay to feel a little blue sometimes, it reminds you about the powers of self-care and balances a good mood. It really makes you appreciate what you have and allows you some rest. But what’s not alright is the intensity of either of them. Now, that can make a frail man’s head spin right off.

And it makes me, quite frankly, feel dismal about the prospect of forever feeling this way. Pulling out my hair when I’m anxious, self-harming when I’m depressed and dissociating when I’m angry.

Turns out guys, that perhaps the relationship between the three, well, it’s not really working out now, is it?

Nakedstreetkid out x

Thoughtful Thursdays

Failing Favours and Thankful Friends

It is so easy for me to do people in my life favours without asking for anything in return.

It wasn’t until my friend started thanking me so much for my efforts despite not being able to actually complete said favour that I realised how thoughtlessly I do favours for people. Because, despite in my eyes I had failed to complete this favour for her, she still thanked me.

That made me start thinking, how many things do I do without valuing the significance that it makes in another’s life?


Nakedstreetkidout x


Dancing Queen

Okay, so I’m not seventeen anymore. I’m officially 18. But I’m trying my hardest to distance myself from such a number. It’s so silly because I’ve acquired all this added responsibility that I never even needed or wanted. I already pay the rent, I already buy the shopping, I already make dinner. The only difference is that society is willing to recognise me as an adult now that I’ve turned 18. But, what if I no longer want to become one?

Something I hate about being 18 is that I never got to sing that song. You know, Dancing Queen by ABBA. When I was kid, I used to dress up with my best friend in the most ridiculously frilly scarves and her mum’s wigs, each holding onto one of two remote controls screaming along to the lyrics.

You are the Dancing Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen
Dancing Queen, feel the beat from the tambourine!

I remember I used to think that I would love to be 17. What would it be like to be grown up? I would wonder those words all day and all night for some time, convinced that being grown up was quite a mystical period of time. Quite unknown. It took me a while to realise that I had all the responsibilities of being an adult but with the mind of a child. The ignorance of one. Seventeen was an age so blissfully thought about when I was younger.

Sigh, I wish I bloody sang that song when the time was right. When I really was seventeen. But now I’m 18 without a song to sing. Great. Absolutely fabulous.


Property is theft: Notes to a friend

I can’t believe we found words so sizeably perfect that they can fit on a small slip of paper and carried in our own pockets home. How lucky we are! It is a mere miracle to find phrases so intrinsically thoughtful that for a that moment, we did not understand it’s true meaning at a glance. “Property is theft!” I swear, for the seconds we stared down those words, confused and slightly startled, I could not understand how few words could mean so much. it was a funny discovery.

I have never thought that owning something, could be so wrong. That the notion of not sharing and having something as your own is so overlooked by society that we, ourselves could not fathom the responsibility of property. The responsibility to share. Yet, we rob someone of an experience or an item. And it isn’t something really thought about when purchasing the ownership of a thing. Isn’t that scary?

I think that in a bookstore filled to the brim with books about society, psychology and masses of George Orwell novels, those are very profound words to grace the front of a page. “Property is theft!”

We are lucky to have stumbled upon that cute little book shop with the second-hand rack standing outside.