journal, random, Tideous Tuesdays

An update: Impossible illusions imagined


I feel lost, unloved, unguided and lonely. Quite a self-deterministic mouthful, so, let’s get onto it.

First off, I’m pretty much done with being alive. I look all around me and all I am blinded by in my waking moments is a consumerist lifestyle that continues to propel me into my student loans. And when that is washed down the drain by my heavy, unbridled spending, I can stitch my eyes closed even further to the increasing debt as I dip my sticky fingers £2,000 deep into my overdraft.

All great. All deconstructed.

Let’s move on.

Since engaging in this broadcast state, where every self-obsessed waking thought is living and breathing on instagram, Facebook and so on; where you can see from the comfort of the own phone, which are all in their own self-righteous way apparently smart, what Jessica had for breakfast 2 seconds ago, I find it particularly difficult to allow anyone past a superficial level into my life.

Even so, I will always be envious of those who have the opportunity to be vulnerable with each other. To let people into their lives, knowing full well they will experience so much pain. An easy trade I believe if you understand the full scope of the liberation pain can bring. Healing rarely occurs without some form of pain beforehand and so in that sense, it is completely worth it. Scary in its own right. Not so common regardless but still, because of it, I feel indefinitely unloved as this is not something I have obvious capacity to achieve any time soon.

In the meantime, I’ve joined websites that will support my eccentric lifestyle of consuming drugs, both prescription and otherwise. A website where I will have my internal needs of being able to dump my emotional baggage onto another, a steady flow of validation despite the absolute ridiculous turmoil bouncing against my heart, all met.

An impossible illusion? Perhaps. I’m laughing.

Anyway, where was I?

Put simply, if I can get paid for giving away something that is becoming increasingly meaningless to me – that is sex – then why the hell not? I would prefer it. So, emotional needs met? Check. Physical needs met? Check, check.

Hm, so that’s dealing with or rather, addressing my feelings of being unloved, possibly feeling of how “unguided” I feel, maybe a tad bit of feeling “lost”.

And now, the loneliness:

Well, let’s be honest, I was born to be lonely in a room full of people. (Self-pitying, I know but please, bear with?) Four other siblings, countless cousins, a hundred or two of possible peers to make friends with and not one of them ever wanted to play when I was younger? Long story short, I was never comfortable with being alone but I certainly adopted mannerisms which I thought would hopefully fool those around me otherwise. I mean, the reading, the silence, the headphones always in – all ways to push and pull away from those around me.

It’s hilarious because I haven’t even gotten into how that has translated into my adult life now. Let me digress for a second. When I feel a friendship is being threatened by outside forces, I will keep that friend at arms length while mentally straining not to pull them closer and never let go. The fear is real. The anxiety deafening. I’m a bit of a maverick in that way. A bit destructive. Ready to overdose on my own medicine.

Should I even continue?

My point is: Life is going swell. My self-destructive behaviour is reeking havoc in my mind’s eye, colouring everything distasteful and breeding a weird brand of distrust between me and my surrounding environment.

Oh, and I’ve taken up smoking. It’s lessening the anxiety to be honest. Or making it worse.

I forget.


I do.

Nakedstreetkid out x

Flashback, journal, moments

Flashback: A letter to my brother

Dear Brother,

You had made all these cross-wired connections that were illogical in nature but made sense out of context. Like, I could understand what you were feeling but the why was so over the top that I couldn’t fully grasp.

However, in a position where I was so vulnerable, self-esteem so low it was drooling past the depths of hell, where the flashbacks were hitting me full force with their penetrative glares and living from day-to-day was becoming harder. Where I looked up to you so much and treasured and held true every word you said, I, for a minute, broke.

I broke down.

I cried. Wanting to kill myself. Believing the words you spoke – saying that I was selfish, that how dare I serve myself for a second instead of you, how dare I not sacrifice my wellbeing for your own, how dare I?
But, how dare you.

How dare you ask that of your little sister? No, of another human being, of any other person, to give up themselves so completely to serve your every whim and wish.

Especially when you treat them like the shit on your shoe, only to condescendingly pat them on the head for doing exactly what you feel you needed.

I, for months, despite everything you said, dismissed all those evils you committed onto me. I continued to believe that angels shone out of your arse, them being the ones blessed to touch you, that God worshiped you and Satan cowered in fear every time he heard your name. And, most importantly, that I was the one completely in the wrong. That everything that happened was my fault and only my fault when let’s be real here.

Let’s be real.

The more that I took the responsibility for the faults that happened on that day, the more I serve to negate from the fact that you are a flawed human being like the rest of us.

Because guess what? The sun does not shine to greet you every morning, nor does thunder and lightning boom and bend to your will. You are human. You deserve to take some fault of your own onto shoulders too proud to slump, onto the flattened circumference of your mind crushed away by your demons that you indulge yourself in. I’m just sick of it.

I’m sick of how you’re all too ready to announce to the world how you’ve had it harder than any mere mortal who has experienced pain or anguish. That you believe yourself bigger than what you are. More superior because you choose not to understand what others go through but instead enjoy swimming deep in a sea of your own self-pity.

It’s silly.

Can the idea that someone else may feel pain without you having to make it a competition exist? Because God knows that when I feel good and happy I don’t go comparing it and stopping myself because someone else may be happier than I.

I don’t make it a competition. I just feel happy. And have enough sense to respect other’s happiness, the same way you should respect other’s pain.

I wish you could just see the truth and grow up for once. Because it’s not grown up to give people the silent treatment, it’s not grown up to expect family to serve you unconditionally – love you unconditionally, yes, but not serve. And finally, it’s not grown up to push everyone in your life away just because they communicate with you they do not agree with the way you treat them.

Grow up.

Grow up before everyone that you still love grows up and away from you.

Yours truthfully,

Your excommunicated sister

Continue reading “Flashback: A letter to my brother”


Spiralling Thoughts and Murdered Truths

I have an interview three days from now and I’m not quite sure what I am to do. I’m struggling the most with getting out of my bed at the moment.

In fact, I’m struggling to do just about anything recently. Because if I can’t get out of bed, I can’t revise. If I can’t revise, I can’t feel confident. If I don’t feel confident, I am less likely to talk. If I don’t talk, I can’t communicate this to anyone. If I can’t communicate this to anyone, I won’t overcome this bout of depression. If I don’t overcome this bout of depression, I won’t get out of my bed, I won’t revise and I will fail my interview.

It’s all quite stressful, actually.

Although, I don’t believe the anxious collection of thoughts spiralling out of control is helping a bit. So, that is most likely the first thing I need to tackle – this level of anxiety and every disastrous thought that comes with it. I think that once I’ve sorted that out, forgiven myself for my moment of anxiety and depression, I can lift my head from the comfort of my pillow and leave the comfort of my bed.

Easier said than done though.

I’ll tell you how it goes.

Nakedstreetkid out xx


Friendship: A reflection

Hm, let me start a little differently. Let me add pretext to an already jumbled up story. 

I have a group of friends, guys, who are kinda stapled onto the forefront of my mind. Who I celebrate with them their achievements, share their frustration during shortcomings and share or dispute opinions during debates. They are probably the best group of friends I have ever made. Who I can trust and share a silence with when the time calls for it. Who I can cry in front of without worrying too much that they would judge me. 

Even if I do try and hide away. 

It’s hard, though, when you don’t know quite what to do when a friend is hurting in the most disastrous of ways. When all you want to do is ease their pain but cannot for it is impossible to bring back the past. But I still want to do that. With every fiber of my being, I want to eradicate the hurt they will feel in the future and encourage their growth somehow. Hug them when words fail me, and say the right ones when they do not. Allowing instead each word to flourish into a stepping stone each can follow down their chosen path. 

I really hope for wisdom. 

Yet it never comes. I have not lived enough years to ever truly know how to be wise at this age. For I am only 18. My experiences with love, death and heartbreak are limited to years that are very few. 

I don’t want to make this post about myself, I just wish you to understand just how much I care for my friends. Who I wish that I could provide every dream dreamt in their minds without hesitation. Except, for perhaps, silly ones which consist of prostitution and easy ways out of this monotonous and callous society. 
I just wish them well. 

And wishing that, I hope you can understand how much I care for my friends. How much I cherish their strengths and understand their faults. 

I will always love them. 

Nakedstreetkid out x


Mute for a day

When I was little I had a sore throat and thought I was losing my voice because I could no longer say anything. I then tried to communicate this to my mum through writing. But I was a little kid and my writing was horrendous so it took me a long time to get her to understand that I thought something was wrong with my vocal chords. And eventually I stopped speaking because I literally thought I could speak no more. So, my mum rushed me to the GP and tried to get them to check on me. But by that time everything started working again and I didn’t want to tell her that anything was the matter. So, I just kept quiet for a long time. But, by the end of the day, I had to tell her and she was so angry with me. I remember because every time I think of her face I remember the anger and disappointment and just general worry she had before I had told her the truth.

I was so scared telling her but I felt that I had too.

Another time I stopped talking was when I was 12 or 13 and I had the first bout of depression. I know I talk about depression like it’s a casual thing, but trust me when I say, it was not a casual thing. Anyway, I didn’t talk a lot during this time and there was one time in particular when I didn’t speak for 2 weeks. I guess I wanted to see how long I could last without anyone realising. (No one really did.) I don’t know how I did it but I did it. And when I started to talk again it was the most horrible thing ever. My voice was creeky and quiet and I didn’t know how to pronounce words anymore. I didn’t enjoy it too much. After that, I aimed to say something to someone at least once a day. It was hard for me, but something I felt I needed to do.

There are even times now when I don’t talk. When I wake up not wanting to say anything to anyone. Not because I’m upset or angry but because there’s no reason to. Like that saying goes:

“A wise man thinks first before he speaks and a fool speaks before he thinks.”

Nakedstreetkid out!