Literary Persuits and other Ramblings

Tag: feelings

Living my Life: The Disorders

Yesterday was crippling. I hurt myself and didn’t feel that I got the sympathy I deserved, I had a mountain of work to do and then found out that I was going to be completely alone in the office/shop. I felt sorry for myself, I felt fearful and I felt alone.
Then when I was rescued, and it was suggested that we should go grocery shopping, I freaked out. I felt claustrophobic, my skin felt too tight, my heart was racing and all my mind was telling me was that this was a conspiracy to keep me from my comfort space.
Now to many, it seems like a whiny day where I should put my big girl pants on and just get on with it. I have heard this many times in my life. One too many times.
The problem is that I live with a few disorders which can literally turn a mole hill into a mountain.
Yesterday was a spark of my anxiety. I have what is referred to as Generalized Anxiety Disorder, which is fancy speak for if I can worry about it, I will. This also include being anxious about being anxious. Sounds ridiculous, right?
Well for me, it is standard. Yes I have medication which helps, but days like yesterday are bound to happen. Then I feel like I have done various types of extreme activities. Sitting alone in the office made felt as though I was walking across a tight rope across skyscrapers with no net. My heart was racing, I was fidgety and couldn’t concentrate. Despite needing to get work done, I could only think of getting out of there. At the same time if I left, then I wouldn’t get my work done. I eventually was so wound up that I just sat in my chair sobbing silently to myself.
Yes, the solutions seem simple, but for me, the solutions seemed impossible to attain.
Once I was rescued from the office and adequately passified that the work can be done the next day, I was more than happy to come home to my comfy bed where I could get some relief from my emotional turmoil in the form of a nice calming nap. That was my focus, which was then taken away from me by the suggestion that groceries are needed. Logically I knew that the shop would not take long. Logically I understand that we need food at home. Yesterday it just seemed as though my rescuer had turned against me and was keeping me from the only place I could find any peace. I shouted, and threw a temper tantrum a toddler would of been proud of. I cried. I used every arrow in my quiver to ensure that I could get away from anxiety inducing situations and get to safety.
Yes, it was manipulative and I am anxious now about the consequences of my tantrum, but in the moment it was more than I could cope with and I was willing to do anything to get to a place of safety.
Now that was a Sunday.
That was not a need to be functional day. My anxiety has landed me many different labels in my functional working life. I have been told that I am abrupt, rude, acerbic, unfocused, and more often, that I am grumpy. The truth is that my anxiety to make sure that I am working right, not letting anyone down and just plain being functional makes me come across that way. I am genuinely hurt when I hear these things about me. I am a person who loves hugs and cuddles. I am not the horrible person my anxiety makes me out to be.
Yes, it is manageable. Yes there is medication. Unfortunately the best method of dealing with it is therapy. Therapy which, due to circumstances, I cannot afford.
The moral? I am still figuring this out. Until I do many more molehills are going to turn into mountains.



There is you

Then there is me

Two worlds in orbit

A distance kept by circumstance

No closer

No further

Circling round and round

A merri-go-round spinning out of control


There is you

And the world in which you live

There where everything is closed up

Private and quiet

All is hidden from view


Then there is me

And the fantasy I rule

Where everything is open and aired

Loud and obnoxious

Keeping quiet that which is hidden


There is you

Then there is me

Divided and torn

Broken and weathered

Beaten and left


There is you

Then there is me

And then there is your past

And then there is mine

On the Edge of a Blade

This post is specific to my experience with cutting and self mutilation. If you are sensitive, judgmental or recovering cutter you may not want to continue reading.

I can’t remember the first time. Nor can I remember a time when I didn’t have scars.

All I know is it starts with a feeling. A crushing weight, somewhere between sadness so intense you can’t breathe let alone cry and rage so strong that your body shakes with the violence. Somewhere between the two is this perfect emotional helplessness.

Everything rushes passed in a haze yet time seems to slow down to a crawl. The concept of time is irrelevant. It is ongoing and eternal. A deep dark hungry abyss with no end. All you can do is fall through it.

Then there is the cold. Freezing from the inside. No matter what you do you cannot get warm. It doesn’t matter the temperature outside. It doesn’t matter how many layers you wear.

It is cold.

You would think that there is a thought pattern to it. But there is nothing. It is like your rational mind has take a vacation leaving you with nothing but a hurricane of emotions which feel as though they are tearing away at your very soul.

Everything is primal. You want to scream and cry and fight but there is nothing there.

No voice. No tears. No energy.

You are betrayed by your body, by your brain, and left to rot with whatever demon hunts you. You are stuck playing cat and mouse with yourself and there is no escape.

It is all of this, but not. It is so much more complex yet somehow more simple.

I guess the first cut can be understood by an alcoholic as the first taste of the alcohol or by a druggy as the first hit. That moment when everything starts to calm down. When you are finally given release and you can start to breathe again.

It is in the tearing of the skin by the blade. The way the skin parts so easily. At first, there is a moment when the skin lies open and all that is there is white flesh. Then the blood pools in. It is hot and red and oh so cleansing. The red little beads that leave a little trail and fall to the ground are like the tears you are unable to shed. The physical pain in more bearable than the emotional pain.

Each cut is like a breath of clean fresh air deep into your starved lungs. Each cut is a measure of peace. A moment of calm in the middle of a storm.

When it is done there is nothing left. Just emptiness. Everything that was clawing inside and ripping your very being apart has bled out on the floor. There is nothing left to be felt. Just pure emptiness.

The aftermath is easy to deal with. Blood is easy to clean. The stinging of the cuts keeping the emotional whirlpool from sucking you to the depths again. Keeping you numb. Empty.

As the cuts start to heal and you watch the skin knit itself back together, you feel a measure of relief. Slowly everything is healing. It might not be as perfect as it was before, but it is over.

Until the next time the storm threatens to swallow you whole again.

I know that it is different for different people, but that is what cutting was for me.


The Promise

You lie there, in the dark, watching her sleep beside you. You take in her scent, watch her breathe, trace outlines on her skin. She is dreaming, you hope that it is about you. She smiles secretly in the dark of the room, and you begin to feel tendrils of fear flicker through you.

You barely acknowledge them at first, but with each breath she takes, the stronger they get. You realize how fragile this moment it. How fragile it all is. She can be taken from you at any moment; swiftly and silently. A stalker grabbing hold of its prey, and there would be nothing you could do to stop it. To save her.

You cuddle up closer to her, feeling her heartbeat with yours and you promise her you will never let anything happen to her. You promise that you will be there for her. That no matter what, you will always answer her call. No matter how silent it is.

But when the day dawns the fears are left in the dark of the night. You fall back into your normal routine. Taking for granted that she will be there, always, when you call. Days turn into weeks, months continue to pass you by, and yet your promise remains forgotten in the depths of the dark of one lonely night.

You look at her, trace your fingers along the lines of her face. She is so beautiful, so fragile. You remember you silent promise all those ages ago, and wonder what happened. How did you miss her call? She looks just as she did back then, content, with a secret smile on her face. You want to tell her how much you love her, but the men are closing the lid. You scream at them, fight them off. Deny that she has gone. Deny that you weren’t there for her.

All that’s left now is ashes, and memories that are already beginning to fade. You remember her laugh, her smile. You throw the ashes off the edge of her favourite spot. You had never once taken the time to climb up here with her. Not once. You had always been too busy. Too preoccupied with your own demons to see hers. There are no tears left, and as you watch the last of the ashes float way In them you can see her smiling, laughing. You can see the love in her eyes. The love she had for you.

Hours pass, as do days. You torment yourself with every means possible. Continually, you punish yourself not being there when she needed you the most. Your world, your soul, is black. You are a void. Nothing. No one knows you; no one even bothers to find out. You exist from one day to another, finding an escape from her touch, her scent, her smile. That secret smile she had which haunts your every dream.

What feels like an eternity passes, and you find yourself back at that spot. Her spot. You scream in anguish for the person you have become. Dark and twisted by pain and rage. By the guilt you feel. She wouldn’t recognize you now. You can no longer hear her soft laughter anymore, or feel the way she felt when her skin was pressed against yours. You can barely see that secret smile she had, it has faded from your dreams.

As the tears flow and the racking sobs tear through every fiber of your body, you catch a faint scent, barely there on the wind. You cry out to her, begging her to forgive you, for you can never forgive yourself. You see her, just pass the edge.

You try to grab her, to hold her, to feel her just one last time. Something grabs you, a warm hand on yours. The touch melts the dark inside away, and eases some of the pain. You turn, expecting to see her in front of you, given back to you by some miracle.

It is not her, you find, but someone else. She doesn’t look the same, but she also has a secret smile, and eyes filled with love. She holds out her hand, and you take it.

She stays with you, Answers your every call. Never forgets you are there. You sit across from her and can’t help but trace the line of her smile. You make another promise. This time the promise is not only to yourself, but to to your love and to your love lost. Never again will you forget her. Forget that she is there. Never forget to answer her when she calls.

This time, you promise that you will keep your promise made to a girl with a secret smile.


So I have wanted to write about my tattoos and their various salient meanings. I say salient, because as I grown and change as a person the meanings behind my tattoos alter slightly. I guess what this says about me is that I spend a lot of time thinking about my tattoos and their meaning. That way I am not going to have a tattoo that loses significance later on in my life.

So, my first instinct was to start from the first…

Then I thought I would start with the tattoo I am planning on covering up.

After the last couple of days, I have decided to start with the last.

The Backwards Text Tattoo

yeah yeah, slightly NSFW.

So, other than those perverts, whovians and OCD cleaners, you may probably notice that the text is backwards. Well duh. If you going to leave a message for yourself maybe you should be able to read it when you look in a mirror. No, that is not the real reason but it is a good reason.

Actual reason: I like to write backwards. So I got a backwards text tattoo. How awesome is that?

So, what does it say?

So I wrote you this song, but you won’t sing along

Okay, that is kinda poetic and cute. Maybe a little girly. Where did it come from?

Well, that part is easy. It is lyrics from a song called Assurance by a band called Hurt.

The significance?

Well it involves a boy. A stubborn, pain-in-the-ass ginger accountant to be precise. There are many ways to interpret that sentence. Lets just leave it as it being said with more than a little fondness.

I fell in love with G almost immediately. Well, he gave me butterflies the first time he smiled at me. An amazing feat considering we were running uphill, and it was some ridiculous time in the morning. Say, 7am or so. I was struggling (because I hate running) and he was prancing around, running backwards and all round being happy. The moment was fleeting as I still had to run back to the kung fu school and do the torment of what was then San Shou training.

However, I was eager to go to every extra training class after that just to see this strange boy (with a fantastic ass).

So, after much flirting (to which he is immune) and dropping hints, I eventually asked the dumbass on a date. I think I have probably fallen in love with him more and more each day since.

The issues started a while into our relationship.

He is grounded, stubborn, logical and prone to depression.

I am all over the place, stubborn, emotional, and well, all my flaws will have to be written up in a another post. We could be here a while.

Needless to say, the concept of opposites attract mostly applies to magnets.

So, where does the tattoo come in? Well, it was one weekend. We had been fighting a lot, the first time around (we have tried and failed this relationship twice now) and this weekend we were back to normal. It was my cousins wedding. When we eventually got back to my aunts place and collapsed into the squishiest bed on the planet, I asked him what would be the song that we would play at our wedding.

He said Assurance by Hurt.

So I listened to the song. After we broke up, I listened to it all the time. I still listen to it.

So, what does my tattoo signify?

  • love is not enough to keep a relationship together
  • no matter how hard you try and be someone to another person, sometimes life has other plans
  • sometimes two people who love each other cannot be together, but it doesn’t make the love any less real

It is by no means a sad tattoo. It reminds me of many happy moments I got to share with G.

So mostly, it is a reminder that loving someone is complicated. That combined with the complications of actually being in a relationship with another person means that if you know two people (or more) who have relationships where there is love and it works, you should be really happy for them.



We know so many. We use them all the time.

We tie them in neat little packages and send them a drift in hopes that someone, somewhere will understand them.

They hold so much meaning, these words, but often fail to express what it is that needs to be said.

 That is why I sit in silence. There are no words. Nothing comes to mind.

It is dark inside, and there are parts of me I don’t want you to see because I am afraid.

So, I sit still.



Desperately looking for words to describe everything I am trying to hide.

I look at you, willing you to understand, but I can’t face the pain I am causing you. I would do anything to push this all down deep inside to keep away from you. To hide it from you. Just to see you smile.

I loved you selflessly once. Please don’t ask me to do it again. Not when you asked me to love you fully now.

To touch you, to hold you. Everything for so long I dreamt of doing.

A surreal fantasy.

To be around you is peace. There is calm.

There is something safe and secure.

Words. Just more words. Trying to convey a meaning.

Take for instant the word friend. To each and everyone it means something different. I could call you my friend. It would not be a lie. To say you are a good friend would even be the truth.

Distance. Silence.

Two more words to keep a friend a friend. To be only a friend.

To stay loyal and true. To be there through all, and to never leave.

Ah, but by that definition alone I have never been a friend,

Instead I just was there.

I accepted the choices you made.

I still accept them now.

Words don’t make feeling any of this easier.

Commitment. Loyalty.

You have my unconditional love, on the condition that I am not there.

To sit and feel and feel and not speak because there are no words. Words which talk about love, and the joy. Words which make me want to share every second of every moment with you because you are so important that I need to share my life with you.

Indescribable happiness. I want to see you smile. Laugh. Your eyes shine with the burning passion you have blazing deep inside. To share in your achievements, your happiest moments, your love.

To hold you and be your comfort when you are sad. To be your distraction when you are stressed. To just be there when you need someone. To be that someone you need.

To be needed.

Needed and loved.

I could decorate this with words so beautiful, a single perfect teardrop would never compare.

But the words would still be words, and a meaning will still need to be conveyed.

So I stay silent.

I don’t tell you where it broke or got hard. Where your words stopped being words and became so much more.

Where one touch has so much emotion that it is almost unbearable to feel.

I can’t love you like you want me to. Not when it is restricted.

I can’t love you without it hurting. Not when I know it must end.

Oh these words. So simple. So easy. Words that come and go, strung up in different ways to mean different things to many people.

These beautiful, heartfelt little packages which cannot even begin to scratch the surface of all that I want to say to you.

So I sit in silence.

Searching for the words.