An idea.

That’s what I am, I’m the person people think is a good idea, like a walk in the rain that makes you shiver and get a cold, like the idea of a romantic storm until it shakes the house and makes the electric trip, like a pizza until you guilt trip remembering you’re on a diet. I’m that extra drink, that you regret the day after.
I’m the girl that seems like a good idea, until reality hits.
Until you realise I really am what I said I was, but you smiled and took as a joke.

I’m a good idea but be aware of the hangover.

Advertisements

And say hi to the grandparents.

Memes and painful memories,
Photos of people that were so important, seeing their lives and feeling included, the reality hitting home that you’re nobody to them now, just an icon on a screen, a like on a post, just a person from the past yet you know their day to day, you see their lives progressing, you see their children growing yet you are a nobody,
Screenshot and repost,
Comment and share,
Images stolen
Words left in the air
All art is gifted as what’s on there is now theirs, losing your right to creativity for a like or a share, now it’s gone, on a million pages your name not to be seen, just a photo from a screenshot, an image on the screen.
We are nobodies programmed to feel important, with the excuse of bringing us together it pulls us apart, crams publicity into our minds, share and like to win, you find the end of your bank account easily but you never feel the loss begin.
Like a drug in the system, we seek it as we wake, we check it every minute, every hour, every day,
The world is getting smarter but we’re all just going numb,
Screenshot, repost, tag and like,
Save a child from Africa, with one click, yes! That’s right!
Jesus saves the world if you like his Facebook page, but don’t forget to share it or hell will be unleashed.
Why do we care so much what others think of us? The need to tell everyone even what we had for lunch.
The need to feel important, the fear of being alone.
So screenshot repost re-blog, hit that like and share, you’ll win a ticket for heaven, I’ll give it to you when I get there.

The Short & Curlies.

And there I sat, trying not to fidget, him burning a path into the rug, pacing back and forth asking me endless questions;
Did I know..? Have I done..? How long..? Would I do it again..? Who was it with..? Did I enjoy it..?
I felt a drop of sweat drip down my back and get caught in the band of my pencil skirt, bought specially for him.
I could hardly keep up with all of his questions, my answers only triggering new questions to which I had to find answers.
Then, suddenly he went quiet, he settled in a chair, still posed like a leopard ready to strike. I didn’t know what made me more uneasy, the question firing or the sudden silence as I felt his gaze almost burn into me.
He swept over my face, making me doubt my every brush stroke of make up, my lipstick, was it perfect? Were my lashes long enough to distract him? Or would he notice..? Could he tell? Should I tell him? Play it cool? Oh god… Why did I do it? Why was I stupid enough to think I’d get away with it?
The nerves starting to make me bite the inside of my cheek, my leg starting to bounce.
He wanted the whole truth, but… Would he still want me if I told him my dirty secret..? Would he still be interested or would have I messed everything up? Shit shit shit… I’d never done anything like this before… I’d gotten too damn bold, how on earth could I have thought this was a freaking good idea to face him like this?! Why why WHY?!

He asked me again, “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?”

The seconds felt like minutes, my heart like that of a hummingbird, I wanted this to turn out well, my whole life was in the balance…
Play it cool, I thought to myself. You need to tell the truth, just do it, pull it off like a bandaid, quickly, then it’ll be over.
Over…
It’ll be over… Those words froze my heart.

“Well…” I managed to say, choking on my own tongue, “there is one thing…”

“Tell me, I’m sure we can work it out” He said, bringing out a kind smile, warming his posture and showing crinkles in the corner of his eyes, proof that he smiled more often than he had today.

“I sort of cheated… I… I knew if I played clean you’d never want me…” I closed my eyes, my cheeks burning, my teeth clenched, I lifted my arm slowly and played with my long hair nerviously.

“What do you mean you cheated?” the smile slid off his face, his eyes turned a darker brown, shadows appearing.

I sighed deeply and my voice shook, “I’ll show you”

I reached into my bag and pulled out make up remover and wipes, he looked at me confused. He went to speak out, obviously impatient but I held my hand up and looked at him directly and he complied.
I rubbed the cloth over my face and a black mark appeared, then my arms, then legs and lastly I took my hand to my beloved locks of beautiful chocolate hair and pulled them backwards, away from my face.

As this was done the room was silent.
In front of him was sat a girl with a short, bubblegum pink bob, legs and arms covered in tattoos full of colour and a tiny heart next to her eye.

He sat down, this time his pose had lost its agressivity, the confusion showing clearly, along with curiosity.

“But…what?” he was flumoxed, it’s not every day a girl fully transforms herself to work alongside you.

I sat there quietly but looking him straight in the eye, my cv on the desk between us. I’d gotten here, hadn’t I? Was it just the perfect look she’d studied and copied meticulously or did they really want someone passionate about their work? This was the make or break moment.

“I want this job more than anything and I’d say I’d be willing to do that every day if that means I got the job but I want to be straight with you, that’s bullshit.
If you don’t hire me, I promise one day I will become the best in my line of work for someone elses company and every day you will wish you had gotten over the biased opinion your office has about every woman that works here needs to look like the next Miss America.” I stood there, dizzy, my heartbeat in my ears, not sure if I could even continue to stand for much longer, wondering how the hell I had had the guts to tell the partner of the most well known law firm in New York that if he didn’t hire me, he’d regret it. It was basically a threat! Oh shit oh shit oh sh…

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You start Monday at 8am.” He walked around the desk and looked down at me, “and about your… art. Wear work appropriate clothing, you can explain the rest to anyone who cares to ask.”

I sat there as he walked out and the glass door closed softly. I… got… the job..?
HOLY CRAP I GOT TH…

*insert very loud very annoying noise*

My eyelids flickered. I reached out and pulled my phone under the covers, turning the alarm off and shivering in cold. It was just another day.
I slowly got ready, pulling on my stripey uniform, leaving my humanity at home I went to fill my cart at the shop.

“Tuck your hair properly into that cap, nobody needs to see your weird shit. And put the sticker over that damn black thing on your face. God, I can’t believe my manager hired you, eugh. Now go, you’ll be late.” My supervisor was a tall slim woman with dyed blond hair with long extensions and plumpy lips thanks to injections. She’d also had her chest, nose and cheeks done and was constantly strutting around boasting about it. She didn’t like me, obviously. So with a sigh I head off to my daily area.

I smile as I walk into the beautiful lobby, the doorman smiling back and opening the door, I waved at the receptionists and handed them their coffee then head upstairs in the elevator. As the doors were closing a man rushed in, brown eyes, a sharp suit and an inquisitive gaze.

“Morning! Coffee?” I ask smiling, “I hope you don’t mind saying but, you seem like you need it, haha!”

He laughed and ran his hands through his hair, taking a sip from the cup, “And you need to find a job where they don’t make you wear that ridiculous hat!” He laughed and knocked it off my head, my pink hair falling into my face “Right, come on, I need the rehearsal, can we go over these notes? I need to see if they sound as good as I want them to!” he smiled, we both knew they would be.

We left the elevator and wandered towards his office and as he picked up his paperwork off the cart, I put my CV on the top of the list.

“It’s about time” he said quietly, smiling at me “You start Monday” he said.

*insert annoying sound here*

Fog.

She saw a glimpse of him, like a tree through the fog, there but not quite there until you’re touching it, your cold fingertips grazing its moist bark confirming its existence.
Yet, he didn’t appear, her fingertips wouln’t be finding his skin, tracing that smile, he was a part of the fog, wavering in the street lights as the wind moved through it. A figment of her imagination, his name playing on her mind. Her face curved into a soft smile and she breathed in the fresh air, listening to the frozen grass crunching beneath her feet as her dogs ran around with joy. She realised with a sad pang that he never met these beautiful creatures that had kept her alive, though they drove her insane. He hadn’t seen her get tattoed to release her pain, learn to dance with abandonment, sing her heart out on a stage, grow, change, learn to live and be herself on her own terms.

cof
They had become people frozen in the past, images left long ago in an imaginary attic in an imaginary house that was never finished and lived in.
They were once strangers, they were once again. How peculiar life is.
But I’m still here, she thought to herself, I’m still here, holding on.
If she saw him now, would she still be able to read those brown eyes? She would know his smile, out of a billion smiles, she could pick his out but his laugh, it was now a distant sound, blurry, scratched from old replays, now only an echo of time gone by.
What would it be like to see a smile you knew so well on a stranger?
She wouldn’t let herself dwell on it, she let go, unclenching her hands, breathing deeply and surprising herself for feeling okay with these thoughts. He was an important part of her history and as history that he was, like the page of an old book, a book Instagram had shook the dust off by knocking it off the shelf where it lived, she carefully closed it.
It was a story her heart had re-read so many times that its pages were worn and tear stained and now she slowly caressed the cover and put it back on its shelf in her mind and clicked x on the friend suggestion. It was a story that would not be re-written, nor forgotten, it was a love story, tragic, beautiful and had come to an end and she was okay with that.

The art of traveling pain.

Dear Depresion,

It’s been a while since I have written to you, every time I hope it’s the last; it never is.
You follow me like a faithful dog, my black dog as I used to name you. Ironically a black dog became a part of our little family this year, coincidence or did I hope I could replace you?
Yet you morphed… Now you are a shadow that takes the form of things I love, shifting, changing, I no longer know you as my faithful black dog, no, now you’re like a virus, you have evolved so you can still find a way through my armor.
You gently sweep across my life, like a beautiful sea breeze, seeming innocent, even enjoyable, even making me lift my head to let my hair blow in my face and make me smile…But with that seemingly harmless salute, the sea salt you brushed us with in your tender breeze, you stay and errode everything you swept past.

Those beautiful red leaves that made me smile are now black and slippery, like my heart, stumbling, always just a step from falling.
I no longer know what is real, I now doubt every word I hear, every moment of anger, I doubt this beautiful relationship, no longer understanding anything.
So many pieces flash behind closed lids…
I don’t want to go, I don’t want to leave him.
But I can’t separate real pain caused by him and the pain inflicted by this beast that is trying to drown me, showing me every oportunity to get it all over.
I’m here still, how could I leave my babies.
Sometimes I regret my decision in adopting them as they have taken away my choices, they are my priority and in days like these, weeks like these, I wish I had nothing. But they exist and I look at them and know I need to be there for them. We are all we have.

I don’t have the option to surrender to you, my salty darkness.

Murder she wrote.

I have come to consider the darkness to be a friend, this black dog that comes and goes, always leaving hair that clogs up my mind even when the creature is ausent, its own form of love letters, hidden in nooks and crevices.

It’s ironic as now I have adopted a black dog and she sheds a LOT of hair but she brings laughter and bruises to my life, headbutts made of love and overexcitement, it made me think about my other black dog, the one who pads silently beside me, inside me, everywhere, anywhere it can reach… I used to think it was only there to hurt me but I wonder now; is the black dog cursed too? 
I have created this creature in my mind, this animal that has grown and changed along side me, now a majestic wolfish dog, with shining eyes and paws so big they look goofy, as if he never grew into them… His eyes are sad, almost as if he tries to help with his presence but is cursed with only pain…
Even then, there are nights I hug him, accepting the fate, embracing his prickly fur, his breathing the only thing I can hold onto as his breathing is mine, he is me, we are one… Aren’t we? It’s all in my mind, this beautiful creature, the pain, the darkness… How can it only be in someones mind yet drive their whole life?
I read the other day something like how shocking it was that the brain named itself and not only did it do that but in every language.
When you stop to think about it, just for a second, stop reading and actually think about that. The brain named itself.
I wonder sometimes if my brain is mine or I belong to my brain and it enjoys torturing me. My psychologist is worried I separate things in my mind too much, he says all these people that scream at me, all these thoughts are mine. How can I hate myself so much? How can I be fighting myself? A war inside me, like a book, a thousand characters so detailed in every way, they are me.
I killed some, finally they are silent. I told him I got them to leave yet I still can’t get the bloodstains off the carpet floor of that room… The guilt looms and people still wonder what happened… We are better off, I mean of course, I am better off now, but the blood… It still smells like pennies and it won’t go away, no matter how many airfresheners I put in there. I even created a cleaning lady to help, she got tired in ten minutes and took a rest like I do with my house. It’s too messy in here, up here inside and out here around me… How can I be organised without knowing who I am..?
It’s like trying to get to know an onion, each layer looks the same but is different, they all make you cry though.
I’m unsure about myself, I used to know who I was, or pretended to be I guess…
Now I’m torn, happiness is infront of me and those people are shouting again, telling me to fuck it up before it disappears, it will, there’s no IF for these people, happy endings are myths, lies so they can hurt you more later after you believe it. They taunt me, it would be so easy to break this beautiful happiness I have infront of me, they lead me to the pieces, the flimsy parts I am working so hard to strengthen and they push at them with their tiny feet, swinging from my scaffolding, using it as a swing, their feet the wrecking ball.
I picture my partners face, his freckles and lines, how his eyes changed since we met, the beautiful sparkle that they now have, his smile contagious.
Happiness is so fragile.
They hand me the tools to destroy him every day, these people in my mind, sometimes I swear the black dog comes to my rescue, making me tired and sad when they want me to drink, to stray, to fight. I can see him biting their necks and the tools falling from their hands and me along with them, almost welcoming the black wave crashing over me.
I don’t know anymore what is me and what is my illness, what I decide and what’s decided for me.
Whoever is cheering for me up there, I love you.
cropped-octapus-eye-ocean

Smog.

Poison.

It can be found in many ways; man made, alive, in plants and animals, but humans aren’t considered to be on the list, a huge mistake in my opinion.

A friend of mine from my home island has been visiting and although his heart is warm and kind, he has a dark fog that trails behind him, seemingly seeping through him, reaching out to me, burning at the touch. He hugs me and sadness fills me. The beautiful island that we were raised on is killing him, like a dying species, if it does not fight and flee, good dies there, evil grows freely, like poison ivy, taking over, crawling, creeping into your mind and starving your personality, your kindness and darkening your soul, like a blue sky covered in heavy grey clouds.

large (1).jpg

We talk, about the world, the past, the present, our memories, fears, plans, we have always had a beautiful connection, like fingertips touching and sparking in a movie, kindred souls, broken by life and rebuild by bravery and pure will.

Years pass by us but each visit is the same, until now.

We talk, slowly I hear myself… Who is this speaking?
This sarcasm, this disdain dripping from my words… Where has the beauty gone from my view?
I was being sucked back, the island pulling me into its dark embrace, feeding me pain from my past as if it were spoonfuls of sugar that turned to vinegar when touching my tongue.

We went to the cinema with a friend of mine and I noticed his glance, this wasn’t me. It snapped me back, the spoon dropping to the ground with a loud clunk.

I’m not there anymore, none of it matters anymore.
Why relive it? Why wake the beast so it can scratch me again?
Why re-open old scars?

I ripped up the note in my hand that I wrote in the hope of giving a paper cut to its receiver. I didn’t need that, how was it going to help me? The flitting moment of satisfaction that it would bring would evaporate and the beast would growl, demanding to be fed again and again….
Revenge is addictive and turns us into an ugly creature, no matter how beautiful we may look in a mirror.
I always live by two sayings I was told as a child:
Do not crouch down to the level of those that seek to hurt you.
& treat others the way you would like to be treated.
(Applied even when they are complete dicks, leaving loopholes to tease them and also kill them with kindness that will in turn show them a lesson.)

As I dropped the paper in the bin, its pieces fluttering and scattering,  weight lifted, I smiled, feeling like myself just a little bit more, a wonderful sensation, like cream to a burn, my body pulsed, forcing out the dark. I looked down, nearly convinced I was seeing the smog leave my pores, the darkness evaporating into the air…

As the night went on, we spoke of insecurities, questions left unanswered and for the first time in my life I realised, I didn’t need the answer to everything.
This was a huge revelation for someone that was capable of breaking herself into pieces just for the satisfaction of knowing something that she knew would kill a piece of her… The need to know stronger than the need to protect herself. I used to say that those who didn’t seek answers were just cowards that lived in the dark, I know realise that you aren’t ignorant for not seeking  every answer, you are sometimes smarter.
A soft breeze passed through me, filling me with peace and I knew, these questions were best left alone, like a snake in a box, best left undisturbed, for no good would come from opening it as you wouldn’t be able to turn the snake into a rabbit, no matter how much you wanted to, and that snake would bite. Maybe it wouldn’t, but, why risk that when you don’t need to? Why hurt yourself when there are already so many others that will do that to you..?

Don’t add to the pain the world inflicts, put armour on for cthulhus sake! Don’t stab yourself. WE ARE NOT OUR OWN ENEMIES and it’s so damn hard to see that, to say that when the world makes it their mission to hate ourselves, to have a neverending need to be better, prettier, stronger, more, more more…The pressure cutting into us and we learn to except the pain, making it natural to self inflict.

No.

Just no.

We are our own saviours, our own heroes, our bodies, our minds, they are our best weapons, our best defense, our best friend. Our biggest acheivement. Love yourself, in small ways as the first step, my first step was throwing the spoon down instead of swallowing self made poison. A template handed out to everyone by society, personalised by every type of pain inflicted by others.

I am choosing myself, over everything. Drop the bottle, let it shatter.

Look at the past, don’t be afraid, it made you who you are.

I will remember the beautiful, I will tell those stories, the bad can stay there, slowly deteriorating like cliffs with the soft but constant caress of the waves.

I shall make waves, made of tears of pain and laughter, a beautiful mixture that will slowly wash away the hate, close scars, free me.

The most important part is that I’ve started, I took that step, even if I fall backwards, my print is there, showing me it’s possible. I can be happy.

I am Blue, I am free of the smog and I’m on my way.

 

(Perfectly fitting photo by: https://www.redbubble.com/people/melissa-smith)

 

Fall back on me…

She slipped, or had she been tripped..?
Her knees wet and burning, she felt the liquid run down her skin where the stockings had caught on whatever had taken her down and scraped her skin.
All she knew was that she had to get up. The world around her was noisy but it felt far away, spots infront of her eyes, her heart strangely calm… The darkness felt both soothing and possesive, pushing down on her like a physical weight, like a blanket; about to smother her.
She tried to get up but the ground was sharp, like needles, something tore at her skin, she tried to yelp but her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth…
Her dress, once the shade of a pink roses petal in the morning light was now more like a dead flower and for a moment her mothers face came into mind, angry at her for ripping her tights when she was in primary school. As if that mattered now… She smiled, dizzy, as something pulled her up, then pulled back as she realised the creature had claws, not hands, ripping at the collar of her dress, trying to get to her pale skin.
But she was up now. She started to push her way through the bushes and trees, all of them tugging and tearing at her hair, her face, she could almost feel them in her mind… Scratching at what she was.
The air around her felt thick and her lungs could hardly take it in, her chest rising and falling uselessly, the oxygen refusing to cooperate.
The darkness didn’t calm her anymore, the spots took on colours, the noise became louder as something caught her, pushed her against something rough and grating and all she could imagine were those tights she ripped falling over in the playground…
“I’m so sorry mama” she whispered as something pulled at her underwear, ripped at her clothes the noise turned to music and the music turned to a loud consistent ringing noise, her eyes tried to focus on the beast that wanted to devour her… This beast that would be her end, she wanted to see it’s face, before she died.
She wasn’t sure how she knew she was about to die but she was sure of it. If she did nothing to stop it.
She tried to concentrate her eyes, but a blow to the face knocked her sideways as she felt a burning, ripping sensation deep inside her, she could feel the blood running down her legs, she could feel the blood vessels bursting and forming purple marks on her porcelain skin, she could not see anymore, her eyes useless but she could smell it. A familiar smell… This beast, she had come across it before, but how? She had never been into a forest before, this must be a dream she reasoned with herself.
Surely she was dreaming, in her apartment, in her bed, her best friend next door in the other room…
But the noise wouldn’t stop, and the claws wouldn’t give in digging, she felt it pressing into her, it’s teeth sank into her shoulder and its tongue forced itself into her mouth, denying her access to the scream that died in her throat.
They were purple and silver and black in stripes those tights… The tights she ripped when she fell down the stairs and hit her head and her knee. She grasped them to her as if they were the most cherished item in the world. When her mother came to collect her she wept; not for her knee that needed stitches, not for the headache or the scratches, she cried, her shoulders shaking, knowing her mother would be disappointed in her for breaking her new tights, specially brought from England for her as a present.
She tried to say sorry, she remembered, but her mother just smiled and hugged her, her eyes full of tears, the fright much more important than some tights she promised to fix.
They never were fixed those tights…And she missed them, she wished she had them on now… As if they’d save her.
CONCENTRATE ALEX.
Was she Alex still? She couldn’t remember but the name sounded familiar, she could imagine someone shouting it at her, in fact, they were… But it was so far away…

The beast turned her around, yanking her hair, she felt it as it came out at the root.
There was no pain anymore… Just cold. And those damn tights.

Cactus & Balloon.

Have you ever felt ripped into two?

Literally, your body burning as if the skin were being torn.
I am both cactus and balloon.
I am both scared and brave.
I am both suicidal and full of life.
I am strong but weak.
Dizzy but standing strong.

I am terrified of loving but brave enough to run into a dog fight to save my dog from any harm, god forbid a single hair on his body is hurt and my fury shall be unleashed.
I want to live but that voice in my head whispering that death is my only option is a lot louder than that silence where laughter once lived.
I am strong enough to fight that voice but the tablets that help me are grinding me down, daily breaking my edges and crumbling me with every pain, every side effect weighing me down.
I stand but I’m not sure how, my world is spinning, like a child on a merry go round, there is no way to stop it, the faces blurring, my stomach clenching, holding on to the little food I give to my body…

I am both cactus and balloon…
I crave his arms but push them away, I crave to be their loved one, part of a family yet these thorns keep them away… Keep me away.
I try to cut them but I’m too weak to finish the job, they are too strong… I cut enough to be hugged but then I turn my back for a second and I’ve cut them, I feel the blood dripping from my barbs…
I am a cactus and happiness is a balloon, I am surrounded by balloons, doomed forever to watch from a distance and not touch for fear of exploding them.

2014.

Noches que se estiran delante tuyo y a la vez el reloj corre, el aire se vuelve espeso y te cuesta respirar. Miras hacia delante y todo parece ser que este bajo agua pero luego algo caliente desliza por tu mejilla y te das cuenta, sólo son tus lágrimas escapándose de la tormenta que llevas dentro. Respiras hondo y te dices que la noche son sólo horas que pronto acabarán rindiendo ante el día… Cierras los ojos y ves todo aquello que pretendías ocultar del mundo, cada uno de esos momentos que revives tras los párpados como un cine, cada detalle, todo a la perfección… Pero si intentas cambiarlo, una palabra, un paso, se esfuma, como cuando cae una gota nueva a un vaso y hace círculos… Cuando algo sucede nada vuelve a ser como era, da igual cuanto lo desees, cuando esa mariposa mueva esas alas tu vida cambiara de camino…