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.

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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.

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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.

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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)

 

October 2016

It was beautiful while it lasted.

When it’s been some of the hardest months of your life and you’ve been a complete dick to the person you love and you wake up and he’s still there.

I woke up this morning to hear him singing to the puppy about having breakfast, even though he’d only slept 5h, I fell back to sleep smiling to be woken up with flowers and that huge smile of his, just because he likes to see me happy.

I can’t begin to express how grateful I am to have him in my life, holding my reluctant hand through anxiety attacks and depression, holding me to sleep and not walking away when I lose control.

I’ve lost so many people in my life because of anxiety and depression, because I was ashamed to admit I had a problem, because I was afraid of being judged, of being called insane when hiding it was making me exactly that.
I really wish people understood what depression means. It’s not a bad day, it’s not that something happened, its not a way to call attention to yourself, it’s definitely not a joke, it’s a dark cloud that envelops you, tells you to sleep and not to talk to anyone. It’s losing control of your feelings and yourself. It makes outside seem like your enemy and your body ache as if you’ve been beaten up, you forget what hope is, it seems never ending. It makes you run away from open arms when all you want is a hug. Your nightmares don’t stop when you open your eyes. There are good days and bad days, you can smile right through it whilst you crumble inside, everyone lives it differently and not everyone survives it, because you know deep down that even when this cloud has passed, another will come, you don’t know when but you know it will. It’s something that makes me rethink the idea of having children as I don’t want them to have to live through my attacks because I know there will be days, weeks, where I won’t be able to face them, their needs, their little faces will become my enemies.

Please don’t take depression lightly those who don’t suffer it an those that do, please seek help and survive. It’s worth it, try to remember that even when it screams at you that it’s a lie. It’s not, there will always be someone that cares, be brave, be strong, reach out. Find us, we are here. The survivors.

I don’t think I’ve ever asked for anyone to share a post but please please PLEASE, if you’ve read this and have felt this way or know someone that has, share it, you really don’t know, who could need it the most might be the person you least expect and believe me, knowing you’re not alone can save your life.

Amazing as it sounds, it’s true, I promise.