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I often take my laptop to the bathroom with me. I like that I can lock the door and hide away. It’s usually because I needed to use the toilet in the first place. But sometimes I just want to hide. 

At home it’s not so bad. My parents have a large house so I can be away from everyone relatively easily. At my flat it’s not so easy. In fact, it’s hard. Neither my partner nor I lock or even CLOSE the bathroom door most of the time. So going in to hide, type, cry, be locked away from the rest of the world is not easy because he knows I’m in there. 

Why do people take it personal if I’m upset? Why do they always assume it’s something about them? And why do therapists, psychiatrists, doctors, and also just anyone  – why do they think they can help me? How narcissistic to think they are so great as to be able to know what to tell me to ‘help’. Haven’t they realised that what they are saying is 

a. unhelpful
b. has been said, written, and heard at least 56 billion times
c. i’ve already thought it myself.

People just assume that because someone is angry or upset that firstly there must be one single valid reason.
why are you sad? what’s wrong?

If i was going to answer that question I would have to explain my entire life, all the things that have continued to disappoint me as I’ve gotten older, and the fact that the only thing I want from life is to be in a hammock on the beautiful paradise beach and own a quad bike to ride along said beach. pick fruits. help out the locals with fishing. Be naked sometimes if i wanted to be. swim in the sea. dance at sunrise. dance at sunset. eat delicious food. not have to make too much effort with anyone. play guitar. sing. die quietly in a hammock. the guitar will be lying over me. There will be a coconut next to me with a straw sticking out of it. I’ll lean over to finish the last sip. Lean back and think “i’ve finally got what i’ve always wanted” i’ll sigh and all life will come shooting out of me in one painless exhale. my head will tilt back and my eyes will close. That will be the end of my life as I know it. 

Apparently I have to make money first to be able to live like some of the poorest people in the world live.

I don’t want to be part of a tribe though. Tribes are just smaller societies. Same shit. smaller size. 

I want to be like a wolf. I can go off on my own, independent and strong. But if I want to be around others then we can be stronger as a pack. We can work together to achieve the same goal. But when we’re done I can go off alone and do my own thing. Wander around. Pick something off a tree that’s too high for a kid to reach and give it to him smiling and pat  him on the head and walk off humming songs to myself. Have the silence and space to just think my own shit. 

Anyway. I think what I hate about life is the people. 

i really fucking hate people. i don’t think i’m better than them. i hate myself too. what a fucking pathetic moron i am. 

I hate the control that dickheads over my life. i hate bankers, i hate players, i hate air head bimbos who think the only thing to gain from life is a rich husband who will (guaranteed) cheat on her but buy her lots of shit that she doesn’t even fucking NEEEDDD RAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH RAAGGGGEEEE!!!!!! I JUST WANT TO SMASH EVERYTHING! 

sometimes. i imagine I’m on top of a mountain. and there’s noone else around. trees. cold damp grass make contact with my bare feet. I look up to the clouds. look straight ahead of me and see a lake. I breath in deep. i close my eyes. then I scream and the whole world vibrates. and in those sounds waves hurling out of me are words, are pictures, are memories, are explanations, are feelings. Everything that I want to get out of me comes out. laid bare for the entire world to suddenly see and know and understand. I normally do this while crying into a pillow. i hold it, my entire body shakes, i open my mouth. I’m screaming but not a single sound is coming out. but for that moment I’m happy imagining myself on that mountain. and then i realise where i really am and what I’m really doing and i just think ‘what have i become?” 

Sometimes I feel like maybe I’m special. Like i’m Jesus. but not Jesus. But special in a way that I’m meant to make shit better for people and take all their shit on my own shoulders and deal with it. 

I do that anyway. My whole life i’ve done that. I’ve taken a lot of shit. And not given it back. I own a lot of shit really. Maybe that’s why I have stomach problems. I woke up in crippling pain today. I think my stomach aches are related to stress.

But since i was child I’ve been that person. everyone comes to me when they’re upset. everyone. even people i hardly talk to. even my parents. is it coz i just sit and listen and don’t say much? i just say back to them what they told me but from a different point of view?

I try not to tell people my own shit. I don’t like people knowing my fucked up thoughts and worries. I don’t like people seeing my upset or crying or sad. I don’t like them to know of what I really am. What i’m capable of (in a negative way). I think that’s why I wanted to write a blog. To get it out – for myself. So I can try and make sense of all that shit that goes racing through my head. And also, maybe just maybe someone will read this. Maybe it’ll change their life. Maybe they’ll say something that will change mine. Probably not. But sometimes. I think. maybe something good comes from getting it all out. And also I don’t really like speaking that much. Not if I’m sad. i don’t like doing anything if I’m sad. eating seems like the most vile thing to do if I’m sad. just the thought of opening my mouth makes me want to vomit. and i hate vomit. 

Living in a small flat – it’s not easy to hide. And i often have to explain myself. Why should he have to know just because we’re a couple? In a way it’s nice i suppose. that he knows and can try to make it better. and even that he wants to show he cares, even if he really can’t be bothered to have to put up with my shit.

Mostly i hate it. he can judge me. he can make assumptions about me. he can think I’m weak. he can think I’m insane. he can think that i can’t handle my own shit. he can maybe feel sad that he isn’t enough to make me happy. he can think I’m melodramatic. i hate melodramatic people. 

Though he told me he doesn’t think my depression is that bad. I thought I’d lost the strength to hide it. But obviously not. If he thinks its ‘not that bad’. He had depression. he was on antidepressants. I refuse to get help because 1. it’ll be a waste of time 2. i dislike medication and in no way whatsoever would I ever want to take any kind of mood controlling shit. fuck. that. 

Maybe people think that because I want to just deal with it myself that it’s not bad. But really, because it’s so bad I feel like I am the only person who can deal with it. only i know what i feel. only i know what i think. only i know that only i can make it better. 

Anyway. 

So. 

in conclusion. if I’m going to be happy. or if I’m going to be less pissed off and angry and depressed at, in and with, the world is if i just leave to that beautiful paradise island. 

I just want to leave. i tried it before when i went travelling but it didn’t go the way i wanted it to. in fact it was the most awful experience of my entire life and I have a strong dislike for Australians now. I didn’t meet a single one that was awesome. the most awesome person on the entire trip was me. and i suck. 

I imagined myself sitting on a beach. looking at the sunset. looking at the stars. looking at the waves. looking at the stillness. looking at the silence. and in the middle of it all would be me. me with a paper and pen. writing. and then me with a man. we are talking. we are discussing life. we are struck by the way our thoughts, our ideas, our morals, our understanding of everything, intertwine and wrap around each other and become one. and then we ourselves intertwine, becoming one. we kiss passionately. he pushes my hair back and looks into my eyes. its the most life changing and incredible moment that anyone could hope for. it changes us forever. it makes us stronger. it makes us happier. it makes us less dissatisfied. 

that only ever happens in my head. life in my head is much more fascinating. 

it’s all i’ve ever dreamt about – escaping to some island. forgetting everyone i ever knew. no matter whether i liked them or not. and just being. just being able to be.

people would ask me what i want to be. i would look up at them like i was a deer in the headlights. i didn’t want to share my beautiful dream with them. i didn’t want to tell them anything. i didn’t want them asking me questions and invading my private thoughts. 

anyway. its what one would called “a beautiful day”. 

in my eyes its hot. its sunny. there’s a breeze. its a good day for being at the beach.

i wish i had my own private beach. with no one. 

no screaming kids, no topless girls, no sleazy boys, no dirty looks. so i’m not a fucking super model. but i don’t look that bad. i like my body. it needs to be more toned but i like it. so fuck off your with fucking face. 

writing this blog has made me realise how angry i am. i never thought i was angry. but i am. I’m very very very very very fucking angry. I like being angry more than depressed. i think i might try and be more angry from now on. 

at least its a positive emotion. it’s an emotion. it has passion. its fiery and colourful. it’s loud. its a feeling i can revel in and make sense of and try to improve. 

depression is nothing. its watery and grey. it’s wanting to die so much that the rest of the world doesn’t exist outside my own head. it’s too loud. it’s too silent. it’s an endless hole where you can only get further away from the finish line. It’s knowing that you’ve failed. it’s knowing that you’re probably only ever going to do what you want to in your own imagination. it’s the disappointment you feel when you wake up. its cold and yet boiling hot. sweat has its own smell when you’re depressed. it’s the shiveryness you feel when you have to communicate with someone. it’s being on a roller coaster and just sitting there staring at nothing. not reacting. not caring. a glint of annoyance that you’re having to do this. that you couldn’t just be away hiding somewhere. it’s the frustration that you’re expected to react, to make noise, to enjoy. its the disappointment that not only don’t want to but that you can’t do any of those things. 

 

if god exists. why is life such a cunt? 

i like that word a lot. most people think its the most offensive word ever. it’s just another name for vagina. VAGINA! VA GIN A! thats the most disgusting word i think. it sounds vile. cunt sounds passionate at least. 

why is it worse that cock or dick? 

CUNT CUNT CUNT CUNT CUNT CUNT CUNT CUNT CUNT CUNT CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!! 

 

people are so fucking cunting retarded. and if you’re offended by the word cunt. then you’re probably just a big fat cunt. 

CUNT! 

sounds like current. and currant. 

it’s lost meaning now. i said it too many times.