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[We’ve moved to https://oldnorth.tumblr.com/]

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Death twitches my ear. “Live,” he says, “I am coming.”

Virgil 70 - 19 B.C.E (via ancientquotes)

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and 900, damn

Didn’t expect to still be coming here six years later.

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In case nobody’s told you today, you’re worthy. You’re valid. I’m glad you exist

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Getting advertisements for ‘Brits aged 45-75′ in my Tumblr feed.

On Tumblr.

This may be a marketing failure.

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Justice Smith for Teen Vogue: Young Hollywood 2016

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lviv

I read today that Japan threatened the UK with a mass exodus of companies, should the negotiations of post-Brexit trade not be to their liking.

Not a single thread of worry prickled upon my mind, but rather, a strange responder, an inkling of glee raised it’s brow.

See, this glee, is born of the fact that I don’t regard my country as my country anymore. Instead, they are antagonists, enemies, and there doesn’t seem to be room for a middle ground. No, I’m not from here. I was born here, but I’m not one of them, only by convenience and lack of money to move away (right now) do I still remain here. There’s a loneliness, a disconnect, that comes from feeling as if you don’t belong, and I wonder frequently if that break, the severance and turmoil thereafter, is what pushed me to where I am now.

The Brexit, as it was, showed me that I indeed don’t belong anymore, showed me that I’m not British. I don’t have the same attitudes, the same beliefs. I believe in multiculturalism, globalisation, unity; we, as we were and they are, do not. The government is austere, the people are isolationist. The country is going down a road I don’t want to follow, can’t follow.

Where once there was pride, there is now dissonance. I am not one of them, and I doubt I ever shall be again.

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xlii

Fuck the white man Fuck the first world Fuck the unbelievers Fuck the believers too Fuck the faithful Fuck the faithless Fuck the world Fuck you all Fuck me Fuck this writing Fuck my mind Fuck everyone else’s mind

Fuck the police

Fuck the pointless rage Fuck the zealous fury Fuck the self assured Fuck the meek too Fuck the anger Fuck the drive Fuck the pointless shell of life Fuck the world (again) Fuck life Fuck living as well Fuck dying Fuck, who has time for that And, as I am an honest fuck (Else the fuck a liar call)

Fuck enjoying things Fuck wasting time in bed Fuck hope Fuck goals Fuck giving up Fuck fuck fuck Fuck this I’m out Fuck this I’m stuck Fuck this I’m never gettin’ out fuck

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If you’re living with a mental illness, I just want you to know, I’m super proud of you. You’re still here. You’re still alive. Look at you. Despite everything, you’re breathing. That’s amazing, dude.

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Too perfect

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I’m Voting Hell Yeah

There’s been so many votes in Scotland since September 2014 that it feels like ancient history at this point. Back then, I was 16 and very excited at the prospect of casting my first ballot. Like so many of my peers at the time, I rapidly became very politically engaged in the debate surrounding the Scottish independence referendum, and wasn’t hesitant at all to voice my opinions on the matter. It was so obvious that the best thing for our country was to vote no and remain a part of the United Kingdom - best for the economy, best for employment, best for guaranteeing our membership of the EU…

Ah, how things have changed. Had I known two years ago how the political climate of the UK would begin to shape, I would’ve voted yes in a heartbeat. Better Together managed to convince me that leaving the UK would mean leaving the EU, and that was not something that I wanted to toy with. Honestly, apart from fearing a major impact on our economy, the EU was the reason I voted no. The EU provides us with a platform to tackle issues larger than any one nation, like climate change. The EU facilitates collaboration between all kinds of people, from students wanting to experience living and studying abroad to scientists working on the cutting edge of technology. Perhaps most importantly for me, though, is that the EU helps safeguard our human rights - we have the EU to thank for stopping David Cameron from scrapping the Human Rights Act, for goodness sake.

On the 23rd of June 2016, I turned 18: just old enough to vote, as 16 and 17 year olds were denied the right to a say in their future, even though their voice could have altered the result. I put a cross next to remain, and went back home hopeful of a remain win. I simply couldn’t accept otherwise - I fear living in a UK without the EU’s great influence.

While the Better Together campaign admittedly could not have seen into the future and to this disastrous result, I am angry at them. I feared for the future of an independent Scotland because of their preachings, and now it is obvious that remaining in the UK these past couple of years could have been much more damaging instead. If Scotland had voted yes, if we managed to have hope and optimism, we could be in a much better place already. I don’t accept this damned Brexit result. After 62% of Scots voting remain - with not a single Scottish local authority area favouring leave - I won’t accept it. I can’t. Nicola Sturgeon will inevitably get her second Scottish independence referendum, and you had better be damn sure that this time I will be voting to escape from this destructive union.

I am Scottish. I am European. I wish I could’ve been British. But I can’t. I’m so fucking done with bullshit Tory governments that don’t represent my country at all and referendum results that do not represent my country’s values. Sorry, England, Wales and Northern Ireland, but this really is our breakup now.

This time, I’m voting hell yeah.

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Best Always Sunny Cold Opens 1/?

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Best Always Sunny Cold Opens 5/?

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Best Always Sunny Cold Opens 4/?

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Min/Maxing

Go to school, pass your exams, go to university, get a job, get a car, get married, have 2.4 kids, save for your future, retire, die, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

I was into it for a while. I played the game. As a kid I wanted to be a baker, a photographer, a writer. As a teenager I wanted to be a scientist, a graphic designer, a programmer. I went from the things that brought me joy to the things that I was alright at, which I was sure I could make money from; I went from ‘life is for living right now’ to ‘I’ve got to get ready for the future’.

I was sure I knew what I wanted, right from an early age. My dad(s) had been awesome, and I was very lucky to grow up with in households with strong family ties (even if those ties aren’t so strong now). I wanted kids of my own - I wanted to experience the father/son relationship from the other side. I was fifteen going on fifty, planning my first kid by the time I was twenty, marriage by twenty-five (fuck-me-teen-self, I thought *I* was optimistic) and, I supposed, the career to go along with it. I almost completely reneged on my plan to go to university so I could stick out a dead-end career path because I was hooked on the (certainly not to my younger self at the time) pittance of a wage I received. It was more money than I’d ever seen, and more than I dreamt I deserved.

Then came the dark times, the depression, the mistakes, and my dream of fatherhood... well, they all died together.

Life took on a new goal. Happiness. Simpler, cleaner. I was optimising everything about my life to reward me for the now, to keep me satisfied and content from moment to moment; I touted the philosophy that I had ‘abandoned the game’, that I was content to live a meagre income life if it meant I could chase my passions in whatever way I wanted. I went without luxuries, sure, but the thing I wanted, the thing I craved, time itself, that was priceless.

Now once again I find myself at a crossroads, a shift. Life has been on the up for a while, my level of life satisfaction peaking with each passing month. Can’t confess to be ‘fixed’ or ‘happy’ all of the time, but can you? Can’t complain (much) either. Where I lack now, is in my power, my control over my own life, my options. I’ve a dream or two that involve bigger things than I can fund, bigger goals than I can plan. Once again I find myself thinking ‘do I dare dream of bigger things than existing day-to-day?’

I’ve got to get ready for the future.

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Therapy, cont.

“It’s like I wrote on the third passage, there,”

I could feel the words immediately clawing at me. Needy, attention-seeking. Of course he could see the same too, how couldn’t he? It was blinding, deafening. It was too obvious. He smiled and grabbed the sheet from the table, sitting down to read through it; that’s what I’d wanted, as I’m sure he got from the several times in only ten minutes I’d messaged it.

It’s weird having homework again. It’s weird being back in therapy.

Distracted. Remembering yesterday, and how much time I put into writing down truths and the secret thoughts I rarely share, remembering how much time I put into the sheet in front of him now. The hundred or something words betray the effort and time actually spent, and read like a shopping list, though a shopping list of all the experiences I’ve hated the past fortnight. Still waiting, still distracted by what might come next.

The need to be approved of, to be told that I’m handling a titan’s burden, and doing well with it, hangs over the office. I’m so very sure that the next sentence I hear is going to be, “I don’t see why you make such a big deal out of these problems”. Of course it is. Never actually spoken, I still hear it with every pause.

Instead comes the only other thing I was expecting. “You’ve written that you’ve had suicidal urges?” “Oh well, context -” Of course there’s context. It’s a reflex. The finish line of truth-telling is feet away but for every revelation comes a justification. Easier comes the truth when cushioned with an explanation why it’s actually not such a big deal. There’s nodding, and a slight silence as I explain it’s all because of medication withdrawal and it doesn’t happen normally. Liar.

“You’ve obviously learned a lot through self-reflection”.

There it is. A different man but still the same focus for my need to be dealing with this better than I am, and the words, the words that comfort me more than I try to let on. “Took me a long while to seek help,” I reply. Three years. “Tried to learn how to deal with it on my own”. Failed. He nods, and congratulates me in some other way that only hours later escapes me. Fix had, need sated; for now I’m validated. I’m good at therapy. Maybe if I’m good enough I’ll be fixed.