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[urielysirius-blog]

"They don't love you, you know," says Theo, "How could they, I mean look at you!"

So I followed his instruction. I looked into the mirror, and hated what I saw. Bags rippled out beneath my eyes, and my hip bones didn't jut out as much as I wanted them too. I returned to the yurt I had made out of my sweaty duvet cover and pillows.

The sky was so blue and clear, yet my mind was only one of those two things. Blue. And not the fun kind of sky blue. The type that dampens your day - the blue that reminds you of uncertain ocean waters that you would never wish to end up in. Because you do not need to test it to know that you cannot reach the bottom. Once you are in these waters, without a buoyancy jacket, it is very hard to get out of.

If you haven't already guessed it, I suffer from a cascade of mental illnesses. One of which is the "get-over-it illness" (depression).

On good days, I say to myself "Sure, I suffer from depression, anxiety, PTSD and all that tosh, but I'm still breathing and living my life, and I'm proud of that.". On bad days I tend to say things such as "I am depressed. I am an anxious mess. I am a flashback freak". Because on bad days, I believe that I am my mental illness. And on my good days, it is just a part of me. It walks down the street with me, sometimes in my left pocket; sometimes perching on my shoulder; sometimes acting as a back pack; and sometimes shrouding me, like a big fur coat in the middle of summer.

"Have you taken your medicine?"

"Yes" I reply to my internal resident. He does pay rent - he keeps me safe, everything he is doing is to keep me safe. I can't convince myself, but he can certainly convince me. Just as well as he can convince me that If I move from this bed, the Nazi's will return and resume their reign of terror (I mean, looking at our leaders, it seems to have already happened - and my brain panics when it quickly realises that I can do nothing about it).

"Well, what if, say, it was poisoned?"

Theodore always spoke in a posh, and persuading, new Zealand accent. He was like one of those abusive husbands in movies, that everyone romanticised (ehem, Harley Quinn and Joker fans, I'm talking to you). He spoke quietly into my ear at times - nobody could see or hear him but me. See no evil, hear no evil - but speaking evil, that was allowed.

One part of me felt excitement and anticipation.

"So what if it is poisoned? I'll get to die, atleast" I carry on the dialogue in my head.

"But don't you see? They're stealing the suicide, which is rightfully yours!"

He had a good point.

"Also," I could feel him pacing around my head, "Death by misadventure on your record with be like winning a second place prize - pointless."

And the other half of me raced for the packet of pills to check that I hadn't accidentally taken twenty instead of two - as if I'd forget doing so. My doctors words echoed in my head.

"These are lethal in overdose. Please do not accidentally kill yourself."    

But today, as I lay here, filing through the contents of my mind, I realise that I have to be myself. And a part of me, is the depression. The PTSD. The anxiety. The bulimia. I'm not saying that I accept these as my life long pets, but I'm saying that in order to accept myself, I need to accept what makes me disordered.

"That's the first step to any recovery. Isn't that right, Theo?"

"No," he raises his shield with his right hand, and his 'squatters rights' sign with his left.

I didn't expect an easy fight.

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The photo is owned by me. Incase you were wondering what it is - Its preserved hearts, with pins through them (taken in a witchcraft museum by the coast). Every photo I post is my own work. 

[urielysirius-blog]

I don’t know where I have been today. I can’t remember what I did third period, but I was marked present, and my form tutor saw me. But I wasn’t there. Not in the mental sense, anyway.

I went to see J, and he helped ground me. I started to panic at my confusion of it all. About how I could be somewhere I do not remember going, or how these fingernail marks could appear on my skin without my knowledge. They were my fingernail marks.

I feel like I’m going crazy. A portion of the day has been spent thinking nothing, and feeling nothing. I used to think I’d welcome emotionlessness as if it were an old best friend, but this scares me. It’s scaring me. Another portion has been spent somewhere, doing something, I do not remember going. And the last portion - sobbing hysterically in the bathroom, trying to piece together, like a jumbled jigsaw, what my day has been, who I’ve seen, where I’ve ended up.

I’m getting nowhere.

[urielysirius-blog]

The unknown realised.

Isn’t it crazy, how as you grow up you see things differently? How your morals grow almost as fast as your body (for some, not for others).

Neil was a nice guy. Too nice, some may think. I met him on a snowboarding trip with my youth club. He was a thirty-something year old worker. We went to France for the week, somewhere isolated amidst the mountains. Away from reality. I loved it there.

Until I had an accident. It hurt like hell, but it wasn’t serious, just a broken hand. I did carry on boarding for two days after, because I just couldn’t help myself, until the pain got too much.

Neil offered to stay behind with me. That was only one of many nice things he did for me. He took me to a shopping centre to look at moonboots, and on a cable car. Being an anxious person, I loved to pace around an open space. Until the floor seated thin, metaphorically. But when I was with him I stayed static, not wanting to move from his side. I felt safe when he touched me. And he touched me a lot. Nothing that seemed untoward - he’d wrap his arm around my shoulder a lot, and brush the hair out of my face. He’d tickle me until I lost breath. And I didn’t know whether it was because I was deathly ticklish, or weather it was because it was his hands over me.

I needed my hand redressed, and so we went back to the hostel. Neil didn’t let me struggle by myself, he bandaged me up and kissed my wrist, covering a few scars with his warm lips. We talked, for hours, he took me for food as the others had gone out to eat already, I felt special, and content with how he was treating me.

On the way to France, we had two people carriers - they seated six each, nine including the seats upfront. On the way up I didn’t know who he was, but as the days went on I found myself getting to know this guy. We sat next to one another every breakfast, lunch and dinner time. I started to feel odd when he wasn’t around.

We were alone for a day or two, until gleeson broke his arm, followed by Kyle spraining his wrist. Still, Neil stayed behind with them too.

But still, we got time on our own. He would still come into my room as every other injured had a lay in. I would dangle from the top bunk, he would laugh at me from below, as he batted away my swinging legs. 13 and never been kissed. Well, not in the adult way, anyway. My first kiss was with a grown man. More than twice my age. I wasn’t scared, I was more than welcoming, i thought “this is friendship. This is more than any of my friends my age could give me.”. As he leant in I didn’t find myself dazed, just alert as I smelt his cologne, and the minty breath. This was what it was like in the movies, back then, the lean in, the kiss where neither party can shut it down. That was on the night, and I felt the end coming. He asked me to go in his cab, and so he swapped me with Gleeson. I sat in the front, in the middle of three. When Neil was driving I’d watch him. I’d watch his peppered jaw tense as he took a side long glance at me. On the Euro tunnel he nodded off onto my shoulder. Nothing wrong here. They swapped drivers, and Neil still sat beside me, but in a more relaxed position. I felt it too. The adrenaline of our new chance to get into contact with one another. And so he slept again on my shoulder, a deep slumber and as his head rolled, his lips pressed to my cheek. I’ll see you again, he promised as he kissed me behind everyone’s back. It’s odd. I mentioned this to my boyfriend (alittle more vaguely), about the trip to France and I remembered this… it just upsets me because at the time I was young and malleable. But now, oh, I look at it so so differently.

[urielysirius-blog]

"If you let him keep a hold of your heart, nobody else will be able to get in. Ever."

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I don't know. Maybe he said it because he is finding it hard to let go too. Maybe he does care about me. Why isn't anybody allowed to care about e?

[urielysirius-blog]

Another one bites the dust.

I was wondering why you hadn't replied to my text. Maybe it would've been better not to have known... You're not this monster that everyone is making you out to be. I know that, but it seems nobody else does. I'm scared and confused. They repeated what you had said like it was the most sinister sentence ever uttered. I know that it's not. Doesn't my interpretation count? Don't I get a say? Am I not allowed to miss you? Why am I the only one who can see you?

[urielysirius-blog]

It's rather odd. When I'm with people I just want to be on my own, he when I'm on my own, I want to be with people.

[urielysirius-blog]

I missed your call.

It breaks my heart, not knowing you called. In all the months we were honest, and neither of them thought to tell me. They say it doesn't matter, but it fucking does to me. Whilst he was asking if I was alright, I thought he didn't care.

[urielysirius-blog]

Peace, love and rock and roll… oh and lego men.

Today wasn’t good, but it wasn’t bad either. But I wouldn’t say it was ok, is just say I’m used to it. The days drag on and people leave, and it hurts watching him turn and walk away from me. Simply because I know one day, in the not so far future, he won’t be coming back.

But hats off to you, J, because you were there for me like no one else at that school could be.

[urielysirius-blog]

LSD makes everything pretty. Maybe the world isn't all bad. (The photo did not see what my eyes were seeing...)