She said It was depressing, but then life always was a bitter lesson.
Why is happiness so hard to find in art? Was a question that plagued my mind today. Maybe its because we’re all miserable cows or perhaps its because most adults don’t relate to tales about happy, content little bunny rabbits.
As a child, I was as joyful as most but as I grew I became more withdrawn and well. Depressed. Neurosis plagued me from a young age. Whenever we played piggy in the middle I was always the piggy who could never catch any of my friends. In team sports, I was always last to be picked. At playtime, my peers always had better biscuits and would never share with me. Bitter resentment grew in me towards life. I wanted an answer. I wanted the truth. Books were a source of escapism for me. As cliche as it sounds, I was the book worm of the class. Yet I wouldn’t say this made me the smartest. I still struggled with figures and somehow my reports never got a place on that wall, nor did I get into the final of the scots verse team despite having a passion for burns from a young age. I can still recite Epistle To Hugh parker word for word a poem that was forgotten and pushed into the shadows by most.
In high school, it seemed my anxiety came to a peak. Out of the hundreds of young adults, I struggled to find friends. Yet this wasn’t a place you wanted to be associated with books at lunchtimes, or at least not in my school. At break times I would line up in the dinner card que only for the single reason not to look like a loner. I cared too much about what people thought, but don’t we all?
However back to the question at hand. Why is art so depressing. Or why are artists so depressing. Why did Plath put her head in an oven, why did Van Gough paint beautiful flowers and then chop off his ear and then later blow out his brains? Why are we all so mental? Is it because life is mental, do we deep down need a reason as to why we exist? Why did Stalin and Hitler kill millions? Why did Andrew Carnegie exploit his workers despite growing up poor, why did burns preach about freedom then desire to be a slave driver? Why? Why? Why? We Ask. I wish I could give you an answer. Pain, money, hate, emptiness, mental illness. Death.
I think my opinion is that we need art to give us a reason to live. We see ourselves through others. It gives us meaning. Perhaps it’s not that art is depressing, maybe it’s just too close to the truth.
A couple of days ago I was kindly nominated to do the ten feelings tag. However Im lazy a shit and couldn’t think of ten so heres five of my favourite feelings!!
1. My first favourite feeling is walking on the beach. In the scorching heat were getting in scotland theres nothing better than walking beside the calming water or chilling on the sand.
2. My second Fave feeling is spending time with loved ones. Wither its playing a game of cards with your mum or having a BBQ with your boyfriend. Nothing makes me more happier !!
3. For my third favourite feeling it has to be online shopping (or normal shopping which we’re sadly not aloud to do at the moment. ) There’s no better feeling than getting a Pretty Little Thing Package arrive at your door with lots of goodies inside. As vain as it might be Im a shopaholic.
4. Music. This has to be my forth choice I love to boogy!
5. My fifth choice has to be indulgences. Tucking into punnet of ice cream , smoking a wee bit weed while the sun goes down , having a cider on the beach. We all love a pit of pleasure in moderation.
I never used to watch films that much , but now I relish the storylines. It’s all I can do most days is sit and watch films or tv or YouTube. I like the escapism of it, perhaps even more than I like books. Watching films is easier for me to digest. So here is a list of the films that made me :
1. Mary Poppins. For some reason this film stands out to me. I remember watching it as a child I must of been around six or seven and just being taken away into a different world with the most haunting music and setting.
2.Titanic. I was obsessed with this film when I was about twelve. I remember making the event one of my personal projects in school. I loved the characters of this heart felt love story. The tragedy of Titanic resonated with me somehow.
3. Les miserables. I discovered this film as a teen and I’ve always believed in revolution and what happens in it. The storyline is also very good and complex and gets your mind working. I also love a good musical.
4. Jane Eyre. I love the film almost as much as I love the book. As you can tell I love a captivating love story. And Janes passionate affair with rochester has your eyes stuck to the television.
If I am being brutally honest with myself I would call myself a failure. I dropped out of school aged 16 which in some peoples eyes makes you only useful for collecting bins or scrubbing toilets. My grammar isn’t up to scratch my writing misspelt and disorganised. Would I preach to the gods that this is the best way to live your life. No I wouldn’t. Poverty is brutal and takes its tole on you. If you want to spend your life on the couch watching Come Dine With Me and Primark hauls and hanging around the bus station all day filling your lungs with god knows what to numb your reality out then by all means follow in my foot steps.
If you want to drive around in a BMW and go shopping for fruit in Waitrose. Then maybe stay in school. However I suppose our experiences make us who we are. I for example am probably a chav who roams the streets in a hoodie and leggings. I am the definition of slipping through the net. Although I’ve made good friends and art from the depths of hell which would never have happend if I didn’t make the choices I did…. I suppose.
Perhaps In some ways failure is good for us It makes us more humble. It gives us a different perspective. You look at a homeless person on the street and instead of judging them your like Jesus Christ Im one away from being them !! And hastily hand them your months benefits (Jks)
Just go easy on yourself If you find yourself at the job centre your among thousands of people in the same boat. Dont live alone with your fear of failure.
A Letter TO 21-Year-Old Me!!
I previously on this blog did a letter to 18-year-old me when I was 17. I’ve actually succeeded in accomplishing some of my goals (Like yes losing my virginity) . I am also probably now a border line alcoholic so I’ve completed the drinking goal (Damn those cocktails) However some things such as my health improving or going to a music festival have stayed the same if not gotten worse. The answer to that question are things overall better? No there not. They are WAY WORSE!! Anyway, lets begin a letter to 21-year-old me.
- How’s the blog have you reached lets say 300 followers we’ll aim high. That’s 200 followers in two years that’s reachable.
- Have you sat your Higher English yet? Please say yes
- Are you in your own place? If not I feel very sorry for you
- A sinister one but have you killed yourself yet? I hope not you weak piece of shit.
- Are you pregnant I’m not sure if I would be happy or sad for the answer to that?
- Are you working do you finally have a Job ?
- Is the psychosis and low mood any better?
- Are you overall more content?
That’s it folks for my letter to 21 year old me. Please like and follow.
You might recognise the title from the book love on the doal (Which I admitedly have not read) Currently Im living on benifits. I am poor. I think being a poor woman in The UK. Is probably the worst thing that can happen you. We fear poverty. We get nervous in exams because of it we fear being titled a
“bum” we fear drowning in what is the uks class system. Far from the life of oliver twist modern day poverty is maybe a little less brutal but still FUCKING AWFUL !! Its something you wouldnt wish on your worst enemy. Here are some points on why as much as much as the middle classes idelise our life of doing nothing all day and long lie ins why poverty in the UK is still the closest you will get to a living HELL!!
Not being able to drive – This is the first thing that makes life impossible. Having to hang around at bus stations is not something youd want to bring your children into. Aside from the dismal scottish weather. The whole situation of not having a car and having to travel on buses is very degrading and alienting.You somehow feel less. You are the underclass they label us as in the sociology classes at prestigious universitys. Somehow we are not human because of this fact.
Poor Housing – It seems that accedemics who have escaped their council houses which they were born wear it like a badge of honour. “I’m a working class acedemic” For the rest of us left on the estates of hell its not so cheary. Small cramped houses , damp coming through the roof and the constant lingering smell of ciggeretes for all us low class people who still smoke. I think in Britain we focus on becoming middle class too much.We forget about making life for the “working classes” more bearable in an attempt to maybe move up the ladder.
Money – Ah the thing that devides this country. Money. Living on the doal. Is practically a death sentence. I mean to the extreme right we are baisically useless burdens and may aswell be burnt at the stake like witches. We are all mennaces to society who didnt try hard enough at school and go around spending the countries money crowding up pubs and enjecting heroine into our veins , because of this somehow we “deserve” to be poor. Like the money guzzling tax evading , probably cocaine taking rich deserve to live in mansions. Right?
Food – I read an article recently on a couple who spent all their benfits on take aways A.K.A me. Why this made the news I do not no. I think it is just to make us look like fat useless burdens who should be living off gruel and packets of potatoes powder. Like let them spend their money on what they want. Theres not articles about analysing how middle class couples spent their money on shoes and wine and a car they cant even afford. Most of us “poor people” realistically live off cheese sandwhiches and thats a fact.
So the next time your about to judge someone on the doal think about theses things 🙂 We are suffering and it needs to end.
1.sometimes people are wrong. Wither its your parents or proffesionals sometimes it better just not to listen.
2.Stay In School No matter how hard it gets. When people say you’l regret it you honestly will. Dont give in to opression. As the quote goes education is our greatest weapon.
3 Avoid psyciatric hospitals at all costs. You know when you hear about writers being depressed its kinda a sterotype.Honestly being admited to hospital will make your health so much worse as no one wants to be degraded and treated like shit the way they do in hospital.
4.Its ok not to be ok- Sometimes you have to give yourself a break. No ones perfect and you probably are doing your best. Minus the breakdown.
5.Remember who the real enemy is – You may have had a bad experience in life that turns you bitter. You may look for someone to blame your family , your friends , yourself. You have to remember that its not these peoples fault. Its just the fascist society we live in. If anything its moneys fault because the world revolves around it.
6.Go easy on the chocolate – As nice as it is. You will gain weight.
7.Smoking isnt always bad – All you see over the packets of ciggerettes are warnings not to do it. Honestly though I think smoking has helped me. It helps mask panic attacks , gets me to go outside more which elievates depression , helps me mentain my weight and can be used as inspiration. Most of my ideas for poems and prose pieces have happend over a fag. To be honest I wish Ide started it sooner.
8.Its hard being a young woman – I know. Its hard being a woman. Its hard being second best. If your poor and a woman its hard being like 10th best. Try and do things that empower you and help convince you your not just scum of the earth. Read books by female authors watch films with female actresses , listen to music sung by females. Go to clubs with other woman. Just know that we all feel the same.
9.ts Natural to worry about the future – Will I ever get a job? Will I be a bad mother? Will my partner leave me ? Its natural
10.Dont let other people bring you down – This kinda ties into my first suggestion. Dont listen to nasty people. Dont listen when your called a bum , dont let it get to you when people at the Job centre look down their snots at you. You are great, you are you!!!
Before I begin this reveiw *cough slaughter* I must point out that I have never watched the original 1996 Trainspotting film which (yes is a classic). However overall I felt it’s predocessor was pretty dire. First thing that struck me about this film was it’s 18 raiting , which I was quite dissapointed about as I was planning on seeing it at the cinema .(Yes my expectations of it were THAT high I was prepared to pay an arm a leg and probably a kidney knowing the price of cinema tickets to go watch it) Now I wouldn’t personally class myself as someone who could be easily taken aback. I curse every second sentence so it would probably make me a hypocrite. Yet even for me . this film is VERY crude. A little bit I can handle and was expected but taken to the point that you have to close your blinds otherwise your neighbours will probably think your watching porn , I felt was too much. This film had a lot of sex scenes (extreme sex scenes) in it as it was about them getting back together to set up a brothel business.
The main theme of this film is the underclass / drug /crime / Violence I couldn’t actually work out the theme as it was so bad it didn’t really have one. The film starts off with the main charcter spud trying to commit sucide. Yet dont worry he gets rescued by his best friend Mark Renton (who is clean from heroine). However spud is not happy with this and tries to baisically hammer Mark for leaving years a go and giving him money to spend on life running drugs. Another main character in the story is simon. Who now in his thrities runs brothels and a failing pub with his partner Veronica and takes cocaine. When Mark meets Simon an intense brawl breaks out over money Mark stole from Simon years ago.
The last character in the film is Franco who is serving time in the jail. At the start of the film he manages to escape Prison by getting someone to stab him. From there he runs home to his wife and son Franco Jnr. Franco Jnr tells his father he has inrolled in college to study Hotel Managment. His father is disgusted at this and more voilence breaks out. In the end Franco Jnr is forced to acompany his father in robbery. Later in the film Mark starts to fall for Veroika Simons girlfriend and they begin an affair.
“Why was I always suffering , always browbeaten ,always accused , for ever condemned ? ” – Charlotte Bronte
In this post ide like to touch on my experience of a Scottish psychiatric hospital. I have been in hospital twice. The first time so awful I can barely write about it and the second a more pleasant ride. The first thing to note is there is not much difference from a prison. You get dished out the same food for instense some kind of mash potatoe , and lumpy custard washed down by weak diluten juice. Maybe you would get more freedom you would say ? Nope you are trapped behind locked doors with the only entertainment some badly written detective novel and some worn out game of snakes and ladders. Overall the hospitals are pretty dire and could be used as a method to increase suffering.
In the morning you line up for your medication like queing to be served in Primark. Except a lot more drained and fatigued. You get dished out some yellow anti psycotics and nausating tasting anti depressents and swallow them down heavily with luke warm water. Then you go through to the “lounge” to get your tea and cold toast and settle down to watch a nice channel four drama made Before Christ. At around ten ocklock you slump back to your bay pull the curtains and collapse into a mid morning nap. To wake two hours later feeling like your mouth is some African desert and the only thing you have to quench your thirst is some stale jug of water from the night before.
At this point you pull out your granny pants and leggings and some oversized pink t-shirt which is supposed to make you look sexy but instead just makes you look like a giant marshmallow , and brave the shower. Only to discover the hot water is not working yet make the wise decision to keep quiet convincing yourself a freezing cold shower might just be the cure to bring you out of your deep depression.
The rest of the day is a blure spent doing crosswords very badly and using up all your mobile data watching YouTube videos on pointless items people have bought out of Home Bargains. All this of course is disturbed by patients swearing and shouting in distress and doors beeping as smokers ferry in and out. Then after your evening meal. It hits you. The reason your in there. Thoughts of sucide. It seems that putting yourself in such a vulnerable uncontrollable position of being a patient in a psychiatric ward takes it’s toll on you and makes you just want to end it.. Overcourse you can’t cause your supervised twenty four seven by nurses and your probably too much of a chicken anyway. Then your mum comes in to visit and all is resolved. As you realise no matter how bad your problems are your mum’s always top them.
Jack Walked across the site. Dirt and rocks crumbling beneath his steel cap boots , the ground he walked on dusty and uneaven. He leant down heaving up a few bricks and sliding them under his arm in a routine manner. He stumbled across to where the house was being built and began to lay. Spreading on a layer of grey murky cement and then placing the brick on top. This was the filling of time in his days. His life one brick on top of another. The mundane repetitivness enough to keep insanity and fear at bay. The soothing relieve of money into the bank account at the end of the month ; enough to allow the objections to slide. To worn down by austerity to read a newspaper , to take an interest in politics. That life couldnt be his , comfort , clarity , security. Hope. Even if he deserved it.
He allowed his thoughts to drift off to an image of his partner. Her slender figure which made him tingle with animal desire , her charming smile which drew you to her like a moth , her flattering laugh which could make you giddy. Yet now she was gone. As quick as a memory. In a box in the ground a future erased ; a life extinguished like a naked flame. How someone could be standing next to you ; merged into every part of your life and the next minuit had disapeared was completly incomprehensible to Jack. He still expected her to be their in the place he had last saw her. A disorientation that it was impossible that he could never talk to her again , laugh with her again. Hold her in his arms and feel protected for one small moment in a world no one was safe in. He still carried the greif with him like a dusty old scarve that made each breath thick , heavy and difficult.
Most nights he spent alone , lagar can in hand the echoey flat only an empty shell and not something he could call home. Possesions scattered like a shrine , items that could never belong there anymore. Without her he was nothing. A one sided coin. An empty side of the bed. A shadow of a life. He stuffed it with booze and oven chips , saturday football matches and news at six. Mundane things. Things to keep killing time. To block out the fact he was alone in the world. Survival was necessary. Living was painful , unbearable , hopeless. Yet death scared him. Like it scared most men. So he carried on. One brick after another.