There’s a song I wrote about in my last post Everybody Hurts and its true but I think we hurt ourselves as much as others hurt us. I’ve just finished sitting my exam for Higher English a goal I’ve had for years but I’m still not happy. I’ve been so consumed by this goal that I don’t know what to do next. I don’t really have the results to get into university and its kinda too late to apply. Also I feel like I don’t deserve it. My mental health means I can never really do some middle class job like a teacher or journalist also I can’t drive so getting any job is very difficult. Maybe I know that my chance was gone years ago. I’m twenty one almost twenty two and most people have been studying or working for years and all I have is this stupid blog which doesn’t make me any goddam money.
I feel paranoid and angry. I’m angry doctors didn’t help me sooner. My depression and anxiety was like a tumor it was getting worse. Until anxiety turned into paranoia and grandiosity. When I was seventeen I thought I could save the world people could say I was arrogant but really I was just so fucking confused and mentally ill. I needed medication and care and all I got was someone on the phone a nurse ignoring me briskly or a doctor telling me to have a hot milk and go to bed.
This is going to disable me for the rest of my life but I suppose I just have to get on with it. I’ve talked about it before my mum having epilepsy when I was younger I didn’t respect her or my father cause when I was at school I was going to be better than my “working class” family. But trying to climb the rungs of the ladder is like running around in a hamster wheel or trying to punch a whole in a brick wall. My mother is a really strong person she takes fits every night but still looks after me. I didn’t realize how difficult even daily tasks like doing the washing or drying the shower are. Or maybe in other words I didn’t know how lazy I am. I wish I could do more but I just have no motivation. I worry what I’ll be like as a mother , will i have changed by then , will I have money and a decent sized house? Will my child’s life be better than mine?
I suppose we just have to remember that Everybody Hurts or everybody has there own problems. At least I have a roof over my head and food to eat. Even if I’m wasting all my money on my serious take away addiction. It hurts when people don’t understand. Its like people who are unemployed or living in council houses bring poverty on themselves when it’s simply not true. Its not nice to be judged to be called a junkie or slut or scum. When I was a teenager I isolated myself because I was scared what people would think. No one should have to do that. We as a society need to change I suppose there has always been rich and poor but people just don’t care about those in need. We walk past a homeless person , we judge those outside a food bank having a fag. I don’t know much about the good Samaritan story from the bible but even hundreds of years ago people were the same. A priest walked past an injured man. It shows the hypocrisy of society like we could have good jobs like teachers or nurses but we still judge people and ignore those in need.
Yeah everybody hurts and its not a competition on who hurts most. But just be nice to people whoever they are.
Jack liked his coffee strong and sweet. Just as much as he had a fondness for scratch cards , whisky , rock music and roll ups. It was late at night and the cafe was ghostly empty. He fidgeted with the small cup it was greasy and the coffee had too much milk in it leaving a sour aftertaste in his mouth. He thought by the age of thirty nine he would know life. Like he knew death. Death was like a shadow always there but something we choose to ignore lurking away at the corner of your eye , getting under your skin. And life was cruel and full of despair. He had a hamster once and his father had chucked it in the bin so the cats wouldn’t dig it up. He supposed that’s what happens to us in the end , a whole life dumped in the ground or cremated. Then forgotten forever.
He turned the page of the newspaper he was reading , the black ink sticking to his fingers. It was the same old crap , politics ,murder victims , football scores , advertisements for window cleaners.
“Excuse me sir” someone said over his shoulder. He turned round to face a thin looking waitress with bags under her eyes and acne covered skin looked at him. She was probably in her late teens or early twenties. “Your going to have to leave we’re closing up” she instructed him “Aw right” he grumbled getting up from the chair, putting his crumpled newspaper under his arm.
Jack walked out the warmly lit café Into the dark bitter January night. The damp pavements glittered under the moonlight , and the street was deadly silent. He pulled his coat further around him the cold nipping at his skin. Suddenly someone struck him hard behind his head he fell to the floor in agony. The man was on top of him now their grimy hands around his neck strangling him. The face of the man was chubby his teeth rotten. He was so close Jack could smell his stinking breath “Where’s the money” The man spat. “I haven’t got it” Jack chocked struggling in vain against the man. Jacks legs and arms moving frantically desperate for the man to release him.
The man hit his head against the concrete but Jack barely felt it he was so desperate for air his vision turning black. Suddenly the mans hands were off him , he coughed and gasped filling his lungs savoring the oxygen the way you would savor a steak or a bar of chocolate. The man loomed over him. “Where is it “ he hissed “you spent it all on woman a guy like you always has dirty pleasures you give the faced of an educated man when deep down”… he paused and leaned forward and whispered into Jacks ear “Your dirt” He gave jack a hard blow in the ribs with his leather shoe. “He wants the money by the end of the week or else “ , the man gave Jack a sickly smug smile before getting into his jeep and skidding off.
Jack sat up feeling the back of his head his fingers coated with sticky blood. He felt woozy like he’d had too much the pain was everywhere his head his chest he rolled over in agony. “urg” he spat some blood out of his mouth it tasted metallic.
Before I start this post. I just wanted to mention I am in no way a medical expert or know anything about medicine this is just my opinion lol 😊
When we think of people smoking weed, we often call those who smoke it junkies or dow an outs yet taking anti-depressants or having a Beer is socially acceptable. Growing up my mum had epilepsy I saw her and still see her having severe fits every night , the medication she is given doesn’t help. My mum is a very proud person who has never even touched a cigarette but I think If cannabis was available on prescription, it would be different.
Many countries around the world legalize cannabis. Its been about two years since I’ve had a joint and I’ve only ever done it occasionally mostly because I cant get my hands on it. Whereas some European countries you can just go to a coffee shop and buy it without feeling like some low life criminal.
I suffer from severe depression and psychosis. It affects my whole life. I struggle to get out the house , take my medication or concentrate in college and it worries me that I might never work. People argue that cannabis causes psychosis but in my opinion isn’t something that’s grown naturally better than an anti psychotic tablet made with god knows what ? It’s the same with people who are in chronic pain as well as being mentally unfit. Would it not help them?
I think its time we ended the stigma around smoking cannabis. I would love to have a joint to just settle me at night and help me sleep , or to chill me out in the mornings so I could do more activities and I believe Cannabis could untimely help me have a happier better quality of life.
I hope you are well. I always expected France to be warm but its quite cold here. Its a bit like camping all us lads together just without the songs and sausages. My uniform is slightly itchy and I smell a little as there’s no hot baths here sadly. I long to be in a warm bed with you , here the gunfire makes it hard to sleep so I feel slightly delirious. The one good thing is there’s no light pollution like in the cities so you can see hundreds of stars. I’ll be home soon my darling and I hope when you look at the night sky you’ll think of me.
He splashed his face with cold water. The heat was unbearable. Even without his full kit on and the cover of the tent his brown t shirt stuck to his back his cargo trousers heavy and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.
“Alright private” he heard someone say behind him. He swiveled round to find a robust looking chap who chucked him a can of cold coke. “Thanks “ he said giving him a smile and nod of approval. “I’m John” the other man said holding out his hand for him to shake “Roy” he answered. He clicked open the can taking a swig the liquid fizzy and sweet in his mouth enough to pick him up a bit. Roy wiped away another bead of sweat that had escaped from his forehead. “ You’ll get used to it” said John. Roy wondered how anyone could get used to this heat. You better get your stuff on quick if the Sargent catches you like that he’ll make you run around the camp for an hour in full kit. The thought made Roy quite terrified.
They were fighting in Iraq a pointless war his father had said but Roy loved being in the army. Loved the routine , Loved the thrill of holding a gun , loved wearing his uniform for all to see. Before he joined he was on the dole for a year after he left school. It was humiliating having nothing just hanging about smoking pot and staying in bed all day. so he relished every experience now , even the heat and that was saying something.
I’m not sure exactly why I Write , I suppose before you write stories you read them. As a child I devoured books I would literally start reading as soon as I opened my eyes in the morning. I enjoyed it so much. I wanted to put my mark on the world and like the amazing authors I read , I wanted readers not just be entertained but to see something through the eyes of the writer. Me. I owe a lot of my talent (if I can call it that without sounding too arrogant) To my grandparents my gran would read the wishing chair to me as a child and it would take me off to another world. I think there’s something different about reading and writing as a child. My talent wasn’t really discovered until secondary school after it had been nurtured for eleven years or so through the education system. I also liked to write my own stories in my spare time , I remember as an early teen I got more into young adult fiction and liked thrillers. I would write stories about kidnappings and bizarre things like that.
I left school prematurely and grew very depressed this is when I started writing poetry. I remember finding a thin paper back book of T.S Eliot poems in my family’s loft and running through to my mum to tell her how amazing they were. Poetry I found a lot easier to read and write. My first poem was called Lang Town which is near where I live. I started to write about things around me which at that point and I suppose still is poverty. I would write about bus stations and dreary things like that. The characters I suppose had my voice but lucky for me I don’t live in a damp run down flat like the protagonist in my story.
Writing is a very personal act you are basically turning out your soul for others to read and scrutinize. I suppose we all want to live forever and a good poem or book is the closest thing we have to it. We don’t know what it was like to live one hundred years ago but through some of the great writers we can have some understanding of how they lived. I write to change people’s perspectives and make my mark on the world. That is why I write.
I’ve done a post on what I love about Scotland blog post but never one about what I hate. So here is a list of what I Hate about Scotland
Hate – This might shock some but I hate traditional Scottish literature Robert Louise Stevenson and Walter Scott I find their books dry and not to my cup of tea.
Hate – The way we treat people – It might be worse in England but Scottish people like to label people junkies a lot.
Hate – Shortbread its just not a good biscuit
Hate – Nationalism. I’m just sick of our country saying they want to stay in the EU it might be alright for skilled workers to sit back in their chairs and call us racists but we have family’s to feed , houses to heat we need jobs and there all being taken by immigrants. I wouldn’t go as far to say I’m a unionist but I hate how the younger generation all want independence and that its stupid not to want it when most of them are students and are not actually full time workers or on benefits and think its easy to get a Job I can tell you now. Its not. The rich look after themselves it wouldn’t matter if we were independent or not.
Hate – Our stereotypes. I think people think that us Scottish people are a lovely friendly folk when in reality most strangers look like they want to spit on you for saying hi.
Please leave a comment on this blog post and share your thoughts.
Before I start this post, I just want to put a disclaimer that I’m trying to reach 1000 followers by the new year so please follow and like thank you!
Although I like to talk about films and poetry and other random stuff on here, I also feel really depressed at this time of year. Whilst others have been out working and having fun as the seasons change and the colours of the leaves turn I feel especially low. All year I’ve been depressed snoozing through the day and going to bed early to avoid panic attacks. I barely leave the house except to go shopping or go to college and do a course im really struggling with. Its true when they say it goes in one ear and out the other. I thought going to college would help boost my mood but all its done is make me feel inferior when other people in the class aren’t struggling.
It’s a known fact that life is unfair but in the past year I’ve realized how stuck I am in poverty. nothing excites me and around me the area is very bleak. I cant drive and I am getting in a way that im to lazy to take the bus. I used to like getting on the bus and having a look round the shops but now I feel too dependent on my parents, still needing my mum and dad close by.
Its very frustrating for me like a fly entrapped in a spiders web I am desperate for my own independence and freedom. But there’s meds to remember , washing and cooking to do and at the moment I even struggle to clean my own bedroom.
I definitely think I have PTSD from my time(s) I’ve been in hospital which now effects my life. When I was 17 I went through a horrific time looking back now it was completely out of order to treat a teenager like that.
I think writing this blog helps to get it out on paper so to speak. Doing this is a great distraction. I almost feel selfish for feeling this way as there’s people who have probably gone through a lot more than me. Its not like I went through any major trauma growing up apart from my mum having epilepsy but that never stopped her looking after us yet I feel like I’ve let my family down by dropping out of school and like my blog says I feel lazy as my depression makes me feel like i am just sitting around leaching off the state.
I saw a blogs bio which says their a writer of professionally unemployed so maybe I could come under that bracket even though I don’t make any money (yet) My goal is to have enough money to live comfortably maybe have a bigger house that I’ve grown up in however at the moment it feels like that dream is way off.
Anyway, If you feel the same way as me at this time of year just know you’re not alone. Amen x