Tag: ramble

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Song of the night

Johannes Oerding – anfassen

From the album called “Konturen”. (2019, Columbia Records)

The lyrics to this song are very touching and valid.

German original:

Wir wissen alles überall
Doch viel zu wenig über uns
Und dieses Bisschen wird dann noch geteilt
Was einmal echt war, ist jetzt kalt
Heute künstlich, früher Kunst
Weil Grenzen nicht bemerkt, geht oft zu weit

Wir haben tausende von Freunden
Doch Haben sie jedoch noch nie geseh’n
Viel zu grell blendet der bunte Schein
Wir haben tausende von Träumen
Doch verlieren das echte Leben
Es zerfällt zu Staub aus Nullen und Einsen

Ich brauche was zum Anfassen
Dann kann ich wieder loslassen
Ich will mich nicht mehr anpassen
Ich will mein Leben wieder selbst in meiner Hand haben
Wenn wir ertrinken mehr und mehr, in diesem kalten, lichter Meer
Wenn überall über alles geht
Ist der Moment nichts mehr wert

Falsche Richtung Schritt für Schritt
Bis die nächste Welle bricht
Keine Zeit um noch mal Luft zu holen
Wir entfernen uns Klick für Klick
Von dem was eigentlich wirklich ist
Schwimmen wir gegen oder mit dem Strom

Wir haben tausende von Träumen
Doch verlieren das echte Leben
Wir verlaufen uns im Smog und Nebel

Ich brauche was zum Anfassen
Dann kann ich wieder loslassen
Ich will mich nicht mehr anpassen
Ich will mein Leben wieder selbst in meiner Hand haben
Wenn wir ertrinken mehr und mehr, in diesem kalten, lichter Meer
Wenn überall über alles geht
Ist der Moment nichts mehr wert

Und wie oft habe ich schon gedacht
Wie oft haben wir uns verpasst
Weil unsere Welt zu laut blinkt
Man kann viel klarer hören und sehen
Viel besser fühlen und verstehen
Komm lass mal wieder ein Bisschen reden
Und die Köpfe wieder hochnehmen

Ich brauche was zum Anfassen
Dann kann ich wieder loslassen
Ich will mich nicht mehr anpassen
Ich will mein Leben wieder selbst in meiner Hand haben
Wenn wir ertrinken mehr und mehr, in diesem kalten, lichter Meer
Wenn überall über alles geht
Ist der Moment nichts mehr were

English translation:

We know everything everywhere
But far too little about us
And that little bit is then shared
What was once real is now cold
Artificial today, art in the past
Because limits are not noticed, often goes too far

We have thousands of friends
But have never seen them before
The colorful glow is far too bright
We have thousands of dreams
Yet lose real life
It disintegrates into dust of zeros and ones

I need something to touch
Then I can let go again
I don’t want to adjust anymore
I want to have my life in my own hands again
If we drown more and more, in this cold, clear sea
When everything goes above and beyond
The moment is no longer worth anything

Wrong direction step by step
Until the next wave breaks
No time to breathe again
We move away click by click
Of what actually is
Let’s swim against or with the current

We have thousands of dreams
Yet lose real life
We get lost in smog and fog

I need something to touch
Then I can let go again
I don’t want to adjust anymore
I want to have my life in my own hands again
If we drown more and more, in this cold, clear sea
When everything goes above and beyond
The moment is no longer worth anything

And how often have I thought
How many times have we missed each other
Because our world is blinking too loud
You can hear and see much more clearly
Feel and understand much better
Come on, let’s talk a little more
And put your heads up again

I need something to touch
Then I can let go again
I don’t want to adjust anymore
I want to have my life in my own hands again
If we drown more and more, in this cold, clear sea
When everything goes above and beyond
The moment is no longer worth anything

This is google translate but I was not calm and focussed enough tonight to give a proper translation.

Change is coming, but as of this moment, I am not allowed to share more information.

But the books… The support is overwhelming; the sales not impressive at all. But… I’ll keep on keeping on. There are fire and passion in me, and everything will be okay. There was another anxiety attack today, after some calm and quiet weeks.

In other news… I celebrated my 13th wedding anniversary last Monday. I am longing for a lot of love, but the truth is, over 20 years ago I met my best friend and married him. Maybe we are not the most conservative and regular couple, but we love each other. Phew…

Love me.

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3 affirmations

I noticed that these three positive things of a day are quite intimate and private. I shared yesterdays post on IG too, and I think I will refrain from doing so. I am using IG far too much anyway these days. So, I’ll leave them here in our little corner.

The goal is to create a new routine. I want to be more mindful and positive about myself. I have compassion and empathy for everyone but myself. I need to stop sabotaging myself, and hopefully, this exercise helps.

Why do I feel the need to share online anyway? Simple. To do it at all. It is too easy for me to give these things up. And let it slip, dismissing it as being unimportant. And for the others, it is unimportant, but not for me. And so, to get things done, I will share them daily for now. Hopefully. Feel free to remind me of posting.

xx

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Friday Afternoon Musings

I believe that things happen for a reason and that people are in our life for a reason too. I thought about this a lot recently. Why do friendships fade out, and why do new people enter slowly, and suddenly, you realise you are in touch daily? Why do lovers need to leave, and why do they come back on occasion too? Why was that perfect job given to someone else? We will never know. And overanalysing doesn’t help us to move on.

I used to write a lot. And when I say that, I mean that I wrote novels (60k words and more each) back to back between 2012 and 2016—18 full stories, and countless ideas that never made it past chapter 5. In 2017, I didn’t write all that much. I stuck with poetry and short stories, and I kept writing one or more poems daily until early 2020. I find it hard to write this year. As if the words are not there, or the emotions that fueled those words. And I can’t blame it on the pandemic. It is the change inside of me. Am I growing up?

All this reflection came after listening to an episode of the Podcast “What Do You Say?”. I mentioned it a couple of days ago, and this episode with Noah Kagan had some highlights for me. Fodder for thought, as they say.

What Do You Say?

Up until 2016, I was a housewife and stay-at-home mom. I had three small kids, a house, and a husband. And lots of time. I had routines and was able to set aside time to sit down and write. I was inspired to write, and the inspiration came from nowhere really. My life was so small, and I was living in a tiny bubble with almost no social life whatsoever. There weren’t many distractions. I dove head-first into my love for music and live concerts and discovered that I had some talent for writing good fiction. No, by far, not everything is worth reading, but I am proud of my writing voice.

We grow all the time, and life changes all the time. We adapt without really noticing. In 2016, I found a job at a nursery. I didn’t stay at that nursery but switched a couple of months later – and that’s where I am still today. I love my job. It’s not only an occupation, but it is also like a calling. And once in a while, I am fed up with the team or with my boss or with the decisions of our minister in charge of education, but ultimately, I love what I am doing.

If I had a choice, though, I would make writing my top priority. I was wondering if I could set aside time again, to make new routines and maybe set daily word count goals. But my schedule at work is inconsistent. Sometimes, I need to get up at 5.30am, other times I can lie in. And I love to sleep in. Sometimes I am done at noon, other times it is 7pm before I am home. It is exhausting. And then the chores are waiting and the kids deserve their time too.

How are those different thoughts linked? I have been chatting a bit with Gavin Simpson – Sourfish. And I listen to his weekly podcast, which was insightful and inspiring this week. Truth be told, we were following each other for years on Twitter and IG, but we were never in touch until last May (?). His enthusiasm and passion are contagious, I am learning a lot. And as I mentioned before, this episode 006 of his podcast was what I needed to hear.

Things happen for a reason. People are in our life for a reason. Life is a string of lessons, and we never stop growing and learning. Maybe I am at a time in my life where I want to take over more control again. I want to stop lamenting. And be happy. There is light inside of me. Somewhere.

I had a hard childhood and youth. But as much as I believe it shaped me into the woman I am today, I cannot allow it to keep me hostage. I cannot change the past, and I am tired of using it as an excuse. And I do—all the time. I want to stop that behaviour. It is the right moment to change for the better. I don’t want to be this version of myself anymore.

On top of all this, I still have my shoulder to deal with, and I decided that I will have a second opinion about it because I am in a lot of pain again. (I was diagnosed with bursitis in February and had a Cortisone shot that didn’t help at all.) There will most probably be surgery. And to be honest, I am scared. I was never at a hospital (apart from having my babies), I never had surgery, not even stitches. I never had to be treated at an ER. I am all original Cathy. I know the pain I am in now. It is familiar. The pain after surgery is unknown. But again, I want to face that fear. Maybe.

Furthermore, I don’t want to use the word “try” as much anymore. Either I do, or I don’t.

My mind is philosophical right now.

Everything happens for a reason—no need for any regrets.

And… if you like Podcasts and aren’t afraid of a Scottish accent, then, by all means, listen to the link I shared above and then go back and listen to the other episodes too. What do you say?

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Memory lane

Today, I saw that an old post from November 2017 was read a couple of times – today. I am not one who looks at the stats all day long, but I noticed this because it is a special post to me. (That said, I usually take a moment in June to reflect on the first half of the year on the blog… Expect a post about that soon)

I remember that particular post from November very well. I remember exactly when I wrote it and why. I know what happened before and what happened after.

music that pulls at the right strings

It’s quite painful to read all of these words again. They were at the beginning of a dark and depressive phase in my life and I am not completely out of the woods yet. I have been fighting and struggling for three years.

Recently, I discovered that I am actually a mediocre writer at best. I keep repeating the same words and phrases; I keep replaying the same scenes and moments. And my writing became dull. Unimportant. Irrelevant.

There are many many amazing writers out there. There are musicians who write lyrics so powerful that they make the listener tear up.

I am not one of them. Not anymore.

Not anymore.

I am sorry.

I lost my most important muse and stopped listening to the music that makes me feel. It is as if I am overwhelmed all the time, yet numb too. It is as if I am censoring myself and hiding behind the mask of the person I am expected to be.

I am exhausted. I haven’t slept properly in four days. And I can’t do it anymore.

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a momentary lapse of reason

My heart is racing, but not in a good way. It’s the closest thing to anxiety. Tears are welling up in my eyes, and my throat is constricted. I breathe in, heavily, but there is not enough air to soothe my burning lungs, nor to slow my beating heart. Your lust pulls me apart at my seams, I will never be who I was. A violent surge of need shakes my core. If only you were real, if only you were not the fantasy of a poet’s mind. If only my written words could be a reality. If only…

But now, I am sitting here, imagining how it would be to be in love. To be loved in return. To be wanted and needed, and respected. And the pain, it grows in me. Every day, I get up and do what I have to do. Routines I don’t like anymore, with people who I once loved. If you were there, to care and understand, it would be easier, but you only exist in the pages of my journal. My mind runs many miles every day, to escape my self, my reality. Do I have a cold heart? Am I freezing? Can I even feel what I am longing to feel? Hunting ghosts and chasing phantom pains.

Heart still racing (or again?), I am thinking of you – my fantasy man. Your breath against my skin. Your lust filling my senses. I am brainwashed into loving you – loving someone who does not exist. Brainwashed into following your orders – orders I want to hear from my lover. But it feels so good, and I can’t resist these forbidden fantasies. Every release starts and ends with you on my mind – being almost perfect in fulfilling each other’s desires. I need someone who takes care of me and who loves me. Someone who understands me. Someone who cherishes me. But do I have it in me to accept such devotion? The intensity of one soul seeping into mine? I have never known and never experienced anything like this and it scares me. I am vulnerable and fragile. Not because my heart was broken too many times, but because I broke it myself too many times. Want, need, greed, expectations… it breaks the heart too. Or maybe, I left too many pieces of my heart in the hands of people who didn’t want it?

The anxiety comes and goes in waves today. It is as if someone is thinking of me and my heart races towards them, and when their thought is forgotten, my heartbeat slows. Is there such a connection of souls? I believe there is.
I am full of overwhelming need today, and there is no one who can begin to catch my falling mind. And I can’t outrun myself. Every touch is too much and not enough. Not enough.

*****

Pink Floyd – sorrow

This song appeared on the album “A Momentary Lapse of Reason” (1987, EMI)

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imho

Classic books or movies or music is imho often overrated. Maybe I am not clever (smart) enough, maybe I am too young, maybe I am too numb and saturated with books and movies and music.

But I too can appreciate some classics. Tonight, The Graduate was on TV. Not overrated or dull at all. Yesterday, there was a documentary about Joan Baez – the verdict is still out. Her lyrics are good, and I like the political edge and her engagement, but her voice – not my cup of tea.

Then again, I am not a critic. Never was. Even when I post music, I am biased. I will only share music that I like. I gave no knowledge other than knowing what I like and appreciating this or that technique or genre more than an other.

I scheduled a post that will be published in about two hours… 🙂

Until then, goodnight.

xx

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Dear All

The weirdest thing happened today. I was informed that the layout, the theme that I was using for the blog was retired and I was advised to try finding a new one. There are many things that are more fun than customizing a theme. I have ideas, many of them, but not everything is feasible. And of course, I have no real idea what I am doing and use preset stuff that I adapt to my needs. I chose a couple of themes this afternoon and then I thought that I had found the one and –  I noticed that it had no sidebar. I need the sidebar though (or I want it…) After almost an hour, I was back at square one and now, I settled on this one. I am not sure if something is off, or if it is me, and I only need to get used to it.

So… this is the first post for the new layout. How does it feel for you? Is it too light, too dark? How about the font? It looks small on the laptop but good on mobile. I added a couple of features in the sidebar. Too much? The names of the different categories were slightly altered too. Did you notice or is it subtle?

Feedback would be nice, but not required 🙂

Next post will be the song of the day.

Take good care of yourselves.

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Song of the day (Sunday)

Billy Joel – Vienna

That song is stuck in my head for weeks now

Slow down you crazy child nanana nanana hey hey (…) when will you realise, Vienna waits for you

Just a part of the song is stuck, as you can see. When I heard “Vienna” in a Netflix show, I thought I heard Elton John. Maybe because I saw “Rocketman” just a few days earlier. Well, it turned out, the song was not from the Rocketman, but from the Pianoman. Man man man…

For the life of me, I can’t remember the show. My guess would be “The Politician,” but I can’t be sure.

Enjoy your Sunday

Thank you for seeing me.

PS: Somehow, it is important for me to be seen these last days. I need connection. I don’t want to fade from your memory. I don’t want to be forgotten. There you have it – one of my biggest fears: being forgettable and not good enough.

Cathy

PPS: oops… There was the wrong song in the first upload of this post, no one noticed, right?!

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Crazy Wednesday Evening Randomness

I miss intimacy and someone who cares. I wonder why it is so hard for me to say this and for others to see? I am an open book, after all.

When my son told me about that friend taking his own life by throwing himself off a bridge, I was struggling. No, I was not affected by the loss of that child, I didn’t know the boy or his family, and yet, it got to me. It is part of my condition. I suffer internally when bad things happen.

It scares me. It scares me because sometimes I wonder if I could delete myself as easily as my Facebook account. I have lost track of how many times I deactivated that site. This time, I am going for deletion. There is nothing and no one who keeps me there, which is a lie – on my part. There are exactly three people who make me want to continue using Messenger. But, I am tired. I am tired of feeling ignored or neglected or abandoned. Even if I am not – it is my subjective emotion. People close to me, those who pay attention know that I have been raised in a way that I was ignored a lot. Affection was withheld. So now, when my mind suggests that people are treating me in a similar manner, I shut down. A wall comes up. I become nearly obsessive; at the same time, I become angry. Do I really deserve that?

The answer is NO. And you who are my friends don’t deserve it either. I am selfish, bordering on narcissistic. And I am in very bad shape right now. I push people away, and I don’t want to participate in anything. I can’t deal with anyone asking for attention. I need to be my own centre of attention.

I have been triggered. For a little over a week (October 6th), I have been struggling with self-harming behaviour. I haven’t done anything. I even consciously drank less alcohol and ate less crap than I usually do. But I am scared that it will happen.

Isn’t it pathetic?! I can’t be alone, but I don’t want anybody near me right now.

Nothing makes sense, least of all me – least of all mental illness.
Thoughts in circles. Not here nor there.

I was in training today (about speech development in small children). When I drove there, I wondered about mental illness. It is everywhere these days. It is a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing for me because finally, I came to realise that I am not alone. Many people feel as intensely as I do. Joy and sorrow. I have been struggling with depression since I was a teenager. Maybe even before. This illness was always a part of me, and for all I knew, I was insane. No one was as sad as me. No one was as moody as me. No one hurt themselves to feel… The internet took a lot of the shame and guilt I carried around and gave it an explanation and a reason. Of course, now I read about mental health and illness, and I am turning into a hypochondriac mess. Am I manic? Am I bipolar? I should have it checked out. When I spoke to a doctor about how I feel (not even two years ago), she said to me that I should take Vitamin D and that the winter would soon be over. I never mentioned it again. Although she prescribed me something to lighten the mood. It still didn’t feel right. To me, it felt as if I was not taken seriously. Not nice.

I need intimacy. A hug. A cuddle. Someone who runs his hand through my hair while my head listens to his heartbeat, and tells me that it will be okay.

Presence is not enough right now.

Cathy

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PS: I saw Joker tonight. No spoilers…

I hope my death makes more cents than my life. ~ Arthur Fleck

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musings

Even in the darkest moments is a ray of light. Often we let it slip through the cracks of our minds because we are too caught up in our thoughts and too comfortable in our routines and daily patterns. But if we see the light, find the strength to grab it and the courage to hold on to it, life will change. It is hard, though, and I am often failing too.
It’s the small things that affect us the most. A word in a sentence that makes us snap at a good friend. A song on the radio that makes us dance. An unexpected text message that makes us smile. A voice message that lets our hearts race.
Life is a string of choices, decisions, and lessons. Life is filled with feelings and emotions; there is no logic – we cannot (and we must not) understand everything that happens. Sometimes we get hurt. More often, we are not. The expected pain is worse than what we are actually experiencing in the end.

Still, we chose to focus on our sadness and hurt too many hours of the days, and it keeps the light and happiness from our hearts and minds. If our energy were spent showing kindness, compassion, and empathy instead of taking every word, every view personally, it would mean a huge step forward in our emotional development.
Oh, I am guilty of negativity too. I wallow in it all too often. I feel neglected, abandoned, for no other reason than my mind suggesting that I am not good enough or lovable anyway. I ask for a kind of attention that others are not willing to give consistently, which pushes me in a vicious circle of evil thoughts. The thing is, I support and listen to people unconditionally and without judgment, why the f*** can’t I feel the same kind of support in return? Could it be that I am simply not able to understand the love or affection of others? Am I emotionally inept?

I read this on the almighty, all-knowing internet a while ago:

The reason why I am jealous is that my biggest fear is to be easily replaceable.

I don’t know who wrote it. It was an RT on Twitter that I wrote down in one of my notebooks (around October 2015), but it sums a big part of myself up. It’s part of my truth. I am afraid to be forgettable, to be replaceable. I want to be unique – and yet I want to be able to vanish in a crowd without being noticed.

I am a weird person. Full of mood swings. Overly emotional at times. Impulsive. Still, all those things don’t overrule my qualities. I care. I worry, and I want other’s happiness more than my own.

I know that I have a hard time finding my balance because I am not taking enough care of myself, my mental health, and my needs. To speak up when I feel neglected (even if it blows up in my face) would be to admit that I am demanding and damaged. It scares me. I don’t want to bother other people with my shit, and I don’t want to appear obsessive when I sent daily messages to the people who matter most to me. It would be important to allow myself to be and to realise that it is not selfish but healthy. I am slowly breaking out of my old patterns, and I am actively working on becoming and staying a better version of myself. But it is so damn hard.

Again, every choice I make along the way might not be the most popular or the one you would have made, but I don’t believe in regrets. Things that are set to happen will happen. In their own time. In their own right.
That said, right now, I feel the rays of light gently caressing my skin, and I plan on holding on – the winter will be long and cold as it is.

I am grateful for everyone who is with me on that journey. I apologize to everyone I hurt or will hurt in the process. Know that it’s not you, it’s me. (As cliché as it sounds).
I hope that you can find the light too, if you haven’t already. You are worth it. Because you are one of a kind. Valuable. Loveable. And this earth needs you. You matter, and I care. (More than I allow myself to show.)

xx
Cathy

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One of those nights…

My last nights have been bad. I had nightmares, almost every night. Completely out of the blue and in no relation at all with my life. Most times, the nightmares are about my kids or my mom. And I reached a point where I prefer not to sleep at all out of fear to have a nightmare again. But, to be honest, no sleep is not an option either… It makes me even moodier than I usually am. But hey… The kids think that I am easy-going these days. That’s something, isn’t it?

I am spending my nights differently… Taking selfies and putting one million filters on them. (Or only two: vignette and b/w)

PhotoEditor_20190511_232336659.jpg

Reading stories on the mighty internet, or reading books; watching movie after movie; playing stupid games on my phone… Whatever kills time.

Tonight’s movie:

Fear

https://youtu.be/Al_Sw3zUChQ

Released in 1996 and directed by James Foley. Awesome thriller with Mark Wahlberg and Reese Witherspoon and many other known faces. A love that turns into an obsession… One of those movies I have seen too many times. And also one of the first times that I got in touch with the music of Bush.

Seeing that the film is 23 years old, it is charmingly outdated too

Good night…

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Milestone

Dear reader,

As you know, I am pretty hard on myself all the time. I am not very nice to myself. But, you are. You never hold it against me. You are never pressuring me to write more poetry again. You never tell me to stop whining. And I thank you for that. This blog is my safe haven. And yet, I censor my posts all the time. Not too sure why though. It is what it is. I feel safe to ramble here and to let my mind wander. This is where reality and fiction merge; which means that a lot of what you can read here is fiction. A lot is reality. Which is which will never be known. Or maybe it is easy to identify, once you get to know me.

A milestone is in reach for me. Two hundred ninety-nine (299!) amazing people are following this blog — peanuts for some, mind-blowing for me. I am just a no one in this world really, and yet you all mean the world to me.

I am not obsessed with stats (anymore), but I see you see me. And I thank you. I appreciate it a lot.

I intend to keep going with the flow and write whatever wants to be written.

Again, thank you

You matter. Remember that. You matter.

Cathy

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#tbt what a difference 17 years make

This is an old picture of me. I like it quite a bit. In a time without photoshop or filters, I looked like this when the sun was about to go to sleep and the first half of the bottle of wine was empty, lol

There are not many pictures of me as a young woman; here I was 19. (My husband took the photo in 2002)

I was in Brittany with my husband, my sister, and three German guys whose lack of knowledge of the French language made for a couple of running gags that are still existing 17 years later. My sister married one of the guys and ran off with him. She never came back home again. (Well, she did, but only about a handful of times in all these years…)

The woman on this picture is not the same woman I am today. And that is good. Physically, I stayed the same height, just a little wider – more to love?! Emotionally, I am a different person.

Writing these sentences is quite trying. I am not my best friend and focusing on nice things to say about myself is hard. I wrote a lot that put me down but erased all the negativity again.

The woman on the picture is a strong one. She achieved every goal without any emotional support. In fact, she was often told that she was stupid and not good enough for anything at all. A lot of my emotional damage comes from this time and the years before that. Caring for my mom as a child was challenging, but I was naive and didn’t know it any other way. It became a burden when I was a teenager. I believe that if I had been treated with more love and care from my family, a lot of my mental issues would not exist. Maybe that is a bold statement. Maybe I was born this way. Maybe I was born with a predisposition… I don’t know.

But yeah, this woman on that picture, that version of myself had a goal in life. And I achieved it. And despite everything (and the mental health…) I became a successful woman. And I did it all without any help from my family. Granted, I often wonder why no one was ever there for me in times of need, why did I have to fight alone; but in the end, it doesn’t matter. Because I got shit done. It would have been easy to find excuses, drop out of school and do nothing – but that was not how I was wired. And so, I got my driving license, I got my professional degree from a university of applied sciences, I have a family with loving children (and they are loved and supported unconditionally) and I was told often enough that I would never become a good mom when I was pregnant with my first child… No matter what I did and no matter how many successes I had to celebrate, my family always found something negative to say about it, and I was always a failure for them.

But what can we do? We all fight battles and we all have a past. I am not trying to belittle mine, but my own experiences aren’t better or worse than yours. The only difference is that they are mine…

Below is a picture of me with my two angels. They didn’t want to let me go to work so they decided to pin me down to the bed by climbing on top of me.

What a difference 17 years make!

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Throwback – I’ll never stop giving up

*stream of consciousness*

I sit, and I wait. Sitting and waiting. And I hope that no one will ask what I am waiting for. I would answer “Life”, and they would quote John Lennon “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans”. And they wouldn’t even know that it’s not a simple quote but that this sentence is a line of lyrics from a song he wrote for his beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy Julian. And I would bite my tongue because information like that is plenty in my brain. It’s just – no one cares about it. And that’s why I keep sitting and waiting. For life to happen. And to understand it. But that is not entirely true. Because from my place, I have a nice view. I observe and analyse, and I keep to myself. The things I know, are not the things I need to share. But on the other hand, all the half-truths and snippets of misinformation I know, are not the ones others want to hear. It’s a circle. And if I don’t find the right corner to get off, I will stumble, and my clumsy attempt to catch myself will end with me lying face down enduring the spiral, the slipstream that brought this upon me. Upwards or downwards? Which way does it go? Maybe just sideways? Either way, I will end up puking on the floor and emptying what little is inside me. All of it, until the heaving is dry and the acrid smell of bile chases everyone away. Everyone left the building. Including me. I need to pay attention to the little things. Hold on tight to the pillars of this meagre existence, to keep myself from stumbling. And while I am doing just that, all these unfiltered thoughts are rushing down onto the screen.

I put the cigarette to my lips and inhale. No filter. Rolled with my own shaky hands. Because – yes, why? Because it is edgy. Cool people roll their cigarettes themselves. It’s all pretending anyway. Oh yes, I’m a great pretender. Who gives a crap about my cigarettes and my thoughts. But I keep writing. Someday, the romantic voice inside of my head suggests, someone will read the mix of weirdness and eclecticism my brain produces. They will beg me to publish a book – a memoir – a biography of this writer and all will be good. At least, I have dreams. The other possibility, far more probable, is that the words stay unread. I will die in a stuffy room with overflowing ashtrays and too many empty bottles.
Maybe a cat or two. Sheets of papers with the start of the next big novel is strewn across the floor and the bed — music loud and on repeat. And in the centre of it all; me. Picture me like Jimi Hendrix, suffocated on my own vomit. A rock star death. Don’t be alarmed, though. I am not a rock star. I don’t play the guitar well enough and all in all, I am just a coward who never did any drugs. On second thought, aren’t most rock stars ridden with anxiety? Isn’t that why they turn to alcohol and drugs and whatnot? Always on the hunt for the next high? But one day your brain (and your soul too), are just too used to the girls screaming your name and the papers printing your photographs, your name in the headlines. And while you pretend to crave your privacy, the thought of being left alone and forgotten scares you to death. And so you power on, with some chemical help, because you couldn’t do all the shows and interviews and all that other crap that comes with being famous, without it. I don’t envy these people at all — not one bit.

And so I stare out onto the lake. The sky is grey; the water is too. And I wait for the next idea to come up. A real writer wouldn’t wait. They would write. Or am I wrong and a real writer would draw charts and write every idea down? Being organised? Where’s the fun in that? So – no labelling my ideas. Just sitting. Waiting. Staring. Smoking. And while I am doing that, the music plays softly in the background. It’s not loud enough to drown out the voices that keep telling me that I am a waste of talent. I can still hear them judging me and how I spend the days. For them, I am doing nothing. For me, I am savouring the moment. It’s as a friend told me once: We need time to understand who we are before someone else comes along and makes us into the version they want us to be. So maybe – just maybe, my answer to the question “What are you waiting for”, would not be “Life”, but maybe the truer answer would be “To understand”. I guess the reaction would be close to the same. They would urge me to get up and do something.

But, if they don’t see it, does that really mean that I am not doing anything? Because in my mind, eccentric as it may be, I am doing a whole lot. I am not giving up.

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Author’s Note:

Written in March 2016.

I haven’t had a cigarette this year… And, I don’t know how you feel about it, but I think that the last paragraph in this piece of writing is the most important thing I have ever written. Whenever I encounter people who are struggling with their mental health, whenever I am struggling myself, I remember these words. I am not giving up, even if people are not seeing that I am fighting.