Insomnia

I don't want to sleep.

I know what happens when I sleep. My mind allows my brain to connect the dots of thoughts I've been having. When I sleep, all the monsters, demons, angels and imperfections come seeping out. It's no longer staying awake to have something in the day worth staying up for; it's now staying awake because it's not worth waking up, knowing what it will feel like.

Ill. Bunged up, heavy, cold, too hot, struggling to breathe, wanting to be free from all the pain in my chest.


Today is fucked up. I had a dream that my mother kept trying to kiss my dad and he just pushed her away, awfully, each time, in front of me, my flat mates and my best friend. I hated him for it. I hated for obvious he was, how cruel he was, and how I couldn't do anything to change it, stop it, or make the feelings in my gut go away,

Then, in real life, feel ill and groggy, I speak to my sisters about obligation, responsibility and commitment. We talk about Helen changing names on papers so that its her, mum, and if we want, me and charlie. We talk about power and change and positive input but then she tells me that the day before she left, when drunk, mum starts crying. They're alone and its gone midnight and mum tells her she's scared that dad's going to leave her. Charlie changes the conversation and within three minutes, they're gone again, into the empty abyss of being half the world ahead of me.

I can't deal with this one.

I've known it. It's been coming, I've felt it, Ben's heard my voice cracking and I've tried to not talk about it too much but it's this big inevitable shit that I can't deny anymore and I don't know what the hell to do. I want to help my mum fight her battles, but it's not my fight, and I want to tell my dad to fuck off and rot in a small ball but I love my dad and I can't really do that. I miss my brother today; he's the voice of reason, he's the middle ground between dad and us, and I wish he was here to help me. But none of them are. And every day I go to work, breaking my back for their company, lying through my smile to customers about the importance of locality and how good a family-based company is. The more I have to do it, the less of a shit I give.


And I knew it was today. I knew today was the day to stay out, have that beer too many, and have that talk. And of course, like every other thing since I broke martin's heart on his birthday two years and four months ago, nothing ever seems to happen the way I would hope.

I'm sick of love today. It just fucking hurts.

What do I want?

It's an impossible situation I've gotten myself into.

I hate when he's not around for any length of time, yet when I'm alone in a room with him I just can't focus on anything. Like, there's a third conversation happening, apart from the one between us and the one on the tv screen, there's also this voice that reminds me to look at him, wonders stupid things like if his beard smells like cigarettes, or what his hair product feels like. And that voice is more audible when I'm drunk, so frequenting the pub certainly doesn't help.

I think I'm addicted. But to what? To something in my head? Or just to him as a person? Is the crave for more, or is the crave just to feel connected in some way?

I'm thinking about the next few months. I wonder, would it be best if I moved to framlingham? The flat is more than likely going to be empty. Its a big decision and it all sort of hangs on how things shape in the next few days.

And yet again, the fun kick of the inferiority complex kicks in. I know its an 8 year old record, but Lucy sure made her way around the local boys. If its not Thomson or Smithy or Barnaby, its Henry.


Christ I miss Sam.

Even If It Kills Me

Starting something new this week. Would have started it today, but been bed-bound due to a hangover that feels more like impending death.

No more drinking. An occasional glass of wine is okay, but no more ridiculous drinking and no more hangovers. I feel so old and useless and its such a waste of a day being hungover.

Food changes - no more wheat (barely eat any, but just to say 'so long sucker'), very little diary, and much more fruit & vegetables. Like, replacing cereal with watermelon, replacing toast with sweet potato, cooking smaller amounts of things like rice and noodles (rice noodles) and not having the main thing on the plate as meat or fish, so its cheaper, and food goes further. Its both my purse and my colon I'm thinking of here.

Speaking of colons, I've heard of this thing called Salt Water Flush. I'm going to buy some posh salt and try it out, as its recommended for people who have IBS. (Also for people who have very irregular poops, colon troubles, constipation, gas etc, if you tick any boxes like that, look it up!) Shall report how it goes (not graphically, don't worry - I've heard it can be pretty crazy).

Water. I never drink enough at work. No more coffee, very little tea (only the fruity good ones) - just lots and lots of water. Ruby Rose, my new favourite famous person (google her she's REALLY cool) says her secret to being a stunner is not drinking alcohol, just plenty of water and a good sleeping routine.

Yes, sleep - with the new rota in place I can have a bit of a life as well as working all the damn time (yay) so I can get myself into good habits - bed before 11 (12 at the latest), up at 7 everyday. When I don't have work, I find myself staying in bed and wasting the morning on nothing - however, those morning hours are the most productive, so I can get into good habits and get some writing bashed out before lunch!

Writing, oddly, quite low on the list. For now, I'm putting the above in place to sort my life out so that writing and getting my dissertation rolling is a lot more effective come september. So for now, any writing I get done is a bonus. (You can't ask yourself to run a marathon before you've started training, you're setting yourself up to fail if you do.)

And of course, the usual 'I want to do exercise and lose weight' idea. However, its more about feeling healthy and happy than losing weight. I don't want to sit and say that I'm happy with my figure and I don't want to change, because I know how unhealthy I am at the moment and I do want to improve it. I just don't want to want a nice body no matter what the cost - I want to achieve good things and tick all the boxes. I want to increase my endorphin levels, my energy levels, I want to feel a bit of motivation and the kick of success when you achieve those things. Mostly, I need a vice, and for so many people, exercise is a vice. So I'm taking my unhealthy need to escape the world and block out all noises and making a healthy choice with it.


I'd like to remind my future self that I'm proud of not succumbing to anything drastic this year. It's been fucking hard work, and I've wanted to drink, I've wanted to start smoking, I've even been tempted by drugs. I've had many more temptations to crawl into bed with random people than I've actually done (a few slip ups have happened), but I've been pretty lucky and I think I need to congratulate myself for being strong.

I just have to continue, and put that strength in the right place.

Like the motion city song, which always reminds me of my darkest times and how I fixed myself (isn), "I'll do whatever it takes, even if it kills me"

Twice

There's a comfort in being alone, because you know you can't get more alone. So there is fear in letting someone else in; opening up to both the love and the pain, the fear can sometimes overwhelm you. And the fear is greater after every fall; they say the first cut is the deepest, but ever other cut will be into that same cut, digging away at hope.

The first time I fell, I had no idea I was falling. I had no knowledge of gravity, or of the bottom, so it felt more like floating. We floated together for that first summer, and when he let go of my hand I was still pretty safe, the ground wasn't in focus yet and I could manage on my own just fine. But then we had the to and fro - he wanted to hold my hand, and I had no other hand to hold, and then we both let go, and then I did find another hand and he decided that he was mad, it was his hand or no hand, so after a little bit of hand deciding, I went back to his hand. By this point we did need each other, and we made each other fit into our own lives, and we fit together in Norfolk anyway, and then we went back to uni. I held someone else's hand. He didn't want to let go though, so we padlocked our hands together, and for the rest of the year he watched my hands so closely I felt the pressure of holding his hand. Maybe, not to do with another hand, maybe it wasn't meant to be like this? Then, someone offered me their hand. They just laid it out, so I knew it was there. They didn't expect anything from me, but they wanted me to know that there was another hand out there to guide me, and it wouldn't be padlocked, it would just be floating through gravity together. So I broke the lock on the padlock and let go. The time I spent floating, my gravity shifted, and it took me to the other hand, so I took hold of it. And I didn't let go, and our gravity took us together and we floated, fingers locked, until my gravity and his gravity were different things. 

I let go when I felt that pull. I didn't want to drag the hand with me; it would have been so selfish. And then my gravity caught up with me, and I hit the floor.

It'd be nice to be able to float again. Even if just for a day.

Did You Know?

I'm guessing you didn't know. At least now you do.

I've spent my whole life with this lack of ability to communicate. I can't do it, I can't talk about emotions and love and shit, I think I can point at my parent's 'marriage' for reference and reason. I think that's why writing is my escape - because I can write emotions, I can tell stories on paper which I can't tell people in person. The end of the episode 2 of Impressions, the horrific sex scene? Yeah, I can't exactly start that story at the dinner table, but in a script, you take it all in. 

I've written so many blogs about people. God, considering that I started this thing just after me and Whall broke up, its pretty much the motif of this page - the varying, hilarious and horrific ways in which Laura's fucked up her love life.

But now, I can't find words to describe what is happening in my head. I can't unscramble the mess, I can't pinpoint the pain or even the correct emotion. Its just this heaviness, this horrendous weight which I can't carry and I can't put down. And I want someone to offer me a hand, I want someone to be able to at least describe the load I'm carrying, lie to me and tell me its feathers. But there isn't anyone.

There is me, in this flat, alone, wondering what the fuck I've done. Kicking myself for what I might have ruined, and equally protecting myself, saying that I did the right thing.

I want a fast forward button.