you fuck him because it’s 1a.m. and you want to go back to sleep

he’s been pawing at you for nearly two hours, every now and then pressing himself forcefully against you so you’ll remember that he has an erection, but you remember, it’s not exactly like you can forget, it presses against you almost every time he leans to kiss you

and now it’s five minutes later and the erection is gone and he’s turned on to his side, one arm over you as if it was reassuring, and it would be if it was someone you actually had any amount of faith in, if it wasn’t someone who actively went out of his way to describe himself as troubled and reminding you seemingly every other sentence that he isn’t worth the time, as if that was a good thing, as if that was a thing that would make you like him more, as if self depreciation is something attractive, like a solid chin, which he does not have, or a good sense of humour, which it would probably hurt for him to learn he does not have

but you aren’t going to be the one to tell him any of this, in fact you promise yourself you’re never even going to see him again, you can imagine bumping in to him on the tube in two months time and ignoring his wave to just stare at a strangers armpit almost in your face

he’s only here through some sort of culmination of luck, late night bus fares and tequila rose, there isn’t a doubt that in the morning he’ll talk to you as if you’re vulnerable, there’s no doubt he’ll tell you that he’ll call again with a hint of looking down on you in his voice as if he was doing you a favour

but it isn’t the morning, it’s the night and he’s got his arm over you and you’re staring at your ceiling, when you were young there used to be a set of swirls that you could have sworn looked like the exact profile of sherlock holmes, so you search for it in a bedroom far removed from childhood. 

how to stay stylish with depression

if you’re anything like me then you like to keep up to date with fashion trends while maintaining the cool, hip lifestyle choice that is depression and anxiety. It can be hard to balance the two while maintaining a look that isn’t “hollow eyed” or “dead inside” so i have made a handy guide to looking hip.

step 1: get out of bed

step 2: no, seriously, get out of bed, you haven’t gotten out of bed for three days now except to go smoke in your garden, you caught the next door neighbour staring at you from her window like you were some kind of rare creature and you made eye contact with her for a bit too long and she drew the curtains and you just stood there for ten minutes wondering if you’re real or not.

step 3: are you out of bed? come on, you can do it

step 4: alright, you’re out of bed, now here comes the hard part because at this point you hate your body with the kind of energy usually reserved for hating normal things, like taxes or accidentally pulling the pull ring off a can of beans and not being able to find the can opener. So here’s what you’re going to do, put on the most comfortable clothes you can find, what do you mean they don’t match? right now that doesn’t matter, just put some clothes on and don’t look in the mirror and leave the house.

step 5: at this point you have probably crawled back in to bed, so get back out of bed and leave the house.

step 6: alright, the first step is finding new clothes. Yes, you do need new clothes, your best t-shirt has also become your “around the house” t-shirt, you need new clothes, so head to a shop, preferably one where cool teens don’t work and that has few mirrors.

step 7: alright, pick up a shirt and stare at it, what size are you now? it’s been a while since you’ve gotten on a scale, buy a xxxl just in case you aren’t a medium anymore, now look at the xxxl shirt, is it a good style? will it make your life better? will it be the mythical thing you’ve been searching for that will take the tick called depression and hold a match to it, will it make you want up in the morning just to put the shirt on and leave the house? no, probably not, but buy it anyway just in case.

step 8: go to a changing room and take some diazepam

step 9: stare at mannequins displaying trousers, pick up a few pairs and stare at them in wonderment and despair, rationalise to yourself that trousers aren’t really necessary anyway and leave the store

step 10: get a coffee to balance out the diazepam

step 11: go the hairdressers, it’s been about three months since you’ve been here, sit down in the chair and mumble to the man that’s known you since you were born to just do something with your hair, try your best to not make eye contact with him, remember when he asks how you’re doing to keep your answers as vague as possible, maybe just close your eyes for the entire time, that won’t be weird at all.

step 12: oh god, where are you, no seriously where are you, this is really, really bad, walk in to a charity shop and maybe buy a tie and put it on? tell them you’re on your way to a funeral and laugh to yourself for a minute, tick human contact off your check list

step 13: realise you aren’t actually lost you’re on your street, stare at the moon for five hours, who cares.


She fell asleep on my arm.

I’m not really complaining, it’s not even my good arm. No my good arm is my right arm, she’s taken my left arm, the arm with the scars. 

I want to go to to the toilet but i’m scared to get my arm back. 

I kind of feel like she’s healing my arm, like the longer i leave it there in stasis the more it will come back as a complete arm, i feel like right now she’s my pod that luke skywalker got put in when he got all fucked up, and slowly and surely my wounds will be healed and i will come back with a new hand that might be a bit robotic but still pretty cool, and if i move her right now then i’ll stop the process before it’s finished and my arm won’t heal.

So i’m not going to move my arm, even though i want to go to the toilet, instead i’m going to lie here and try not to fall asleep so i won’t be able to wake up to the same old arm.

first out of eight first dates

He is not wearing a shirt, he is not wearing a shirt and he’s scratching his shoulder and he’s sitting there staring off in to the middle distance, he’s fixated on someone or something behind you. Was he wearing a shirt in his Tinder profile picture? You’ve been on 7 dates in the past 5 nights and you can’t remember who was who anymore. It isn’t even a problem forgetting names anymore, you just call everyone buddy and if you sleep with them you call them pal. The guy behind the bar looks like someone who went to your primary school, not even grown up, just like in primary school, one time he on a dare downed a small bottle of vinegar. He had a good attitude. Why isn’t your date wearing a shirt, you should ask him, you should ask him, but he’s so unconcerned that the idea of asking him seems like it would be a confrontation. He’s talking about his band now, he’s still staring past you but what’s he staring at, you casually look over your shoulder. There is nothing behind you except a wooden shack wall yet he’s staring with the unconcerned look of watching someone get robbed in the middle of the day. He’s still talking about his band, apparently they make Punk music, only they try and add a pop twist to it. The bartender is shaking a glass like it’s a former lover, he handles it with grace but at the same time with an amount of distance, he’s good at his job, he’s good at not giving everything to his job, you wish you had some vinegar on you, you could settle all of this. He’s stopped scratching his shoulder and it’s your time to talk, you mention the fact that the bartender looks like someone from your primary school who drank an entire bottle of vinegar, he nods, there’s a silence, so why aren’t you wearing a shirt?

menomore metronome mispelled.

if i could
i’d hold your hand
and in the morning not be gone
but times are rough
and i’m giving up
all hope that i’ll hold on

so i’m staring at your curtains
like i could see the stars
trying to comprehend
what it’s going to be like
to die for loves demand
you shudder and you murmur
you screw up and you rant
you scream at me so silently
i’m not sure if you’re alive
just listening to the still
of the room with the message you provide

it isn’t 
if you do or don’t
it’s what you understand
staying with the morning light
won’t make you the better man,
it’s not a competition,
it’s nothing you can win,
it’s not living life
carrying it round
like you won original sin,
just hold my hand
or don’t
just hold my hand
or don't

“So why haven’t you?”

I never know how to take this, it sounds weird to me, patronising, remote, distancing.

Like you’ve gone to the local skate park and you’re standing in front of all the cool teens in their tight jeans and bandanas or whatever it is teens are wearing and you’ve just said “Hey, watch this sick kick flip i can do.” And then you proceed to just stand in place and piss your pants and all of the teens laugh at you and tell you to go back home to your skull collection and braid your hair in to intricate symbols that have something to do with the illuminati, or whatever it is cool teens are collecting/doing. 

But you can’t even leave, you just fuck up more by standing around and now it’s night time and all the cool teens have left to make way for the threatening teens and you’re just looking up at the stars with your piss jeans gradually drying off, but on the plus side the threatening teens won’t come near you because you smell like piss.

And it’s something i don’t think any single suicidal person has ever known the answer to, why haven’t we? There are so many answers. 

Because i want to be there for my best friends wedding, because i want to be there when my friends are sad, because i want to see mum on christmas, because i want to hold my kid, because i want to be out dancing at 4a.m., because i want to have an argument in public, because i like crying in public, because sometimes i don’t hate myself, because i want to see how well life turns out for everyone, because i want to be able to love again, because i want to be able to smile at someone in 20 years, because i want to turn the lights out and hear the sound of my next door neighbours fighting.

Because deep inside i somewhere have the very weird notion that i am a person and i am not insane and that everything might just be okay.

And i might have to remind myself of this daily, i might have to remind myself every hour, or on particularly bad days every second, but i think it’s why i’m still alive. But i find it hard to express this to the people who ask me in everyday life, because it’s impossible to sum up. I have entire days where it’s all i can think about, it’s just a fact that the world would be better off without me, and people can argue against me on this on those days but they won’t win, it’s just a fact to me, it’s just a certainty, those things i want? They don’t matter, they won’t happen, it’s hard to explain to people what feels like a massive contradiction, that you want to live but you have to die.

And those days scare me, and recently i’ve been having a lot of them just these days of silent focused self hatred, daring myself to hang myself in the bathroom, to jump in front of that car, to do anything but live. It’s just this weird little battle inside me and i feel like i’m just kind of watching on the sideline, like i was at a football game where i didn’t really care about either team, i’m just sitting there watching and waiting to see what’s going to happen.

So that’s my answer, my answer is that i’m not sure why i haven’t, i don’t think i want to, even though i know with such certainty sometimes that it’s the best thing i could do for everyone. Because underneath that is the small, simple notion that i am a human and that life is fucked up and i am fucked up and you are fucked up and maybe that’s alright. And maybe at some point one side or the other is going to win, i don’t know, i’m not sure, i’m never sure, but for now i’m kind of fine standing in the skate park at night smelling of piss.