I used to write. Pen to paper; fingers to keyboard. At least then I was making a dent, however little, at the messy darkness. Exorcising it letter by letter. There is a tome in there, a grand book of dark whisperings. But I’m empty and wordless. The mess is still there and it flexes and strengthens a little more each day as the words I used to will it away with remain unwritten. I’m a sack of dark, squirmy things. Frightening things. Unspoken things. I don’t know how to find the words again, or if I ever will.

I know I’ve been screwed up for a while, but at least I used to be able to get it out in some small way. Now I feel trapped with it. It and I get confused and turn into one being.

The words don’t feel the same. They are clumsy and empty. My words are drivel.

Don’t know how to be

I don’t know how to be. I never learned. No one ever showed me.

Instead I’m all mixed up. My insides are all wrong. The thoughts. The feelings. And I don’t know what to do with them.

So I burn and carve and pull strips off this flesh because I don’t know how to be. And no one ever showed me.

I go to therapy but the words I’m meant to say to fill in the silences aren’t there. The silences grow and warp and take over. We write to each other, passing notes like children because it’s the only way I can speak sometimes. The only way I’m ‘allowed’ to speak. When the time ends I realise I’ve not said anything much at all, written or aloud.

I’m stuck in my insides. All those thoughts. All those feelings. All that mass confusion that consumes me. Eats me whole, leaves me a shadow. Exhausted.

I don’t know how to get out. I’m trapped in here. No one can get in either. I am too far away. Too far gone?

I don’t want to be like this but I don’t know how else to be. I need someone to show me.


I’ve got water in my ears from washing my hair. It tickles. It distorts sounds. It seeps. It’s warm. Silly ears.

Silly world.

Silly life.

It’s Sunday night and I’m not ready for Monday. Who is? Who is ever?

But it will be here in a few short hours.

3…2…1… Ready or not, here I come!

And when it does, I’ll deal. What else is there?

Ready or not.


Here I am

I’ve not been around. First there was my the whole going crazy thing and not being able to do anything other than function at work. Then there were three weeks in hospital and everything that goes along with that…

Just keep swimming. I think I can, I think I can. <insert other sayings along the same lines here>