The Little Loves Who Ran Away to Heaven

Once upon a time there were a little girl called Go, and a little boy called Slow. Upon the time that we’re talking about, both were factually little. Go and Slow were soul mates, made to end together, but sadly born apart.

Go grew up quietly, reading and pondering and wishing for more. She listened to music and wrote things down. Kept rabbits and things and stared at their fur.

Slow grew up loudly indeed, running and laughing and making himself heard. He listened to music but didn’t write things down. Kept real things to himself and stared at the ceiling.

Sometimes, when the grass is just right, a little wave of love passes underfoot, and carries two souls towards one another. Came such a day.

The sun shone on Go’s kind heart, and the wind blew on Slow’s thirst for life. Each were carried by a song in their chest, and puppy dogs were present. Young faces found themselves facing each other, mouths telling things like, ‘I dream,’ and ‘I know.’

The pair shared laughs and tears and hugs, their hands passed gifts between. Wild horses were powerless here.

Sometimes again, when the trees are restless, a little something comes into play. A little wave of something seeps into a head, and changes a little life.

Go got to thinking. A dangerous thing. She pondered more than ever, a little too far perhaps. Taking everything in and trying to keep it, her head and heart filled quickly. The world became too much for her little life, and she decided to take it elsewhere.

Slow, at this time, was taking little and lots in, waking in waves and playing life’s tune lazily, missing the notes that might make it too much.

Slow let Go go, she packed her bags, and ran away to Heaven.

Slow stayed and did things for a while, and smiled every now and then. His hand felt little, but his heart stayed big.

One day he got to, not thinking, but feeling. His hand took over his head. ‘You’re just little,’ it said, ‘I know,’ he replied, and he stroked his furry face – for Slow was not now so little. It made him think of rabbits.

He listened to music, one song in fact, for a little time, and then a long time. His hand did some thinking, some yearning, some packing. Slow made his way to Heaven.

One little face turned to see Slow come, and Go have him a smile.

‘I dream,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said she.

Little hands held once more, and forever.

Something for the weekend

Dreams: Found my purse, don’t know where but everything was in place, fifty, cards, etc.

This morning, just before I got up – went to stir the boy and he said, “Don’t get up, it’s only ten to seven.” Ten minutes later I really woke and it was five past ten.

Wrote a few stories I was proud of, ideas for which have left me for now. Still have the urge to write one about an underwater pillow.

…..

I think when you start to worry about the possibility/inevitability of losing someone, you start to fail to do your duties in the relationship, and see it as a different, more self-serving craving than the nurturing creature it was before.

Spoke to my self-appointed mentor for my depression tonight, the old friend who had conquered depression and is my support, my empathy pit-stop. He is not doing well. He has come dangerously close to suicide.

I had my purse stolen again last week – second time my driving license has gone in a few months.

Had my first counselling appointment, ‘assessment session’. Didn’t click with the woman, cried, avoided her gaze for an hour while she asked me one-word-answer questions, told her I felt I needed to come and sort things out but she told me to call her within a week or she’d cancel my referral. Well, I didn’t want to speak to her again so I didn’t call. Looks like another six months on a waiting list, if my doctor reapproves me for it, unless I convince them that I need to see someone else. Sadly the week has passed and although I called the doctor within the allotted time, they didn’t call me back. So, thanks. Guess it’s just me and the pills for a while longer.

Slept this weekend except for the time it took to get up and watch Taken last night, and the time to go for a goodbye meal with the Nearlies tonight. Straight back after. Still need more.

The Boy With a Heart and No Balls

Once upon a time, there was a boy with a heart and no balls. This is a sad story.

The boy had everything he needed. He was good and nice, and had lots of friends. He had lots of good inside him and around him. The sad thing was, he had lost his balls. He didn’t know where or why they had gone, and he wasn’t sure he cared. This is a dangerous thing. Because, every now and then, everyone needs their balls. You never know when they might come in handy. They may even save your life. They may even save someone else’s.

One day the boy met a girl, and over time she dealt out little pieces of her heart to him for safekeeping. She had a little too much inside her small self, you see, and thought the boy might have more space, having no balls and all. He ended up with quite a big piece of heart. Other people gave him bits of their hearts too, because he received them well. Pretty soon the boy had a lot of heart to carry. Sometimes it felt heavy in his chest, sometimes it felt light.

One day the time came that the boy had to step up, but his balls were nowhere to be seen. This was a sad day. The boy’s arms hugged the girl and his cheeks told her hello. Sad times were shared. The girl was in rather a state, and, being a little silly and a little sad, gave the boy one more piece of her heart. This piece was one too many, and the sight of it made the boy curl up inside. She saw a flicker in his eyes, maybe hope for her, then he let her down.

The boy’s heart was calling out to his balls, burrowing deep down into his soul, but they were not to be found there. His heart appealed to his wisdom, his memory, his personality. No balls there. The huge heart heaved and sighed and searched, and toiled for a time.

Meanwhile others’ hearts were melting, growing weak. All the pieces of heart in the boy’s chest were getting tired and sad.

One day, a tiger turned up and gave the boy a slap.

‘You FOOL,’ it said, ‘Get some balls.’

‘I have some,’ said the boy, ‘I’ve been trying to find them for ages. They seem to want to be somewhere else.’

‘Nonsense,’ said the tiger, ‘They aren’t anywhere else.’

‘What do you mean?’ said the boy, rubbing his aching chest.

‘They’re right here,’ the tiger said, ‘All you have to do is grab them.’

The boy looked down and saw that the tiger was right. His balls had been there all along. All he had to do was believe.

B 2

I wish I could be shoegaze and low notes and everything that you love. I wish I could act out the lyrics and make you happy. I wish, I wish. I wish I knew what I was to you. I wish I could be everything good. I wish we could be a we. I dream of lying side by side staring at a ceiling and listening to paralysingly warming music, and putting our stress heads to sleep for a while. I want the best for you in everything. I hope you change only in so much as does you good and makes you feel amazing. You deserve all the best things in life. You earn it just by being yourself. You are truly amazing and you don’t really get it but I see through you to that. I imagine the way you might look at me if I impressed you, convince myself you’ve looked at me like that at some point, try to figure out what I did that struck the right chord. I know I can’t chase you forever. I think my heart’s caught in limbo because it thinks I’m waiting for an answer from you about something, but of course there is nothing to respond to because it can only be joke and platonic really. Nothing wrong with that. I just don’t want to lose such a soulmate. You will never really get how important you are, I am sure of that. Reasonable, human, acceptable love to you anyway.

Living for Brown Eyes

It feels irrelevant posting old love letters now; make-ups and rants and dated declarations. I am changing in myself and we are as a couple. I know I still love you. I can still just touch that feeling that I know is me loving you, and missing you when you’re not here. I can feel that. We’re good. We’re safe. I feel very numb these days but I am grateful; I would much rather that than be at your throat or your feet from one day to the next. I do still wonder the same things normal people do in relationships, but I suppose I am too tired to come to any conclusions that might make any difference to the way things are. I am grateful for you. I am happy with the way things are. I feel like I get what I want out of my relationships because I don’t worry anymore about how people will react when I tell them my feelings, regardless of what they are. I feel a kind of ultimate acceptance. In my dreams, perhaps because I am so open in reality, (what I perceive as reality right now anyway; who really knows) I revert to playground coy, feeling all the delicious shame and reserve I used to in the company of lovely wolves, unattainable, the dream happies. I know no individual is ever really unattainable to any other, not entirely, there is nothing final about the status of our relationships with the people in our lives. Maybe that is my foolish hope, but I can only speak for my own heart in that I never give up, and know I may always feel something different.

This isn’t the settled love note I intended to write. But I am different every day. I cannot be anything but what I need to be for myself. But I feel so good for it. I am more grateful now than ever that I can even forget the idea that a world exists outside my own imaginings, in which my friends might be annoyed by me, people may misunderstand me, I am not as cool as I think I am. I am, for now, completely my own doing, and I am happy with that.

Losing

Okay, this one’s not about depression. This is about how I am a mighty tool.

I am losing my grip on reality more every day. My dreams become my memories, my real memories fade and seem like stories I’ve written or wished for. I upset my boyfriend asking if he has seen or done things, when we’ve done them together and I have just forgotten. But the sun is shining today, so hey.

Last night I punched my ear in my sleep, where a fresh piercing is healing, and made it bleed, waking myself up. Somehow I manage to live full days in my sleep, getting no rest but instead acting exactly as I do when I’m awake – moving, talking, figuring things out, practising conversations which then never take place because, in my head, I’ve already done them. Last week I stayed at a friend’s house and had about seven wake-ups within dreamland, each time having less and less energy to convey what was going on to her when she walked into the room, still feeling uncertain when I finally woke up for real, and merely giving a brief synopsis of what had been such dramatic and emotive scenes just a few minutes before. I guess I was waiting to wake up again.

I feel like I have so much feeling in me, so much to say to everyone I love, and yet I can’t access it because it ekes its way out in dreams and then I am tired in the day. I haven’t written anything since the last blog because I haven’t had the energy or the interest. I still feel a little void. Counselling starts tomorrow, and I think perhaps it has been such a long wait that I may have nothing to say. We will see. I know it may be wrong to rely on meds and I can’t do it forever, but I have come a long way since October. I still have unresolved issues, but am starting to wonder if that’s just my style.

I want to thank all my friends and family and everyone who has sent me encouragement and support through the past few months. You all do more than your bit. I love you all.

Ungrateful Dead

Living my life through hand me down advice. Trying. Waiting. Playing martyr. I wish I could shut my eyes tighter, deeper, blacker. Not feel my dressing gown, this sofa, not even remember the colours through the window in front of me. Shut down my mind. Shut down completely for a while. I feel like I have nothing left to give. I fail to see the point in anything. What am I waiting for? I’d give anything to be strangled by a friend because I can’t bring myself to end it but that’s purely for the physical reasons. I just want to escape. I feel restless and overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time. I am bored and tired with everything, including myself. I am Jack’s raging relapse. Even my mentor is back on pills again. Why do we bother? I want to just disappear. I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied with life or myself. I need to yearn, need the drama, the unrequited, unsolvable. I expected so much more from life, and from me. Why?

I’m not interested in saving myself today. Even all the healing music is jarring with my soul. It’s like I can’t let any good in. I feel at odds with myself, my relationship, my job, my friends, my house, who I am supposed to be. I am so confused as to what other people see me as. How can they accept it if it’s anything like how I see myself? A moany mess.

I feel I am slipping into new psychoses; for the first time I feel certain I am having flash hallucinations of people and objects, only for split seconds but very definite visions. I have reverted back to a very egocentric perspective and can only think about myself and my own behaviour, and it shows more and more because I find it harder to keep face. I am getting more and more lucid dreams every night. They blend into my waking life and I have less grip on reality now than ever. What a waste of time.

Due back at the doctor’s in nine days. Counselling (finally) starts in eight days. Not sure I have anything to say to them anymore. I am sick of the sound of all this.

I think I’m hoping someone will read all this blog and either notice me and give me a publishing deal, or offer the help they know I need.