Thursday, 29 December 2011

The Plan

Sounds a lot more dramatic than it is, calling it "The Plan", as I'm planning some kind of Frankenstein experiment or a bank heist or something. The truth is, in case you don't remember or couldn't follow my 11-post explanation, the plan is this:

1 - Acquire money.
2 - Fuck bitches. Purchase open return coach ticket from London to Paris.
3 - Pack bag with one set of casual clothes, one suit, a laptop and any remaining money.
4 - Arrive at destination as early as possible, try to meet people who will let me crash for the night.
5 - Hitchhike somewhere else.
6 - Repeat 4 & 5 while working from my laptop and attempting to use my suit to open doors to fancy parties and cool jobs.
7 - Attempt to continue until I have enough money to actually rent a room.
7a - Come home
8 - Live the life I dream of rather than the one I've been dealt. Ideally be happy, but probably be marginally less unhappy.
8a - Be unhappy, try again some other time.

Ok, so step one is FINALLY out the way. I have around £100, which is enough for the ticket I want and about £10 spending money. In case you aren't familiar with our currency, £10 is not a lot of money. I currently spend £15 a week on food and that's considered pretty frugal by my friends.
The suit thing is optimistic at best, I'm not really expecting to get anywhere just because I look smart, but I do have faith in my ability to talk my way into and out of sitiuations (albeit in my native tongue, English) and so I'm hoping the suit will just make me feel good about myself while I do so. Shallow, I know, but why should I hide my shallow side? It's no great flaw to have flaws, and I shan't be kidding myself about mine.
Nor will I say "shan't" again.

I'm scared, terrified even, that this will become another failed adventure. Another desperate swipe at happiness that leaves me reeling when it fails. Even scarier though, is that I might succeed and become the novelist and journalist I want to become, living in the cities I want to live in with the people I love, and still be desperately unhappy.

I don't write about Depression much anymore, but only because I've run out of superlatives for how awful I feel.
Many of you will have experienced reactive depression, it's incredibly common considering how little it's spoken of, and it can be a crippling mess of a condition. It's the punch-in-the-gut strife that surrounds you like a hot bleach shower as you get your mind around some bad news, and it's the completely apathetic, empty, hollow zero-ness that comes with a terrible realisation or anti-epiphany. The events that cause reactive depression don't have to be typically "depressing" like a failed relationship or losing your job. It's the perceived scale of the problem that's important, not the scale based on the norm.

Short-term bursts of this feeling can be triggered by small things that have latched themselves in like a rusty key insisting on opening a creaky, cobwebbed door. This isn't reactive depression, it's just a similar feeling on a short-term basis.

My bleach showers come when I see a particular type of sunset, have contact with one of a few people (one of whom is possibly my best friend in the world), come across in-depth references to guilt and shame, I do something that I feel isn't authentic. I find these come crashing into me when I least expect it, although episodes don't usually last more than an hour or two. I'll often think of self-harming or have suicidal thoughts during these moments.
Incidentally, this is what I believe Winston Churchill meant by his "black dog".

My bedridden emptiness comes when I spend too much time with people, when I return from any traveling/journey over about an hour, when I have to speak to people about myself. I like talking about myself to be honest, but I just don't like having to do it.
I don't like having to do anything.
It's these moments that aren't so short term, occassionally last weeks at a time. I'm ok right now, but I can feel myself buckling, it's a little scary but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't comfortable when extremely depressed. These may be the times when I'm harming, thinking of suicide and hating me, the world and you, but there's a safety in the independence of depression. I can do whatever I fucking want, and if anyone notices, I don't care. It's completely careless. It's strange, you'd think carelessness would bring happiness and the freedom I'm always harping on about, but it's not the same carelessness. It's not carefree, which suggests I'm choosing not to care, it's careless, which to me suggests I don't have much say in it. It happens to me and I make the best of it while I can. I'd certainly rather be a selfish prick than a crying one. Sometimes anyway.

I hope to leave for Paris by the end of January. I'll keep you posted.

Also, I received two lovely comments on my last post and I didn't get around to reciprocating or even publishing. I've just been busy with Christmas and the like, and I will get around to publishing and replying to the relevant people soon, promise!
I think it's The Beholder and GB, who happen to be two of my favourites on this whole site anyway, so that's just plain nice.

Hope you all had merry Christmasses and will have happy new years! See you on the other side.

Friday, 16 December 2011

Amy and Chris

Well I wrote this about three weeks ago now, but it's set on Christmas eve and I'm feeling very festive so here it is! A little back story, although I like to think it's not overly neccessary, is that Chris and Amy have been together for a few years and are cuddling on the morning of the 24th December. 

As always, this is the first draft and hasn't even been proof-read or spellchecked, so bear with me if it's a little scrappy here and there!

The couple lay on Chris’ bed for nearly an hour with the TV on, chatting, cuddling, kissing and more. ‘Home Alone 2’ played quietly in the background, with both Amy and Chris occasionally glancing over and giggling, there hips still close.
Their time together ended with a shared “I love you” and the warmest embrace of the winter so far. She rested her head on his chest; his heart was beating in her ear and his arms wrapped around her shoulders, twizzling her amber hair. Her natural smell filled his lungs with every inhale and his stomach knotted itself as she traced eights over his belly button.

Amy took a slow, deep breath and looked up to her boy, pulling a face close to puppy-dog eyes, that in reality was just an attempt to make him love her even more.
“I better grab a shower then,” she sighed. “My dad’ll want be back in time for dinner.”
Christmas Eve dinner was a big deal in the Vine household, although not as big as Christmas itself. Christmas itself was when Mrs. Vine really pulled out all the stops.
“Ah, ok then babe, go on. I’ll be in in a sec,” Chris said with a smirk. He’d told the same joke dozens of times over the years and it never got old, to him at least.
Amy barely acknowledged the comment, knowing he wouldn’t come in while his mum was awake.

Amy stood in the shower while the waterproof, wall-mounted CD player echoed out a compilation album she’d made and left at the house. Chris’ mother, Jan, didn’t mind Amy’s ever-presence, she even enjoyed have a girl around the house sometimes and prided herself on how welcome Amy appeared to feel.
Chris, still laying in bed, had taken his moment’s privacy to check his phone. He’d noticed it vibrate as the two were getting ready for bed the previous night but didn’t want to check in front of Amy. He swiped the screen and saw it light up with the name Kristy.

“haha i kno! Aneway im goin to sleep now bbz, txt me tomo! night sxc ;) xx”

Chris felt a small screw tighten in his stomach, where Amy had tied knots with her delicate tracing earlier.

“only jus got your txt, sorry! have a good day today babe, speak soon ;) x”

He wrote his text quickly and with the same frenetic excitement that he got from painting trains. His thumbs almost shook with nerves and his breathing became laboured until it had finished sending. The screw in his stomach was now clinging onto all around it as it ploughed deeper and his mind felt heavier and heavier as his gut churned over.
The water stopped falling in the bathroom.

Chris locked his phone and pushed it back under his pillow, he could hear Amy’s feet thud one by one out of shower and onto the linoleum flooring. He heard, almost amplified by a panic he’d grown to expect when texting Kristy, the whip of a towel being pulled from a radiator. The music stopped.
“My turn yet?” Chris called.
“Yeah, sorry if I was ages!” Amy replied.
“Nah it’s cool babe, you weren’t!”

This is the first we hear of Kristy, and we go on to learn that her and Chris are sleeping together.

On a side note, are you all feeling Christmassy? I personally can't wait! I'll be helping my mum cook Christmas dinner, playing the role of a sous to her self-important head chef, but I love it! One downside is that I've had to more-than-halve my food budget for the last month to afford gifts, but at least it's kicked me into that diet I've putting off!

Enjoy, and criticism is encouraged and appreciated!