Are you okay?

"Go on Smithy! Fuck her brains out!"
Smithy grunted with a mixture of effort and pleasure.
"I bet you like that, don't you?" said Smithy, breathlessly.
He stopped for a second and turned the girl on to her front.  As he tried to adjust his position he lost balance and collapsed on the floor.
The room erupted in laughter and jeers.
"My turn!" shouted 'Tonny'.  "Smithy's too pissed to carry on.  She can have a real man inside her."  Tonny laughed at his own joke.
'Chaulky' and 'Knotty' looked on, egos inflated, loins inflamed, intoxicated whilst Tonny gave the girl a taste of a real man.

That's the thing, to be part of The Lads you needed a name that ended in a y.  Makes life much easier when shouting across a crowded pub.  "Oi! Smithy! Grab me another pint!"
So The Lads, with names ending in y, egged each other on as they took turns to fuck the slut who was absolutely gagging for it.

Rewind.

"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, just not sure if I want to go tonight."
"It will be fine once you get there."
"I don't know anyone though and don't want to feel like a loner."
"I'll be there my love.  Trust me, you'll have a great time.  Top up?"
Seline necked the the dregs of her wine and offered the empty glass like Oliver Twist wanting more.  The gesture wasn't lost on Lucy and she laughed as she filled Seline's glass with more wine.

Fastforward.

"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, just feel a bit pissed. Have you seen Lucy?"
"She's outside with Knotty."
"Who?"
"Jake. We call him Knotty."
Smithy suddenly moved in for a kiss.  Seline pulled her head away.  "Not so fast.  I'm not that kind of girl."
"It's just a kiss."
"No, it's not 'just a kiss'," Seline punctuated the air.  "I'm not going to shag you; I barely know you."  Seline noticed her words came out a bit slurred.  She finished her wine anyway.  She needed to find Lucy, this guy wasn't as charming as he first appeared.
"I'm a nice guy, I swear."  Smithy mockingly crossed his heart. Seline rolled her eyes.  A flash of something went across Smithy's eyes but it was quickly concealed with a cheesy grin.  Whatever it was it made Seline feel uncomfortable.
"Would you be able to get me some more wine?"
"Sure. On one condition."
"What would that be?"
"You kiss me."
"Ask me after you've given me more wine," Seline said and forced a small smile.
Smithy quickly retreated into the kitchen and fetched more wine.

Fastforward.

"Are you okay?"
"Where's Lucy?" mumbled Seline.
"Who?" asked Smithy.  Seline didn't answer. Her head flopped.
"She okay, Smithy?" asked Chaulky.  "Need a hand?"
"A hand..." Seline giggled, "Fuck me... I feel..."
"Hear that buddy, she wants us to fuck her," said Chaulky, grinning.
"I hear that mate." Smithy grinned too.

Fastforward

"Are you okay?"
"They raped me, Lucy.  Of course I'm not okay."
"But you don't remember. They - "
"They took turns whilst I was unconscious! I bled! I'm still bleeding!"
"I know, I didn't mean -"
"The police said they couldn't do anything.  The police said it was my word against four.  They said I begged them to fuck me..." Seline broke off and started to cry.
Lucy sat in silence, too awkward to speak.
Seline stifled her tears and said, "I don't even remember, Luce. One minute I was talking in the hallway, the next minute I woke up with my stomach and, you know, in agony.  I feel sick. I feel like a slag and I didn't do anything wrong. Fuck!"
"Knotty said you apparently wanted them to have sex with you."
"Lucy!"
Seline walked out, feeling sick and dirty.

Rewind.

"Is she okay?"
"She'll be fine," grinned Smithy.  "Gave her a little pill."

Back on the Pills

So, I'm back on my medication. It was a difficult decision to make because I had gone through the long process of slowly coming off them and being stable and at peace without the need for medication. I have been on anti-depressants for over four years but still have this niggling sensation of it being a stigma although I know it isn't justified to feel this way.

I had felt a sense of freedom of being able to wake up each day without needing to pop a pill to stabilise my mood. I had felt the tight chords of darkness release their grip and allow me to breathe again. I had felt the wonderful sense of achievement of making a coice of whether the bleak despair has a say or the bright sense of optimism.

But, sometimes there's no stopping the train of depression. Sometimes it's not possible to fight of the feelings of disgust and self loathing. In those moments, no amount of 'PMA' or desperate hope that my mood will lift will actually make any difference. Sometimes there is a need to say, "Enough," and admit the absolute need for help. I went too long pretending I was okay and I would snap out of it. I went too long going through massive highs and lows, believing this was normal and sane. This time though, I saw the signs and swept aside pride and social stigma and made a choice.

I need the pills because it's not a simple case of snapping out of it. It's not a simple case of 'manning up.' It's not about seeing what happens. When you have an overwhelming desire to harm yourself, you know you need outside help and support. When the desire to harm yourself means you need someone by your side to ensure you don't do anything stupid, you know you need help.

So I am happy to be back on medication because it's okay to be vulnerable and it is okay to say, "I can't do this on my own."

Peace. X

The Intruder is Knocking

Damn it.  I feel the Intruder scraping at the door.  I hear his nails scratching and reminding me that he hasn't gone away and he's still there.  He's like a niggling ache.  He's like an ulcer under your tongue that you can't help prodding.  He's a bad feeling that won't go away.

I'm nowhere near the depths of darkness I was at over a year ago and I'm thankful for that.  I'm thankful for the mental strength I have now and the awareness of little triggers that I can confront and push back.  Nonetheless, he's prowling like a caged beast, looking for a weakness so he can pounce and I hate it.

Depression is a constant and unrelenting battle that needs strength and deep emotional awareness.  It's a weird paradox, because being depressed means you are acutely intelligent about your emotions and are highly intuitive about what it means to 'feel.'  It is not a self-serving component of self-pity.  It is a brutal reminder of how easily I can sink into scary depths of despair and before I know it I am despising myself and inflicting mental and physical pain on myself.

Each day I must step back and remind myself of the wonderful truths my life has.  I am loved.  I love.  I am loved. I love.  I am loved.  I love.

I am loved.  I love.

It is not repetitive; it is restorative.

The Intruder may want to cause havoc on my life, but I will not allow it because joy and peace are my goals.

Peace.  x

Control Freaks

The problem with trying to control everything is it is the antithesis of what it means to be human.  When you try to control everything and everyone around you, it actually creates a toxic environment.  Humanity is the wonderful, beautiful, stunning thing it is because of our ability to be free and thrive.  Our greatest achievements have been when we have dared to step into darkness, when we have asked the questions no-one else has dared, when we have defied authorities and declared we are more than you say, when we have stopped and looked beyond ourselves, when we have understood how minuscule we are, yet how momentous we can be, when we have refused to believe impossible is actually a word.

Control is toxic because it eats away at the core of what it means to be human.  History teaches us that those who have been controlled and oppressed, have become so dejected and helpless they have finally said, "Enough," and risen up and become a people of greatness, a people of wonderful opportunity.   The Arab Springs shows us that you can only beat a man down for so long.  The abolition of slavery showed that when you try to control humanity, which is built up with fierce passions, unconditional love, absolute belief in oneself and fear of nothing, no man or ideology will be able to quench such a tide.

The need to control comes from fear and insecurity.  When we try to control everything to the tiniest details, it is a reflection of our insecurities and inability to control our own emotions and our mental state.  We are afraid of ourselves and fear the shadows that come to us when we go to bed.  We are unsure of who we are what we are and so we try to control people and situations to authoritarian levels because we hope it will compensate for the fear that keeps us awake at night.

Absolute control never works because humans are built to break free and smash chains (mental or physical ) because that is who we are and what makes us so fucking beautiful.

The Race

Breathless.  Every sinew feels like it is about to burst.  My chest is tight and my heart is pounding.  I want to give up and stop; I want to collapse and allow my body to crumple.  I can't though; I mustn't.  Failure because of fatigue is the mentality of a loser.  Collapsing because your body is screaming to stop is the mark of a person with no will and no endurance.  When your mind and body informs you that you can travel no further you must not believe the insipid lies.  There is always a bit more in you, there is always a reserve tank and you must not give up.

Failure.

It is the motivating word.  It drives you to smash such a word into smithereens and cast it into oblivion.  Failure does not exist and will never exist in my world.  If I fall down then I have given in and allowed the lies to creep in and stab me in the brain.  It won't happen - I am not a product of past failures and disappointments.

Breathless.  My body is screaming for me to stop and move to a place of rest.  I cannot rest I cannot stop.  I need to reach my goal before my body is too old and my mind too weak.  I have to push myself beyond everything I have ever known because in the blink of an eye and the click of a finger I will be sitting in a chair, staring out a window trying to remember who I am and what I achieved.  I will be that man who shares stories about what he once did and how good he once was.  I will be the man who shares the same stories again and again because he only has a handful of stories from things he did fifty years ago.  "When I was in...", "When I worked at...", "I once met..."

Forgotten.

It won't be me and it won't be a word that describes my life.  My gravestone will not be blank or contain a vague quote which may or may not refer to who I was.  So, I must keep running and I must keep pushing myself to the very edge.  Almost the edge of reason.

Breathless.  My mind is screaming to stop.  I am running against myself and I am competing against a phantom of failure.  The phantom glides into my consciousness telling me it won't be long until I can run no more and soon it will be over for me.  Got to keep running and got to reach that goal.

I look down and see.

I am running on the spot.  I am going nowhere.  I am only racing myself.  And who can win in such a race?