#loviely
I can remember thinking ‘this place doesn’t feel like a home.’ The lobby of the building was barren except for a sleepy security guard who didn’t even acknowledge the slam of the door as it shut behind us and I noticed that despite the space’s expansiveness, there wasn’t any furniture. No uncomfortable sofas or coffee-stained end tables typical for most lobbies belonging to apartment buildings. Not so much as a fake plant in sight. The lighting in the corridors and the strange-smelling lift was so harsh and unforgiving on the eyes that I felt like a fly lying dead in one of those Eazyzap bug traps, still twitching from the shock of the electricity. I was almost sober by the time we got up to their apartment so when I was offered a shot of vodka I accepted it like a dehydrated dog might accept water from a puddle during a walk. It singed my throat on the way down and I had to fight not to retch from the aftertaste.
I had met these people not even two hours before at a bar; my friends already knew them but I was a neophyte, a stranger to their many charms: Casey’s overbearing presence that infuriated me even more than the sound of his voice, so smooth that I couldn’t help but be entranced by it despite every part of me screaming that it was all a lie. Matthew’s scruffy long hair and wire frame glasses that reminded me of a book character I’d fallen in love with more times than I could even count, his shit-eating grin that made you feel like you were in on some private joke of his. Fraser’s backwards ball cap (because that’s always been a weak spot of mine) and a sadness so whole within him that I could feel it from the other side of the room, a sadness so whole that I could hear it through his contagious laugh.
Their apartment was on the top floor of the block - an alien space that felt more like being stuck in a hidden pocket of time - and one side of the kitchen was all windows that offered us a panoramic view of the London skyline. The alcohol and whatever we had smoked on the way over had gone straight to my head and staring at the view felt more like staring into a giant snow globe I’d found in one of those shitty gift shops in Leicester Square. My head was spinning in a good way and everything had this undeniable realness to it, like someone had taken a pen and given everything a bold outline. Even the floor had a life of its own. I had to sit down. I perched next to Matthew. We gazed out of the window, pointed out Tower Bridge and the London Eye and he gave me a gummy worm that wasn’t just a gummy worm. It tasted like TV static and made the glands in the side of my neck tingle and just by looking at him I knew that our souls were one in the same.
We had one of those conversations that you can only have while intoxicated, the kind where you discuss parallel universes, protagonist theory and mental illness. Fraser told me that he did cocaine because he was addicted to it. Matthew replied matter-of-factly that he did cocaine to feel like a rockstar, and that pretty much sums up humans, don’t you think? We do things to feel like something else or just anything at all.
That’s why I was there. Because it felt like something.
It was an awakening of the rudest sort, realising that in the end, the only person that you have is yourself. I’d been hearing this phrase all of my life but never put much stock into it until I was sitting on the kitchen tiles of my empty house in a pool of my own blood. You have family. You have friends. Until you don’t. And it’s just you.
h.w
I’d sell my left kidney to be in bed with my wife. Work ain’t it at the moment.
I hate to be that person, but it honestly does get better, and I’m not fucking around with anyone. I’m done seeing all this negativity and hopelessness circulating around filling everyone with doubt.
it’s coming up on the time when just last year I was entirely consumed by anorexia, going multiple days on end having consumed nothing but coffee, and shoving my hands deep into my pockets so people couldn’t see how violently they were shaking. it’s coming up on the time when just last year I was so consistently suicidal that I was hospitalized twice within the span of two months, spending every waking moment certain that it would be my last day on earth. it’s coming up on the time when just last year I watched myself slowly drift away from my friends and family, distancing myself from everyone I loved like a dog that knows it’s going to die.
and I get it. I do. if you had told me during that time that things would get better, I would’ve laughed in your face. the notion of getting better didn’t exist in my world. my life had been going steadily downhill for years. I only knew about getting worse.
but after two hospitalizations, one five-month stay in an eating disorder treatment clinic, countless medication changes, and a hell of a lot of fighting, I’m still here to write this today. and if there’s any one thing I’d want someone struggling to know, if there’s any idea or figment of hope I could offer to people in need, it’s that it does indeed get better.
I don’t care if you’re sick of hearing it. I don’t care if you think the people telling it to you are insincere, or haven’t struggled enough to really know. there is no possible way that after all you’ve been through, after all you’re going through, and after all you have yet to go through, it won’t get better at some point. you have hurt, you are hurting, and you are going to hurt. but that doesn’t mean it stays this way forever.
so if you’re going to take it from anyone, please take it from me. because it’s not over for me yet, either. I still struggle to put food in my body. I still spend some nights praying I won’t wake up in the morning. I still have to fight to keep my relationships intact. but it’s a hell of a lot better than it was, and there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m not damned to be this way for the rest of my life.
don’t let the negativity of those who are blinded by their sorrow fool you. and don’t let your own sorrow fool yourself. the fact that you’re alive proves the fact that you are strong, and you are going to make it out of this alive no matter what’s thrown at you. it does get better. there’s no way around that.
we started talking less
I started wanting you more
I watched you turn into a friend, into a lover and into a stranger.
if someone can fall asleep knowing you’re crying, knowing you’re hurt or didn’t get home safe, they don’t care for you
will i ever be loved?
i think the worst part abt depression is having SO much to be happy over yet ur pain & sadness never “goes away”. its like u really are broken
person: u act older than u are
me struggling w years of trauma & having to be the adult in situations that i shouldnt be in: i get that alot
Was it love if they feel entitled to have all of you but they won’t commit any part of themselves to you
the moment i started missing you
you were already gone
we won’t forget each other, right?
too much on my mind lately
i fell in love, then i fell apart.
depression isn’t always suicide notes and pill bottles. sometimes, it’s all smiles and fake laughter. depression isn’t always easy to notice.
“today is not my day” - everyday
i’m not an easy person to love but i’d like to think i’m worth it.
