Dear You

Autumn is here again.

Autumn is like returning home after a long trip, she is warm, and surrounding, and familiar, but we spend her time preparing for the colder months, just like when we return home and prepare for work the next morning, and we write down our grocery list.  So autumn is enjoyed in short bursts, brief moments dotted in our days as we frantically prepare for her sister winter.

I cannot think of a day this week I have not stepped out the door and been reminded of something i have to do before winter. but I also cannot think of day i have not looked out my window snuggled under a pile of blankets and thought how beautiful the world looks. and how you can breathe autumn in, how she fills your lungs and reminds your body of apples, and pumpkins and spice, and hot tea, and firelight,and in those moments, I am not as worried, or as frantic and I seem to be these days. There is something soothing about autumn, and how she reminds you that it doesn’t matter, all things go and all things come back, there is no need to be scared, everything will be okay.

If your life came in seasons, Autumn would be your death, summer your prime, Spring your childhood, and winter would be what comes after; I still don’t know what to believe, I am often too cynical to allow myself the fancy of an afterlife, but sometimes, especially at this time of year I find myself considering reincarnation. I think about how this world loves patterns, how it loves to repeat, that even every river, so seeming aimless is actually a precise, predetermined pattern, a mathematical rhythm which repeats, like the chorus of a song.

There are so many things in this world which are repeated, reflected, that I find it hard to believe there isn’t some kind of clue out there as to what happens to us after death. maybe that clue is is what happens to flowers, how they recede and die and then in spring return, reborn. how the trees strip bare, and wither back for the cold, waiting for the spring.

Do you ever consider that, that it might be a reflection of our souls?

Maybe it is our clue, Our evidence to a repeated pattern, maybe the answer lies at the end of every year.

But on a smaller scale, where i don’t consider the various complexities of life and death, Autumn remindes of a much smaller version of death and rebirth, she reminds me of how versions of myself have died this year, and of the things I have managed to let go of. Her winds of change this year and brought with them a gale which has finally shaken those last leaves from my branches. There is a long way to go before I start anew, I have a whole winter to go through. but this year, this has been autumn for me the whole way through, But i feel as if i’m letting go of the last leaves now, watching them float like sinking boats to the ground. I feel freer now.

Winter will come and i think I’m going feel empty for a while, I think there will be a deadness, a period grief for things I have let go. and I waste so much autumn preparing for those months, I waste so much of my life preparing for winter. But today, today I am just enjoying autumn with a cup of tea, and a blanket, I hope you are to.

All my my love

Me, x

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Dear you

I’m sorry I haven’t written for a while, I have been so ill these last few weeks that it has almost been impossible. which is why I want to write a series of letters, not to you, but to the part of my life I have struggled with for most of my life. I don’t write about it often, but i think  I’ve mentioned my illness in passing.

Don’t worry I will get back to writing to you. But until then you may read my dear M.E letter if you wish.

All my love.

Me.

Dear You

I feel so restless. So unsettled.

I can’t really explain it.

It’s kind of like I feel like I’m supposed to be racing towards this imaginary finish line, and yet I’ve lost my way, and i swear I’ve seen that tree before. In fact I’m becoming well acquainted with that tree, Its looks a little bit like the tree that cocooned the bees nest I stuck a stick in when i was young, and ended up getting stung in the eye.

Yes. I have definitely see that tree before.

I’ve completely lost my bearings. and life doesn’t seem to hand you a compass at birth. Life doesn’t really consider this a necessity. So I’m just circling the same tree, wondering, “Shouldn’t i have found my way by now?” why do i keep coming back here.

Yes, i GET i’m avoiding my issues.

Yes, I GET it.

I get that this is a childish thing to do.

But i don’t know how to talk about it, I tell myself I’m gonna do it, I’m just gonna say it all, let it the hell out, but my throat gets thick, so I say it in a roundabout way,  in little hints with a wide smile, I brush it off with a fine, and  I let the ache settle back in my gut, where it spreads through me, like poison, until it feels like my skin doesn’t fit. Until i feel wrong. Restless. so i down a couple more painkillers, and drown my thoughts.

I think, though if i do think about it, I can root it out, my problems tangle like headphones, but if i sit down, and think, i realize the restlessness is because i’ve really messed up lately. the ache is guilt, because it throbs every time my phone buzzes, it thrums everytime i say something nice, it sighs through me that I AM A LIAR.

Lying comes so easy to me, it spills off my tongue and nobody blinks. I AM A LIAR.

I hide behind a boring life, I quell the truth under a bravado of fake enthusiasm. But at heart, at the core, I’m a fucking liar.

But i’m the worst kind, because I lie to protect people, I lie with the intention of never telling the truth, and I am a liar, who values honesty.

I’m a walking fucking contradiction.

I would hate to love me, I would hate to care about me. I would hate to be any where near me.  Because nobody really figures out that they’re a fool to trust me.I demand honesty from them but give them lies.  I demand their trust, but give them shaken doubt.

And when I untangle this from my mind, the guilt blooms like a flare, and my mind just screams end it. end it. end it. end it. It will be kinder on them. It will be kinder on them. It will be kinder on them.

But you see, and here’s the zinger, the important part of this letter, that voice, that little piece of my mind  that whispers to my, encourages me to give up. That part is the lying too.

IT IS A BIG FAT FUCKING LIAR.

It also tends to tell me that because i’m fat i’m ugly. and it gets me to stare at my fingers for hours until i hate them because they’re a little chubby.

it tells me that my friends have judged me only on my faults and that they  find no good, because it can’t find any.

and it tells me that hurting myself doesn’t matter to anyone, and doesn’t affect anything as long as I cover the scars in lies.

it tells me that i’m useless. ugly, horrible.

It tells me all the time.

Over and over.

It never stops telling me and it screams at me so loud in public.

It gets me to run away and hide in public until the panic stops, and it quietens to a whisper.

but i figuring out, that i may lie, I do cover up my shame in little lies, but it, that voice, that thing, THAT is the liar, and I, I am the fools that puts my trust in it.

Recently I have done things, said things, and fucking royally messed up, and I do wish I could take it back, wipe those mistakes clean, and prop up the bridges I have burnt. but those mistakes don’t paint me a certain colour they just add to my canvas.

The important thing is I’m trying. I don’t think i can quite get the words out yet. But there may be a day where i will sit down and unwind the truth from the lie.

but i think, although we don’t admit it, there is a sell by date on a lie. like i don’t think that vase i broke 12 years ago and then in gasps and gulped lied about, really matters anymore. At the time it felt like the end of the world.

But maybe some lies, they last forever, they shape everything. they eat at you, and encourage a restlessness in you.

All my love

Me x

Dear You

I hardly write anymore, I think this  year has ebbed away the faith I had in my voice, in my words. These letters were a way to try and grasp back that confidence, to try and believe in the power of my own voice again. Seems a little self centered doesn’t it? But I do truely believe that our voice, that our words are one of our greatest powers we possess, you can win a war with words, you can change somebody’s life if you dare to brave enough to speak out loud.

There is as much power in words as there is in a barrel of a gun.

Every suicide case out there has a collection of words, some words are their own, some are other people’s, and these word are a hypothetical rope around their neck, those words give the gun, the pill, the knife, the noose power, drive, decision.

Every martyr, hero,  Pioneer, Leader also has a collection of words, words that are their hypothetical compass, their northern star. and they give them power, drive and decision.

The saddest thing is The suicide case, the Martyr, the Pioneer, the Leader they could share the same collection, where a word can damage one person, it  can drive another, and you never really know the effect YOU’RE going to have, only the effect you want to have.

I have believed in honesty my entire life, but is that even right for me? I’ve known my words hurt just as much as they have helped. In fact i’m not even sure which side the scale balances on.

Last year I would have told you adamantly, that I was proud of my bluntness, at least I’ve never given people a false idea, they’ve always known where I stand. but then I wasn’t telling anybody about my own feelings, i was telling them what i thought i thought of them, my instincts about the people around them, i was giving, honest, blunt advice and belief, but I was a reflection of what they wanted me to be, a mirrored of image of what they see, and i was hiding the rest.

The fact that I was on the brink of killing myself, I was hurting myself, i was starving myself, One person knew this, one, and i didn’t say it out loud to anyone but my best friend. I was an actor, I still am in many ways, I was pretending to be stable, and it unnerves all the time, that the lie i told to hide myself and grown so large I can’t unwind from it. and I’m feeling like a bit of a hypocrite, because my advice Is be honest about what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, be honest to everybody you love, and yourself.

Don’t be cruel, you can be honest and still be kind. But be firm don’t take no shit from nobody.

I have made so many mistakes, but all of them involved a lie of some kind, and can’t take them back, can’t fix teh twists and the turns of my lie.

so I have faltered in my faith, in the weight of my words, I have found it very difficult to say what i am thinking and on the rare occasion I’ve gotten that out i regretted it. But the other day my friend came up to me and thanked me for what I’d done, for the advice I’d given her and just being there, and it reminded me that after all these years I’d helped her through a lot, and my words may not have ground the world to a halt and changed everything in an instant like at the time i’d hoped they would, but they are something to give her power, to help her.

And I think You know, that your words hold great power so use wisely, but use them freely, and they may not work instantly, but they are important and vital, and they could change the world, even if it’s one person at a time.

So I will try and write to tomorrow about whatever comes to mind, because their is a small chance and this is exactly what you need to hear.

All my love

Me x

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Dear You

Today is one of those rare days I spend alone.

They don’t come around that often these days, Somebody is always at home with me, and it feels rather empty now, the silence is a little haunting, and the subtle warmth of companionship is lacking. When my dad is home, we don’t really talk, we might mutter a couple of words to each other, but mostly we just go about doing our own thing, as we’re both people who are used to being alone during the day, but I think lately we have both gotten used to not being alone, and when it comes around things feel a little empty.

part of me is, “I can do anything I want!” but another part is, “Yeah but there is no one to make me a cup of tea, or have lunch with, and if I die it will be hours before the body is found.”

From the ages of twelve to nineteen I spent almost every day alone, I was too ill to go to school so I had to educate myself and My mum had to earn the money to keep the roof over our heads, and my dad…well at the time he was lost in his own problems. So I learnt to be alone, I was Ok alone, it’s important to be OK alone, have you noticed that, it was at the points that I stopped being OK at all that being alone was dangerous task.

This last year and a half my dad has been staying around a lot, its a weird set up, that you don’t even try and explain to other people, they can make their own assumptions, but no; my parents are not back together, not even a little bit.

There’s a multitude of reasons why he’s staying, the first was a lot of work needed doing on the house, and he’s better when he’s busy, he has no car so it was easier for him to stay. The second was he lives in a tiny room and spends most of his time in the pub, so staying here keeps him away from drink. He’s not an alcoholic, but he wasn’t healthy. the third was my mum and I hit rock bottom financially, and I think people don’t quite understand That my dad staying actually fed us for a while.

But I think subtly, without anybody wording out loud, without anybody actually realizing it, on a subconscious level He stayed for me. I think if he had not of been around so much, if I had had been alone this past year and half, I would be dead, I would have killed myself. I don’t like putting that out there, I feel so far away from that now, but I realize after everything I’ve been through this last year and half, after everything I’ve felt I wouldn’t have made it through without my dad, without somebody muttering a few words to me, and just being there. and I don’t think he realized it, I don’t think anybody really realized the state I was in, I didn’t let anybody know, I let some of it out to my best friend, but how close I was to dying, I don’t think even I knew that.

I think we underestimate the value of just being there for someone, just being around, you don’t necessarily have to hug  them, or talk them through it, My dad and I, we’re not huggers, It’s rare for us, and it’s rare for us to talk about substantial things, we don’t discuss our feelings, or anything like that. I think we both have so many issues,  share so many of demons and regrets and fears that we talk about the weather, and music and british tv.

At fourteen I thought the worst thing in the world was my father, Now I know, after he has taught me so much about forgiveness and redemption and regret and change, he is honestly one of the best things in my life.

It because of him I’m still here getting stronger every day.

So If you’re in a bad place surround yourself with people you love, don’t avoid them, even when you feel at your worst, you don’t have to talk about your feelings if you don’t want, just watch a film with them, just  drink tea with them, just let them be there for you, they love you, they’re not annoyed or bothered by you, they love you and want help, even if they don’t know what they’re helping with.

All my love, I’m always here for you.

Me x

Dear You

   Do you ever just want to adamantly say “NO” to everything, to life. Right now I’d like to sit life down and give it a good talking too, Tell it to please, please, to every god and every deity, and to every higher power I don’t believe in unless I need something, To please stop throwing me curve balls. Now I get that this is growing up, I get this is what happens. I GET that! But really! do I really have to collect bullshit like Pokemon? Its not a “Gotta have ’em all!” game here, but It sure feels like it. I even seem to have duplicates in the deck of bullshit.

  Yes, we all have our problems, You, me, the whole world we’re all collecting our deck of bullshit. I get that I’m not alone, I have you, and so many others who are in the same boat, But despite this I feel so picked on by life, so bullied, Like life has chased me up a tree and given me so many wedgies I can’t feel my legs properly. 

And I think, right down at the core of it, I feel lonely. At this moment there is nobody up the tree with me.

I’m not somebody who is prone to loneliness, In fact admitting it feel like betraying some kind of pact i made to myself as a kid vowing to keep everybody at a arm’s length. But yes, at this time in my life I feel lonely. I don’t feel like I have anybody to talk to, to laugh with, to complain to, To rant to. I’m this boat that got separated from the fleet without a compass and following the stars just ain’t that easy these days.   

 And I’d like to sit life down and say “Look ‘ere, I’ve got all this other stuff, you’ve given me all this to deal with, do you really have to throw loneliness in too? Couldn’t you have let me keep that one advantage? Its not so much to ask is it?”

But its doesn’t work like that does it? You don’t get to reason with life, there is no compromise, no underhand deal. It decides and you follow. And lonely isn’t so bad. Over 7 billion people in this world, It seems strange to feel lonely. 

Anyway its late. 

All My love 

Me x

 

Dear You

I used to write poetry. You’ve probably read some of them, scattered here on the internet, jotted down in books, and hidden in disarray on my hard drive, you may have even read the one soul poem I have published. My only published work. 

 You probably already know most of my poems are unfinished, that some are two lines long, and I’ve left them to brew in that feeling I will probably forget one day far from now. 

   Now I say I used to write poems, because I don’t count something I haven’t done in a year to be something that I do. 

  I don’t know if this is the same for everyone, or even for some people, but my poems they revolved around one feeling, one part of my life, It was like the sun, It burnt and it seared and drew everything around it. I created worlds from this feeling, I wasted word after word after word trying to define it, trying to resolve it. 

  The last poem I wrote explained Its effect on me, and although I miss writing poetry, miss that spear of inspiration, that dagger of desperation to get these words out, to just write it down, and see the way it fits, and flows and ebbs, If that is the last poem then I’ll be proud, but it was truly a poem to say goodbye. 

At the beginning of this year I faced a change, a harsh kick from reality, where in the space of two months my life, my foundations, everything briefly, but terrifyingly fell apart. Now, It was,  in some ways, subtle, Nobody really saw it,  nobody saw the way I just cracked, Not really. But this change didn’t come from one side, it came from all sides, at once, Things I thought to be definite, things I thought to be true, things i thought to be fated, just shook and cracked and broke, and I fell apart, but thats the thing, nobody really saw, I think the only person who truely saw was my mum. And throughout itII was surprised that I wasn’t crying every single second that despite the fact that i wanted a bolt of lightning to come and strike me off this earth, I smiled and i continued to move.

  I spent months after it, actually physically wanting to run away. to just get on a plane and escape it   

 In this time that feeling that felt like the sun, that feeling that had consumed me, and inspired me,that feeling i’d written poem after poem about, I had to let that go. It was time to let that shit go. I don’t know if you’ve ever done that, if you’ve ever had to extract part of yourself from your soul. Its like bad alleyway surgery. Its like black market organs. Its dirty and its messy and it leaves horrible scars, and often it causes more problems.

And it did, Oh man, It did. the aftershock, the recovery, I’m not over that yet, Its been 8 months, and I feel like a fish out of water, I can’t write a poem because there’s nothing left in me, I feel empty, and bored. Isn’t that bad? Isn’t it BAD? that without the drama, without the all consuming feeling that broke me for years, I’m BORED?  I feel terrible,  i feel guilty, because I tried for years and years to let it go, For goodness sake I wanted it gone! I thought life would be better, would be simpler and easier. But without that sun, without that fire, i’ve been put under an ultraviolet light, everything is in sudden, stark clarity.

Its not a good thing.

This is not a good place to be. I must have done it wrong, i must have let it go wrong, I must have, in my desperation to be rid of it I extracted it with huge parts of myself I can’t get back.      

I’m this completely different person and I HATE IT.

like really I hate to the core, to deepest parts of the world I hate this.

I can’t stand who I am right, I was listening to a song the other day, I can’t remember which one and the line, “are you the person you want to be?” or “Are you happy with who you are?” I can’t remember the exact line, but you get the gist, and that question it repeated in my head, pounded in my skull, like a mantra, it was a question I did not want to answer, I really didn’t but I did.

NO.  

This isn’t me. Whoever is sitting here, writing this to you, Isn’t me, I just don’t know who me is.

I’ve forgotten.

Maybe this time next year I’ll write you a letter, realizing this was a good thing, this is something I had to live through to become a better person, god knows I’ve done this before, been so entirely stripped down that I’ve build myself up again, but It’s never quite been this bad, I’ve always had certain points in my life, certain anchors, and this time I don’t have them, those anchors became the problem, they drowned me at the beginning of this year, and no matter how much i want to trust some of them again, I seem unable to.  

So I used to write poems, some of them, were beautiful, I don’t know if they were good, but in their truth they were beautiful, and don’t share them that often, they reveal parts of myself I don’t really let anybody see. And do miss it. there was relief in poetry for me. I think every poet probably says the same, its a therapy, the writers equivalent to lying down on  a couch and talking about your feelings.    

I hope one day, I do write more poems, I hope I write poems on happiness, and letting the past go, and of the great to come,  I hope I become the person I want to be, so I can write you letters, with the utmost conviction, and the experience that you shouldn’t give up.

Hold on. Don’t you EVER give up.

I might not be able to say this as a person who has walked through fire, and stands on the other side encouraging you through. But I say this as person who stands in the fire, we’ll get through. You and I, just don’t. give. up.

All my love

Me x