Misanthropy; mi-ˈsan(t)-thrə-pē: a hatred or distrust of humankind.
In the past few days I have found myself to be more misanthropic and introverted than usual, this is most likely due to my current feelings over something I did to hurt the only person I truly care for.
I recently put a post on my Tumblr stating-
“God I despise human beings a lot of the time.
We as a species may be advanced but were so goddamn clingy and the chattering to others to impress them all the time is annoying as fuck and everyone is always complaining. Always trying to out do each other with knowledge or power or status. It’s fucking idiotic.
I would way rather be alone with my cats and dogs reading in the quiet away from everyone.
You all give me a headache”
This outburst so publicly about my feeling I have figured in the rational part of my mind is due to my guilt over what I have done and reflecting what I hate about myself as a human onto everyone else around me due to the hurt I am feeling myself.
I don’t know how to fix it but all I know is that right now I despise everyone but Him and my pets.
The wind howled and the rain pummeled my face, my hair violently being pulled across my face. My vision blurred in the storm and a flash of lighting illuminated the sky-unveiling the intense inky black of the sea below me and the violet sky above. I was alone. The sole person around for miles and stood atop the rocky cliff, being eroded by rain every second I stood in my trance, unable to feel the icy cold of the wind slamming into my body.
I knew I should move, will my legs to carry me away from the precipice-yet I was transfixed. Despite the storm, the sea looked so inviting. A never-ending pool of darkness and warmth-to feel the water envelop me and swallow me whole-to drift deeper and deeper, away from everyone and everything, letting the darkness comfort and console me as no-one yet could.
Death is but a sweet relief. We had danced together before. The smoke unfurling in my lungs each day. Inhaling and exhaling the acrid substance until my throat hurt and the sadness had passed. A temporary fix to ease the pain. A habit repeated each day religiously until I was numb and mustered the courage to plaster a smile on my face-one that I felt could crack and peel away at any moment. Revealing my true nature and feelings to those around me.
I took a deep, long breath. Letting the ice invade my lungs, crystallizing every inch of me . Held it there. One…Two…Three… Exhale. Without looking below me I closed my eyes…
This is kind of a personal subject but considering it was on the BBC South News earlier I thought I would write about it.
The news story said a woman had given birth to a stillborn baby that died at 19 weeks and was able to hold her baby as well as get hand and footprints, but was not allowed to register the birth; as in the eyes of the state, a baby that dies before the 24 week limit, is not considered a person, but a fetus so cannot have a birth or death certificate. In the eyes of the state, it is a late miscarriage. As a result, and as you can imagine, she went to court over this and is trying to change the law.
This is where my story comes in…
All my life, up until now I have believed I was born at 24 weeks, as was my twin brother. Its on our birth certificates, and my brother’s death certificate too, But I wasn’t. My mother told me today that we were actually born just after the 23 week mark,and in order for my brother to have a death certificate as he died after only about half an hour of life, the doctor decided to put 24 weeks on his birth certificate, and i presume the same for me. Just so my brother would not be discarded as a late miscarriage and as such, there would be no record he existed.
Although this story has shaken me up, as I now feel I was not meant to exist, I support that brave woman’s court battle in trying to change the law with stillbirth or miscarried babies before the 24 week mark.
Most of my life, I have been shaped by my parents’ ways. They tell me “oh, don’t do that, that looks horrible”, “If you do that, this will happen”, “you’ll regret that when you’re older.”
Well no I wont.
Because I know what I want to do with my life and I know how i want to look and what will make me happy. And if that involves being tattooed, having piercings, and having a job that pays next to nothing-then fuck it. Its my life and i’ll do what I want.
However, I am very easily influenced.
Every other month I am changing what I want to look like or how I want my hair to be. Yet i always come back to “the darker stuff” stuff like black clothing and dark eyeshadow. This is mainly to me being brought up on classic rock and such and having a major “emo” phase when i was about 12.
However, one man has inspired me to be who I am more than anyone else.
Ricky “Horror” Olson.
I owe a lot to him. He made me realise it’s okay to have dreams but not to force them to happen, that its okay to admit depression but not to let it rule your life and that most importantly to be yourself no matter what. Not what external sources have claimed you to be To be you and only you.
I cannot thank him enough
My thoughts speed past in a blur, leaving my head throbbing and my eyes aching.
I long to feel some emotion.
Even if it were to only ghost the features of my face before dissolving back into emptiness.
I feel as if I am falling down a never ending pit of stomach-churning inky black. In slow motion I can feel all the emotions I once thought I had burned away completely. Loneliness. Resentment. Despair. And most of all- Hopelessness.
I’m stuck in an infinite loop of the finite and mundane tasks that are known as “living”. Brushing my teeth, putting on clothes, hiding my internal despair and braving the world for a few hours before returning home and resting my aching cheekbones. Then retiring into the warm silky sheets of my double bed. Inhabited by me alone.
It would be lovely to truly live. To not just inhabit the body I have been given, watching from the outside as if my life were some sick, twisted show you’d watch on TV out of morbid curiosity.
It would be a relief to feel human.
The air was frigid and the sky a deep blue. I was stood outside shivering against the brick wall of the venue;clad in tight leather jeans and my ripped band shirt. I leaned my head back and watched the smoke escape from my lips and unfurl into the night. It’s a bad habit I know, but it keeps me sane.
The wind picked up, slamming through my body and causing my hair to be whipped violently against my face. I sighed and dropped the amber filter to the floor and extinguished the flame with a swift swipe of my foot. Peeling myself from the cold bricks, I zipped up my jacket, balled my hands into my pockets and entered through the door on my left.
Back to work.
Ive always been told “Patience is a virtue”-but I unfortunately have none.
I am constantly looking to the future, planning and sorting out my life and where I want to be and what I want to be doing.
That can be stressful.
Ive been on the brink of losing my mind because of my habit of looking constantly to the future. I’m just so impatient and every night I get down or angry about how Im not older, have tattoos, look how I want or am touring like I have always dreamed.
It honestly gets me down and although it makes me strive more and make me work harder to get where i need to be-it can be goddamn stressful and put a strain on my relationships with friends and with my boyfriend.
But I dont think i’ll ever learn-and it terrifies me.
I know one day I will crack.
The sky was a midnight blue, mottled with the days’ remnants of cloud.
I’m stood shivering in the queue, surrounded by people dressed like myself, but I am unlike them as I am human.-although you would not know it from the way I blend in.
I am surrounded by a sea of creatures-all breathtakingly beautiful and rather surreal in appearance. For instance, the couple in-front of me, buried in conversation, are clad only in black-a mix of fishnets, chains and band shirts-quite the usual for this part of London; however it is their hair and eyes that make them distinctly un-human. Their hair, glistening in the street lights, are matching shades of fuchsia pink, and their eyes! Their eyes are a neon blue, startlingly so, almost aqua. But i digress..
I am finally here, at the front of the queue, I wait nervously as the security guard eyes me up and down; his gaze like that of a pawing cat, lazy and slow. My heart flutters in my chest but it soon ceases when I am given a short nod and allowed to enter. I let out a small sigh of relieve but I cannot relax for long, As I am finally in the nightclub known as Elysium.
Once I had steeled myself once more, I proceeded through to the main arena and was attacked by my senses,
The lights were blinding flashes of colour and the speakers blared out Acid House music at 120 beats-per-minute, spurring on the hoards of people writhing together on the glittering dance floor. But I’m not here to dance, I’m here to find them-the two people that killed my brother.
I immersed myself in the ever-moving mass of bodies and carefully eyed the people around me in search of the two I seek. I can see them no-where and with defeat heavy on my shoulders, I turn away and start my journey to the door of the club.
Then I spot them..
The clock chimed 12 and the whole house descended into silence. The wind howled and fingers stroked the glass of my open window. The fierce gusts rattling the open curtains, bound by their metallic chains glinting in the iridescent glow of the moon,
It was the voices that kept me awake at this hour; whilst the rest of the house gave in to peaceful slumber. The voices that ceased to leave me be; even in the deepest recesses of my mind, where once happiness shone, now dusted in cobwebs and left to rot.
They cruelly inhabit my mind, every waking hour of the day, taunting me and driving me to the brink of insanity.I try in vain not to head their words of foolishness, but the incessant nature of the voices are taking its toll.
I no longer find happiness in the presence of my lover, let alone his touch. I am utterly alone in this vast world of people and places-the voices tell me so.
You may believe it is madness, to be talking of voices that only I myself can hear, but as I sit here naked, with only my thoughts for company in the still silence of my home, they are my only friends.
The voices, whirring and chattering around my mind, keeping my self destructive thoughts at bay. Urging me to keep fighting the inky black darkness I feel in my heart and throughout my body. Chanting repetitively “Keep going” every minute, of everyday.
So day after day I oblige, faking a smile as I inhale the bittersweet smoke into my lungs to try and numb the aching in my chest.
“Just keep going. Just keep going…”
Sometimes, I get so restless within myself that i feel like kicking out and saying a massive “fuck you” to the world and just going forward and doing what I really feel like doing in that moment.
But then my inner voice kicks in and tells me “That’s stupid, don’t make a fuss-just carry on like you are” which i normally heed to for a certain amount of time before lashing out by going to parties or gigs and lashing out at the world by shouting, drinking and causing chaos-to right the balance within myself.
However, it’s times like now when I want to punch that voice in the metaphorical face and just go out and do what my mind is screaming at me to do-even if I know it is immoral or foolish.
Which in this instance-I truly have no idea what my body and mind are screaming at me for or about. Its just a whirlwind of partial words and feelings, appearing in my minds eye and fleeing a millisecond once they have appeared. Maybe this is just a symptom of my lack of sleep and messed up body clock since returning from South America, but deep in the pit of my stomach; I know this feeling trapped inside my ribcage and brain won’t cease until I have done something about it.
It’s just a matter of when and where.