Depious

The realisation that I could slip off social media tomorrow
and no second soul would give me a second thought
i would be a memory on a timeline
a grey picture in somebody's mind
vanished from tagged photos
nothing more nor less
no texts or visits asking where ive gone or why
The realisation that i could die alone here
and nobody would find me for days
i could be on the sofa or floor or shower
a grey angel
vanished from consciousness
nothing more nor less
no texts or visits asking where ive gone or why
It wouldnt even be on purpose- people die for all sorts of reasons
Talking to somebody then suddenly freaking out about aneurysms
Why aneurysms they are so rare but if they happen i would just drop dead
and i wouldnt have made any change to this world
Talking to somebody and i remember a nasty comment from 5 years ago
and my mind and my eyes glaze over and there is nothing but the greyness from those times
Lying in bed and dwelling over misjudgements i made when i was a kid
wondering if i should have known better or not
remembering how vulnerable i was
wondering if i am still
vulnerable
or not
could i face what i did back then
now
or not
i am tired
tired,
tired
tired;
the tiredness doesnt stop, i could nap for 20 hours and not miss a single thing and
not a single thing
would miss me
I am tired of feeling like
i am having a heart attack
when it is just a panic attack
knowing i am a drama queen
but not being able to stop
I am tired of feeling like
i am a burden
i am weak
i am resilient yet weak
so weak
I am tired of feeling like
a failure, even though everything surrounding me is success
being discontent with mediocre when mediocre is the safety i desperately crave
I am tired of
nobody listening
its like you scream into the vortex at the top of your lungs
and even the hummingbirds can hear you
but they don't even stir
I am tired of
trying to fix myself
with no support
nobody proud of me but me
but if i am proud of me
am i being too proud
arrogance is disliked
but nobody liked me when i was insecure either
i love myself
and yet im not happy
but im not unhappy about that
do i think i deserve it deep down? maybe
but why
i dont know why a million reasons maybe
but a million reasons why i don't deserve it too
Go to therapy and make friends
maybe if i could tolerate people
but i cant
because i know theyll leave
they turn against me
then they leave
i am boring
so boring
i get fallen asleep on so much
and i cant sleep
i lie there, kept awake by the silence
deafening
silence
of knowing
how
boring
i am
having so much to say
and wanting to discuss
to be brushed off and dismissed
i have nobody to talk to
except the odd blog or post
on which people will pretend
to pity me
but i wish they wouldnt pity me
im actually the most content ive been
but my anxiety
and loneliness
are very bad
when i am good
i am excellent
when i am bad, i am bad
when i am anxious, i am anxious, i am anxious, i am anxious
You are putting it on
mostly you put it on
get over it you are strong
i am trying why cant you see
i am trying and i need your help
just chill out
just chill out
cheer up
cheer up
i am trying
but you cannot get better
if nobody helps you acknowledge the problem
I am boring and i am anxious and i am tired
i start therapy soon
and i hope somebody reading this is proud of me
because it has been years in the making
i should have signed up years ago
instead of indulging
bad habits that haunt my nerves, cloud my gorgeous starry skies
cloud my eyes when the bad days come
i cant spill secrets here
but i wish i could
just know im ok
im just anxious, tired, and lonely
and if you are anxious, tired and lonely
you are ok too
we arent very well
but there is a cure
and we can do it
at a distance, behind computer screens, lying in bed early on the weekends, listening to the same depressing music
at a pub drinking oneself blind, going home with strangers to feel something
we can do it
even if the rest of the world thinks we cant

Home

There are somethings about home
That aren't poetic
You won't find them in Coleridge
And I doubt they crossed Wordsworth's mind.

But home is
Making chicken wraps in just your pants
It's nothing fancy, or eloquent
It's just knowing that you can cook in your pants
And no one knows or cares.

Home is
Crashing out at the end of the day
Doesn't even have to be a long day
You could've been at work for one hour
But you went in for that hour
And home is proud of you.

Home is
Washing bedsheets and wrestling to get them back on again
It's about stretching the bottom sheet to its limits
It's about getting lost in duvet covers
It's about napping after the ordeal
It's about smiling at fresh sheets after a shave
It's about getting under them and watching a film you've seen 49 times.

Home is
Cooking your own meals
Even if they're crap, they're your meals
Setting up Christmas trees, and wrapping up eating salami,
They're about being with your loved one, about them being your home,
But about setting up your books on the bookshelf,
About looking through photo albums and sighing,
About being at home, sweet, safe, and sound.

Why

There are some things I can't tell you
Things that'd break your heart
Things that'd break mine telling you
I've made mistakes, I hurt myself, I hurt others too
But if you knew what I'd done, seen, read, heard, you'd realise why
Why I don't speak to people much
Why friendships are so hard to come by
Why the compliments of a stranger seem suspicious
Why I had to cancel so many play dates
Why I think everyone is plastic, polystyrene and nylon
Why sitting alone reading can be both liberating and painfully lonesome
Why I dissociate myself from yesterday's self and from tomorrow's self and from the me of yesteryear and the year before
Why music in the dark provides the soundtrack to the wetness of my pillow
Why the pillow used to be wet with blood
Why the pillow used to prop up a head so fucking lost and scared

No one was there for me during the hard part
And now the hard part is over
No one wants to know me still
Or would I even notice if someone did?
Misanthropy is an inevitable consequence of mistreatment
But God, screaming in pain into an empty abyss gets boring. 

13 Reasons Why isn't an insult to anyone with mental health issues

I read an article from student news outlet The Tab today and I feel it is worth responding to. The article can be read here and (attempts to) explains why the hit Netflix show 13 Reasons Why is an insult to anyone with mental health issues. I want to debunk this, as I think the show is helpful and important to anyone being bullied or who has suicidal intentions.

So let's go through line by line.

You can’t remedy depression with ‘love’ reads the sub-headline. Thanks for that. That was the message we all took away from the show. Here we all are, high spirits and hopes, that we can cure depression just by loving someone. Um, no. Don't patronise us. 

It grossly trivialises mental health and romanticises suicide – and don’t tell me it doesn’t when her ‘suicide note’ comes in the form of god damn cassette tapes. Indie, right?

- No mental health issues are mentioned in the show, apart from subtle references to Clay's past with antidepressants and therapists. I believe this is for a reason. Hannah was not mentally ill. She wasn't stuck in bed, she wasn't giving up. The whole way through we saw Hannah go back to school the next day, only to be let down by more people and friends. It relates to the notion of "tomorrow will be better" and sometimes it just isn't. This was a girl who took on her problems, she faced them everyday, she wanted things to get better, she was optimistic for the future. 

- Romanticises suicide? How? Did you not watch the suicide scene? I had to turn away... Did you not see her parents the whole way through the show? How broken they were? Their reaction when they found her? Did you not see how broken Clay was throughout the whole thing? Where was the suicide romanticised? Where was the point you thought people would go "you know what, killing myself seems kinda nice"?

- Yeah the note comes in the form of tapes. I don't know what's "indie" or wrong about that. The show is a work of fiction and entertainment on one level. Hannah was always different and quirky, so the cassettes seem to tie in with her personality. 

The dual narrative is spread so thin that it’s hard to sympathise with anyone. 

Strange point to make. If you feel that way it might be due to the storytelling and structure of the show, more than it having to do with trivialising mental health. I never felt that way. I sympathised with Hannah, her parents, Clay and Tony throughout.

That aside, every character appears horribly selfish, overdramatic, and frankly unrealistic.

- God bless you, you obviously have high estimations of people.

- I thought the characters were realistic. Justin not knowing how to tell Jessica about her rape because Bryce has always looked after him was realistic to me; Hannah was flawed in many ways. There were lots of points where we were angry at her, we shouted at the TV and we thought she was stupid, but that's the point. She's human, she'll fuck up; Courtney didn't want to come out because of the stigma attached to gay parents, that's an important point to address; Marcus wanting to maintain his immaculate reputation is realistic; Zach not wanting to disappoint his friends and family, is realistic. Yes everybody's selfish, but everyone is in some way or another. That's the point of being human. How far should we take our selfishness? How far do, have, and will people go to protect themselves and expectations of them?

Suicide isn’t caused by other people – it’s not murder.

- Suicide can totally be caused by bullying, and the bullies should be seen as murderers. 

- The choice was ultimately Hannah's, but that's because she couldn't see another way out. She went to her counsellor who didn't help or believe her about her rape; she felt like she let her parents down by losing their money; she pushed Clay away because she was scared; she tried what she felt like was every other avenue. She couldn't see a way to escape what all these other people had done. 

- When you are bullied relentlessly everyday, when rumours get spread and don't stop, when pictures are leaked of you, when you're raped, when your friends abandon you, when your parents don't listen to you, when you think the guy you love hates you, that can kill you inside and it can force people to suicide. Don't underestimate the power the words and actions of others can have on an individual. That's a slippery slope.

Suicide is caused by mental illness, not bullying; but is Hannah Baker portrayed as mentally ill?

- Not all suicide is caused by mental illness, not everyone shows signs. Hannah isn't supposed to be mentally ill. She's portrayed as someone who was just pushed too far and everyone ignored her calls for help.

The mental health narrative is as pushed under the rug as ever and Hannah Baker is about as good a poster girl for the depressed as Kendall Jenner is for the oppressed. 

-She isn't supposed to be a poster girl for anything. She's flawed, too. She doesn't show signs of depression, but she appeals for help a lot of the time, and gets ignored. People can relate to that because we all know what its like to have suffered and feel like no one's listening or cares about us.

The result is that she comes off as an over-dramatic snowflake.

- Yawn. Using "snowflake" just means you have nothing of substance to say. You just didn't like the show, and you're mad because the protagonist didn't suffer in the same way that you did.

Give us a protagonist who physically can’t get out of bed; who ugly cries in the bath every night for months; who suffers with irrational thoughts of self-hatred. Just something – anything – to throw the focus on the day-to-day struggles of someone with a mental illness. A real-life Hannah Baker would not commit suicide – because Hannah Baker is not mentally ill. Or at least not the Hannah Baker we’re being shown.

- THIS JUST IN: YOU CAN ONLY BE SUICIDAL IF YOU'RE MENTALLY ILL. IF YOU'RE NOT MENTALLY ILL AND SUICIDAL THEN YOU'RE WRONG!!! What an awesome message for a student site to be sending out! 

- If you want a protagonist like that, read Catcher in the Rye, or another one of the countless books that shows a depressed character. There's plenty. 

- Who are you to say what a "real-life Hannah Baker" would do? There are many "real-life Hannah Bakers" who have killed themselves. There are suicidal people who aren't being helped because articles like yours shut them down because they haven't been diagnosed with a mental illness. There are suicidal people who ask for help but don't get it because they're not displaying outward and obvious signs of mental illness or suicidal thoughts. 

Four Letter Word **trigger warning**

** trigger warning -- rape **

Numb,
From the waist down,
And all the way back up,
Shoves your head in a pillow,
You said no,
But it happens anyway,
Your eyes stare at the wall,
Can't stare at him anymore,
Lover, protector, perfect stranger,
Takes your innocence,
Shoves it in a sack,
Says no one will believe you,
And no one did,
So you hate yourself,
And you feel bad about sex,
So you just have it more and more and more and more,
Just to stop his face from creeping into your bed,
Under your pillow,
And strangling your pretty neck as you sleep,
Because the face has to be replaced,
Your skin has to be cleansed,
You have to be able to feel down there again one day,
But no one believed you,
So much so you don't even believe yourself
Maybe you were unclear on consent,
Maybe you imagined the whole thing,
But even when you convince yourself and scream from the hills it was all a nightmare,
Your subconscious punishes you on those sleepless nights,
Or when you smile too hard at a guy,
Or when you try and slip back into the BDSM you once loved but cry at the sight of a pathetic piece of rope,
Because someone tied your innocence up,
And they whipped it,
And they whipped you,
Because they couldn't respect you,
They can't understand no,
They did a lot for you, why couldn't you just open your legs?
A dick shoved in your forced shut mouth, lips retracted, shaking your head,
And you think maybe he didn't understand consent and that you were unclear?
And you punish yourself,
You tell no one,
You fuck everyone,
But as soon as someone mentions that four letter word,
A swarm of memories best forgotten,
Force your door open,
Slide down your throat,
Set your heart on fire,
And tells you no one will believe you 

Miss

Will you miss me when I'm gone?
Will you pine over the ideas,
That I could never write and articulate?
Will you miss the words I used to speak,
More than the ones I didn't?
Will you miss my smile,
More than my look of scorn?
Will you miss the post-selfie goofball face,
More than the one in the picture?
Will you miss the kisses,
More than the caresses?
Will you miss the passion,
More than the calm?
Will you miss the stories I wrote,
More than the ones I did?
Will you miss the skin on skin,
More than me wearing your clothes?
Will you miss the blue in my eyes,
More than the blue in the sky?
Will you miss my cold feet,
More than my warm heart?
Will you miss the adventures,
More than the sleep?
Will you miss the excitement,
More than the contentment?
Will you miss the fear of losing me,
More than the security of having me?
Will you miss the redness of my cheeks,
More than the redness of my anger?
Will you miss the beauty of my face,
More than you miss the beauty of my words?
Will you miss me when I'm gone,
More than you rejoice in having me near?

Mistletoe and Wine

Mistletoe and Wine

Gathered around the table, its December, everyone’s off work and university and together as a family, we’re sat around a cheeseboard like it’s a Ouija board, summoning the spirits of the fine dairy goodness.

Thankfully, it’s not Monopoly, because that led to cobs being thrown around the house last year. No, this year it’s a cheeseboard, my mom has a new house, and no cobs are going to be thrown, else we feel her wrath.

This is a special Christmas, because we have a new house, I am recently engaged, and my aunt is over from Ireland, and potentially most importantly, my mom and her boyfriend have recently started to brew their own white wine. We’re drinking store bought white at the moment, and the bubbling of the Brew-Your-Own set carries on in the background. It was the soundtrack of our Christmas. That sound, and the sound of someone enquiring why the “wine was wrapped in a blanket?”, “It’s bloody cold that’s why!”. The heating in the house isn’t quite there yet, but my family knows where the priorities lie.

They’re working on their second batch, but the first batch is bottled up in the garage. We’re all eager to have some, but no one wants to venture into the cold. Benevolently, my mom’s boyfriend shoves on his flip flops to match his shorts and Christmas jumper (don’t ask), and steps out into the icy garden. He comes back in with the wine holder with six full bottles. They haven’t figured out a labelling system yet, so 99 Green Bottles springs to mind.
He pours us all a little glass just so we can taste it. It’s strong I’ll give them that. All 10 of us say “Cheers!” and gulp the last little bit. Then the séance continues, candles around us, Christmas lights twinkling, as we all laugh, sigh and drink. Here’s to a happy new year and beginning.