panicfunction

Am I ok?
I dont know.

So ive not posted for a while and i dont know why really, its been a strange few weeks. i cant say much has happened though ive been very busy, assignments and filming and such.

to be honest, (and i think i know why i havent posted, its to avoid being melodramatic or to seem like im moaning) ive been very, very low, lower than for a long time. ive been crying a lot, which is very unlike me, and wandering through things very distractedly, alternately violently angry and completely, painfully immobile. it seems like a very dark time but i know ive been here before and clawed something back.

i am very aware that it is difficult to turn the tiniest part of that which goes on inside into anything that makes sense to anyone else and realise that ill be rambling through this, searching for something with meaning. i am the least capable of communicating. despite writing poetry and such my heart is a closed book to my head and to my larynx or pen (or QWERTY).

As I read again what people have written after my last post I am very touched. it seems strange to me that one can start writing thoughts on the internet and within a few weeks people read and seem to care. In one sense i feel i am taking advantage, i hate that i ranted so incoherently on SG and part of me wishes i had kept my heart closed. because if no one knows me i am sterile, distant, consequences are minimised, i guess when you hate yourself like you are the cancer part of you retches at the thought that someone else would care. even someone separated by an electronic divide.

There seems to be so much that is insurmountable, so much that is distant and uncontrollable, about the world and about my nature. i have never before detested the person i have become, all that is inherent within me, quite so forcefully as now. and you know, the more you hate, the greater that which you hate becomes. i am growing into a monster. i cannot control what i am. please, i beg, dont tell me any different because i know, no matter how great the changes you make, the centre remains fixed, and ultimately i am that which i despise. i can hide it, and have done relatively successfully for the past few years, but not forever.

the last essay that i got back marked contained the comment from the marker that my sentences were too complex, and if i simplified what i was trying to say id get a higher mark. but i cant break my thoughts down into concise, manageable units. it might just be my incomplete grasp of written grammar but frankly every sentence is a pale imitation of the truth it is struggling to reflect. i cant see anything but complexity. i admire most the novelists and poets who can distil a truth, any truth, no matter how small, into a phrase, a sentence, a paragraph or a book which does not subtract anything from reality. everything is a complex business, i have no hope of ever understanding anything within me.

grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

i write too long, and still dont express what i mean to. i am sorry.

i hope no one reacts against what ive just written, i hope it makes some kind of sense to someone. strangely i feel the need to attempt honesty however hard that is and whatever the consequences or the meaninglessnesses be. im really grateful to people who have written such wonderful things before.

i must promise not to only write when i am down. maybe those should be my lines for this evenings detention. i think i need to chill out a bit.

just a little bit.

an incy, wincy, ickle, wickle, bitty witty.