cause it’s been spelled out to you

and you’re still stuck in all your doubt

at the price of stringing me along,

over and over.

-

how long can i battle the not knowing?

i’ll curse my inability to mind read,

replaying our talks like they’re the reason i can’t breathe,

over and over.

-

but i know, oh i know

it’s a part of being human:

tripping over your own words, wanting someone to believe in

and reciprocate the feeling.

just give me some relief.

-
i try to put my mind at bay

but you’re always in my present day

and i’ll allow the tarot to contradict itself,

split my mind in two

just for you

oh i give you power, you give me no virtue.

-
yet i know, oh i know

it’s not just my ego this time.

you’re parading the act of the ‘good guy’,

whilst i’m here wondering, all my hoping

is kept on going on a half-hearted sign.

was it in your plans to lure what you can’t define?

-

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how could i allow someone this power over myself?

p.s i made this into a song after because it felt needed - at least this man gives me fuel for creativity if anything beneficial ! xx

arms connecting like the clasp on a bracelet;

your lingering presence fostering gentle stagnation

on my skin.

-

but it doesn’t even touch my bones,

they’re riddled with uncertainty.

my mind won’t let it settle, decoding all it can, screaming:

please just stop it.

and the echo of your affection, offers itself now and then

only occasionally lays the cards of perspective.

-

you’re actually here!

sitting beside me

and i lapse, into you,

through and through,

and it all feels worth it on the surface

until i’m wandering back home alone without your spellbinding effort.

-
i emerge into the clear

and see the situation with newly purged eyes

the soapy water is rapidly disappearing

i blinked rapidly; it stung

as the drain swallowed the endured.

-

and the water spiralled, round and round,

i saw her start to form:

her patient face in the shiny reflection

where the tears fell.

-

do i want it? (i did)

do i dive? (we all crave love and what could be)

do i stay calm? (embrace the flaws)

am i too young? (being merely formative tends to excuse the mess)

for this.

but what is life but a moment anyway?

-

i have touched your hair, soft and ready

traced your lips so to close my eyes and still see them

they whisper my name

you’re beautiful; i stay put.

-

i may just be at solace; companionship.

i may just need to ignore my thoughts:

no need to trade something fine for nothing at all

so i’ll mirror his drift and match his rhythm

on raw, natural instincts

clawing at every piece i can.

-

i can see it

‘does it hurt, my dear?

like you hurt me’ he says, as i stand in the horizon bleeding out.

it may never stop whilst i’m beside you.

-

i want to limit my repentance

don’t want to be stuck in a loop

i need it, but it’s not necessary

and i’ll never find satisfaction here:

i’m not held in high enough regard.

-

commitment doesn’t scare me

it’s manmade

but what haunts my dreams

and wakes me up in tears

is the letting go

of something good;

the sunshine period that it brought;

yet the bathing ritual that left my skin wrinkled

without beauty in complexion.

-

feel something or keep something

because nothing is for certain

once upon a full moon it was

‘inch closer, my love

let’s feel it’

but now we inch in other people’s lives,

further away from settling for enough.

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We go through so much as people. Suffering is constructed into life. We get torn to the ground; beat and belittles; we all face our fair share of ‘let down’ moments. But through it all, the thing that matters the most is that we keep going.

I think that it’s so easy to let the hard moments outweigh the good. It’s happened to me. Now I think about it, it’s happened to everyone I know too. They just impact us so much more, because of how our brains are wired: our negativity bias (from a different and brighter angle, it was heavily essential for past generations to survive as missing a threat could have been deadly, whereas missing opportunity didn’t matter as much).

Still, it is so important to be reminded of the good times too. Because: they are beautiful. And they are still prominent. They’re there if we want them.

Yesterday, I was lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, waves of emotions almost consuming me whole. Sometimes, I enjoy this (I’m not masochistic I promise), as I view it as some strange way of getting to know myself better, allowing my head to take me wherever it wants to. Others, I wish I could just turn myself off with a switch. Wouldn’t that be magnificent? This time, though, I somehow stopped for a second. I closed my eyes, and tried to put everything in perspective.

In my mind, I was in a dark room, with a tunnel ahead, and it was glowing softly from within. Pressure and wind worked itself against my body as I attempted to run towards it, desperate to reach the light, to bathe in the light and love. No matter how much I tried, I just couldn’t get myself there. It was that feeling- the kind that sticks when you’re so deep in melancholy that even the smallest bits of joy just feel out of reach.

Half a minute passed of frustration.

Until, suddenly, my mind slipped through.

I had trespassed into the light. Broken the cycle. And it was nobody else’s doing; no change in circumstance. Just mindset.

I was living.

I was present.

I was happy.

I was filled with love.

The truth is: we are selfish creatures. We live in our own heads, our own bodies, and so empathy only prevails to a certain degree. We really do value our own joy, and yet, we crave it so desperately that sometimes, when we finally receive some (perhaps just a little), we discard it, fixated on the negative.

Social media only amplifies this feeling. We see everyone’s filtered, artificial presentation of their life. It’s painless, polished, perfect. And we feel behind.

But then I take a heavy breath and let some of it out. I open my phone to see a text from my boyfriend- he messages me every night, without fail. He always shows up for me. I am out of control of the smile rising upon my cheeks when I see his kind words of warmth.

Even if my family is constantly in shambles, arguing or falling apart, we still have love for each other. We’d still do anything for one another. It is quiet knowledge. Nobody has to say it. A home is still a home. A family is still a family.

And my friends: if I called them, they’d pick up. They’d listen to any stupid word I had to say. They’d provide me with sufficient advice and keep me safe. I know they would.

I am lit-

but from within.

So, during those painful moments of spiralling or loss of hope, I will remember what I do it all for. For those moments in life where I am so grateful for the love I have.

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asks the one who has been hit and wounded.

Blood trickles down his leg at rapid pacing.

So much, so much blood.

-

It throbs, but the mind contains more agony.

For it is a balance of emotions that keep us content

in times of dilemma

and feelings of convulsion for dismay.

-

He fears particles

of water, of lashing, of flow

that will slow the journey

to bliss and achievement

-

because he is not restrained,

and luck is a fantasy,

but pessimism is a disease.

-

He does his research.

Interviewing books and hazard signs,

that are as clear as day

and as infallible and irrational as night.

-

What is fated infects his dreams;

turning them an inky black,

whilst the youth clasp their hands shut by their sides, suffocate their breathing

and jump in impulsively.

-

They may live, they may die,

they may tell the tale through ancestry.

There may desolation beyond this world either way-

and if there was no reason, would we be more propelled?

-

Water lugs.

Water appeals.

Water is battled with.

It’s monotonous, yet alive, yet unruly.

-

He can’t say for sure what it was.

His temperament may have been worn away until it burst.

But he too jumped. No-

He soared.

-

“I will take a swim along a hazy river.”

No need to be stoic but no need to refrain.

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note: i’ve just started college again and i have so much to write about but so little time so here is a little poem i wrote the other day as i keep having impulses to just write down random metaphorical topics and i finally got this one out.

completely open to feedback about it because i’m relatively new at poetry but i really enjoy writing it<33

Here is the chorus:

‘i know what happens when the tide comes,

but i’m still waiting for the hope in ones

like a lie turned honest,

the truth hits the coldest.

but i’d run as fast as i could

if you needed me (i wish you would).

for advice out of reach,

should i look for the allegories?’

It’s about that tension between waiting for change and realizing that looking for help and assistance to better your own life myself may be more beneficial. The rest of the song uses the metaphor of a relationship to convey my personal thoughts. The guy whom I am with is not ideal. Despite this, I continue to fantasise a sharp change one day where he puts me first, and doesn’t mess up. Still, the loop of dissecting it all in my head is mimicked. From a self worth’s perspective of being stupid for feeling this way, with too high a set of standards, to most of all the embedded yearning for reciprocated lightweight love.

I wondered: hope. Hope is a complex mindset. It’s the feeling of expectation or desire for a particular thing to happen. My generation seems to be very divided in terms of the spectrum of it. I have rarely seen someone in the middle. Maybe because I am young, but maybe also with the presence of social media as such an inherent part of our lives.

On one hand, algorithm bias's negativity spreads around problematic creators by nature, but also if you like one thing with any underlying sadness in it, it will feed back to you that same outlook, to keep you scrolling. This is where hopelessness can be born (so many of us have had times like these).

On the other hand though, by seeing all of the filtered, idealistic lives of the people posting, we are being ingrained unconsciously by the wanting and hopefulness towards that being our lives too. None of the hard work and behind the scenes is shown. None of the bad days are shown. None of the raw pain is shown.

I think hope lives in so many of us uncontrolled, and we rarely touch on that unrealistic broader aspect of it. In chunks of realism, it makes sense, because without it, what would be motivation other than the deep rooted stems of the idea of goodness and gratification that we’ve grown up with. We would fall. There would be no need to get up in the morning with the negative attitude. But when it spreads overly, we deal with a problem. Social media has simply amplified this problem.

Hopelessness works in the opposite respect. It breeds and festers depression, and in this context, has a strong link to suicide. It can feel like sinking, as though there is no point to keep swimming against the harsh and ever flowing current.

Another factor of it is false hopes. They prolong the torment of the anticipation, which can most likely lead to frustration, resentment and feeling disheartened. Life feels hopeless when the bad outweighs the good.

Hope, though, is sometimes the way our brains cope with difficult situations. We filter through a lens, an illusion that our circumstances may turn around without putting in the work. But even if they did, would it make you have the same satisfaction as when you do put the work in?

Maybe the balance is the in between, no matter its absence in this world. Hope on its own keeps us waiting, but it also allows us to value the good once the anticipation is released. Hopelessness leaves us stuck, in a hole that it’s difficult to peddle through, and realize that there is something for everyone in this life. Somewhere balancing those two lies action, the movement forward; the choice to not just imagine it but also to create your ideal life and future, little by little.

And maybe that’s partly what my song was reaching for? The tide goes both ways. Water continues to move: but how will we deal with it?

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If I don’t do this, I am wasting my fleeting time here on earth.

It comes in waves. A unhurried build up of overthinking it, overdoing it, overplanning it, until I eventually mentally collapse under its heavy weight. Should life always feel like a boulder you have to persistently carry? (I feel like I can answer this myself.)

I try to fight it. But it’s like a string that drags my mind and body along, insistent on providing resource to my future self. Every waking moment.

‘Tomorrow could be your last’ is screamed in my mind when I want to stay in bed and let my body rest and recharge for an extra half an hour. It knows that the phrase deeply unsettles me, but it also pushes me towards motivation and encouragement.

Darkening bags under my eyes. Random pains in my hand from the constant writing. I feel drained. Exhausted.

The battle between your mind being your friend or your enemy is one of the hardest tasks to manage.

I am aware that a lot of it is my fault. Due to an upbringing carrying emphasis on the need to feel validated, my brain has shaped itself into a gun that fires endless streams of work. I ask myself daily what would be enough for me? Reaching my goals is one thing, but if it means becoming sick over them? If it means dying over them? Or doing everything I can and still failing because the universe proclaimed that it wasn’t meant to be? Would reaching something I’ve always wanted to achieve even put my mind at ease? (Probably not, I would then just set myself a new target.) Every one of those questions sounds like a waking nightmare that I never want to live. So, the problem has to be my mindset. If I don’t attempt to fight and morph it into something more attainable, I don’t think I will never be happy or content with my existence.

Lately, I’ve noticed something new invading my thoughts: overwhelm has lead to even my hobbies feeling like chores. How can something that is supposed to bring me joy and an outlet turn into something that causes me dread to complete?

My brain immediately brought the question into the equation: why do I complete hobbies? I sat with it for a minute and struggled to define it. It is difficult retrieve one answer for the several different factors that I have. For example, my writing hobbies are like therapy to me. They give me an insight and exploration of my mind on paper. They allow me to critique myself and think about why I think everything that I do. Whereas, reading and watching TV is a distraction from life. It gives me a break from my own problems and stress and lets me see into someone else’s for some time. Sometimes, that gives me guidance, but also a sense of hope. However, sometimes I feel envious too.

In this spiralling moment at 2am, I had the chilling realisation that maybe I have too many of them. I decided to scribble every one down, impulsively, strangely hoping that if I put them in perspective the list might magically shorten.

— — — — —

hobbies:

• reading

• writing substack posts

• writing music (sometimes for work, sometimes not)

• video games

• playing guitar

• music theory

• annotating books

• cooking

• scrapbooking

• researching

• gym / walking my dog

— — — — —

Looking at the long and plentiful list, I saw the problem right in front of me. Every single one I studied looked like a responsibility despite my usual enjoyment, and I knew it would distress me if I wasn’t consistent with it.

It feels unhealthy. Unsustainable. I’m left wondering where joy was ostracized from the picture. The craving for progress has morphed itself into an addiction to the dopamine hit of accomplishment.

Doing, doing, doing.

Yet, no time to reflect.

The lack of progress that will happen if I continue like this is bound to make me feel worse. A part of doing it all is for the moment of realizing that what you made was pretty or your words flow smoothly in a certain section. A sense of achievement that is outside of work and school.

So, now my task is: how can I bring the joy back?

This year, my goal is going to be to not feel the pressure. I used to think that I had to cram all of the hobbies into a week or I had failed. But now, looking at it, it is simply not realistic. I am only human. There will be days that I don’t feel up to it. There will be moments where I run out of time to complete everything in a day because one task takes longer than expected. But that is okay. My mental health has to be a priority at the end of the day so that I have the energy and the drive to keep going with what I enjoy doing.

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My parents say it’s just hormones to everything. I wonder if I’ll agree with them when I’m older. Only time will tell. Currently, I believe that it’s slightly dismissive, but I understand that it all feels hard and fast as a teenager, as it’s the time in which a person discovers the pain of the world. Yet, there is a weight that’s hard to pinpoint in simple words. It’s so contradicting. It’s a paradox I can’t escape.

I won’t deny it: I am sensitive. I feel too much. I’ve been called dramatic before by men, but this feels demeaning when they are often the obnoxious cause (there’s a running theme here of thoughts and emotions being dismissed!) A perceived sharp comment; a slightly off tone, and I’m left spiralling. Work that is due goes out of the window and deadlines vanish. My brain converts the uncertainty into physical symptoms and my stomach starts to cramp. All because I’m replaying the sentence in my head, dissecting endlessly for what is suggests about me, about them and about everything.

This is why I find it so difficult to empathise when people describe anxiety in its ‘common’ way: dread, panic, tight chest, butterflies. Mine is not like that. It’s a constant weight. Maybe it’s just different personalities. Maybe I’m not educated enough. I haven’t studied a psychology degree. But never have I ever heard someone explain exactly my version of it. If they did, perhaps it would bother me less. Maybe if words existed for how I feel, they wouldn’t control me as much.

I can trace my first heightened spiral back to my knee operation. My walls were all forcibly destroyed because I had no choice but to sit with myself for 3 months in recovery, trapped in my own thoughts. Extreme emotion. That was a time in my life where I can comfortably say I had far too much time in my hands. And the majority of it was used to ruminate. Topics that were pushed to the back of my mind in favour of daily life were brought straight to the forefront of it. That was when the existential spirals began: tears, questions, endless back-and-forths with myself. It could have easily ruined me. Instead, I think I discovered so much of who I really am and how my brain copes with struggles.

And maybe it goes even further back. To the roots of it all. When I was 6 months old, I had my first ever operation because I was born with a heart condition. It was a death scare from almost birth. If I didn’t have the surgery, I would not be here today.

Although surgery saved me, the scar still remains. It’s like I was born to never exist. Even though I don’t remember consciously, it lives through me. I see it on my chest; trace it. I survived. And the survival carries a duty, to keep going, and to live. Isn’t that the point?

The internet doesn’t help. Everywhere I look, I see videos of people saying how they have adapted to not taking life too seriously. A satisfying mindset (for them) of which I doubt I will ever conform to. The conviction I have is that it’s too fragile for it to be nothing serious. Life matters.

Psychology helps to cope, at least a little. Trying to make sense of every little thing that contributes to the bigger abstract of mood. Viktor Frankl’s logotherapy (the idea that we find meaning through struggle) resonates with me deeply. It explains why I overthink, and why I can’t just ‘float’ through life the way social media presents it as effortless. My mind craves meaning; it searches every corner for it.

The question reigns through me of if I am I hyperaware or just very analytical. And if I’m too aware, does this mean I’m doomed to feel even worse, given the many cracks in the world that I am drawn to seek.

I think that everyone needs a force that keeps them grounded, whether it be creatively, or something that they are truly passionate about, in order to survive. My reason for it all— to keep going— is my music. It’s the anchor that holds me afloat (do not mistake my words: i’m sure as hell not floating through life and unbothered). It’s not a naïve dream for me. It’s my outlet. My home. I process my life through my songs; it’s so thrilling and comforting to turn parts so awful into something that gives rather than takes. I don’t think it necessarily rewires my brain (which is how I have heard others phrase managing anxiety and depression in their life), but it certainly fuels an outlook and validates me. There’s nothing more beautiful and empowering in this life to me. Existing feels like it was all for this. It’s better than drugs. (As they say, get addicted to what you create, not consume.)

Still, there’s a tension. This is between the rational thought and the emotional release. If there is too much logic, a song will die. And if there’s too much emotion, I may just collapse under it. Writing confronts me with that balance: I have to question, reflect and craft meaning amongst the everchanging chaos in my everyday life.

Yes, I sometimes struggle with the thoughts that I may never make my mark on this earth. If anything, it’s a thought that keeps me up at night when my eyes are aching with need for sleep. But then I remember: my songs, my words, my journals: they are the mark themselves. They’re proof that I’ve lived and experienced life as a human. By taking control of the narrative through song and journal pages, hopefully the undead future is one within the books.

Maybe one day, long after I’m gone, a future descendant will find a scrap of my writing amongst old memory boxes, a song recording, and take a minute to immerse themselves in it. That would be enough for me. That would mean I did it. The vivid vision brings a smile to my face. Sometimes, that is the reminder I need to continue pursuing with my life.

For me, it all comes back to the fact that we only get one shot at life. I resisted death once. I’ve been given the blessing of time that others haven’t. I owe it to myself to utilise it, to live within it fully, and to leave something behind.

I want to be a musician. And I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen.

I feel as though I say this every post I publish, but it really is all about perspective.

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note: i think about this pretty much every day of my life so it feels good to let it all out into words on a page.

!!! tw: mention of abuse !!!

Whenever I see posts and hear conversations on the topic of soulmates, I think to myself that it is completely irrational. Made up; a fable. How can there be such few options of person for this unique bond? And how can I believe that there are such slim options of a person for you?

They are a lovely thought though: the idea that everyone has ‘a person’ and time will take its course to bring them together. However, when you look into it more deeply, the concept certainly has its flaws.

Growing up, I believed a person had one other person across the globe that was the one. A soulmate? This only makes it pretty much impossible to find, and chances you would end up being in a romantic relationship with them were even slimmer.

When I looked deeper into it, I found out that it’s likely that soulmates originated from Ancient Greek philosophy, specifically in Plato’s Symposium (where Aristophanes tells a myth about humans originally being double-bodied creatures who were then split in two by Zeus, leading to a lifelong search for one’s other half). Overall, it suggests the idea of a perfect match, or a person who completes another. But shouldn’t we strive to be complete alone, too?

If the other person tragically disappeared, you’d be leading yourself down a path of devastation and brokenness. By literally losing the other part of you, and not feeling enough on your own.

Surely, that can’t be true? We all have to be enough on our own, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to survive as humans, and we have. Every time.

I argue that the definition of soulmates has undertones and possibility for interpretation of sharing trauma with a person, which is obviously a dark foundation for a relationship. From this angle, there’s less outlook on compatibility and more on crisis and pain. In the short term, it’s an immediate numbing of pain, but it can easily turn to trauma being the string of the relationship, and can be toxic and with a lack of other essential parts of a sturdy relationship.

Another disadvantage is a situation where you think the person you’re with is your soulmate, so what’s stopping you overlooking their negative traits, even as severe as abuse?

Furthering that premise, ‘invisible string theory’ ties soulmates together by an unseen string- no matter the time or place that the people are in, they are destined. Whilst popularised through social media and pop culture, it implies that this unseen connection will lead them to each other, through all circumstance. I am aware that there is a spiritual, fated outlook on things. However, by dwelling and living through this I believe that all that someone is doing is closing opportunity down. Someone that could make you happy could be right in front of you, and you may not even know it.

Time will take its course, as life will, but you have to be open to romantic relationships. The one will come when you don’t even know it. They may not be tied spiritually to you, but isn’t there a beauty in finding them without being bound by fate?

To put it even more plainly, not everyone ends their life with a partner. I personally think that’s evidence enough that soulmates are at best, comfort.

Actively work on your relationships instead. Perhaps go that extra mile for those people that could be worth it. Do it for you. Not for fate, because nobody knows what’s in store.

I read recently that the ‘concept is damaging to relationships’. Is it life, or is it comfort? Don’t cave in with yourself.

Your soulmate by definition could be across the globe, and you may never meet them. You are totally limiting your options if you are waiting for one who understands you at a ‘unique’ level. Unique suggests one in a million. Why can’t you just enjoy their company and let them listen to you?

Be realistic.

‘Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.’

- Sylvia Plath

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a chronic and cognitive dissonance

a pain that disrupts,

a pain full of consequence,

a pain that gets you mourning of a life that will never be yours,

a pain of a life that deserts you

and lets you down

constantly.

— — — — —

but, change exists.

— — — — —

living in the same room

is what you feel

and what you’re told to feel:

but which will you go to?

— — — — —

to shrug it off and move on;

because life doesn’t wait for those who dwell,

is something i am instructed to do

as a way of curing my melancholy.

— — — — —

you’re expected to no longer care;

no longer feel it shaking your bones

and being unable to focus

on deeds that must be done

like some sort of dagger of a moment.

— — — — —

it’s triggered.

series of events,

a chain reaction,

or a world of

days sharp and dull,

praying for slow and fast,

needing more and less

hitting all at once.

— — — — —

because we’re wired for survival

but i’m tired of surviving.

— — — — —

by pulling out the dagger,

stopping it healing into a scar,

to forget

and close the chapter of your life

(one that is impossible to move past)

is only avoiding the truth:

a pretence.

being functional is not being fine.

— — — — —

you perspective is so important

to surviving in this life

despite it being forever influenced by past events.

as if you retain care

about the loss and the gain;

the spectrum of a healthy mind,

you will limit slip ups

because of realization, coping and survival.

— — — — —

change doesn’t have to be swerved

and diverted

and left to rot away at your brain.

and trauma isn’t something you can ask to leave.

because it calls your brain home.

— — — — —

denial is defence.

but emotion needs to be felt.

it is biology.

the message it brings is that you’re still alive.

— — — — —

it can be let in,

to discover more of yourself.

the responses are normal.

to debate

the why, why, why!

why could this happen to me?

— — — — —

and though it seems such a solo life

despite humans needing connection;

the most valuable one is one with yourself

a narcissistic approach every human has in their nature.

— — — — —

it is up to us to let ourselves fight.

to not disappear when things get almost impossible.

to endure it for the hope of something better

and to win the war of feeling.

— — — — —

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note: it’s difficult when there’s such a pressure among people close to you (such as family) for you to be unfeeling because that’s how they deal with their struggles. but it doesn’t have to be that way. healing is not linear in my experience, and it’s different for everyone. but survival will always be strength.

What struck me about it was the core of it all: that she was desperate for him to be doing the same. When he’d talk to his friends and she was in the room or near them, she’d yearn for them to talk about her. This chase, this mark on someone; it is wanted by so many. It’s validation that you’re enough.

It got me thinking. As I am a 17 year old girl, and I am in the music industry, I rely so heavily on perception and admiration. Otherwise, where would I be? If nobody enjoyed listening and to a degree, looking at me and my energy that I bring to a room, I would be out of the job. Obviously, the validation differs in this respect- I’m not talking purely romantically. I’m talking about the different forms that contribute to a liking of someone as an artist.

— — — — —

So what are the different types of validation?

Aesthetic:

• When people look at you and think you’re cool.

• People are drawn to how you look.

• For music artists, this is often considered the branding (which communicates sound, message and mood).

• When it is lacking, you feel invisible and even undesirable.

Romantic/sexual:

• In dating or attraction but also in performance too, as ‘sex sells’ (more prominent for females).

• The thing I have thought about before is if people would still listen if they didn’t want me?

Intellectual/talent:

• When people compliment music (or equivalent to you in talent)

• It’s not about looks; it’s about what you create.

• It’s for example: am I good enough at this skill to be heard?

Energy:

• That vision of a person lighting up the room and people wanting to be around them because they have confidence, humour or magnetism.

• Perhaps, in my case, it’s my stage presence or what my personal brand evokes.

Social:

• People include me.

• Being accepted by others.

• Without it, it’s easy to feel like an outsider.

• Friends and belonging.

Existential (broader example):

• Most therapists try to rebuild what conditioning has taken over.

• It keeps you steadier: the sense of purpose, in being even alone, when nobody’s looking.

• More personal.

— — — — —

With these stuck in my mind, I realized when I caught myself searching on someone face that I passed in the streets for an element of interest, or scanning the audience for their attention, or crying to myself about the lack of existential meaning in my life, I need validation so much in order to feel fulfilled.

But I think this makes us human?

Our brains make us think like this because it’s survival. It may seem extreme, but it’s how we are wired. For example, firstly, we need connection. From the moment we are born, we rely on others to survive. However, it evolves. Belonging in society and with the people around us becomes a safety. It makes us feel good; because partially in early tribes, exclusion meant death. And in the process, you want to feel validated, like you’re enough to be there, so that you can be carefree and enjoy their company.

The validation you get from the people around you is like a drug, just like how our livelihood in modern society depends on being seen, liked and followed, particularly on social media, so your brain treats it like a resource. Like the thought of do I even exist if I’m not looked at?

This is also contributed to by Carl Rodgers ‘Conditions Of Worth’, which my therapist told me about a few months ago. It’s a theory that you are only valued by others when you meet certain expectations that they have set, stemming from when you’re a child. It is where the feeling comes from, that if I’m not admired by people, I don’t feel worthy. When someone admires me, all it is is proof that I matter in this world. This is because growing up, my parents would give me the praise when I looked pretty, did a great job in a show, had completed lots of work and more, so I will largely carry on these things I was loved for into adulthood.

— — — — —

Sure, I’ve always known that I like to ‘look good’. I’m aware that I’m a perfectionist about my makeup, outfit and jewellery arrangement. I want to look good in order to feel confident in myself and so that I can feel more like myself. But doesn’t everyone?

The best way to describe and back up my personal need for this is that I believe I am a brand. This idea has been pushed onto me my entire life. Partially, in music college, because it’s said more than anything else. It’s something to stand out from others and something that increases the music from one level to visual too. But also, by my parents, with what for example, clothes you like and dislike, extended onto the personality level too. I notice that it makes me an individual in the family, separate from my sisters. And now, I dress myself in a way where it’s all cohesive: with studded bracelets and belts, lots of black and red, and a passion for looking attractive but with layers of substance of emotion. Think skater girl meets Y2K princess meets grunge. And if people don’t look and check me out and think I’m super hot and cool (haha to put it plainly)- is it effective enough? Will people listen to my music? The sex appeal lives in my head and is real, I have found. No matter what people think at the fact I’m a 17 year old girl (Am I too young? I don’t know. But the system doesn't care about that. You’re practically legal!), people listen more when there’s a pretty face.

And I do despise it sometimes. There are times when I catch myself looking if another teenager is peering at me at any point. Because that means the brand is working. It’s strong enough to make someone intrigued. Even, to strike them.

And if they do. My heartbeat gets excited and craving of the look of an unspoken compliment on their face. Because it boosts confidence.

But what’s really the fall of the climb is the disappointment when it’s not experienced. It’s gut wrenching. It stings. It’s the other end of the pleasure of the chase. It’s the pain and the loss of gratification. And it would put me in a foul mood if they didn’t. It is a humbling thing, and it shows how fleeting it can be. Again, using the drug comparison; a need for validation brings its highs and lows.

But maybe I live in a fantasy? But that doesn’t stop me from wanting it.

Because it’s something to write about. Something to feel as a creative.

— — — — —

Sue me, I do want affection and admiration. Otherwise, am I not attractive enough? Because of the pretty privilege and sex appeal that exists.

Validation involves a complex relationship with yourself, because it’s not just from other people, it’s also from your own inner monologue. Some days I look in the mirror at myself and burst into tears; how can someone be so horrible to look at? The scars- like Frankenstein. My body- too curvy for anyone to ever truly accept and love. My face- not at all symmetrical. Some days I think I’m in between prettiness and not. I could be if I wanted to be, but I’m not like the kind of pretty that you’d never forget. But other days I’m aware that that’s where a brand makes me be different, unique.

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note: i really hope this doesn’t come across vain, because that’s not at all what i’m trying to convey. to be a musician and a person who performs, i believe you have to have an ego to an extent. you like the applause, which is practically a praising. i think i’m just developing self awareness through writing. but at the end of the day, it’s human nature.

i think this is a big topic and confession to admit. most people, i have noticed, shy away from it and deny it to be considered ‘humbler’. but i think understanding yourself is more important and addressing it because it’s real and it’s present in a life.

Despite his wrongdoings.

Despite him wanting to move on.

Despite him making it very clear that I wasn't what he wanted.

2 years does cut through like a knife. And I struggle to empathise with a teenage boys action, because I believe human nature is against them when they try and be faithful. They can’t not look at their options. They can’t help but think about their sexual future. They want to experiment. They want to know what they enjoy as soon as possible. And it’s all to make them feel good. No matter what they do, it seems that they hurt someone. And the thing that kills me is that they don’t even understand what they’ve done. They don’t get how just ‘being a boy’ could possibly affect anyone other than themselves. It’s like in A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams, when Stanley “sizes women up at a glance, with sexual classifications, crude images flashing into his mind and determining the way he smiles at them." How can I condone micro cheating in a long term relationship if I wonder whether or not he will leave me for someone who gives him an once of attention with a body.

In current time, I am worn out. My eyes ache with the hell he’s put me through and yet I still wish for him back. My sleep is disordered and unnatural. I wake up in the middle of the night to a horror story in my dreams and it’s always about him (picture Bella in New Moon). Yeah, he’s just a boy. But a boy that I’ve invested 2 years out of my 17 in. I haven’t been single in that long. How can I handle being alone when I can’t handle myself?

“You don’t know what you got till it’s gone”

Any relationship end is pain. Whether it be a friendship, a family member or a lover. A lover, though, has an aspect of the most personal to it though. They know everything about you- your deepest thoughts, your greatest traits- in trailing and analysing your mind and your body.

To know someone that deeply: there is a sweetness to it. But it soon turns sour.

With a sense of regret, I still think he was husband material.

In the heat of the moment, I don’t feel pain. I don’t feel anything. If anything, the seriousness and lack of knowledge of the consequences forces me to even laugh. I’ll just see him again tomorrow.

But then later that night it hits you. He always texts, but he hasn’t. He always smiles, but he didn’t. He always admired, but he didn’t. And it will never happen again.

Later in life we’ll see each other across the streets in cities holding hands with another. And picture us in their place. What could have been. The blood will disappear from my face and forge a hole in my stomach for what feels like eternity. Is there an intimacy of having a past with someone, or a deep, suffocating, guilty, everlasting pain?

Because how could I let the one I love go?

note: this was a lil rant from the heat of the gut wrenching realisation. i hope somebody else sees their breakup also in this.

when my adrenaline runs smooth through my blood

as superstition is viewed through a lens

and as polarity is highlighted and yearned and missed.

-

they storm in through unlocked or loose doors

in a world that is both known and unfamiliar.

they knock my sunglasses right off the shelf.

they shoot the kitchen hatch to one metre open.

they make my jewellery communicate like telephones.

-

but maybe it was just the wind;

the disappointing, fluttering, too-quick-to-say-goodbye wind.

or were they left behind?

or will they be?

-

because life tends to race too fast and move on.

my father claims he still feels 20;

he longs for his golden years back

but his hair is grey, his body is faltering and his mind is fleeting.

-

where did all the time go?

we are told we must not battle it

hence (so they say) we have to learn to accept and welcome it.

into our lives, into our presence, into our hearts

-

and so time is just a part of us,

sitting in my unbearably restless brain

of the ghosts of loved ones

ones who guide, remind, but continue to inspire.

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