For You, Angus and Julia Stone – Those Moments

I’ll admit it. My choice in music isn’t to everyone’s taste. And maybe there really isn’t the broadest range to what I like. I am a picky person in this regard. Probably in all other regards too. Nevertheless, good music, is good music.

Angus and Julia Stone’s ‘For You,’is probably my favourite song of all time. It is one of those things I hold so close to my heart. Something I feel as it enters my ears. It stirs a deep-down part of me that rarely ever sees the light of day. This mysterious being residing in the furthest depths of my mind. It is both ecstasy and pain. Both resentment and hope. It is love.

Maybe it is because there’s never truly been a person that I could ever sing this song to. Sure, there are people who I wish I had sung it to. Maybe it is because it harks back to those simpler times when nothing really mattered, when everything was just practice for the real word. Though, I suppose the trouble is… I got nowhere near enough of it. I’ve always been too fearful of what’s waiting around the next corner. Too fearful to even talk to a the person that I now remember when I hear this song. And yet, what’s done is done. It’s in a long-ago past that frequently comes back to haunt me. Maybe it’s because since then… I’ve not felt anything like it

Maybe it’s best to not know at all…



The future holds the answers, I suppose.

 

Song

A ‘Banned’ Life

I don’t really like the word banned. Maybe that’s because of my use of it over the years.

I have a somewhat judgemental mind. Though, not towards others, but myself. Of course, my self confidence has always rested somewhere in the gutter. As sad as it is to say, in most regards, I don’t really like myself all that much. Obviously, this is something I want and need to change. And I have been trying!

There are many things I’ve ascribed the word BAN! to:

  • Anxiety
  • Sugary Drinks
  • Self-loathing
  • Shitty People
  • Depression
  • Fast Food
  • Short Hair
  • Nightmares
  • My Awful Facial Hair
  • Judgements
  • Wasting Time
  • Dubstep

Just to name a few……

The thing is, a word, a set of words, a sentance… it does and achieves nothing. Words for the most part mean very little when said to the voice inside our own heads. Ultimately they never stick. I tell myself all these things, the serious and the not-so-serious, and all it seems to do is reinforce the depressive feelings when I abrubtly break the promises I’ve made to myself, and the things I’ve said BANNED! to.

I’d like to live in a world where all these idealisms, these desires, would come true at the flip of a coin, at the thinking of a mere, singular word. But we don’t. And we can’t.

We’ve got to work with what me have. Make the best of it.

Banned

Sitting To Write

Today I made a decision to sit and write. To do my utmost best in resisting distraction, to work against the pull of all those other things.

I love my writing. Honestly, there is little in the world that can match it. And yet, it takes so much effort to work towards, so much straining to actually produce something, to make sure the day is not wasted.

I don’t know why…

I realised that loving something doesn’t intrinsically make it easy, effortless. In fact, it can have the opposite effect. The more we love something, the more we wish for it to work out, and the more we care if it doesn’t. I suppose, in a sense, this is easy to understand.

There is a ton of weight resting on my ability. The fear of failure is so much greater when it is something I dearly care about.

The fear of not being good enough. Of never being good enough.

I want to let all my creative juices flow without anything holding me back. Without any of the anxieties surrounding my writing – what I can and cannot do. Without perpetually weighing myself up against others.

I only want to sit and write.

Ranting, Love

I’ve written something about love before. Although, it wasn’t specific to love. Not in the true sense.

I like to rant about things. Sure, maybe people find me slightly opinionated and hard-edged. Yet, I prefer this to having no opinion at all, and that seems to be how many people live their lives.

Love – I don’t how I feel about it. Or if I should feel anything concrete at all.

It seems to be a mysterious enigma that people construct their lives around, that people base their decisions on. Yet, can any one person really explain what it is and what it actually means? Maybe in a subjective manner they can. Love… it’s a all-encompassing term to bundle together all those indescribable and irrational feelings we have. Feelings that fit into no other category, things that cannot be explained using any other word

Love… everyone wants it. It is a universal desire.

I’m not sure I can believe in it though. Believe in love at first sight, love as a concept in the first place… Maybe it’s because of the lack of control I hold over it. I cannot decide when or how it manifests, directed towards whom. I cannot stop nor halt its progress, its recession. Maybe I fear it completely. Maybe I fear what might happen if it ever comes tumbling down after so much time, after so much personal investment. I fear what that would do to me, my mindset.

I feel scared when I see love, and realise what I truly feel is jealousy in return. Love is something I’ve never had. I don’t think I’ve ever even come close. And sometimes, because of this, I become depressed in my inability to create the closeness required, the friendship that must come before.

I wish for change, and yet the change never comes.

Love… it’s jealousy, desire, need, selfishness, exitement, hope, disapointment… it’s not me.

 

Motivation… Or Not

Most days it can be hard to find any motivation at all.

I slug through them, looking for something to grasp hold of, something that will invigorate me with the energy to actually do something – getting out of the house, writing, anything at all…

Something… the word, the ideal, is always something.

Yet, the actuality seems to be nothing.

I – and I suppose everyone – wants to awake, filled to the brim with energy, inspiration, motivation, anything but the lazy languish that currently resides within me. Anything but that. To start the day ready for everything that it might thow our way. To create and animate our endless ideas and stories. To be useful, good at doing whatever we do. Needed.

How do I arrive at this destination, that fated station?

On the illusive days where motivation shows its face, the words, the ideas flow from me in an endless stream of beauty. These are the days I live for. Only, I wished each day was like this – fruitful and happy. Because creation is the spark to my happiness. Words, they run through my veins like blood. Without them… I cannot comprehend myself, I would be an empty shell, structureless. It is something I need to feel, my only orifice off expression.

I long to never feel de-motivated. I long to sit at my desk and be able to write with the click of a finger, free of procrastination, free of idleness.

But that’s not how the world works. We push through the bad to arrive at the good. We cannot always sit at the top. So, grasp hold of your motivation, keeping it close for as long as possible, because it is one of the dearest things in the world.

Tiredness

I always seem to be awash in tiredness.

The answers never seem to be in the right places, and even if they are, they always somehow are the wrong answers, the ones you did not necessarily want to hear at all. The answer to my tiredness? I don’t think it has one… it just is – like many things.

Of course I can corrrelate it: my anxiety, depression, some underlying hideous disease…

It does no use though, in this case applying names and reasons to things, doesn’t help at all. Still, I sit through day after day, feeling worn out, drained. Some days I manage to retain my creative energy (yesterday wasn’t one of those days,) and on these days I write and I write, hoping for something good, something better than the last time. Because this is ultimately what make the bad days bearable – knowing that a good day might be just a few hours away.

I do sleep.

Yet each morning I awake like a zombie, unprepared, ill-fitting in today’s world.

I’m tired.

On Loneliness

I am lonely, dreadfully so.

Loneliness… it’s sometimes a difficult concept to grasp. It creeps up on you, unassuming, writhing at parts of your brain, opening gates to parts of yourself you would rather not see.

Because being lonely isn’t just the need to be around people. It is more than that. Loneliness is a complex character that hides the darkest of corners, that pounces in the darkest of moments. It’s something you cannot tame nor understand in any sense. It is an enigma. Illusive and destructive.

I do have family.

I don’t have very many friends.

I have never been in a relationship.

I am lonely.

For the majority of the day, I am my own company, my own sense of humour, my own entertainment. This, I can withstand, this in many respects, I enjoy. I am an introvert. A lot of people, a lot of interaction does nothing for me, and I know it never will. What I don’t particularly like is the lack of options, the lack of any interaction at all.

I know I am at fault, mostly. I can’t expect to have friends or relationships if I don’t put myself out there, I know that. And knowing this hurts, because it is an extremely high hurdle to overcome, to even look at in a respectable light. Yet, here I sit, alone, typing these words, wishing there was someone next to me.

Maybe loneliness itself isn’t an entirely bad thing. We all realise and see the stigma and social pressures of being alone, they stare and slap us in the face on daily basis. This is, in part, why we feel lonely. Just maybe we can benefit from the lack of people. It gives us a chance to listen to our own rambling thoughts, to partake in all the commotion that resides in our own minds. Do something with that time, create, live life, be who you want to be. Loneliness doesn’t intrinsically mean unhapiness, it is a by-product – though it doesn’t have to be!

Just don’t forget, people are necessary.

(P.S, to all the beautiful introverts out there, read Susan Cain’s book ‘Quiet’.)