The Ephemerality of Words

I wrote for a pretty decent amount of time yesterday – better than any other period in the last month or so. And in doing so I managed to get three or four pages of not-so-awulf words down. I was happy, ecstatic even…

And then today, my computer crashed – everything is gone… Nothing saved. And not even my half-decent computer knowledge could revive anthything from the depths of my hard drive.

Such is the world, I think.

Such is life.

I know, they are only words. Specific words conveying a certain idea, a certain story. Yes, they can be wrote again. Maybe not in the same order, but with the same meaning. Maybe not with the same coherence, but with the same sense of purpose. I know, I know… It is finding the motivation to write it all again, that is the hard part.

I will though… I will.

We do anything for love, right?

-Chris ❤

 

Things Now

I haven’t really thought about that week at university too much. In some respects it seems like it didn’t happen at all, in others it is all too clear in memory. Though I don’t chastise myself for it. I don’t tell myself the time was wasted, or that it was for nothing. All experiences are valuable, whether in the first instance they seem good or bad. Experiences are worth more than anything else. They teach us more than anything else. And if it wasn’t anything else, it was surely an experience.

So… that was a month and a half ago… have I changed?

Maybe… perceiving change is a hard thing to do. Especially over such a small period of time. I seriously hope at least the tinniest amount of change has happened, the smallest shred somewhere in my mind. I’m not sure though. I do feel somewhat different. As though the catalyst for that change has just poked its head around the corner and begun work on its long, tedious job. This I feel good about. The notion of it alone is good enough.

For I have until next September to be a new person… no, not a new person, but a new version of myself. A person who is ready, confident, compassionate, motivated. If I am all of these things by that point, then I have the best chance possible to get where I want to go. And even if things then don’t work out. It will be an experience. I can say that I have tried my best, no less.

And trying against all of the odds – that’s the biggest thing any person can do.

 

-Chris ❤

A Few Thoughts on the World

Recently, I’ve been thinking somewhat philosophically about everything… or possibly cynically. It can be hard for me to separate the two. Maybe they are one of the same, balled into a similar group. Or perhaps it is my overwhelming pessimism bleeding through. Nevertheless, it can be troubling sometimes, because I think a lot. And thinking a lot isn’t always the blessing it may seem to be. A world of constant questions rushing through my head, a world in which everything deems an answer, even if it doesn’t have a clear one.

Many days I spend a great deal of time contemplating things regarding our world, and the many people in it. Sometimes in a general sense – humanity as a whole. Other times with a more focused perspective – those living around me. I don’t know what I’m looking for, or even if I’m looking for anything in particular at all. But what I do know, is how most of my thoughts fall onto people and the things we do.

Some people are good. A lot of them are bad.

Throughout this I try to hang on to that deep-rooted sense of optimism I have, the kind that doesn’t go away, but lurks beneath everything else, waiting for the right moment to show its face. And yet atop, is that ever-present pessimism I mentioned. Suppressing the true optimism I believe I hold.

With everything going on in the world at the moment: the rise of Trump, Brexit, growing xenophobia, racism, the lack of true democracy, religious extremism and terrorism, war, revolutions in technology we are not ready for. It is hard to see the good in people, the truth which lies behind the faces. It is hard to believe in that goodness when all that makes it across the airwaves are the atrocities, the war, and the hatred.

Thinking about this makes me anxious. Thinking about how we are failing this planet in so many ways possible, failing ourselves too. Most of all the ignorance of people who do not have a clue, who do not understand this. Don’t think I hold myself on a higher pedestal than others. We live in this world, I think it should be regarded as need-to-know, not something on the side that only a select few realise. I don’t want to sound arrogant – but people do not see, even those who live around me.

It makes me sad. 

I ask myself… what could I ever do? One person among billions. How could I ever have an impact on anything. What would it take to make people see what is right in front of them. Make them care about things that matter. I do not know. I don’t know if it is even possible. Maybe it is already too late for change on such a worldwide scale. Maybe the point of no return has already passed.

I cling to hope. For we only have one Earth.

I am saddened that the world is governed by money and power. I feel sick that our very own governments are in search of these rather than improving the welfare of their citizens, and making sure that everyone is equal. Then again, when has a egalitarian government ever been in power? Money and greed. Power and subservience. When people speak up their voices are squashed, and the things that befall them brushed under the rug.

I’m not insinuating we should all become anti-government anarchists. Although I do think reform is needed in some way or the other. I think it is an imperative if we are to survive through these changing times with any shred of compassion for each other left.

I just hope that those with the power to change things for the better see it sooner rather than later.

-Chris

Diary Deconstruction and Darwinism

I write in my diary, journal… whatever you want to call it, on a semi-regular basis. I started probably just over a year ago. And I would say that it’s helped me greatly with… being myself, dealing with anxiety, and depression… life in general. A place where my thoughts exist without them actually being in the ‘real’ world. Much like this blog. I suppose it is a form of evolution. Diary Darwinism.

Anyway, some of the things I write in my diary:

  • Letters to people, only seen by my eyes.
  • Rants about anything and everything.
  • Writing ideas and general writing madness.
  • Massively private confessions
  • Things that wouldn’t translate to spoken words.
  • Things I wish for.
  • Musings on the world.
  • Incesent ramblings about people.
  • Self-improvement plans.
  • Self-hatred.
  • Things I neither approve of nor understand…

So, yeah, that’s it. And now here I am. My new ‘diary-kind-of-thing-blog-thing’ on here.

Diaryism!

You get it. I’m mad.

A Day In Limbo

Today I went to the ‘city.’ I use city like this because I live in the mesmerizing countryside of the UK. I have for all of my twenty years. And it is something I like very much. All the unending commotion of city life is not for me. But for a day it can be bearable – well to some degree, anyway.

People in every angle of my vision. People bumping into me. Crossing the street to avoid the endless streams of leaflets and advertisements. Maybe it isn’t like this for everybody, maybe people actually enjoy the bustle and hustle. Though, for me, with my anxiety and my introversion, it can be hugely tiring, demanding. So much so that after a few hours my limbs feel heavy, a dull headache arises, and my vision loses its clarity. Just physically being in the same space as that many people, that many faces, and that many voices – it drains me.

Of course, I am not normal. Or… at least the way in which my mind works isn’t.

Maybe this is beyond comprehension for someone who doesn’t ail from the same things I do, someone who’s mind is made and wired differently. I suppose in the same sense that their actions seems preposterous to me.

Though, I like to look for the silver linings each day, the things that make the bad bearable. Obviously, it was the book shop, no competion even comes close. The sprawling, huge, book shop. I envy people who can spend more time trawling through their mighty sci-fi section. Believe me, it was a truly glorious sight.

Today’s purchase: A pretty hardback edition of Farenheit 451.

I can’t imagine anything better than a quiet room, a comfy chair, a book, and plenty of strong coffee.

The city – it’s something I’m not made for.

Humour – A Mixed Bag

I like to be funny. Or… at least I like to think I’m sometimes funny.

Humour is a big part of my life. It always has been. Two of my favourite films are Shaun of The Dead, and Zombieland. To myself, they are utterly hilarious. To other people I know, (yes Mother, you!) not so much. And of course, I find this to be complete madness!

I’m sometimes (often) told I’m hard-edged, or that I am overly sarcastic in my ways. And sure, I can be sarcastic… maybe a little too much on a bad day. Though, I do try to keep a lid on it for the most part.

I love to humour myself… This is another thing that the people around me seem to find somewhat intrusive, even degenerate. I don’t know why? Things I find intrinsically funny seem to float over the heads of others. It can be anything, an image, while I’m musing, even something I don’t understand myself. It is almost as though I have to see the world in a humourous manner as a matter of survival; to make light of a bad situation by seeing a laughable side, even if the situation itself is anything but funny. I suppose this could be seen as a coping or defense strategy that I have developed over the years, and maybe it is, but maybe it isn’t.

Maybe this is just another side-effect of depression/anxiety, I don’t know. Maybe it’s something more deep-rooted. And yet, I’m not inclined to see this as a problem at all.

I like to laugh. I like to smile – surely there doesn’t have to be a standard origin of these.

Whatever the reason, and whatever the cause. THIS is me. I am who I am – hard-edged or not. Inevitably people will dislike me. Everyone has to accept this in their lives. But hopefully there will also be people who feel the opposite way too, even if it is a minority.

Maybe they might even appreciate my humour.

 

Smoke of The Mind

I feel as though, a lot of the time my mind is clouded by a thick veil of smoke. As if, at any given moment the thoughts I have may not necessarily be in their purest form, in the truest way in which they should be felt.

Maybe it is nothing… maybe I am creating a presence in a wild need to ascribe a word to whatever it might be, an explanation to these mysterious feelings that often spend time troubling me.

There are times when I cannot think clearly. Times when my judgement and views towards things seem skewed in one way or the other. Times when the world itself seems to take on different shapes, egregious ones for the most part. Times when physically, my vision is blurred, when there is a dissonance between myself and the objects or people I am seeing. And scarily, times when the world/reality appears anything but real through my eyes and the workings that interpret them.

It is in and amongst this smoke where I reside, where I live my life to the best of my ability. And when it does clear, I am left wondering at what point in the future it might once again show its face. Left knowing that it is a certainty.

Yet, despite this, the smoke is my friend. On occasion, I get the sense it is obscuring my vision of certain things, purposefully locking away parts of myself it knows would be dangerous to lay eyes upon. So, maybe this is true, and maybe it isn’t. Maybe I am rationalising an otherwise completely irrational being.

I do not know.

Do I want to know?

Smoke