People are taking the piss out of you everyday. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. They make flippant comments from buses that imply you’re not sexy enough and that all the fun is happening somewhere else. They are on TV making your girlfriend feel inadequate. They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it. They are The Advertisers and they are laughing at you.
You, however, are forbidden to touch them. Trademarks, intellectual property rights and copyright law mean advertisers can say what they like wherever they like with total impunity.
Fuck that. Any advert in a public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It’s yours to take, re-arrange and re-use. You can do whatever you like with it. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head.
You owe the companies nothing. Less than nothing, you especially don’t owe them any courtesy. They owe you. They have re-arranged the world to put themselves in front of you. They never asked for your permission, don’t even start asking for theirs.
Today I want to talk about Drew. I want to dedicate an entire post to my rock. The man who holds my hand every day. Who is honest. And thoughtful. Who breathes sweet words to me in the night and pushes me to heal and be better. The boy who puts his own shit aside to support me. I don’t know if you’re The One (if there is a One anyway) or if you’ll love me forever but I’m happy you love me at all and that I get to have you. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry that a lot of the time it seems like I’m trapped in what happened. I’m sorry that at times I spend more time thinking about him than you. I’m sorry that I have crazy ups and downs. I’m sorry that in so many ways I’m still that 16 year old girl who craved chaos and got burned. I’m sorry I’ve made the wolf bigger by cowering. I’m sorry for squirming at the idea of sharing my feelings with you. I’m sorry I still can’t admit the worst truth. I don’t want you to be sad.
Every time I weigh it out logically, I’m so much better than you.
But when I look at you, I could be a mite. Smaller than the head of a pin. You swallow me whole; inside, I’m an insignificant flea.
Maybe it’s a pride thing. I can’t make you see.
When you step, it rattles my reality. When you breathe, I’m floating away.
I become invisible. I’m screaming until my blood vessels burst but you can’t hear me. I’m reaching out, so you can taste my realities, my nightmares, your true nature, a monster. But you can’t feel me.
I’m nobody. Nothing.
And I can’t clean you out of my insides. I can’t erase you and you’re consuming me. And you go days on end without considering this.
You fucked me up, bad.
And every time you accidentally hear a tiny, fleeting, piece of what I have to say, you cover your ears. You run away.
Every time you catch a glimpse of who you really are, you clap your hands over your eyes. No no no no no this is not me I’m one of the good guys I’m not perfect but I’m not like that I’m a good person I was just doing my best I’m fine you’re fine everything is fine I’m different now.
And nobody sees you but me. You don’t even see it. I’m shrieking at the top of my lungs into an empty room. You insidious prick.
My closets are empty and there’s nothing under the bed. The monster is you and it’s in my head and my heart and it’s filling me up and you’re at home too. I can’t get away from what you did.
Someone in my family asked me recently, “what in the fuck did you ever have to be depressed about?”
Yeah, somebody fucking asked me that. And this is what I’m on about. No one fucking understands. I don’t even have words. How do you bring this up fucking casually? Why don’t YOU fucking tell them why I’m like this?
I don’t know how to deal with this on my own.
I’m doing so much better but whenever I’m alone, you’re there, and you’re still hurting me. Stop fucking hurting me.
You are the face of my nightmares, the root of my neuroses, the cause of my charred insides, and the source of my inability to love completely. My beautiful hang up. My hateful piece of shit memory. Why can’t you unhappen?
i seeeeeeee dead peopleeeeeeeeeeee. no ha ha i used to clean hospital wards. found a few dead people in there beds. oh and i fell in a grave and through a few coffins full of bones when i was 14, but that’s an all together different story.
it’s like my worst nightmare to stumble upon a surprise body
every time I go swimming in a lake I am super afraid
i seen another guy with face wound on his face at his party the other night and it was creeping me out, considering i used to find dead people at my job all the time?? weird bugger aren’t i???. the contacts are way sexy ha ha, i want some ha ha :)
You used to find dead people at your job all the time?