Ananyamously.yours

  I’ve just got a little request  Could you read this to yourself in a British accent ? please? Because that's how I wrote it while talking to myself at 2 am, laying in my bed  Do you ever have the sudden urge to fucking uproot your entire life and toss it all to hell. I'm not talking about fixing your life but ruining it. Just drag your Ma by her hand into your room and show her all the hidden liquor bottles. Show her the packets of peace hidden behind soft toys or under couch cushions. I’m talking about the inspiration to chew out your dumb, miserable ex for not treating you right at 2am or to call that one friend you ended things with to scream some more about what an absolute douche she was.  Do you ever wonder what it would feel like to throw the laptop against the wall and watch it shatter. Not that you’d ever do it, but, do you think about doing it? I think about chugging a 750ml bottle of vodka like apple juice. Not to savour the burn or welcome the heat but ...

 What do I call this ? I feel it right here in my heart. It does not rattle against my chest like anger. It just settles around my lungs like a dense fog. Kind of like the fog high up in the mountains, thats cold, heavy and takes your breath away. This feels the same, except it doesn't make me happy. It sits in my chest like an unwelcome visitor spreading numbness from my fingertips to my toes. I don't want to colour it blue, it does not make me sad, I still laugh. It feels like a mild electric current is running underneath my skin. My hands are a little shaky and my mouth is stuttering the words I want to articulate. I’ve always wondered what a heart attack feels like, maybe this is how it does? I don't know. It does not bloom like happiness, neither does it crawl like sadness. It just glides, you know? Effortlessly, making everything difficult to do. Sometimes I want to bang against my ribs to make sure my heart is still beating even though I can hear it thump. I don'...

 There are some narratives that we keep repeating to our selves all our lives. We create a world in our mind and try to perfect every aspect of that make believe in real life. I must be eloquent.  I must write poetry.  I must be a dreamer.  I must be kind.  Such is the nature of my relationship.  This is how it’s supposed to be.   But honestly it’s not. As humans we perhaps have the greatest gift of all creation, to change. We, in our selves, are dynamic and the things we keep telling ourselves about how it’s supposed to be are the lines we keep drawing to compress the entirety of our being into a cardboard box. Boxes are made to hold things not souls. You weren’t meant for a box. No one is. You don’t have to convince yourself of a narrative your teenage self wrote for you. Hell, you don’t even have to hold yourself accountable for something you said yesterday. You’re learning. You’re changing, feeling and experiencing new things everyday.  It’s o...

Online.