Spilled Thoughts - Blog Posts

I try to write something, anything, but the words are only clear when I feel them press against my heart and mind. They become muffled when hands reach for them, they loose their shape.

An incoming phone call you say

And I freeze like a deer in headlights

Have I been hit, I feel blooding rushing past my ear drums

My heart is beating quick

then quicker, a fast rapid flicker

it's trying to run away, but my body won't move

Instead my body stands shock still and I watch locked in, but so far removed

I'm dizzy spinning around and round in my amygdala, a ringing is pulsing against the outside walls of it

trying to get inside

I cannot hide

Then the ringing just stops

it's stops

Incoming call is dropped and rational thinking has lost.

Does anyone else feel a bit overwhelmed when a post u make gets more notes than your used to, like there's hundreds of people just suddenly in your room looking over your shoulder at your Mediocr post and by exstention you.

Last night I had a dream where a group of three people entered telephone boxes and where transported to a white room/void space and then the women in the group spotted someone in the distance, it's seems like she had past disagreements with this person because she full on ripped their limbs off with her teeth, the white ground was spattered in red. She then turned to the two guys in the group, who had just watched casually like this was a regular thing for them and hissed "Justice!" with blood spilling from her mouth and dripping down her face. I woke up tasting iron. Anyway.

Hollow eyes watching the crowd

it's mid day, It's busy

People rush to stores like beds of fish

Fish with magpie eyes looking for shiny things to take back to their home

The figure watching, Is ignored

To look at those hollow eyes would mean to look at their own magpies ones

To confront the misery and their lack of it

So instead they talk louder as they walk past, they drown out a defeated "excuse m–

Or they become silent, their steps quick and their eyes down as they click and swipe

As the figure with hollow eyes watches you pretend to type.

I know right now, with everything that's going on in the world, it feels like the night will last forever, it's darkness stretching out for years and years ahead. But I have to say that one day, the soft pull of life will tug at you. You'll find yourself sitting quietly in the summer months enjoying the warm rays and the birdsongs, maybe you plant some flowers or berrys. You'll laugh till your sides ache and your heart lightens. You'll make art and get paint on your clothes and on your carpet. You'll read books your friend recommend and gush over your favourite characters together, maybe you'll write your own. That's what's getting me through, that one day it will be summer, the days soft and I'll have my book finished in my hands and maybe someone will read it. Maybe they won't. But it's things like this, the soft things, that make everything worth it.

I stole a bible a few years ago, I browsed the shelfs not looking to steal but to pass the time and then I saw it, black cover and pages edged in gold. I wasn't religious, more agnostic or an atheist that dabbled in Buddhist ideas, I felt the Christian narrative or at least the one I heard about was always about who would pay. How jesus payed for your "sins", and if you didn't believe then you'll pay in the after life, so hold on to guilt and carry your strife , but I also knew that I wanted , needed something. I wasn't looking for misplaced shame only hope and I wanted to have it tangible in my hands.

So with my stomach empty and my shoes hole ridden, I ignored the fashion magazines with diet tips and beauty tricks and filled my emptyness with something close to hope, if only to cope. I grabbed it from the shelf and I left the store. I was too afraid to steal food , I didn't dare even with my hunger, but possibility of having something bigger than life to cling to on cold and lonely nights seemed worth the risk.

During that time I wasn't doing so well, my mother was drinking and taking drugs with her friends god only knows where and the cupboards where completely bare. I would wander around town, I would wait for the days to pass, I would wait for something to meet me in my loneliness. I wanted so desperately for something like god to reveal itself to me, my mother wasn't someone I could lean on and my father wasn't around so I think naturally I wanted something to believe in, to sustain me when food and family couldn't.

Last year my brother and I where almost homeless, we slept on the hard floor in a cold empty room for three years, we spent every day waiting. I would wait for the stores reduced items at the end of the day, wait for the sun to dry my clothes, I would walk for hours round and round, my shoes didn't last long, I tried ducktaping the soles but the pavement wore through that aswell. When I wasn't waiting outside food banks, staring at white walls or writing, I sometimes would visit the church in town. It's a cathedral and I still have no idea what denomination it's under, but I'd walk around and admire the marbal pillers and stain glass windows, I would try to remember how people hundreds near a thousand years ago carved angles into stone and placed their hope in something other than themselfs, that back then a church may have been the only place you could go if you had no where else. I reminded myself of all the people who would have prayed there, that would have stood where I stood and cried, wished and waited as I did. I would light a candle and I would wish for a better tomorrow, I wasn't asking jesus or a god, I was asking the universe, I was asking subconsciously myself to keep going.

What do you think of religion? (Are you religious?)

Excerpt from my WIP Dead above.

I'll do it on Monday. I'll do it on Tuesday. I'll do it on Wednesday. I'll do it on Thursday. I'll do it on Friday. I'll do it on Saturday. I'll do it on Sunday. I'll do it on Mon–and the cycle continues and nothing changes.

Why do you watch me so forlornly? Don't think I didn't notice, I know many of you, I've gazed at your cities with their twinkling lights, the ones that dim the stars to you and I've listened to every secret, every heartfelt want or desperate wish, you tell me your worries and have questions you think I can answer. But mostly you cry, and so very often. I don't have the answers, but I can sit with you, when your sad or lonely at night, when you think your alone.

If the moon could talk what will she say?

There's a girl with my name, we don't look the same but we both huddle under covers when it rains. There's a girl who is almost my age, yet we have the same moon sign and we always forget the time. There's a girl reading what I write who comments every night and I can only hope that life treats you kindly, this girl will one day be in the ground and so will I, but I hope as you age you'll shed those debilitating fears that hold you back and hopefully we'll have lived a life of joy and mostly happy tears.

Me waiting for life to throw me a plot twist, because it seems my main canon event is being a depressed lonely woman/person in her 20s who lays in bed every day and just ......waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and for what? I couldn't tell you, probably waiting to evolve or wake up to a more hopeful tomorrow.

Hope wins every time the sun peaks over the horizon after a long dark night, it softens the day and baths the ground, it warms the air and we breath easier and maybe our souls uncurl a little from that protective crouch we've grown used to, maybe we let our limbs loosen, maybe we let hope sink into our skin, maybe we let it melt our misery from within.

I drag this hope in hand

I pull it along

Shouldering past

all of my mistakes

I hold it up to the sunlight

I call it radience

I don't let go

Screw it , I'm going to write this book.

These where the random notes/doodle from the first idea stage for my WIP 'Dead above'. Does anyone else begin brainstorming by thinking of pieces of dialogue first and then creating characters and plot around it.

Sometimes people drift so far away. Friendships that used to be sleep overs and chasing each other around the park after school, are now liking each others posts every once in awhile. Friendships that felt more like a sisterhood now feel like barely a friend of a friend from work you once knew, memories of us are so much sweeter than this distant present us. We've turned tepid and bland. We've faded.

Sometimes, I go to the store at night, just because the streets are empty and there’s a kind of loneliness that feels almost comforting. But sometimes I’ll see girls, laughing, glitter in their hair sparkling as they spill out of pubs, all bright-eyed, all full of life. It hits me hard, that ache in my chest, that longing for something I can’t quite name. I wonder what it’s like, to have a group of people, to drink and laugh and feel part of something.

Okay so I'm not American and I don't live there but I still decided to download xiaohongshu (rednote). The only social media I actually use and post on is Tumblr but I wanted to have little nosey lol.

First of all it was really quite funny and heartwarming to see the interactions between the Americans and Chinese rednote users, there where so many Chinese internet slang cheat sheets and memes being exchanged and taught, like the American tiktok refugees where so ready to learn a whole new language so they could participate in meme culture and I love it, lmao not to mention how there's a Chinese saying where it basically means cute aggression, but for when they see a cute cat and when you translate it to English it reads as I want to lick your cat and that was definitely a bit of a funny misunderstanding lmao.

But overall I kinda love how petty the Americans from tiktok where, they literally said we are going to go straight to the supposed source. ngl not the finest moment when asked for help on English homework the answers given where wrong lmao, it's apparently being agreed upon that when asking for English homework help on rednote, it's best to ask a British user instead of an American one lol.

But it is nice to see people exchanging culture and joy even with a language barrier and the Chinese users where and are so welcoming.

I emptied the photo albums and all the pictures from the frames. I took them with me, because life moves fast and time fades most of the past, but those childhood memories I dare not try to erase, least of all your face. Even though alot of the memories are filled with fear and tears I still cling to a time when you where clearer than a faded photograph.

We connect with people without words everyday, some hold a door open, you share a smile with someone at the bus stop or  when passing by each other on a walk, we say I don't know you but I see you, here we both are living together on this little rock, living this little life that is all to fleeting but so worth it.

It reminds me of a friend I had in school. Diane moved from Russia when we where 13, she didnt speak much English, and the few Russian speakers at our school where so much younger than her that she barely saw them. I remember seeing her in the corridor outside our first science lesson, she was leant against the dark green tiles lining the walls, her school uniform brand new and her hair dyed auburn. Everyone had already grouped up with their friends, talking and laughing so loudly it created this mass of sound that only kids can make just before a lesson. My science class was rather chaotic and hyper. Diane stood silent away from everyone.

I wasn't known as the most outgoing in our class, if anything most would have described me as shy, but really I just never had much to say. Seeing her there though, I knew I had to say something, I knew none of the other girls would try and bring her into their social fold, so I went up to her.

"Hi, are you new" she looked at me hesitantly as she tried to piece together bits of language in her head "Yes, I'm Diane" 

"I'm April" there was a beat of silence, neither of us knew what to say and I wasn't the best at small talk, so instead I just looked towards the rest of our class and said "they're a little" and I made a large frazzled gesture with my hands, trying to encapsulate the chaos. She looked from me to them and laughed nodding.

After that we'd sit with each other in all our shared lessons, at the beginning I would write her work for her and I know I probably shouldnt have. but when your 13 and your friend is freaking out over homework being due or not having her notes written down you just end up doing it. Eventually we realised she could write her English assignments in Russian then put them into Google translate, and then I'd re-write them  grammatically correct. This wasn't perfect but it's not like she had a language aid or anything so we made do. Our jokes usually consisted of calling each other suka or using our made up gesture - a sideways palm from the centre of our forehead down to the table. It meant get a load of this nonsense, ffs or I'm an idiot, usually used when someone was making a fuss in lesson or when we'd make a silly mistake.

We didn't need words, not when we had laughter and silly little gestures, sometimes I felt closer to her than with friends I'd had for years. I guess what we have now is a language made up of vine and tiktok references, that you could giggle with someone over even when your language didn't translate. And in some ways we're more connected over those trends and references than anything else despite the language barriers. We connect over joy, humour and humanity.

Diane moved back to Russia before we turned 16. I don't know where she is now or how much she remembers of me, but I do treasure our friendship. Wherever you are suka I hope your okay. I miss you.

I haven't really got much outside of this, and this is just me speaking to everyone and no one all at once, it feels shallow. I was going to say I felt just as shallow, almost empty but that's not really true, if anything I feel like I'm about to burst, I'm filled with so much longing and hope and just want, I just want so badly. For more laughter, more connection, just more. There really is nothing like the small moments you share with your loved ones, those inside jokes that leave you folded over and cackling loudly, while strangers judge you at the social absurdity, but it only makes you laugh harder. Or those times at school you'd ask me to draw on your hand because you liked the sensation and then you'd play with my hair, you'd braid it. I feel ravenous for those moments. So maybe what I really feel is hunger.

When I think of you I think of red, the red of our kitchen walls, the red that you always chose to colour your lips with or wear with your clothes. I think of my red blood rushing past my ears, I think of the sound it made.

Having a creative hobby or goal honestly keeps the serotonin present. Keeps me mentally present and reaching for tomorrow.

I'm living on the breadline, in fact I'm so far past the breadline its a dot, its a crumb(couldnt help but add a friend's reference). Most days I don't even know how I'm suppose to pay all these bills, because when I do I'm left with minus the amount it cost for even a week of grocerys, and if you've ever done a weekly shop you release that the end total adds up far too quickly and far too high. So you end up living off porridge, beans and what ever hope you still cling to. But sometimes the hope runs out, so I do this, this being tumblr, or I'll picture the little future aspirations actually happening, maybe I'll write that book or buy those paints, maybe I'll do something other than just this stagnant waiting.

It feels like sitting in a waiting room but your number keeps getting pushed further back, like that scene in beatlejuice, so I sit and I wait. But while I do I hum made up songs, I'll doodle on napkins with the last of my ink, I'll ramble poetry and memories on tumblr. I'll try to remember why I wait.

Even though I'm literally falling through the gutters of society I have this one thing that can't be taken away, that remains mine and for now that's enough, if anything it's the end goal. I'll remind myself to live not just survive.

I worry

I stress

I am a pylon

I am tangled in cables

I am no longer connected to the grid

Energy is lost

It's falls through a sieve

And all I'm left with is dust and static lint

I barely rinse

I Repeat

the same defeat of sinking into my bed

I am animated meat

suspended over my own stupid once avoidable mess.

I'm teaching myself a new skill, its going as expected, I'm running into a lot of walls and I'll find myself tracing paint marks or picking lint of the carpet than actually making an effort.

So I keep reminding myself that in five years the time will still have past anyway. Or that sixe months ago I would have had a little foundation already, if only I stuck to it. So yes you'll feel frustrated at the beginning or halfway through, yes you'll have days or months of procrastination of feeling like there's no point even continuing, but the time will pass regardless. So in a year you could have bits and peices of a project, or you can have nothing at all, you could have a baseline of understanding for a new skill or none. It doesn't matter if you think that the payout won't be much, because it will be something as apposed to nothing. Rome wasn't build in a day as people say, so don't measure your own progress to harshly, just continue to build at your own rate, but if you believe in your project don't give up, progress is still progress.

Have I become addicted

to the sadness,

has it evolved into a hybrid

of apathy

of melancholy.

Will it stitch itself to my eyelids.

Will it clog up my narrow veins.

Is this the type of pain,

that drives my buried hope insane.

The new year feels like a broken clock that speeds up when you want the world to slow down. It doesn't care how heavy your heart is or how you fail to catch the light with your flimsy hands, it just approaches whether you're ready or not.

It spins forward and we spin with it and it sometimes feels a little unnerving, how evrything keeps moving while you’re standing there counting how many breaths you have left. But it's also comforting, It’s like a little nudge saying hey by the way, you can hit reset whenever you want. and you can, there's no universal default start date, your beginning can be when ever you want it to be. Maybe your new year starts when the winter months are long gone and the flowers are in bloom, maybe you begin when the sun baths the ground with new life and the glow of it all makes everything feel easier.

Maybe this year you don't think about beginnings or endings but just let yourself enjoy the middle. Time doesn't care when you start or how, it will push you along regardless. This year will be what it'll be, things from the last year will be carried along and some left behind, we just have to have hope that it'll kind.

I want to live not just survive, here's to 2025.