Another week suffered with yet another week around the corner. How many more must I endure?

Finally, this week is over… and my life feels over too. I feel like I have to begin everything again. I feel that I need to change my whole life, my appearance, my friends, my career, my home. If I had the money I would leave the country and start again somewhere else, change everything. Instead, I am chained to this life and this image, these friends and this career. The little I have remains here and I am stuck to this life; I have no escape from this hell. 

I lost my love this week, my friendships feel further strained, my reputation feels further shattered; eight months since this misery began and I feel further from progress than I ever have been. Every single day I look for a sign, I look for purpose and I look for a reason to live. After losing all hope for the umpteenth time now, I do not know how I can carry on until old age with all of this despair hanging over me. Young I may be, but broken I feel and lost. I just need love. I need someone to see me. I need someone to touch me and make me feel real, alive. The only thing to touch me is the bitter embrace of alcohol. Every bottle I empty fills me up for just a little while; it’s better than being an empty vessel.

I am losing my grip on my anger too; I had issues when I was a kid but over time they went away and all of my anger was gone. Now, that anger is back tenfold and I have no outlet for it, all I want to do is take it out on those around me. It’s an insatiable thirst to want to be violent, destroy something, cause pain. I cannot take any more pain but I certainly feel like giving it. I come so close to punching a hole in the wall, in the door, anything nearby, I want to lose this emotion inside of me. It makes it so impossibly difficult to talk to anyone or look through my own eyes when all I see is red.

Taking note of all of that feeling, I am expected to live through another week that I do not doubt will be more of the same bullshit. I will lose more hope, be lied to, alienate people and ultimately hate myself more. And what other choice do I have? Nothing in my calendar resembles any change, just another shitty week of lectures, seminars and social events that I have not been invited to but I will be eventually out of pity. Great. Can someone please tell me why i put up with all of this? Give me one good reason to suffer.

When I think about death every day, it is not like how most would imagine it or would say that they have thought about. I picture death like the wardrobe to Narnia. If you are familiar with the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis, picture the children and their journey into the wardrobe. Their life is not particularly eventful, ideal or happy. Though when they are faced with a portal to another world, they quickly abandon their old life for a second chance and the possibility that they could be happy and simply live. They bear no consideration that leaving their old life could mean that they never go back and everyone they knew would be gone, they would instead be happy to be somewhere new. That is how I feel about death. Death would be the portal to somewhere new where I have a chance at being happy and you never know what is on the other side until you try it. Death is after all the one unknown we cannot explore in a lifetime. But given my current life, I am more than willing to give it a go, see what really happens when you die. There are countless religions and beliefs, it would be nice to see who got it right, if anyone did at all. Perhaps I could see if I got it right about what is beyond. It sounds exciting. Life could never offer me such an opportunity.

Therefore, death will be what I dream about until either one day it comes for me or perhaps one day something good happens and gives me a reason to live. I do not fear death, I only fear suffering.

Much love from your friend,


Friday 13th turned out to be the day from hell, what a surprise.

I woke up relaxed with plans to get things done today. I took things slow, sang a few songs and prepared a few materials for later. I then at 3pm took to the outside world to execute my plan to get things done. Little did I know I would be trapped in a room for five hours with no food, freedom, no escape. 

I went to tick the first task off my list and visit student support like the receptionist had recommended yesterday and I deeply, deeply regret that move. If I had gone against what they recommended then perhaps they could have made my life worse. However, those five hours were total torture and no matter what could have happened if I did not go, approaching the support was a terrible mistake. All calm and neutrality I had before I entered the room quickly transformed into anger and frustration.

I only thought that I was making an appointment to try the university’s counselling again with a different counsellor and suddenly, at the desk I was ambushed by the counsellor and she spoke to me for an hour. I had to discuss all of the shit I had been through and my mood totally died. Telling another stranger what has happened does not improve anything. What’s more is that I do not have to go back to her again. Instead, she called for an ambulance to come out with a mental health team to talk to me because I told them the truth about feeling suicidal. Being honest got me into a place where I never wanted to be and I paid the price. I was not allowed to leave that room for the next three and a half hours. I was given one cup of water and I had to play shitty phone games and listen to music when all I really wanted to do was run out into the fresh air and punch the living shit out of something. This anger has been built up for so long now and I cannot shake it, it feels here to stay until something triggers it.

After the three hours, I stood up and told the lady that I was going to leave. I said I cannot sit here anymore, I had plans today, there is no estimation of when they will be here, I am starving and I am really angry so call it off and let me go. She told me to hold on one more minute to see if she could do something about it and two minutes later, a paramedic, a police officer and a therapist appeared in the doorway. It felt like such a waste because I told the counsellor that even though I have suicidal thoughts every day, I was in no immediate danger today, I just want to leave here and vent and she still called for a God damn ambulance. My life was not at immediate risk and someone could have used that ambulance that needed it.

They sat me down, asked similar questions to what was said earlier and then gave me some options. I am getting professional at telling my life story to strangers, maybe I should bring a script with me next time to save my breath! So the options were counselling at university which was awful last time… go back to my doctor to get either medication or see another counsellor which again, is not happening. These options I have gone through before and they changed nothing. So instead, she told me to call a wellbeing centre in town, the only catch is they only open on weekdays! A team from an ambulance, designed for quick response are telling me to wait three days to do anything about this! Absolute fucking genius, no wonder suicide is the number one killer of men under 40. With this as my only option, I guess I better suck it up. I left that room after the fifth hour and finished the rest of my plans, I devoured a pizza and fucked off to the gym. Now, I am drinking wine and eating cake ironically. Whatever makes me feel better I guess. If two experts in five hours tell me there’s not much else to do then I am going to need all of the pizza, cake and wine I can find to carry on.

It is the job of these professionals to put my wellbeing first and they severely fucked me over today. If I was not the person I was, I could have flipped and done anything in there, that is not how you treat someone with a mental illness. I really feel even less hope than I did before I entered that room. I feel more broken. I feel more doomed to fail my life. Way to go professionals, I would have been better off living my day alone in blissful ignorance and apathy.

Much love from your friend,


Boiling anger again, so nothing is really new.

My shitty mood is written all over my face and controls the way that I move and speak; I want to hit something real hard. 

I bought a new jacket and I have just been owning it with total arrogance to try to be seen by someone, anyone. Though all I get is the same old same old with invisibility to almost everyone around me. The first person to physically put their hand on me in a really long time was the receptionist at my flat to talk to me about my mental health. I feel like that is the last thing I need to be reminded of right now. I want to eat and drink and forget about all of the shit at least for tonight. I have little to no faith in counselling anymore, little to no faith in friends anymore and that’s right, you guessed it, I have little to no faith in love anymore either. I am trapped in this shitty mood and I just want to at least fall into a deep slumber and wake up in five years time; I do not want to live in this current world, it is killing me.

Short and sweet.

Much love from your friend,


I put my heart on the line today and it got crushed. The girl next door obliterated my life.

Obliterated. There is no other word. Glued together with hope, my heart took a long time to piece together to feel strong again and have the courage to enter the ring. Yet again, it got beaten to a pulp and despite my very best efforts, I have failed again. Love evades my heart and leaves it cold. Another girl enters my dreams to haunt me. 

I saw her today walking back to her flat and I ran after her to put my heart on the line. I asked her on a date, just the two of us, to go wherever she wanted. She said ‘sure’ and that she would get back to me on it, tell me what she would like to do. When I left her to the rest of her day, then my heart began to beat; my mind flooded with what could now go wrong between that moment and the next time she speaks to me. One hour later, I received a text message saying that she was not looking for anything right now, that I am a nice guy and that she was sorry. Of course, I have to respect her wishes, I told her that I would see her in lectures and we left it at that. But in reality, without knowing, she reached into my chest and pulled out my still beating heart. The last ounce of hope has now left my body. I feel empty. I feel obliterated. I feel invisible.

At the time of writing this, I have consumed an entire bottle of rosé. I got back from my first session at the gym, felt good, felt angry and now, I crave food to feel whole and alcohol to make it all go away. A year ago, I denied any involvement with alcohol, I actively avoided it. And now, a year later, I find myself with an empty bottle of wine on the carpet of my room. I do not think I care any more. I have given up caring about the virtue of not drinking, the honour in sobriety of being an adolescent that does not touch alcohol. Nobody else cares that I didn’t drink, people only care if I drink with them so I am not boring. It sucks; it is wrong. Sobriety should be promoted and encouraged, but speaking from experience, no one my age gives a shit and they think you are boring. So then you start drinking; then people care even less. A life spent invisible means I can indulge in any self-destructive behaviour I want to, no one is going to stop me. The only obstacle between life and oblivion is myself; over thinking and limitation keeps me zoned in apathy where I still feel no enjoyment from life and I stay away from self-destructive behaviour. If recent events have impressed upon me anything though, it is that I can do whatever to be social, to be a nice guy, to be normal… and that it will ultimately fail. Love avoids me, being nice enables people to ignore me and being social feeds other’s selfish appetites. I feel forsaken, doomed to be alone and a failure, I feel totally ruined and to be told to give life and love time to get better, another chance, is the worst joke ever told.

It now seems impossible to visualize a life beyond a bottle and a room all to my self. The water calls to me again, ever louder, ever stronger. I want to end this cycle of misery. I cannot put anyone else through this torture of experiencing my life. Nobody wants to hear such thoughts, they want somebody that will enable them to feel happy about themselves and have a good time, something that ultimately in this state I am not capable of. I cannot see that I will ever make someone truly happy. I am beyond broken and it would be selfish to inflict my pain upon anybody else now. I contemplate either committing suicide or joining the army, any form of death sentence to find a way out of this cycle. I made a girl today uncomfortable in that she had to reject someone she assumed was a friend. What ensues now will only be awkward for her and the friends that she tells about the ordeal. I guess I will not forget this happened, it will only stack up in the evidence pointing the fact I am cursed to be alone. I do not want to wake up tomorrow but I will. I will open my eyes tomorrow morning with the image of a life failed and I will have to face the girl next door again. I will continue to be that nice guy and carry on wearing a mask that no one can see through. I will make everyone else’s life much easier and carry on the way that I do. So help me someone to make it through this because I do not think I can hold my self back any longer. I feel empty. I feel obliterated. I feel invisible.

Much love from your friend,



“If music be the food of love, play on, give me excess of it.”

This was my first line in Shakespeare’s play, Twelfth Night, and the only line that I remember. I was ten years old and it was nearing the end of my final year at primary school. Back then, music meant little to me; I had a few songs that I loved but did not fully understand and I was oblivious to its importance. Now, nine years later, it is something that I truly love. I have no idea who I would be without it and every single day I must experience it, sing it, feel it. 

When I am listening to a song, no matter the genre, it must evoke a passionate emotion. So if I am listening to rock, it must give me energy, surprise me, have flow and stamina. If I am listening to pop, it must give me breath, light, a feeling of love and lust. If I am listening to R&B, it must have soul, a message, a voice to speak to me. So my collection of music is incredibly varied and growing all the time, though while the range may seem random, it is something inherent in the song, the voice and the meaning that speaks to me and influences me to want more from it; the category of a song means nothing to me.

Sometimes I will love a song because of the speaker. Take Lorde, Tori Kelly or Wesley Schultz from The Lumineers for example. I often write about Wesley in particular because he is a captivating person with stories to tell and a feeling in my mind surrounds him that he is perhaps someone I wish I was like: free, beautiful, humble, talented, heard. I do not feel like that and he is loved too, again a feeling I envy so much. Listening to his songs, the honesty and imagery is something I can relate to and the relationship he has with the listener, I feel like he is telling me the darkness and insecurity in his heart and I wish someone would tell me that so that I could help and pour my heart out back to them.
Lorde and Tori Kelly, they both have unique and incredible voices. They are young and successful, untainted by the modern world and they live their lives as themselves, doing what they love. The fact that Lorde stays true to her roots and Tori stays true to her religion in a globalised and fearful world truly astounds me that they seem unaffected and so strong. Even though they are not in love, they are loved by friends and family with a deep connection to them. I love these people and despite not having ever met them, the honesty, soul and character they each have makes me feel love for them. When I hear their songs, I feel a love and connection with them that I lack in my life.

Sometimes I will love a song for the lyrics. Recently I have been obsessed with the song ‘Hard to Love’ by Calvin Harris and Jessie Reyez. The portrayal of a broken girl who admits her flaws and guilty pleasures, feels ugly and labelled; I feel like that too. I have spoken about how I feel labelled before. I feel invisible and a face that never gets seen, it makes me feel ugly how no one looks. I fall in love too easily and I come broken too.  However, I like to think that I am still a nice person, I don’t like to talk but I love to sing and I don’t smoke but I find myself lately loving drink more and more. I just cannot help myself; if I am not seen then I can do what I want to myself and be myself, no one is going to look. If anyone ever falls in love with me again, I feel like this time it would be for real now that I know who I am and what I need. The real me is on show for anyone to look at and notice. This song just makes me want to be myself even more and dance like a weirdo just like Jessie in the music video.
Countless other songs like Starboy by The Weeknd, A World Alone by Lorde and Somebody Else by The 1975, they speak volumes to me. I feel like when I sing them it’s my voice speaking out the honesty inside. Starboy is my arrogant dark side that likes to come out, A World Alone is my lonely, unique side that likes to hide and Somebody Else is the confused and broken side that haunts me. There are so many more songs with lyrics that feel like my thoughts and when a song can feel like it has come from you, it makes you feel a guilty pleasure for it.
Fancy by Iggy Azalea is another side that I feel and love but we won’t discuss that! 😀

Sometimes I will love a song for the melody. The ability to adapt through a song, change style throughout or surprise with little intricate sounds in places, a symphony can come together to perform the most mesmerizing of songs. The layers to some songs give you a different experience every time you hear them. Take ‘Little Something’ by The Amazons for example; when I first heard it, I was thinking of the bigger picture of the song. I was not focussed on the lyrics or the little sounds, just the feel of the song. The feel was nothing groundbreaking for me though I still liked it. And then with a dozen more plays, over a few weeks it grew on me. The raw emotion in the singer’s voice began to feel incredible, feeling broken, desperate and obsessed. The lyrics were brought to life by that and then with a few more plays, the abrupt change in the middle of the song in which all sound cuts off except for one guitar forced me to feel even more. This song was developing in my mind every time I heard it. Every layer began to come alive and I could understand it, feel it, relate to it. The drums and guitars come together to give me the energy and emotion to sing the song too. The evolution of the sound of the song and the growing intensity of it right up until the end forces me to love it.
I remember the feeling of paranoia towards ‘my little something’ when I was in love before. When I was apart from her, I felt frustrated that I could not be there with her. I wanted to know where she was hiding and running and ultimately, just like it feels in the song, the relationship between the two of us was wrong. Built on one person’s obsession and the other person feeling unsure, hiding and running, the relationship was built to self-destruct. I think of that every time now when I hear it, the girl who self-destructed on me. Many songs make me think of her and what she did, at least now the songs are a constant reminder of how a relationship should not be. No one should be running or hiding, there should be no obssession or frustration. I do not want a little something, I want someone special.

And finally, a song can paint a memory to me. While some are more random than others such as ‘Do You Even Know?’ by Rae Morris makes me think of McDonald’s as it always plays in there, some songs like ‘Starving’ by Hailee Steinfeld make me feel a memory I want to forget. It was a song that I shared with one of my exes and it just cannot be one of my favourite songs any more, I only feel anger. I can try to suppress it so when I hear Starboy for example which I also listened to with her, the memory only adds to the lyrics and feeling of a dark side in me. My love only deepens for it.

So when I listen to music I feel more than just sounds and vibrations; I experience memories, I feel emotion and get chills, I feel an energy and a love inside of me and it is always something pure that comes from music for me. When I sing I feel like I have someone to talk to and be honest with. The perfection in the vibrations resonates with me and gives me a pleasure, like I am one of those people who gets chills from music and singing only makes the emotion stronger. I love music and without it, I have no idea who I would be. “Give me excess of it.”

Much love from your friend,


The Edge of Rejection.

For months I have remained hopeful, given up those hopes and then fallen back under the spell of the girl next door. Some days she smiles and illuminates my world. Other days are cold and she lives her life without even glancing at me. My heart feels cut up into a million pieces after the past and hope is barely cementing it back together. I feel myself slipping away every day. 

Over the Summer we only messaged each other around every three weeks. It felt and still feels teasing talking to her, the way that she is so very positive and human, it captures me every time. Under her spell I feel warm inside and I feel a taste of what it is like to be happy. However, I know that it is not real and it feels more like a dream when I am around her; I think she is clueless to how I feel.

I send kisses now and then and it looks like I am just being polite instead. I ask her if she wants to hang out or come out with me and someone else is always there. It one hundred percent feels like the time to say something to her about this feeling because I cannot stand this uncertainty anymore. Although if it happens that she just does not see anything in me, like maybe she only sees me as a friend and that is it, then I really do not think I could take it. Nothing else in the past three weeks has given me any pleasure, any happiness. Alone, I am barely surviving. With someone to light me up and make happy, I could heal. Rejected, I doubt that I could repair any of what would be left.

I sometimes look at other girls, talk to them and try to just get out there and I am not seen. Obviously to this girl I barely mean a thing so I cannot save my soul for her when there may be nothing to save it for. So to everyone else out there, I am helplessly invisible despite the goodness I show them, despite the way that I move around them. Nothing I say or do sparks an interest to a single soul. When the girl next door messages me, looks at me, speaks to me, I really do feel human again. Nobody else has come close to making me feel human like her. I am a total sucker for love and I know I am naive with my heart on my sleeve, but as a pretty emotional guy I know what I feel and I know what I need. I am hoping that she feels a hope too that I can make come true for her.

I do not want to write about what could go wrong, I have to keep that possibility locked in a steel vault. I only want this to be right and natural. I am seeing her again in two days, though one of her friends will be there again. I guess I should carry on being me, just show up dressed nice, look into her eyes, smile and listen. I want her to see me, for real this time.

Much love from your friend,


Water holds indescribable meaning to me. Steps away from death, it became so clear.

On Friday 29th September 2017, I decided to take a run alongside a river to clear my head, release some energy and feel better about myself. On Friday 29th September 2017, I was a few steps away from drowning myself again. 

I cannot swim. I never learned how to as a child and since, some sort of self-manifesting fear and stigma surrounds the idea of water to me. Death, uncertainty, defeat. I could die in a large body of water, I have not attempted to swim in a decade and it is a force out of my control; a force in control of my life that I have never been able to conquer. Water is a force in which pain exists especially for me, I feel that something awaits inside it for me.

When I take showers, no matter the flow and temperature setting I command it to, they always fluctuate beyond my control. Whether it burns or freezes me, wrinkles my skin or rejuvenates it, it is a force beyond my control. In the past seven months, with the feeling of mortality surrounding me, water is the face of death, the inevitable grim reaper. It haunts me everyday. Every glance I take at it, a terrible swell of emotions befall my mind and the past and future, pain and joy, clarity and confusion, hope and hopelessness all blend into one bittersweet feeling. This bittersweet occupies my mind and turns me against strangers, friends, loved and respected ones and myself. It turns me against the mere concept of living, that I should leave my life, end everything. Death would relieve this bittersweet feeling inside of me and it would relieve me of all of my pain. I would no longer burden those that know me and those that will come to know me in time. I would become a statistic, a name, a face.

On that Friday night, I was feeling particularly low. The day before had been a failure to me despite what others had said. The expectation and hope of a new year and life at university had diminished to another distant dream I once had. I had my first set of lectures that day and I felt so crushingly hopeless and lost. I got ignored over and over again, overlooked. The girl next door never looked or uttered a word to me; she still has not and I have no clue why. I became another subject of awkwardness and oddity. A lecturer I have this year met me on my placement last year when I was in ruin. SHe singled me out of the crowd to talk, she remembers. I fear a deeper conversation with her and yet I crave a conversation with her too about this inner demon.

I crashed on my bed after my day feeling drained. I awoke an hour and a half later to the same despair. In the dark, alone for hours, a lingering tear remained poised in my right eye. It was invisible to everyone I saw later that night, but I felt it there, I recognised it, I knew the pain was there hidden in plain sight. I got out of the flat with some friends, sang a few songs and went home again. That same bittersweet feeling was unshaken despite my best efforts; the tear lingered. Once again at home, I sat, back alone in a dark room. I contemplated mortality yet again and I have lost count as to how many times I have done so now. In this despair, this emotional abyss, my only way out was a run to take the energy away. My mistake was to not take any music with me to occupy my mind.

My route took me along a river. I could have run to a forest and back or to a park and back. Although the route to the riverside was the route that my gut went with. Fourteen minutes of taking it easy and the midnight moon and stars glistened in the sky, reflected upon the water before me. At that point I could run no longer. All motivation of getting fit, clearing my head, dissipated and I was left with only that feeling and a means to end it. I looked upon the water. I stood mesmerised by the ripples and the calm current unpredictable and carrying on without any other human soul around. Wildlife and nature carried on by with the whole town asleep and in their beds. I was ultimately alone in the moment and the water was two steps away. I fantasized a death in mere minutes. I thought of whether I would regret it. I thought of just walking into it a step at a time to make no sound as I passed on into the next step life has to offer. Would I be reborn into an afterlife, a new body, would there be eternal darkness? Steps away from the very end of a life lived poorly, I regret failing to do it once again. I have told nobody, I have lied to absolutely everyone. Every day since and every day that I will ever have, I have and will continue to think none of this would have happened, not a single person looking into my eyes knows I came so close to death. They know about the depression, the mood swings. They know I have been suicidal. They do not ask. They dare not ask. All I want them to do is ask. They never will.

I went home and went to sleep still with that lingering tear in my eye.

The next day, I did whatever I could to pull myself out of that mood and now, I feel it is time to put these thoughts into a confession. I told nobody this and nobody noticed a single thing. I am wearing a mask again to fit in with every other character in the production and I am playing my part. I don’t see the point. I don’t see anyone looking beyond the mask. I wish that tear would fall and that I could release this feeling. It would appear this feeling, seven months long, is still here to stay and I could have banished it for good two nights ago. Whatever I go on to do with my life, whether I die in a week, a year, a decade, I know that that life almost never happened. I almost died again. And nobody noticed again. Either I am a winner for not giving up or I am a loser for not giving up.

The water looked peaceful that night. Water, a constant reminder of who I am inside. Water, my grim reaper.

Much love from your friend,