staring at a screen of white, all i see are images burned irrevocally upon my mind, like laser etched projections into my retinas. thoughts firing in all directions, glimpses of ideas in a kalediscopic motion. senses remembering lost memories, lost ideals, lost moments of agony and escatsy, cascading and swirling into a maelstrom of ifs and buts. a mother laughs with her child so small; blonde locks bouncing in the autumnal breeze, a picture of bliss and happiness, so why do i sit with tears rolling down my cheeks. this strangers joy striking me like ice, stabbing me, showing me what i lost, what i had to lose, what remains so so far out of reach. what should fill me with joy at the majesty of nature twists into a dulled, greyed vision of decay and death. leaves of green and amber show me only the slow slide into dormancy. echoes of promises lain unfulfilled, dancing over the taste of your flesh, your sweat, your salty embrace. the draw of the blade seems more alluring as the hours pass. i close my eyes to try and stop the flicker of these images yet all that happens is they gain further clarity.

the magnet moves underneath the cone, vibrating the molecules "...So torn and frayed. My times, lives, faces,
None can wear away. Time slips away"

time. time the healer, or so i'm told. time the stealer perhaps. the march of something so intangable yet so unstoppable. if time is a healer, then when do i get my visit? when will you come to heal these memories, voices, faces, tastes. come wash away these visions that plague my waking days. you've taken all of inside, come take what remains. this broken, hollow shell walks, stumbles along, bouncing from one heartache to bitter memory. seclusion is the answer. isolation the key.

"...Let them rest upon the waves
Peace at last for those who wait
Before I go out too far
Before the depth I seek moves further away"

yet that option remains unavailable to me. too many scars, too many others feelings in the way.

"...What will become of us if there's no one to watch over us" i just wish the watchers would avert their gaze, just long enough to give me peace. just let me stop, not much to ask. just let me find peace, take these ghosts away and lay them to rest

...where to start... that many thoughts and trains firing thru' my mind it's hard to know where to begin. I know one thing, I hate this; I so fucking hate this. I hate this feeling of continual inadequacy that haunts me from the moment I wake to the moment I fall unconscious. The absolute inability to feel useful; the skewered mis-comprehension of simple actions and written words; the fact that everyday is worse than groundhog day, it's not so much that it's an almost verbatum replica of the previous, I'm just sick of this. Is it the illness that when help is offered makes me try my best to refuse? Or is it just me? Financially I have sought help, a friendly and approachable member of the trading standards/debt assistance peoples at ACC. He's actually been as much of a godsend as one can be to an agnostic. He's managed to sort out my council tax assistance that ACC was not willing to do throughout all the forms and calls I made so I won't be going to court or have the bailiffs knocking at my door. Apparently two SWD staff members are looking at what additional benefits they feel I'm entitled to. That's the key isn't it; What they feel I'm entitled to not what I feel I'm entitled to. (Sorry my train of thought has gone elsewhere, I'll see if I come back to that later.) I feel I'm not entitled to any special or different treatment from anyone else in the street. Am I right to think this way? Or should I just accept that I'm not normal and need all the help I can get? It erks me. Really cuts against the grain. I spend 7 years at work working, no busting my fucking ass off, to be accepted and judged on my abilities not my illness, to prove - not to me - to everyone else that my label does not make me any less of a person; And now I have to let all that what I fought so damn hard to maintain, have to let that control into someone else's hands. One of the things they are talking about is DLA, for those not in the UK DLA is Disability( or Disabled) Living Allowance, yet my mind sees this as fraud. I have two arms, two legs, two eyes, two ears, a mostly functioning spine, why do I, I, need DLA. Maybe that's the point. Perhaps I fight this illness everyday, every moment of the day, that I've stopped being able to disassociate Jason from the depression. In my mind they are both one and the same. I've known for a long time that if you take the depression away I'm really not sure what would be left to call it'self Jason. That, I know, is why cognative help failed. Now I'm having the treatment I swore I never would. It leaves me confused, and steals 2 days a week, when I'm even able to overcome my own reservations to get there, from my memories.

I don't know. Is it all worth it? Is anything really worth it in the end? What is life really like? Anyone? Does anyone wake up in the morning not dreading the day ahead? Or go to sleep almost praying that they don't wake.

So. Sorry I'm a crap friend. Sorry that I can't get out and about to see you all. Even those whom live not 100 yards from my house. Sorry I can't reach for the phone and call you, even just to say Hi, How Ya Doin'. Sorry I can't make our arranged gaming nights, even tho' it is only on the other side of my flat wall. Sorry I can't pick up the phone when you ring, even tho' inside there is a part of me that screams to hear your voice, to know that you are well and that life for you is going good. Sorry I can't help in anyway I should be able to as a friend. I'm sorry I'm not the big brother that I should be, the one you can turn to when you have a problem you want to talk about or help with. Sorry I'm not the eldest son you deserve, the one who can help, who can come and visit, the one who's done something with his life to make you proud.

Choice and freewill. Choice and freewill means that for every option that I face there is a way out of it. Yet the one thing I want out of I can't seem to find the way. Do I beat this by submitting to it?

Sorry I've not LJ cut this.

Maybe Mandy should have a go at this one:






Nigel Kennedy does the Dr at The Proms

Great tune this one:






Muse - Map of The Problematique

I just want people to understand, and not be angry with me

Just a quick one, my interwebs is playing up so my pipex email don't work. Normally can't see this, Bebo, or any of those type web pages - just hope Pipex sort it out soon.

Hugs to all

A bit late (that because I've only just woken up from last nights shennanigans) but a wish for all of you to have a very happy and prosperous new year. 2008 can only be better than 2007


Proper update soon

Been searching my music library to express how I feel. This sums it up:







Confusion in her eyes that says it all.
She's lost control.
And she's clinging to the nearest passer by,
She's lost control.
And she gave away the secrets of her past,
And said I've lost control again,
And of a voice that told her when and where to act,
She said I've lost control again.

And she turned around and took me by the hand
And said I've lost control again.
And how I'll never know just why or understand
She said I've lost control again.
And she screamed out kicking on her side
And said I've lost control again.
And seized up on the floor, I thought she'd die.
She said I've lost control.
She's lost control again.
She's lost control.
She's lost control again.
She's lost control.

Well I had to phone her friend to state my case,
And say she's lost control again.
And she showed up all the errors and mistakes,
And said I've lost control again.
But she expressed herself in many different ways,
Until she lost control again.
And walked upon the edge of no escape,
And laughed I've lost control.
She's lost control again.
She's lost control.
She's lost control again.
She's lost control.

I could live a little better with the myths and the lies,
When the darkness broke in, I just broke down and cried.
I could live a little in a wider line,
When the change is gone, when the urge is gone,
To lose control. When here we come.

Joy Division - She's Lost Control

This is my last public post.

The page turns;

The book closes...

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Thank you.

A Boi Lost.