The Boy, Part 5: A New Chapter

Written on February 3rd, 2010 and labelled Relationships, Wordful Wednesdays, the boy
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I walk up a stairwell slowly. Exhaustion encumbers my feet. I tread against the river of students moving the other way, rushing downstairs to eat lunch.

A part of me sighs internally. I think of him, but the light has changed. Things have changed. Things are different. A new bulb in my mind switched on, knowing the truth behind the front he projects.

*

They did start going out, my friend and him. She and I talk on the bus, the hum of the engine and the drawl of children drowning out the noise of our conversation. A conversation filled with hidden knowledge and normally-unspoken, worrying confessions. My loyalties weigh heavily. I find myself flare in anger at him as she tells me things; things he says to her, things I find incomprehensible.

There is a new side to him. The lustre has faded and now I can see the real, tarnished version.

A person who I would never have feelings for. A person in which I do not associate. A person whom I do not recognize.

*

I reach the top of the stairwell and glide into the room where this all started… where the feelings were first birthed into my life. I dart around, talking and laughing to friends yet all the while looking for him, wondering where he is. Wondering why I care. Wondering why any of it matters when my feelings have been suppressed and subsided into nothingness.

There’s a sense of tension that still remains between us, me and him. He social butterflies around the place, leaving traces of himself for people to return. My friends seem to dislike him, yet all the while I can’t help feel an amicability between us. He made me feel, yet all the same I can’t help but wonder whether or not there’s anything of substance below the surface of our banal, empty transactions.

*

I glance out the window, watching a band of smokers come from the bridge where they attempt to conceal their dirty habit. I name each of the people, The Boy’s name coming to mind as I notice him walking in the death-stick crowd. They trundle between cars before disappearing from sight behind a wall and into school. The white noise of the library silently amplifies a silent truth which I soon realize.

A friend and I laugh with each other. We talk about friends and life and university. There is no expectation, no need to wear a mask — she does not know about The Boy. About the emotional rollercoaster. I am open and I am closed.

She leaves for a while and I’m left with the hum of the ventilation acting as a backdrop to my thoughts; they swirl around haphazardly, waiting for a conclusion to burst from underneath. There is no conclusion or dramatic ending. No bang and no eureka.

*

Some friends and I are sitting and watching as he speaks with a teacher semi-privately. He glances over and makes a facial gesture. His girlfriend, A, quietly screeches with excitement. A part of me can’t help feel a split in the relationship, his behaviour sporadically forceful, hers reactive to his mood. A part of my mind sirens. There is something gently anxiety-inducing about their relationship.

I sit back and watch the world for moments. Each one passes, and I can’t help but feel like this new year has entered a new chapter in my life. There is a difference. The deep fracture in their relationship only seems to highlight the new ones in my own psyche.

A darkness still exists deep inside yet the sun of hope has dawned on my life once again.

I am no longer bound by a fatal obligation.

I am not in love with this boy.

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My doctor, the douchebag.

Written on February 1st, 2010 and labelled What a crap day.
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I went to see my doctor today as, honestly, I’ve not been feeling particularly peachy on the emotional front these past few months. After I terminated my therapy around Easter last year I’ve been deteriorating more and more, lost to my internal nastiness.

Somehow, I forgot my doctor was a cunt when it comes to emotions. And I use that extremely strong word for a VERY good reason, as you’ll read below.

So I got to the surgery, went in, told the receptionist who I was and that I had an appointment. After she confirmed me I went and poised myself on the old, murky-red chair-sofa things in the waiting area. It wasn’t long before my doctor came out to see the receptionist for his next appointment. When he saw my name, he looked up straight at me. I caught his eye but, feeling embarrassed, looked outside through the large, square window dominating the seating area.

He called my name. I followed him in and sat down, feeling equally as nervous as any time I’ve been to see a doctor. He pulled up my file on his computer and then sat back in his large swivel chair, asking me what was wrong.

I started to blather about knees and my eyes and, most importantly, the case notes he should’ve received from the counsellor I saw a few weeks ago who only did short-term work so had to shoo me away. As far as I know, they specified that I was in some high-risk band. Something to do with my frequent suicidal ideation and because I had means available to me. It requested that I be referred to a long-term treatment NHS psychotherapist.

I could tell that he wasn’t going to understand before we even started. I could tell it was going to be an uphill battle I would eventually lose. I forgot he doesn’t “do” non-factual talk from people who are doggedly reserved about their real, nightmarish emotions.

Below are extracts from the 30-minute, mostly 1-sided ‘conversation’ we had:

Him: You’re just one of the masses.

–

Him: You have to accept that people just don’t care about you.

–

Him: And… and… and and… and I think you’re having a spiritual crisis, not an emotional one. Wouldn’t you agree?

–

Him: I don’t think you need psychotherapy.

–

Him: What I can see of you, you don’t seem all that distressed.

Me: I wear a mask all the time to hide my true emotions.

Him: Okay. Well that would make you a great actor. It reminds me of Catcher in the Rye.

–

Him: I think you should have these… /hands pamphlets and cards on mindfulness/ It’s from Buddhism.

Me: Oh yeah, I know about that.

Him: Oh really? (In a tone that says, “Why is it that you’re bothering me with your obvious lies of poor mental health when you can fix yourself without wasting MY time?”)

–

Me: I need an emotional outlet. I find it hard to express my emotions to people… I think a lot of my friends aren’t ready for my emotional intensity.

Him: What type of outlet do you need?

Me: Someone whom I can talk to without feeling judged and someone who I know will just listen and not try to give advice.

Him: Have you tried praying?

Me: I… uhh… I’m not… I don’t…

Him: Because you know if you want someone to listen prayer can help get what you need to say off your chest. Or have you tried writing how you feel down?

Me: Yeah, I’ve tried journaling and keeping a diary but I just can’t keep up with it. My hand doesn’t go fast enough.

Him: But you write it as it comes and when you feel like it.

Me: (*inner eye roll*)

–

Him: Okay well everyone is look for that. You see, how the human condition works is that we’re all searching for meaning. We all have very fragile egos.

Me: (mentally: So you’re going to dismiss the fact that I’m in an extremely-high suicide risk-band because you assume my ego is “hurt” rather than I actually need some help?)

–

Me: I want someone who can be there for me when I have bad days and good days… when I just can’t deal with all the shit anymore.

Him: You think you’ve had a bad day? You don’t even know what a bad day is yet. A bad day is like being told you have cancer. Or that your best friend has cancer. You have no idea what it’s like to have a bad day.

… and then later…

Him: I’m not trying to sweep away your problems.

Me: (*inner eye roll* + *want to cry right now but can’t because this doctor is a bully*)

I’ve been referred to a psychiatrist, not a psychotherapist. I’ve taken medication (fluoextine (‘prozac’) and carbamazepine) before and abused them whem my mood shifted; which is dangerous, as SSRIs themselves have been shown to increase the likelihood of suicide in teenagers.

Frankly, I’m absolutely appalled by my doctor. He treated me with such little regard for my well-being, and instead rambling on about english literature, shakespeare and Hamlet, that I’m considering scheduling another appointment to get a second opinion.

Unacceptable has reached a new height. And the worst part?

I might have to see the psychiatrist I had before. And at their offices is the BATSHITCRAZY ‘adult mental health specialist’ who is more interested in politics than mental health.

Hold me.

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Yeah, REALLY.

Written on January 31st, 2010 and labelled Tomfoolery, Tweets ahoy!
5 Comments - Thoughts?

I just pipped this on twitter:

douchebag tweet

I wasn’t kidding:

douchebag tweet

“Stalker”, “NOT”, “a$$” and “war” all in 140 characters? Well that’s a major turnoff.

Also, by some other user a while back who I snapped:

douchebag tweet

Have a nice day!

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Time.

Written on January 27th, 2010 and labelled Authentic, Disheartened with Life, Emotions
4 Comments - Thoughts?

I often wish to have Bernard’s Watch.

A watch that I could use to freeze time. To do everything I need to do. To finish all the unfinished tasks and to not have to worry about the impending fatigue that strikes me and the knowledge that I have to get up in the morning.

To be able to loosen the ties that bind in my mind between guilt and work I’ve not yet done.

To be able to step out of time.

How I’d kill for Bernard’s watch.

And you know, it’s almost funny how much I could do with that extra time.  I have drafts upon drafts in my post section. As in, 32. THIRTY TWO DRAFTS.

This blog has 91 posts, disregarding this one. And honestly? There’s something very uncomfortable about that. Something that I just refuse to like.

I remember a time when I would always get things done. It didn’t matter when it was set for or who it was for; if it needed doing, it’d get done. And now?

It’s as if a part of me just outright refuses to get things done. Nevermind get things done ON TIME.

And it kills me.

And frankly, this blog kills me.

And so does society.

And so does EVERYTHING IN LIFE recently.

The blog, to start with.

Oh my god. This blog.

Sometimes I don’t even know why I’m writing, as more often than not it just seems like I’m writing words that other people want to read. And yet, at the same time, I’m pretty sure that I suck as a writer.

Honestly, they say that self-expression is supposed to make you a more confident person and have more self-worth and blahblahblah. Honestly? The Kingdom of Matt has done nothing but make me angst even more about what people think about me.

It absolutely pisses me off. I don’t know if I’m a good writer or if I’m shit or if I’m funny or if I’m taken really seriously or WHAT.

Not to mention the fact that my subscriber stats pretty much change as fast as a yo-yo goes up and down.

Hmm.

And then there’s society.

Because, seriously? I’m starting to have enough of the big bad society. Most specifically, the NHS.

I was banned for life on Monday to give blood because I ticked a box that asked me if I’ve “Ever had oral or anal sex with another male with or without a condom”.

And so now I’m considered in a high risk band. Consequently, I’m banned. Forever. Including with organ donations.

Yet the true hypocrasy is that if I were straight and have had unprotected sex with 200 women in the past year? Well, as long as I’m as sexually clean as I am right now, as a homosexual, then it’s all fine and dandy for me to give blood.

It’s things like this that really mark out how much of an unchanged society towards homosexuality Britain is.

And boy oh boy, don’t get me started on everything else in life.

The random extra weight I’ve suddenly accumulated in the past few weeks, rather than gaining it during Christmas.

Or my overly-surpressed emotions on The Boy (hence not posting about The Boy series at all recently).

Or even how I honest-to-god just don’t have enough time in a day to be able to complete everything and actually leave any time for exercise + time I do things I enjoy.

OR how, every morning, getting out of bed is the biggest internal struggle since… anything.

OR *even* how my skin is getting so dry around my knuckles that my skin is starting to crack open (not my most attractive look, I can assure).

Ultimately, though, it’s a feeling of frustration.

I need more outlets for my emotion.

I’m glad I have an appointment to see my doctor on Monday so I can finally get put on another waiting list for long-term psychotherapy.

Shame that I’m going to be gone in a few months.

Heh. Seems that’s the theme of my life right now.

I want spicy food tonight.

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Girl Talk Thursday: Pet Peeves

Written on January 21st, 2010 and labelled Girl Talk Thursday, Sillypants
2 Comments - Thoughts?

Yeah, I know I’m not a girl. But to be honest, I know the girlies over at GTT don’t mind me posting, so…

Pet Peeves.

We’ve all got ‘em and we all hate ‘em. So let’s go, jiggalo:

1) PEOPLE THAT DON’T LISTEN.

If you’ve said “I’m listening” or “I want to hear what you have to say” and then don’t give a shit about what I have to say, you’re the C word which I’m not going to write on here. Big time. If I came to you and you’re busy, then it’s fine if you can’t be arsed to listen. But if you specifically just refuse to pay attention to what I’m saying then I see no reason for me to know you. At all. You were born with 2 fucking ears for a reason.


2) Saying TRULY mean things behind another person’s back.

I don’t mind the odd bitch every now and again about certain people who, to some degree, deserve it. To be honest, there are very, very few people who I feel comfortable bitching about behind their back (or, would you believe, to their faces). No doubt this is the reason why I hate it when people say truly mean things about a person without them having any knowledge of it. It’s not kind, it’s not fair and ultimately it will bite you back in your ass.


3) Telling me things when I know you’re wrong.

I don’t mind it if you have a genuine need to tell me something, but when you’re talking out of your ass you’re gonna get caught out sooner or later. Don’t do it.


4) Practical jokes.

There is nothing funny about humiliating or causing [even minor] suffering in their life. Ever. It’s not funny and there’s nothing ‘joking’ about it.


5) EVERYONE MUST BE LIKE ME OTHERWISE THEY ARE BORING/STUPID/ANNOYING.

Look, I get that you might like doing what you do. Hey, you probably wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t like it. But if you suddenly think that because YOU like it and some OTHER people like it that *I* should like it too, you’re wrong. Wronger than wrong. Don’t assume similarity.


6) Indian Scripted Telemarketers.

“Good morning Mr. Dixon, how are you today?”

“Which Mr. Dixon are you calling for?”

“Thank you. I’m calling to inform you that you are eligible to receive…”

/call disconnected.

Seriously, I don’t understand the point of telemarketing. I’m not going to ever buy into your scam or your double glazing. And when you refuse to ask for which Mr. Dixon you want, you aren’t going to get anywhere.

As a side thingy, did you know I want to change my last name to Monroe?

7) Hard-Selling Charities

The other day I was called by WaterAid. And then a few days ago, by Amnesty International.

Except during those calls I found out that the people talking to me were both from companies that specialized in cold calling.

Seriously, SUPPOSEDLY ETHICAL CHARITIES, if you think you’re going to get more money out of me by hiring people to pressure sell me over the phone, you’ve got another fucking thing coming. Go and die.


8) LOW HYGIENE STANDARDS

If you use something and don’t wash it or assume that wiping a towel across it makes it clean, you are stupid and need to take a food hygiene course.


9) Double standards.

I get it if your double standard is because you have kids and you can’t have them, you know, wearing make up ‘n’ shit. But if someone tells me I can’t X but they can when it’s the SAME DAMN THING? Bye bye outa my life, puta.


10) STOP TURNING THE LIGHTS OFF.

My dad has this totally *awesome* habit of turning all the lights off in the house when he goes to bed. And, naturally, forgets that I’m still up. This means that I have to feel my way around rooms to get to a light source — usually resulting in repeated stubbed toes, knocking things over and anything else of a disorientated manner.


11) “Wait, you’re a vegan! You can’t eat anything!”

Hi. My name is Matt. It is 2010. If you can think of it, there’s a vegan version. Now go away.

Addition:

12) Steve G. Jones

SOMEHOW this guy got my contact details. And, like, for serious: Steve G. Jones, I get that your name is Steve G. Jones and you’re a clinical hypnotherapist, but the fact that you’ve rolled ‘clinical hypnotherapist’ into soundlike your last name makes me cringe. Also, stop emailing me telling me that you’ve got hypnosis downloads that can make me win the lottery. I’m not the fool you think I am.

——————————————————

To be honest, I could go on and on and on and on because there are SO MANY DAMN THINGS which make me grumpy.

However, for now, I shall leave you with the above.

If I catch you doing any of them (including Steve G. Jones Clinical Hypnotherapist), I shall take a dump on your thighs.

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It’s not MY fault that fate hates me.

Written on January 17th, 2010 and labelled Authentic
3 Comments - Thoughts?

I don’t believe in coincidences. Not in a super-spiritual, esoteric way… I just don’t believe in coincidences. I think that the world is far, FAR too complex for us to understand the way things work completely. Like V said in V for Vendetta, there are no coincidences, just the illusion of coincidences (or something to that effect). I’m inclined to agree.

The thing is, I believe that life — via some universal spirit/world/life ‘thing’ — will try and teach you lessons as you go along in life. And it’ll try and get your attention by showing you something time and time again or through many things converging all at once.

The latter of those two has recently happened to me.

If you’ve been following my blog for a few months you will remember back in September when I was worried about what to study at university. After assessing your opinions and my thought, I made the sound decision to study English, not Japanese.

Recently, with lots of things suddenly walking into the kingdom of my life, I can’t help but wonder if I chose wrongly.

First I stumbled on an album by my favourite J-Pop singer, Hikky, and HAD to get it. And then I got Ping.FM on Rhythmbox (my lappy’s media player) and suddenly lots of Japanese singers were being saved into my favourites. Nothing too fate-istic, I agree.

Until about a week ago.

It started with food. I suddenly had a desire for miso and udon — and to cook them together. And I finally started to use that jar of unpasteurized miso in the cupboard. It wasn’t long before I was up to my eyeballs in miso-y broth.

And then films… Just before Christmas, in my Spanish lessons, we watched Pan’s Labyrinth. Pan’s Labyrinth being distributed by Optimum Releasing in the UK. Optimum Releasing which, would you believe, distributes the 6 Japanese movies my English teacher gave me on Thursday after he randomly had his copy of Spirited Away on a windowsill. Spirited Away being my favourite movie (ever.).

But that’s not much, right? It’s just a bit of music, food cravings, watching large amounts of Japanese films and a distributor link. And something Japanese-y appearing in search results on Frostwire which never usually appear.

And the fact that a few days ago I decided (before I had realized all of these tiny ‘coincidences’) to re-learn hiragana.

And that I’ve been watching Boston Legal over the internet and, what a surprise, a story arc started to do with an asian person in the past couple of days.

So Music, TV, Film, Frostwire, Food, UK Film Distributors and Impulse Learning Desires.

“Hmm…” is an understatement.

And so even though I made this decision to study English at university, and I’ve started to get responses from universities for conditional offers, I still can’t help but feel like a big bad fraud.

It’s a head vs. heart case, and the internal judge of me can’t work out which one should get the favorable ruling, especially with all these sudden influences appearing in my life.

I don’t believe that I’m seeing all of these things right now, just as the application-for-university deadline has passed, by chance. Nor am I going to ignore these feelings I have that Japanese-orientated things, without fail, evoke in me.

I won’t deny how I feel and I won’t deny these signs. I’m glad that universities allow students to change degrees when they start out. Though, that does assume I’m going to get in. D:

I don’t understand the path I’m walking upon, but I know that it’s meant for me. Japanese or not, something invisible is moving through my life right now. And you know what?

I ain’t gonna stop it.

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Excuse my French…

Written on January 7th, 2010 and labelled Just 'cuz
5 Comments - Thoughts?

BUT FUCK!

Seriously, I’ve not felt this crazy excited in AGES.

1) My friend Christy sent me this html file she made for me for my biz site.
1) I got Adobe CS4 Master Collection.
2) I’ve been using GIMP for my design work. I opened up Photoshop and started to use it.
3) I POOPED MYSELF WITH EXCITEMENT.
4) I started playing with Illustrator after cleaning myself up.
5) I POOPED MYSELF AGAIN WITH OHMYGODEXCITEMENT ILLUSTRATORISSOAWESOMEANDBETTERTHANGIMP.
6) Cat (aka MommyGeek of Mommygeekology.com) gave me some AWESOME news. Like, “I can’t believe that happened!” awesome. (She isn’t pregnant, but it’s still AWESOME).
7) Friends on Twitter said school was open tomorrow. Then I was told that it isn’t. Then it was certified that it ISN’T.
8) I pooped myself with excitement again because that means I’ve done 3/16 lessons this week (and only one of my several pieces of homework).
9) Can you say “Matt’s shaking with excitement and joy”?

2010 started out very nicely. :D

Update:

AND I’m earning £100 tomorrow for 2/3 hours work.

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Here's the scoop:

I'm a vegan homosexual called Matt. I have a penchant for sweet things and stationery, and enjoy other such things like:

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