a.funnytimeofyear.com

A lot on my mind.

Another one of those days that involves intensive crying in my bed for a number of hours.

Uni starts tomorrow! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!

Sat perched in a kitchen drinking wine last night with girls and boys. My scandinavian ladies are back this weekend! In fact, every one is back! There are a million parties to go to. It’s all so exciting.

So, this is me (click to enlarge).

Tonight I’m going to a lesbianic party on the isle of Lesbomania. I fear for my gay man’s life.

(Spent ages scanning today at uni when I didn’t even have to be in. That’s Liam, a friend of mine who asked me to take some portraits of him.)

Sat at the bus stop at 5am, shivering and cradling myself in my quivering arms. Watched the rain crash to the spattered ground, water pounding at the road’s surface like hammer meets nail. Listen to a friend on the phone to her love interest, sparks flying from her smile as words slip from her pursed lips. Squint at the neon lights that illuminate this foreign city that is so different from home. Taste the rain on my tongue as we walk the desolate streets, the smell of fumes pass me by.

I had forgotten what it was like to be single, liberated, “available”, sexy, attractive, desired - unattached. We shook it on the dance floor, showed them how grinding should be done to all the white boys with no rhythm. Took sips of vodka and smiled back at those whose eyes wandered over me, searching through me in an attempt to know me. Let myself go to the music, watched your tears fall when a remix of Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” came on. Music loud, you made me promise that I would not try to kill myself again. I made no promises - on that, I never will. It has been so long since I have been this way. To be single, to know love and to have lost it at the hands of your own complexity. Whilst frivolous debauchery is invited into my life, I wonder if I will ever find such security again, if I can feel the stability and warmth that I once felt with you. I know that you did not need that feeling to survive - I guess you never thought as to whether I needed it either.

I could feel it bubbling for days before; the surge of intensity running through my veins like sizzling electrical current. I kept on top of it, controlling it. We sat in the waiting room, cold plastic cups of water in our hands and an eerie silence that echoes throughout the mental health unit. We sit, waiting, just the soft patting of authorised fingers on electronic keypads, the soft clicking of the lock sliding back giving access to these forbidden areas.

Suddenly I am back in hospital. I hold the swipe card to my room - to keep not only me in, but others from entering. For my own safety, I think to myself. I’m in the bathroom, a wet towel over my head. I am naked, drenched in tears and quaking with fear in the corner. I do not know what I am afraid of - the rug has been pulled from beneath my feet, the blanket of security shredded. Dissociation sets in and I do not know how long I have been here for. A loud band curses the bathroom door and a hollering of my name snaps me from my oblivion. I respond meekly. I’m in the shower, I lie, and return to my dormant state. The morning I arrive I am exhausted, unslept, thin and dangerously imbalanced. As I am shown to my room the first thing I do is to check for sharp objects - wood I can peel from the wardrobe, hangers I can splinter to peel skin from my legs. I pull all of the dull bedding, including blankets and sheets, and push away the desk chair. I put my pillows up against the wall’s corner and haul myself under the desk. I cover myself with blankets, dragging back the chair to create a secure fortress. There I am safe, from you, but mostly from myself. I am on suicide watch and every fifteen minutes a nurse abruptly enters my room. I feel her presence, silently staring at my cocoon of safety. For the first few checks they try to engage with me, lure me from my haven of safety. I do not respond, do not move, only wish that I could disappear from here.

And this is where I sleep, hidden from the world, and in the darkness, from myself.

I haven’t slept in my own bed for ten days. Score!

I was just thinking about you
And wondering what you’re doing, I mean what you’ve been up to
I know it’s wrong feeling so strong
Lemme take a second minute so I can think this thing through

… But the reality..
Honestly
Is you were not good for me
And I was not good for you
I just remember what we used to do.
– Jill Scott, “Cross My Mind”

Snaked our way (all 15 or so) through the streets on tequila and white wine, piggy backs and tumbles, ladybird cake fights (splat!) and anonymous soiled thongs found outside the front door. Dancing and kissing and grinding and head injuries. It all ends with being spooned by your best friend on a sofa too small, the only reason you’re hanging on is because his arms are clutching you from behind in a hug. Sweet.

(have so many more naughty photos of filthy things but scared to post them here!)

Last night A & I got nasssssssty.