broken, I am

I feel
Like the jagged edges
Of my innermost sensitivities
Are bare for all to see,
Broken psychological bone,
Piercing emotional skin,
Leaving me raw, so raw,
That, to let just anyone in, is a
Risk I cannot take, I cannot even
Stand the nitpicking details of
Minor misfortune or irritation –
If it claws at the very centre of me –
Cracking the core of who I am
Meant to be, as if each iterative jibe
Tears at the very fabric of my reality,
Cracks in the ice of my dark sanity,
Leaving me staring down into oblivion;
Knowledge that the world I live in
Is not as it is written on the tin,
But rather an illusory reference
To something even more silk-thin –
That I am on the edge, all of the time,
The edge of me, the edge of all I am,
The edge of all I will ever be, and
That’s just fine, as long as I don’t
Let anyone push me over that line,
For if I allow the core child inside
To be bashed back down even as
I try to unhide, I will be broken for all time –
This is no melodrama; as mortally injured
Know they are going to die, or as I knew,
Falling naked through late London
Afternoon sky, this very precipice
On which I sit is the outer edge of what
I can permit, and, in the immortal words
Of that bulging forearm’d Popeye, that’s
All I can stands, and I can’t stands
No more!
So that’s where I am,
For now, hopefully not forever,
For it leaves me balanced like a car
At cliff’s edge, waiting to tip and tumble
Into the rocky ravine, ending in an explosive
Scene, at the slightest touch of the lightest
Feather, and whether this is all overplay,
Or real, does not matter, for it’s how I feel,
And if I do not protect that emerging child
Inside, he will only dive back down and
Hide, biding his time until the end of mine,
And I cannot allow that, so whether minor
Punitive petty repetitive snipe at work,
Or my own family making me out to be
A jerk, playing the same old punishment
On my own internal tuning fork, humming
Uncomfortably in my chest, asking me to
Dance, once more, to age old guilt-ridden
Jig, I can only say, ‘no more,’ and,
If pushed so far down to that dark, frozen,
Cracking ice floor, scream back “fuck off,”
Because my very core is under attack,
Even if they can’t see that, they should
Know better – I’ve tried to say it nicely
Enough times so far, to no avail, leaving me
With only a primal scream of pain, for them
To get off me, take their forever weight
Away, because I have neither the room,
Nor the energy, to continue the lifelong
Games that we all play, for I am too raw,
Forever and a day, and now’s not the
Fucking time to push me down, or mess
Me around, cause I’m fighting for my
Very life with every breath, and you’re
Blind flailing ignorance of my state
Is more than I can take on my already
Overflowing plate, so if you will either
Treat me with love, compassion, and an
Open heart, or, at the very least, try not
To treat me as evil, as if I fit the part,
That’d be very nice, thank you, and if
That is something you have neither the
Inclination nor situational awareness to do,
Then happily go away and leave me alone,
Cause I’ve got enough to deal with on my
Own, sitting in my dark living room,
Tinnitus ringing in my ears, in tune with
The humming projector hanging in stasis,
Cheeks drying with tears, joints aching,
Stomach bloated, brain creaking, as I type
This on my phone, so, please, either see
And treat me as the person that I am, or
Leave me the fuck alone.

Memoirs of a high functioning depressive (hfd)

I don’t know if that’s what I am, but
I manage to get along as best that I
Can, muddling through each and
Every day, feeling lost, and alone,
With so much to do, feel, share, and
say.

But I’m quiet.

I know many would laugh
At that preposterous thought,
Because quiet,
Is something
They’re sure
That I’m not.

But that just goes to show,
What the clowns already know;
That – if you put enough garish paint,
On the side of the face where the pain ain’t,
Nobody notices
How you ache inside.

Tears pushing through sorrow,
Choking back the sun, with this
Empty ache echoing forever
Inside
Each
And every one.

I’m tired,
It goes without saying, too,
As I don’t want to be a burden,
I guess I’ll just carry on
Seeing
This through.

I may not always be alone,
But, yes, I am lonely,
For this space I rest my weary head
Is for me
And for me
Only.

That’s not so much a choice,
As a curse three times nailed,
The postman has come and gone,
My effort’s been mailed.

And I’ll keep on trying,
Keep pushing on through,
Because the alternative
Is not an option,
So trying
Is just what I’ll do.

I’ll try to find happiness,
Try to find one other,
Someone to spend time with,
A soulmate…

And there I freeze,
Because I – aside from the breeze,
Blowing softly across my knees,
As I listen to the traffic outside,
Going by, as normal as you please –
Am no longer one with this world,
If I ever was.

The tinnitus in my ears, and others’ eyes
Running for the hills as I try to read lips,
To discover goods from ills, is simply an
Aural manifestation of what I have known all along –

I am outside of it all; boat and swing
Missed, fog-man distracted by internal thought,
Left swinging in the emptiness, swimming inside,
Sitting lonely on his couch,
Having forgotten to have cried.

Excercise in futility; aka the dating game

Having completed Tinder, OkCupid, Match and Bumble, I can honestly say I prefer GTA4.

The rules of the game are simple; “swipe until it’s empty”.

I have done that at “Boss” level. It’s not difficult. Just takes loads of time. Time I clearly had.

I have a whole method for efficient swiping… It’s tap tap tap… Swipe.

Any sedated tigers, chihuahuas, pouting, or loads of gym photos, or a guy’s name on seemingly a woman’s photos, or all serious photos with no smiles, swipe left.

The slightest possibility I might be attracted to them and they seem normal and their smile actually reaches their eyes, swipe right.

Works just as well as randomly swiping left and right with my eyes closed (I have tried it).

And you have to have lots of uncomfortable chats where you try way too hard to be charming and funny – think pickup lines without the alcohol and background noise to distract from the utter awkwardness of it, a few slightly awkward dates (now video calls, which is the “advanced” level difficulty), and end up realising you can’t work out the most basic reason people are attracted to one another – that magical unknown quantity of “chemistry” – without actually meeting the person in person.

It is at that point that you “complete” the dating app.

And, just because we are creatures of habit, we then go try other dating apps, because maybe, just maybe, doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome is not the definition of insanity.

Once we have completed all available dating apps, and come to that same realisation time and again, with friends and strangers egging us on the whole time by dangling that “I have friends who met online and got married and are really happy” magical power up in front of us, do we officially “complete all levels” in the online dating game.

There is no winning. It is realising that we are simply confirming the uselessness of it all that means we have “leveled up”.

That is why it is called “gamifying”, or the “gamification” of, dating.

It’s a game, and the only ones to win are the companies that make money from us endlessly swiping.

So we get frustrated and delete the apps, only to return a few months later in desperation, hoping against hope that, somehow, this time it will be different.

For proof of this, just see how many profiles say, “I had deleted this app but I am back now hoping to delete it again…”

I think we need a “Dating Apps Anonymous” group.

tales for adults, told by kids pretending to be adults, for adults pretending to be kids