Mixing alcohol and paracetamol, isn’t just a good rhyme, it’s usually a sign that shit went south at some point, and trust me it did. I never anticipated revealing my struggles, my shattered mental health to someone would be so hard, let alone to a loved one. Of course it’s after saying it, I realised […]Read more "Ben- ‘it’s Okay, Tell me’ (or new habits die old)"
I just wanted to be Bukowski. it’s three years on, and look at me now; a severe depressive, who doesn’t get out of bed before 12pm, and can barely handle his emotions. Writing has become an afterthought, my own ambition handicapped by my overwhelming sense of futility. I need to stop using my blog in […]Read more "eyes crying? nose running? uterus bleeding? hotel trivago?"
I have a recurring dream which plagues me. At this point in its existence you could consider it a waking dream. Whenever shit goes bad, I find myself in a hotel lobby, bedraggled and hopeless, on what I presume is an unholy cocktail of substances, that keeps me barely lucid and leaves me periodically blacking […]Read more "Mr. Brizell, we’re glad to see you again"