Monthly Archives: August 2014

I hate people. :=) and love emoticons.

Ugh, just read it again. “So depressed today”


Oh really? Really? No you daft prick, you’re not depressed “today”. It’s not a one time thing. It’s not something that attacks that quickly and acutely. 

Depression is a fucking insidious disease that lives inside you. All the goddamn time. It colours hope grey and despair a darker shade. It taints everything. It takes away….everything.

Depressing is a crushing, immovable force that won’t go away tomorrow, or after a pizza, or a drink or an orgasm. Depression just is. It’s just there. 

Depression is a cancer. It should be treated as such. If your bones ache with ‘flu you wouldn’t say you had bone cancer would you?! 


Here : Depression is more than simply feeling unhappy or fed up for a few days. We all go through spells of feeling down, but when you’re depressed you feel persistently sad for weeks or months, rather than just a few days. Some people still think that depression is trivial and not a genuine health condition. They’re wrong. Depression is a real illness with real symptoms, and it’s not a sign of weakness or something you can “snap out of” by “pulling yourself together”.


So you social media positive affirmation searchers, stop it. You are not depressed if its just because Ben dumped you for Louisa and then got into bed with Luke. Or because Urban Decay discontinued your favorite primer (for reals this is shit though!).

If you’re depressed because even waking up feels like a fucking chore, as does feeding yourself, taking care of your personal hygiene. Then generally, you say you’re “low” or “having a bad day”. I’m strong enough now to term it as “I’m ill”…because living with B.P.D and the subsequent invader that is depression, I know what it is to be “depressed” and the difference from that to “feeling sad”. Feeling sad, is good! This is good. Depressed….well I combat that with a daily cocktail of drugs and wouldn’t wish it on any one.


So stop with the fucking “I’m depressed” posts unless you really really are depressed. In which case stop it any way, and go to a fucking doctor for treatment. And get yourself out the house, and off your smart(dumb)phone, away from the idiots lantern. And explore your world. 

If you’re doing it for attention? Show your tits. Everyone likes tits. And trust me, its better to be seen as a floozy than as a weak, incapable, attention seeking (that came direct from a family member!), loser, who’s pathetic and shouldn’t be allowed to breed. 




All sparks, they burn out in the end.

Dim lighting, under lit from beneath. Red rope lights built into the floor guiding the way between tables and to other area’s. Giving an ethereal glow to the room. A mystical, removed from reality atmosphere, emphasized by the cloying heat and in no way diminished. Cheap perfume mingles with the masculine scents favoured by the gentlemen. Scratchy suits, polyester. Sticky carpeted flooring. All mixing together in a seemingly perfect , harmonized association to take us from the drab, monotonous ride of life. 

Music, perfectly fed into the room from strategic, hidden places, lifts heart beats, makes feet tap unconsciously…heads loll seemingly detached from the necks of their owners. Grubby money is clenched between sweaty palms. Swapping hands so frequently it’s almost a dance in itself. 

Lips part, breaths come shallow and rapidly. Pupils dilate…sense leaves the building….

On the platform metal poles would make it look like random scaffolding if it wasn’t for the ladies gyrating and flinging themselves around them.

She’s in front of me now. Eyes closed. Her lean body slides sensuously down the chrome pole, her legs part. Left hand bunches her hair as her tongue licks her sticky glossed lips. And back up she goes. 

Black thong. Fake Louboutin’s. Down again. Legs part wider.

I sit, mesmerized by this forced mating dance. She smells of fresh sweat and expensive perfume. 

Up and around she goes. Ankles above head. Now that is impressive.  And down again.

Legs wider now, holding them in place as she shimmies her breasts alluringly. Is that a shaving rash?

And around and around she goes. A never ending merry go round. If I was her I’d vomit. I think I want to vomit now. Too much alcohol. Too much. Excessive. Too much of all mind altering options imbibed.



She’s slowing. Her routine is ending. Should I tip? How much? Shit! I wasn’t paying attention to her dance. Or her. How much is my drinks bill? Is 12.5% okay? Or is that too clinical…shit.


All sparks, they burn out in the end.

You can’t always see fear.

Fear is a raw, primal emotion. It unfurls from the depth of our souls and winds it way through us until all we can feel is that band in our chests, the tremble in our fingers, the heat in our mouths. Fear causes your sense of hearing to heighten, so even though you’re deafened by the roar of your own blood pounding through your veins you could also hear a pin drop miles away.

Fear is an all encompassing emotion that blinkers us from everything else. It has a metallic taste, not unlike the salty tang of fresh blood. It heats us from the pit of our stomachs and radiates to every part of us.

I felt that fear today.

I stood in a tiny room, my finger tips could nearly touch the walls on either side of me, however I stood. It felt like the walls of the sparsely furnished room were closing in on me as the fear rose. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling not bright enough for me to get true clarity.

My eyes locked with the hazel eyes of the enemy of the moment, I slowly recorded minute details and committed them to memory as a faint sheen of sweat broke out over my body. My breath came in rapid gasps as I tried to convince my self that I would be okay. My thoughts raced, I closed my eyes and opened the wrapper.

I looked down, and placed the wax strip on me *there*, 1…..2…..3 I ripped it off.

It didn’t hurt that much, until my natural clumsiness came to the fore and I slipped at a critical moment.
Not only did it not remove the hair, I also bruised myself.