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“I began to realize how important it was to be an enthusiast in life. He taught me that if you are interested in something, no matter what it is, go at it full speed ahead. Embrace it with both arms, hug it, love it and above all become passionate about it. Lukewarm is no good. Hot is no good either. White hot and passionate is the only thing to be.”

—	Roald Dahl

Confession

Today,
you asked a question
I have not contemplated
for years.

Did I think my depression was glamourous?
Initially? Certainly,
when you don't care if you live or die
and you are at a party
with friends and acquaintances
getting too drunk on cheap vodka from cheap flasks
and smoking spliffs in darkened back-yards
it is easy to romanticise the sadness,
to compare it to your favourite tv character.

But after a few months,
I hated it.
Because most of the time
I wasn't dolled up and misunderstood
most of the time I was pathetic and miserable.

I was trying to understand how and why
I had ever been happy.
I was embarrassed that I felt this way for no good reason.
And I was afraid that I was going to feel this way forever.
I spent two years trying and failing to remember the person I was
and wondering if i would always be this way.
Most of the time,
I was fucking terrified
and hopeless
and exhausted
and anxious
and just very, very sad.

This is my best explanation.

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You are a breath of fresh air.
My lungs have never tasted so sweet.

relax into yourself

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at the end
when it all washes away
all the pretence
and jealousy
and the grains of other people
that grip to your skin like sand
you are left with yourself
find her
remember her
learn to love her

The Beginning of the End

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The fluorescent light from the bathroom presses greys and blues into the shadows of the darkened room. I'm lacing our fingers under the duvet.
"Maybe two weeks." He says.
"You're kidding!" I react, "Please- tell me that you're kidding!"
"I'm joking," he laughs, "maybe three months- maybe more."
I smile at him. "I can't imagine sleeping with anyone else."
"Me neither."
I kiss his hand.
"I don't want to break up yet." His last word dominates the sentence. My stomach hurts.
"Me neither."
As we lie against one another I contemplate the shift that has occurred between us. For the first time in a long time I can feel the edges of myself. For the first time in my memory, I feel lonely.
"I love you." He says, it sounds different. For reasons I don't fully understand I want to cry. I can't see his face in the dark but I can feel his gaze, he's waiting.
"I love you, too."Is it me or does it sound lighter?
My cunt is still wet with his saliva.



In six months I will break up with you. And I will wait two weeks.  It will mean something.