How To (Not) be Okay

Lie about the fact that you’re not okay, miss him beyond words, distract yourself with every pretty guy that reminds you of him, cry when you know no one is looking, give up on love. Run away as far you can, tell everyone it’s for the job, for the adventure, for the opportunity. You know it’s not. You know it’s because you can’t stand to be there anymore. Say goodbye to empty air, hope he thinks about you as much as you think about him. Try to hate him. Immerse yourself in a new country, pretend there’s hope for you yet. Don’t think about all the conversations you had, don’t think about that (short) amount of time you had together (that would never have amounted to anything), don’t think about the way he made you feel. Lie some more, tell everyone you’re happy, throw yourself into work, throw yourself at every pretty guy that reminds you of him, desperately try to replace him and fail, drown in the wine (and the beer and the sangria and whatever else you can find). Wonder at what you’re doing, wonder when you started feeling this way and why you feel this way and when you’ll stop. Wish things were different, fight the urge to jump on a plane just to go fall at his feet, know that he’s not worth it but let your heart take over your head anyway. Find reasons not to think about him. Miss everything about him. Miss the smiles, the ridiculous comments, the way it all felt right. Lie to yourself some more. Distract yourself some more. Write about him and hope he sees it. Fantasise about him changing his mind and telling you all the things you want to hear. Know it’ll never happen. Decide you’re going on a world tour. Feel empty inside. Wish every guy you touch was him. Try to forget. Try not to cry. Try not to give up on love altogether. Try and try and try and hope that one day you’ll wake up and he’ll be another distant memory – just like every other guy you’ve ever ‘loved’.

Oh. Hi.

I haven't posted here in a while, but apparently you guys are still reading my words. i'd totes like to shrug and be all whatevs about it all, but it feels pretty damn good that you guys are still out there and still reading me. cause let's be honest, that's what this was all about wasn't it really? it was for me to word vomit and be all egotistical and cry for attention and whatnots and for you guys to indulge poor little Tim and make her feel better about her sad and pathetic existence.

'cept, only, it's not so sad or pathetic or little anymore

i still fall in love too easily with the wrong things at the wrong times, and i still write heartachingly broken things and sometimes i still cry and sometimes they still only tell me i'm beautiful when i'm naked

but mostly i smile a lot and laugh and i'm in love with the right one at the right time

but who knows maybe i'll still write pathetically heartbreaking things every once in a while

maybe

How To Break My Heart - Another Step by Step Guide

Step One:

• Hop into bed with your ex. 
• Decide it’s a ‘mistake’. 
• Act like nothing ever happened.

Step Two:

• Lie to me. 
• Promise me a future. 
• For five whole months. 

Step Three:

• Let your ex treat me like shit. 
• Watch me fall apart. 
• Don’t do anything about it. 

Step Four:

• Confess when I confront you. 
• Use a poor excuse or three. 
• Pretend like it’s all just dandy. 

Step Five:

• Parade your ex. 
• Act like she’s far more important than me. 
• Swear it’s ‘friendship’ that matters while swearing all you want is for me to be happy. 

Step Six:

• Watch me fall apart some more. 
• Watch us fall apart. 
• Swear you love me some more. 
• Say goodbye. 

How To Be A Writer: A Step by Step Guide

Step 1:

Be the weird kid in the corner no one wants to play with. (Optional: have dark thoughts, be a little narcissistic or find someone to steal your innocence)

Step 2:

Hide. Where it's dark. Under the bed, the cupboard under the stairs, in the darkest recesses of your mind. Write about the monsters in the cupboard. Be told you have a wonderful imagination.

Step 3:

Grow up. Stay in the corner where no one wants to talk to you. Talk about the monsters that dwell inside. Be told you're a little bit fucked up.

Step 4:

Alcohol. Drugs. Promiscuity.

Step 5:

Have your heart broken. Break hearts. Die once or twice. (Optional: therapy. Alcohol. Drugs. Abstinence.)

Step 6:

Congratulate yourself for making it this far. Write the bitterness and pain away. (Optional: give up on numerous occasions. Therapy in the form of caffeine, nicotine and alcohol.)

Birthday Wishes

It’s my birthday today
Yet another unremarkable year
(I lie - this year had some interesting moments)
It was a relatively good day
(Apart from the age old
‘You should be married by now’
conversation with various peoples)
My best friends wished me all the best
Wrote me stories and sent me hugs
And promises of nice things
I got presents from my darling childlings
(And the chocolatiest cake ever
And banners and balloons)
But it all seems pointless
Because you weren’t around
(Even though I wished for you
When I blew out all those candles)

Sunday

I have a killer hangover
Brought on by my ridiculous need
To be liked or wanted or something else
That happens when you have (almost) no self-esteem

I cried a lot last night
I got overly emotional (which I never do)
Because I couldn’t understand why
After all my idioticness you still wanted me around

I never get like that
(Not often anyway)
I hide it well with my false bravado and
Painted on smile that never seems to fade

You wrote to me this morning
And told me that I was strong
And funny and other good things
Strange thing is I’m starting to believe these things too

Maybe I’m not such a bad person after all
(Also, remind me never to say yes to the Frenchman)

Forgive Me, Father

Help me, Father, I have wandered off the path you so carefully described to me.
I am lost in this world, one where I do not belong.

I am slowly forgetting your lessons and letting you down.
Please come find me, Father, I beg of you.

I am surrounded by demons of my own making.

I have forgotten your words, Father, I cannot hear your voice above the din in my ears.

Save me, Father, I am not capable of your bravery.

Love me again, Father, though I have filled your heart with bitter disappointment.
Speak my name again, Father, and tell me that you can forgive me my sins.

In The Rain, Once

I kissed a stranger, in the rain, once
It felt good in a cheesy kind of way
I remember thinking he was beautiful then
With his crooked smile

I kissed a stranger, in the rain, once
And took him home
We dried ourselves by a fire or a radiator
And we smiled

I kissed a stranger, in the rain, once
It felt creepy in a good sort of way
I wondered if we'd ever see each other again
And smile those crooked smiles

Oversharing?

I share too much, or too little.
I’m not sure anymore.

I’m lost.

Fucked.

Going nowhere.

I don’t know what I’m doing any more.

Everything I do is wrong.

All the time.

I’m tired.

I’m done.

I wish this was better.

I wish this was happier.

I wish for a lot of things.

I should stop doing that.

Wishes don’t come true.

I am a mess.

I am stupid.

I am useless.

I am an idiot.

I am broken.

I am defeated.

I am deflated.

I am drowning.

I am swamped.

I am tired.

I am hopeless.

I am hopeful.

I am ending.

I am beginning.

I have lost my mind.

I have lost my soul.

I don’t know who I am.

I don’t know what I am.

I am lost.

I AM DEPRESSED

TMNY: A girl, her hair & hipster glasses.

So I made this thing.

You should read it. 

For srs.

The Human Condition?

Rambling Thoughts

You know what really sucks? Being told that you are a dirty whore. That you deserve everything that is happening to you. When you are eight years old. Being subject to the whims of someone else. Doing as you are told in the hopes that bad things won't happen. They still happen. They don't stop. Having to keep secrets that almost kill you. That's what sucks. Becoming bitter, and poisonous and hateful. That sucks. Not being able to make it stop. That sucks. Being scared to sleep, and scared to wake up. Wishing that you were dead every single day. Nightmares. Flashbacks. Memories. They all suck. Being scared to tell because no one will believe you. That sucks. Having these memories taking over your entire life. Having his lessons stuck in your head. Not caring about yourself. Not caring about anything but getting rid of the pain. That sucks. Not knowing how to say how you're feeling out loud. Not knowing how to put all of that hurt, hatred, misery, disgust, self loathing in to words. Having to carry it around on your back like some sort of back pack filled with the heaviest boulders you could find. That sucks. Being so scared of hurting other people in case they do worse to you. Being scared full stop. All of it sucks. Trying to grasp that one straw of hope that keeps slipping away. That feeling of failure every time you slip back into the hole. That sucks. Being a failure because you can't climb out of that hole again. No matter how hard you try. Being scared. Always scared. Wanting to cry for no reason. Taking pills that aren't making a difference. Waking up and not knowing where you are. Not caring where you are. Wishing that you were dead. Wishing that you were someone else. Wishing that it would just stop. The voices. That one face that haunts you every second of every day. That bastard still walking free. Not knowing what to do. Not caring. Losing the fight with the voices in your head. Realising that because of that bastard you may have to spend the rest of your life in therapy. Taking pills. Wondering if you'll ever be sane again. Hallucinations. They suck. Hearing his words echoed over and over again. Hearing yourself say his words over and over again. Believing you are useless. Believing you are a failure. That sucks. Not knowing how to be normal. What the fuck is normal? Disappointing everyone. Leaving behind the ones you love because there is no other way. Not seeing your family for years. Having people think the worst of you. Caring what they think. Forcing yourself to forget they exist because it hurts too much. The lies. The lies that you tell yourself. The lies that you tell every one else. Pretending to be okay because you don't know how else to cope. Having to relive every fucking detail every night in your dreams. That sucks. Having to talk about it. Having to tell people how it makes you feel. Wanting to scream. Wanting to cry. Wanting to break something. Anything. Yourself. Bleeding in secret because it's the only thing that distracts you from the torture you put yourself through. The torture you learned from him. Wishing that you could just forget. Putting shit in your system trying to do just that. Blocking it out. Alcohol. Drugs. Wanting to die. Wishing it had never happened. Playing a constant game of what if. Wondering what he's doing right now. Wondering why he chose you. Wondering what you did that was so wrong. Losing faith. Being punished for something that wasn't your fault. Having to talk about how you're feeling. Having to relive all of it. Explaining. Wondering why anyone would care about a dirty, useless piece of shit. Remembering. Wanting to forget. Not knowing how to explain. Not knowing how to fix it. Trying to fix everything because you can't fix your own life. Trying to make everyone else happy because that's the only way to stop bad things happening. Learning the wrong things. Not knowing any more. Wanting to give up. Trying to fight. Fighting. With yourself. With memories. Failing. Falling. Getting back up again. Fighting some more. Wanting to give up. Wondering if anyone would notice if you just gave up. Worrying about someone else so you don't have to worry about the things in your head. Wishing it would stop. Listening to the doubtful voices in your head telling you you're useless. Believing them. Failing. Fighting. Over and over again. Will anyone notice if you're not okay? Pretend you're okay so no one guesses what's really going on. Being numb so you don't have to feel the pain. Being heartless so you don't hurt. Wishing the pain would stop. Wishing. Always wishing. Trying to change things. Being dragged backwards by your own doubts. Trying to win. Losing. Failing. Falling. Not making sense. Getting mixed up. Being scared. Nightmares that don't stop. Staying up all night so you don't have to dream. Becoming the monster that you were always scared of. Hurting yourself. Hurting everyone. Living a life so full of pain you forget what it feels like to be at peace. Turmoil. Shadows jumping out at you. Wondering why the pills don't work. Wishing you didn't have to take them. Blocking out the pain with more pills. Not caring what happens to you any more. Getting into stupid situations. Hurting yourself on purpose because you deserve anything better. Wishing it would stop. Learning what life is supposed to be like. Feeling like you don't deserve that. Because he told you so. Personality disorder. Because he fucked you up. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Because he mentally and physically raped you. Medication. Because he twisted you into something no one recognises any more. Trying to figure out who you're supposed to be. Trying to find a way to recognise the right from the wrong. Trying to be someone else. Failing. Believing all the things he has ever said to you. Echoing it. Feeling it. Wishing that you knew how to fix this mess that you've become. Feeling like you're making progress and then fucking up again. Seeing your family after years apart and drowning in more memories. More nightmares. Wishing you could just give up. Trying to fight. Failing. Always failing. Feeling better. Feeling worse. Not finding a balance. Going from one to another like a yo-yo. Wishing you could just stop somewhere in the middle. Feel normal. Wondering why you can't settle. Wondering why you can't just be. Hoping that you;ll wake up tomorrow and feel happy again. Feeling bad when you don't. Feeling worse because you don't know why you feel like this. Not knowing what to do. Not knowing how to cope. Trying to be okay. Not being okay. Trying not to be miserable. Trying not to upset others. Wishing you could just be numb again. Wishing you didn't feel so bad. Being sorry. Apologising. Always apologising. Wondering when you'll learn that not everything you do is wrong. Not everything is your fault. It never has been your fault. Wondering what you can do to fix it. Not knowing the answers. Not wanting to burden any one else with your worries. Worrying that you're worrying everyone else. Trying to be okay so no one worries. Feeling like shit because your thoughts and words and feelings upset someone else. Wishing that you would stop being so damn sensitive. Wondering how you turned into this. Wondering why you're not stronger. Wondering why you can't seem to get it right. Always wondering. Always trying. Always wanting to give up. Always failing. Hoping that one day it will get better. Hoping that you'll be able to keep fighting. All of that really sucks.

I Wish I Believed In Jesus

My family is Muslim. 
I was raised Muslim.
I never believed in any of it.
I wore a headscarf for a while, I kind of hated it though.
I tried to pretend to believe in holy things, and I was jealous of the ones who didn’t have to pretend.
I pretend a lot, I pretend I’m happy when I’m not. 
I pretend I’m cool, and smart, and ‘individual’. 
I am none of these things. 
I’m not sure what I am. 
I do wish I believed in Jesus though.
He seems like he’s really happy, and cool, and smart and individual. 

Sitting Scared

I am sitting here
Right now
Contemplating things
I like to say I’m
‘Contemplating’
It makes me seem thoughtful
Or something like that
I am not very thoughtful
Or mindful, or anything else
I just… am
I am just sitting here
Wondering why I am
So damn scared to write

Lingering Memories

Bebo. That’s how we met. God, remember Bebo? Have to admit, I kind of miss it.

We chatted on there, and you convinced me to enter a modelling competition. I was naíve enough to think that I would be any good. Who was I kidding? I was short, curvy and had bad skin. But you thought I would have no problem winning.

I called you ‘Sushi’. I still don’t know if you liked it or not. I love sushi.

You invited me out to things - drinks, balls, dancing. You made me feel wanted for the first time in a long, long while. I have to admit, that’s all it really was for me. Being wanted. I knew you liked me, I knew you wanted me. And I let you think I wanted you too. I didn’t. I wanted the attention, that feeling of being wanted. You kissed me, I kissed you back. We kissed a lot. It was pretty good, actually.

You took me to a hotel, remember? And we fucked. God, that was damn good. You told me you loved me, I told you the same. I never meant it though. I never meant it for anyone then. I just liked being loved.

The only problem was I still had a man, one who didn’t make me feel the way you did. But I was too much of a coward to actually break it off with him. So I lied to you, told you I had. I led you on. And on, and on. He found out. He called you and threatened you down the phone. You never spoke to me again.

I never said sorry. I never told you how much I really enjoyed the way you fucked me that one time. Have to admit, I kind of miss you too. 

Do You Have The Time?

The general public seems to think that I am some sort of information booth.
I stand at a bus stop and get asked about various things,
Like whether a certain bus has passed by recently
Or if a certain bus will take you somewhere particular
Or how to get to some place in less time than they have.
And I always seem to have the answer.  The right one.
I also get asked for the time. A lot.
This is a nuisance because I do not wear a wrist watch.
So I have to find my phone, which seems to be inaccessible when I need it.
That annoys me. And I pout when I’m annoyed. Not on purpose.
I like standing at the bus stop, even when I have nowhere to go.
It is nice to have a conversation with people.
Even if it is just to give them information that I’m not sure how I came to possess.

I Am Not Pretty

I was fucked up and ugly when you found me, cowering behind a book, mascara running down my face.
I still am fucked up, only now I’m prettier and I’m hiding in plain sight. 
I think that you like me because I don’t have a mascara stained face. 
I think that you like me because I don’t hide behind things anymore.
I think that you wouldn’t like me if you knew that I am still ugly on the inside, that I am still hiding somewhere and that I need more than you give me.
I think that you would maybe, probably hate me if you knew all of these things.
I think that I maybe, probably want you to know these things so you will hate me a little more.
I think I am crying, and I think my mascara is running down my face. 
I don’t know why I use mascara, it makes my eyeballs itch. 

Why 'Is This Alt Lit?' and Not Something Else?

This is a video of me explaining why I called this blog 'Is This Alt Lit' along with my idea of what 'alt lit' is, and my cat. Enjoy! And do leave me your thoughts on this new fangled craze that is know as 'alt lit'!

1.11 a.m.

I talk about myself a lot.
I talk to myself a lot.
I’m not vain or crazy.
I’m just a little lonely sometimes.
I spend a lot of time on my own.
I spend a lot of time with myself.
I guess that’s why most of my writing is about me.
I guess that could be a good reason for being self centred.
I guess that could also be a really shit reason.
But I really don’t give a fuck.
But I do wish I wasn’t so lonely. 

Plans

I make plans. Big ones. Little ones.
I make plans. For dinner. For coffee.
I make plans. And they get cancelled.
I make plans. To cancel plans.
I make plans. For the future. For the past.
I make plans. To forget. To remember.
I make plans. I should stop making plans.