\u2018I say the word \u2018forever\u2019 less and less, the more I understand it.\u2019<\/p>\n
It\u2019s a good line. I might get it tattooed on my chest. Or carved on my tombstone.<\/p>\n
During the heatwaves and increased storm warnings of the summer, I felt my heartbeat for the first time in a while. The seasons change so rapidly now; I can barely keep up.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s quarter to five on a Friday evening. I\u2019ve been awake since twelve, but only forced myself to get up an hour ago. I sleep in my clothes more and more nowadays. Eventually I\u2019ll stop writing and try and tidy the house up. Or at least shower, and shave. Sometimes I want to jack the writing in, and put a bullet in my mouth. Other times I wake up ready to hold onto life like it\u2019s all I have – because it is all I have.<\/p>\n
I also know I have a talent, but it\u2019s not a very useful one.<\/p>\n
I barely sleep anymore. I can\u2019t concentrate on anything. The noise in my head is never still. I have what could be charitably described as a \u2018rich inner life\u2019. My brain keeps snaring itself into knots; I go from wired to exhausted in a matter of minutes.<\/p>\n
I have my wins, I have my losses; living with both requires skill.<\/p>\n
Christ. I sound like I\u2019m scribbling down ideas for a GQ op-ed.<\/p>\n
On the Beach<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n \u2018Though my problems are meaningless\/That don’t make them go away.\u2019<\/p>\n As always, Neil Young says it better than I or anyone else can. All this year, I\u2019ve had his \u2018On the Beach\u2019 album on repeat. The title song\u2019s jangling bassline and weary falsetto are good reminders that at least my life has a belter soundtrack.<\/p>\n That phrase \u2018toxic masculinity\u2019 keeps coming back to me. A quick Google search of the term yields over 10,100,000 results. Every time there\u2019s a mass shooting or an assault or even a film or a comedian that arouses controversy, it\u2019s listed as among the chief factors. A lot of us, myself included, engage in it.<\/p>\n I don\u2019t doubt or deny the concept or its validity. But it also sounds like a good name of a beer to me. Like a stout or an ale or even an IPA. Occasionally I half-joke to myself: if the writing doesn\u2019t work out, I\u2019ll start my own microbrewery, and the Tox-Mas IPA will be its premium product. Blonde, red, unfiltered. Whatever you want.<\/p>\n Being alone is natural, yet people don\u2019t know how to be. It\u2019s not a skill they teach you in school, or during office hours. We\u2019re tired of living with the inner cavity, of the disappointment, and of letting each other down. Yet the disconnect that\u2019s become so prevalent in recent decades is now the norm. People seize up just texting each other. The more we anchor ourselves to our hope, the more let down we inevitably feel. The let-downs, both the ones you\u2019re responsible for and the ones visited upon you, pile up and you start measuring them. I don\u2019t live without hope, but I don\u2019t wholly rely on it, either.<\/p>\n Loneliness<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n Loneliness is considered a mental-health problem nowadays. As most aspects of the human condition are. It\u2019s a symptom of being Irish, I suppose; the inability to countenance that someone or something is worth loving. Whatever suffering I\u2019ve faced in this life is fairly minor compared to that faced by most people I know. I’ve lost friends to suicide, and others to their own inner demons. Because I can’t afford therapy, I turn to language.<\/p>\n I am often alone, but rarely lonely. Loneliness is inevitable; it cannot be escaped. Loneliness rarely means being alone. It usually means no-one caring.<\/p>\n Overfed with an endless scroll of stories, posts, newsfeeds, articles shared from newsites blasting the latest cause for concern. Some call it an overpopulation issue; others say it\u2019s the pervasive influence of technology and social media in everyday life. Actual face-to-face contact is declining. At any given point our eyes are glued to some sort of screen. Mass disconnection \u2013 is it any wonder?<\/p>\n The hackneyed, social-media friendly refrain of \u2018love yourself!\u2019 rings hollow when people seem to care little about each other. The constant reminders to put oneself first, of the paramountcy if one\u2019s own immediate happiness and gratification, how if should always take precedence over the needs of one\u2019s family and friends.<\/p>\n Being involved with someone for a long period of time has only increased my worries and knowledge of how bad I am. I don\u2019t need anyone else finding that out.<\/p>\n Low-level exhaustion<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n I wonder if all this intensity is necessary. Or if I am over just over-enthusiastic and say yes too much, too quickly. I follow the reformed alcoholic\u2019s recommendation, and take each day as it comes, work on what I have to: scripts, reviews, my novel, my poems.<\/p>\n This is new for me; the low-level exhaustion that simmers quietly at the back of each day. In college, I used to churn out multiple three-thousand-word essays, poems, and playscripts. I badly needed a girlfriend then. Confidence, too. If I had more confidence, my life would be very different.<\/p>\n Now, I just need a job. Or at least, something to keep me occupied. I don\u2019t care about forging a career or drafting up five-year plans. A job is just a way of keeping afloat, so I can write.<\/p>\n I should still teach myself a few new things, though. Like how to make fire from kindling, without matches or a lighter. Manage my finances better. Jog, cycle, lift weights. Programme a computer from scratch. Things that are quite necessary for a life of competence, and which don\u2019t engage me in the slightest.<\/p>\n I need no-one and no-one needs me. Is that a strength or a weakness?<\/p>\n Warped Version of Adolescence<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n I\u2019m now back living in my parents\u2019 home, and leading a warped version of my adolescence again. The dynamic with my parents and younger sister is closer to that of roommates than a family unit. We lead our individual lives, work our own jobs, and interaction remains minimal, even under the one roof. We are either too busy or don\u2019t care. We just lack the energy to care. Hence why I rarely speak or expect anything from them. The bond of blood ties everyone, but I\u2019m not sure.<\/p>\n My father\u2019s boots clumping on the wooden floorboards, the shower\u2019s hiss and the extended sigh of the kettle boiling, the scorch of black coffee at the back of my throat. These are the reminders of how things can change and remain the same.<\/p>\n They say adulthood is just the slow realisation that all the wisdom fed to you since infancy is categorically false.<\/p>\n I am single, and yet I am not isolating myself anymore. When I was with my ex-, she was my priority.<\/p>\n Putting other friendships aside seemed like a virtue, as it meant I was prioritizing my partner. This is what men do in relationships, apparently. When the breakup happens, they find they\u2019ve no mates to turn to. I\u2019m not in the humour to be anyone\u2019s boyfriend now; I lack the energy to care about being with someone.<\/p>\n Women moving faster<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n I keep thinking about women, as always. They seem to move faster than me, their footsteps ablaze with purpose. I look at their hands more and more, to see if they wear rings. Most of them aren\u2019t. It\u2019s not something I ever thought I\u2019d do. It\u2019s become another reflex, like checking the time or my emails.<\/p>\n Do all men do this?<\/p>\n Occasionally I look my exes up online, like the creep I am. I don\u2019t go on dates that much.<\/p>\n There\u2019s always the need to impress, and I rarely feel that impressive. I\u2019ve no business being someone\u2019s boyfriend.<\/p>\n I was someone\u2019s boyfriend for three years; in all that time, I never quite believed that she loved me. I couldn\u2019t see any reason why she would. But she did. And I loved her back.<\/p>\n She used to look at me as if I was a god. I knew it was only a matter of time before the reality of what I am would become clear. I could only keep the masquerade up for long, and then she\u2019d want me gone. As she eventually did.<\/p>\n Every woman I\u2019ve been with I\u2019ve inevitably let down.<\/p>\n Most blokes seem to make it their life\u2019s work to pester women until they either give in or set their brothers on them. I\u2019m more willing to take \u2018no\u2019 for an answer. Usually, I expect it.<\/p>\n I\u2019ve never felt wanted anyway. I\u2019d say I\u2019ve been out of the game for too long, but that would imply I\u2019ve even been in the game in the first place.<\/p>\n The beginning of things are always exciting. Once I see the ambit of work that must go into something, I lose interest.<\/p>\n I don\u2019t know if I have a stunted capacity to feel or recognise love, or am just incapable of feeling it.<\/p>\n I\u2019ve also trained myself not to get sentimental anymore. To the point that major losses or setbacks don\u2019t hit as hard as they should. The mawkishness is repulsive to anyone who witnesses it.<\/p>\n News thump<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n More and more in my newsfeed about Brexit, climate change, the housing crisis here, banking layoffs in Germany, mass drownings in the Mediterranean, multi-millionaire men of the people taking selfies at Everest\u2019s peak, immigrant detention centres at the Mexican border. The inevitable and deserved comparisons to Auschwitz and Dachau. There\u2019s no ignoring it anymore.<\/p>\n Armageddon, Ragnorok, Kali Yuga, Al-Qiyammah, the Anthropocene. Every society, in every era, puts a name to the inevitable, to the moment of its collapse. It continues to this day.<\/p>\n I remember chatting up this girl once, in the smoking section in Workman\u2019s. Whether she fancied me, or was just bored, I couldn\u2019t tell. I never can. She was confident in the way only young people are.<\/p>\n A man sitting alone in a pub is usually best avoided, but she came up to me and got the conversation going. I say we had a conversation, but really I just let her talk about this upcoming art exhibition she was about to have in Amsterdam. Its overall theme was about body image, how men and women perceive theirs, for good or for ill. Five years ago, this would\u2019ve impressed me.<\/p>\n She asked me did I like my body, the way I looked, did I feel comfortable in my skin. I didn\u2019t really have an answer for her. If she was waiting for me to make a move, she was sorely disappointed. Not that I didn\u2019t want to, I just didn\u2019t know when. It\u2019s a very delicate dance, and I have very heavy feet.<\/p>\n I know I am far less than what I could be. I don\u2019t need a self-help guide to realise that.<\/p>\n The mind is a cave; the brain peels back. I can\u2019t be alone for very long without the craving for a cold beer breaking the surface. I need to stay numb. I need to forget that I exist.<\/p>\n I want to be somebody else. I\u2019m tired of being a burden to everyone. But this is the flesh I am sealed into.<\/p>\n Only a few days ago, I was invited to go on a hike through Glendalough. Sweat on my torso and mud on my boots; feeling the winds at such a high altitude, overlooking the swirl of black water that is the Upper Lake in the valley, scrape at my face. Strangely enough, it cleared my head.<\/p>\n At home, I got back to work. Wrote and felt the old strength come back. I know the value of hope now, the necessity of keeping going. I still know better than to rely on it, but it isn\u2019t unwelcome for now.<\/p>\n SUPPORT Cassandra Voices with a Patreon Donation CLlCK HERE<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n \u2018I say the word \u2018forever\u2019 less and less, the more I understand it.\u2019 It\u2019s a good line. I might get it tattooed on my chest. Or carved on my tombstone. During the heatwaves and increased storm warnings of the summer, I felt my heartbeat for the first time in a while. The seasons change so […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":136,"featured_media":7485,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[18,1],"tags":[208],"class_list":["post-5540","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-society","category-uncategorized","tag-2019october"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5540","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/136"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5540"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5540\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5540"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5540"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5540"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}