It’s weird because although it’s been pretty much a whole year since my last post, I remember so clearly the feeling that made me start this blog in the first place. As you can probably guess I didn’t hit 100lbs, shocking I know, but the reason why is quite funny. Well okay, not funny so much as fucked up but that’s the same thing, right?
August 2017 I headed back to Brighton to live in a house with some of my best mates in the world, who I’d lived with the first year, and I was so excited. University was sure to be interesting, there was another great year of partying and adventure laid out before me and I was feeling refreshed from my time off. The first month was pretty fun, two weeks of clubbing for freshers and then university started back up and I got stuck into my studies (as stuck in as I get anyway). But, as it always does seemingly, life started to slip out from under me and I found myself back in that place where I was either up all day and night covering everything in art and blood or I wouldn’t leave my bed for weeks. Some notable incidences during this time period include:
- Having a psychotic break while out clubbing that culminated in me running around central Brighton in the rain before burning out and spending hours bashing my head against a brick wall as my friends desperately searched for me.
- Falling back into the arms of my worst ex, cocaine. Messy times.
- Breaking out of our downstairs bathroom at 5am through the window and parkouring over rooftops before once again running about the streets, breaking into graveyards and people’s back gardens because apparently, the poisoned parts of my brain don’t understand the concept of private property.
- Painting my cloth wall with a huge blood sigil on Hallows Eve to protect my housemates? (I still have this in my wardrobe and yikes, what a waste of blood.)
- Staying in a little cocoon in bed for 3 weeks straight, bar getting up to pee into bottles of course because I’m super hygienic when I’m depressed, and worrying the shit out of my housemates who I could hear having conversations about me outside my door every now and then, deciding when they were going to call someone to ‘take care of me’. Side note, they kept me alive during that period by bringing me pizza so that was pretty awesome, shame my brain kept telling me it was poisoned but still, gold star for effort.
And so on and so on.
As you can imagine, I wasn’t really focusing on my school work (although I did manage to get all my essays in somehow so props to myself for that) meaning I fell behind so much I had no idea what was going on. I’d quit my job only a month after starting it because I was getting drunk in the park on my own after most shifts which isn’t a good look for anyone and also doing cocaine in the staff bathrooms before your shift is morally so not okay. One night I was sat talking to my flatmate about how university was killing me, or at least the way it was making me feel and behave was, and how I didn’t think I could go on when I just kind of snapped and decided I was quitting my course. After sending a few emails and spending hours on the phone to my disappointed parents, I was free – no more University of Sussex. But, this also meant no more Brighton, the place that had made me, where I’d found acceptance and family, the place where I felt at home. A few weeks past and I headed back to my childhood house, leaving the good life behind, and that’s where I’ve been since.
But Nate, if everything is fine now why are you starting the blog up again? Well, imaginary reader, thing’s aren’t fine – major winge alert. They were manageable for a few months where I just focused on my new job and starting an Open University course as per my parent’s demands but once again everything’s collapsing in on itself and boy am I scared. Scared with a capital S for shit-fam-whattheactualfuck. I have a girlfriend which is nice but it isn’t healthy for me or her and I don’t quite know how to express that so I keep throwing gifts at her and trying to explain things when I’m drunk without hurting her feelings which always ends up with her saying, ‘look, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy but I’m having fun with whatever this is so everything’s fine’. I hate my new courses, I’ve just been doing the essays and that is very apparent in my marks which has got me feeling like I want to quit but then I’d have to move out of my parents house and get another job and having two jobs when I first got back to my hometown made me try and take my own life so that doesn’t feel safe. I was, once again, raped by two strangers on my birthday trip up to Brighton recently which I still haven’t even processed so that’s enough about that. My sleep’s fucked, either sleeping all day every day unless I have work (and sometimes even if I have work, sorry Gavin) or not sleeping for 3 days straight and just staring at my walls all night. My eating’s gone all weird again, swinging from binging and purging to starving myself like the good ol days. I’m either blood-boilingly angry or bottom of the well depressed, there’s no in between and I have no control over it. Nothing’s fun or functional, I have completely lost the will to live and if I’m honest with you, imaginary reader, I spend most waking hours planning my suicide but then pussying out at the last minute because I know I’d just wake up fine like always and then have to stockpile my medication again for the next time. I tried to get to the doctors recently to get some sort of help but couldn’t even make the appointment so who knows what’s going to happen over the coming weeks. I feel like it’s going to be fun to watch everything implode so stick around kids, quality content coming up.
Watch this space.