Current Thoughts and a Creative Outlet *some swearing involved*

This is what happens when your head is a jumbled mess of thoughts. Right now I am actually pondering what would happen if hundreds of people saw this prose as a masterpiece and tactfully written… In reality, as I am sure you will agree in due time, this will probably make little sense and show just how fucked up someone’s mind can get when under the influence of the sweet sweet drug known as stress. Anyhow, this literary vomit should almost be a way for my currently dying creativity to rise and flourish from beneath the rubble of crap it’s been buried under these last few years.

So, university is hard. Deadlines, future plans, having your friends show you up with their way better grades. I definitely saw it as “an experience” considering how little I knew starting off. You just know my overall experience was going to be incredibly fulfilling when my knowledge of campus location was brushed under the carpet until 2 months or so before my start date. Well…at least my four-hour commute during the first year of learning an entirely new subject allowed me to build character. It’s not like I missed out on anything. I mean, how is this paragraph in any way fucking passive aggressive??

Although my initial emotions towards my decisions were mixed at best (pissed off at worst), it was without a doubt, the best thing for me to have done. It was odd to have gone through the “experimental” year of university with just skimming the top of a full barrel of opportunities, of which I skimmed well and gained some wonderful experiences, but I was made aware of how easy it is to get overwhelmed by the choices as soon as I reached second year.

After the experience of life with no play and all work, I felt it would be an injustice to the university experience to not pursue more of the many options provided to me and gain more of an independence from my Worksop life. With the help of my charming and confident mentor Luiza, I found a close location and experienced my first year during my second one. It could have gone a lot worse.

No doubt my favourite year at university, second year brought along with it a sense of growing up and maturing that I felt to be almost essential for my progress through life. Not to say I didn’t drift into the Swamp of daftness every twice in a while. This was the year of change, a time for me to find more ground and make the most of everything thrown my way. This was also the year where every possible real life situation was thrown my way and I could do nothing but dodge, dip, dive, duck and dodge. I tried grabbing a few of these opportunities by the balls, but when these SOBs are thrown too fast, they can do more damage than good. Case in point, my incredibly immature and needy personality when drunk or alone (which is now fixed by controlling my booze intake and lessening my assholeliness).

As soon as I had entered the mature world of cocking up more often, taking further responsibility with life and working like a mofo, I noticed that I had lost an incredibly important part of my initial world. Trust me, my wallflower persona is still here and making sure that I remain a fun mixture of in and extrovert, but around that time I was too busy “being edgy” and “Miley Cyrus-esque” to realise that I wasn’t necessarily being myself. I think this was the downfall of my happy and in control mind. The immersion of a child-like mind in a very adult world.

Moving on to my final year, one of the most difficult years of my life to date. It was almost like an ice-cold bath, a snap back to reality after being in an out-of-body experience where you thought you had held your own and nothing could bring you back in. Well, that was the wrong thought. I was fully grounded through a mixture of a shaky divorce, a financial strain, an unrelenting stress at home and a fairly big one in my university, all while still trying my hand at the growing up thing. Replace university for job and this is my life right now, except now I have regrets to fuel that stress even more.

This is a small part of what goes on in my cranium, the constant going back to analyse the flaws in my past and how to keep kicking myself while I am down, the linking of current events to those that caused me pain and embarrassment and shame. This is what I try to mask on a daily basis and sometimes am not able to. I will always do my best to be as honest as I can when someone asks me how I am, but if I were to say anything other than I am good, I am not well or I am not bad, it would probably sound something like this. A manifestation of words with very little sense, a whole lot of babbling and no outcome.

I understand that there are millions of people with problems much higher on the worry ladder than my own, but that doesn’t make mine or anyone else’s stress intake insignificant. As proud as I am of the work I have put into improving on my current situation, in addition to the gratitude of the support given to me by many that I love, there are certain things that I just cannot do. I can’t hold on to a two-man boulder alone. I hope that those with a connection to the boulder can come over and help me lift it one day, but for the time being I can either dwell on the boulder or tell it to fuck off and get back to what I can focus on myself. One day I will get back on to that heavy item and ensure it has received the support it needs, but for the time being I will not let it weigh me down. At least I will try not to. One can hope.