Or you can call it the comfort zone or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. All I know is, the longer you keep your head buried in the sand like an ostrich, the harder it is to bring it above ground again. And lemme let you in on a little secret; it’ll come back and bite you in the arse the more you stay there in that place of false security. We’re not talking a kinky bite from the person you’re crushing on either, we’re talking a massive chunk of searing hot torment and frustration.
“Yes”, was the answer that I gave myself just now as I asked this question in the mirror, unkempt and half dressed. I’m exhausted with my own company most of the time because it’s just tiring living in between my earlobes. It is never quiet for one thing, and I don’t think people really appreciate what I mean when I say that. Like, it literally is never a place of solitude or silence. My thoughts are always flying off, chasing their tail in a hapless pursuit of catching what was previously about to escape from the tip of my tongue. Fuck, I’m exhausting myself even thinking about how I think! Read More
I always say that writing is my vocation, that it’s always the thing that’s come most naturally to me in all walks of life. I’m a good listener (or so I am told) and an even better talker (sorry to everyone who’s ever heard me tell a story only to go off on a tangent and slowly veer back on course, like right now) but I’ve always been able to best articulate what’s going on in my head when sat with a pen in hand or my fingers tip-tapping away at the keys. Read More
A day dedicated to something like the prevention of suicide makes me feel incredibly morose. To think that there are innumerable people around the globe contemplating suicide makes me feel sick to my stomach and it’s happening as I type these little symbols that make up the language we use to communicate. But clearly, somewhere along the line, we’ve failed. Read More
Over the past two weeks, I've been attending a creative writing course with Bauer Media's Academy programme. It's been eye-opening, insightful, emotional and educational, and I've taken away some essential tips with regards to honing my writing and venturing into the world of freelance journalism. We've been asked to complete various tasks throughout the course, and one of them was to write a letter to our future selves. It had to include our hopes, dreams, fears and accomplishments, yet I somehow managed to dive into the rabbit hole and landed at the core of my soul. So, in the spirit of radical honesty and me sharing everything that pops into my head, I thought it only fitting to post the letter here. Enjoy!
I'm sat here with tears drying on my cheeks, still hot on my skin, after hearing of the passing of Linkin Park frontman, Chester Bennington. It's being reported that he died by suicide, after being found hanged in America at the age of just 41. He leaves behind six children and his wife, and I can only imagine the heartache they must be feeling right now.
It started out with a phonebox, stoic and red. A homeless man lay beside, with a floor for a bed.
Communication is lost in the ones we walk past, just like the phone box, every end has a start.
Everyone has this projection, this mask, this barrier that protects them from the world outside of their comfort zone. Beyond the reach or scope of others whose walls are a lot thinner, the people who peek over the parapet and extend an outstretched hand into the void often do so at great strain. Read More
The observatory loomed high above me, at the crest of the hill in the distance. I could feel the surge of negativity sucking away at the hope in my breath, and with each fresh glance towards the tangible, milky hue of the dome, the panic and fear rose to greet me. The cast iron bars that surrounded the park gave me brief periods of intermittent relief by obscuring my view every few steps but I was kicking myself for suggesting going to this place. Yet, how could I have known that in this moment, walking past a park I’d walked past a thousand times before, a park where I’d shared wonderful memories with friends and family, a park that was part of my upbringing; how could I know that my life was about to change forever? And I really hate clichés but I can’t explain it any other way. One conversation, no, one name, dragged me into my past with a fervour and penchant for rack and ruin. Read More
What is left for me to say, that I haven’t uttered every other Father’s Day?
You didn’t want presents or cards or gifts, you just wanted to spend time with your big kid.
25 years you’ve been there for me, through the good times, the sad times and those in between.
Remember when you choke slammed me onto the chair? And I got straight back up and said: “Again again!”.
A better role model is impossible to find, although The Rock and Stone Cold are not far behind.
I’ve never wanted for nothing but always asked for more, and not once have you threatened to show me the door.
You’ve driven thousands of miles to pick me up over the years, you’ve cradled me close when I’ve been racked with tears.
You give me safety, security and a roof over my head, you even sacrificed the big bedroom so I could have a double bed.
You’ve carried on sharing Nan’s loving ways, proving that any time is cuddle time, each and every day.
You’ve given everything you have to give me the best, so today at least, take a well-deserved rest.
Put your feet up, relax, crack open the beers, I’ll cook the dinner and we can celebrate with cheers.
As your son, it’s my privilege to wish you today, the best, most special Happy Father’s Day.
I love you Dad ❤