That Gut Feeling

A gut feeling. We’ve all had it. That poisonous, toxic sensation that something has gone terribly wrong in our strictly ordered lives. The feeling that the ground beneath us is crumbling while we’re struggling, losing our footing. Collapsing into something deeper then we could ever handle.

We know some people so well that in some circumstances, all it takes is a word for us to register that something isn’t right. Like a hanging frame that isn’t sitting quite right, it’s a subtle change.

(But a change none the less)

Sometimes all it takes is a text out of the blue to cause our lives to become fragmented, cracked. Something so small that we shouldn’t register it.

(but we do)

We automatically think the worst, because in this society, we’ve been programmed to think about the most horrible situation and multiply it by 10. At least that way, if it comes true, you can say you were right.

(Admittedly, being right doesn’t keep you warm at night nor does it keep the demons from spreading themselves over you as you sleep. Neither does it prevent the sadness from engulfing you entirely and completely)

That feeling in the pit of your stomach. The heart in your throat. The faster the breath, the more irregular as you begin to mentally shuffle through those “Worst Case Scenarios” which more often then not involve those we love. Those who we haven’t told how much they mean to us. Because we thought we’d always have time.

(Unfortunately, time always seems to be running out, a fact we realise, but choose to ignore)

And when the phone rings or the doorbell chimes, when some well-meaning fool sits you down and fixes you with a stare that penetrates to your soul, you just know that the news you’re about to hear is something you’d rather not bother knowing.

(After all, ignorance really is bliss)

And the facts come swimming in and collide with a large wall entitled “DENIAL” and no matter how many things keep running into it, your denial stays strong.

Until you wake up and realise that it really is true. That bad things do happen to good people. All we can do is keep on moving forward in this bizarre concept we refer to as “life”

(I’ll take mine with two lumps of denial and a sprinkling of ignorance.)

Spring Cleaning

Today I looked at my room and realised that I couldn’t actually see my carpet.

It was covered with the contents of what seemed like my life. Spread out over a small area. Due to a few school events for the past couple of nights and essays and coursework and organising stuff for our school magazine, I haven’t had the time to sleep, let alone tidy my room. However, seeing as I had nothing (well, I did have some homework) to do on this Saturday, I figured some spring-cleaning was needed.

So it begun. And I was amazed with the amount of stuff I seemed to have kept over a small period of time. I came to the unwanted conclusion that I’m one of those “hoarder” people; people who I physically can’t stand.( Ironic when you consider that I discovered an “S Club 7” band annual among some papers – a band who I haven’t listened to in years – an item I clearly “hoarded” for a particularly depressing day when I decided to relive a childhood dancing to “reach for the stars.” But I digress.)

As I emptied a wardrobe that had become dangerous to open, folded clothes that had been flung on the floor and threw out more pieces of paper then any person needs in a lifetime, I discovered that I was able to work on auto-pilot for most of the day. The mechanical, methodical processes of throwing out the old, finding places for the new was almost soothing. Watching my room transform from a nuclear bomb site to a tidy, clean, organised place was calming.

And call me crazy, but for me at least throwing stuff out, making room, organising. It all makes me cheerful. Really. Nothing makes me happier than sitting down for an hour and organising my files. It’s the soothing process of putting things where they belong. Of knowing where something is once you’ve put it away. It’s healing, when you’re not even certain what needed to be healed.

I wouldn’t say I enjoyed tidying my room, but I can certainly admit that five hours, 1 bin bag and 2 stacks of books later - I was happier. I could finally see my carpet. My bed had been vacuumed with freshly laundered sheets. Everywhere had been dusted. It was comforting to know that it had been done. That lots of things had been thrown out. Space had been created.

It was relaxing to work on a task that required little brain power. A change from what I’m usually doing. I was able to switch off and work. A technique I’ve yet to master fully. I seem to be constantly thinking of seven things at once while attempting to complete three tasks. But spring cleaning managed to relax me. At least for a little while.

And now I sleep.

one of those days

Sometimes we’d all love to get away. To get up and leave everybody who we love, just for a little while. To run away to a place where the world ceases to exist. Where deadlines, exams, people’s questions, they just all stop for a little while. A place to collect your thoughts. A place that is exactly what you need, when you’re not even sure what it is that you need.

A place where all the voices in your head, the voices that take the shape of the many demanding, needy people in our lives, a place where all these voices just pause. Just for a moment. Because sometimes all we need is a moment. A moment to remember who we are and why we’re doing what we’re doing. A moment to bring us back to ourselves. Just a moment.

Sometimes we all need a place where deadlines and homework’s, research projects, rehearsals, magazine deadlines, a place where none of this exists. A place where it all just stops. For a moment.

A place where silence is the only noise you hear, because at this point, that’s what your life has degenerated into. Just noise. The sounds are no long differentiating themselves from each other. They all sound the same. You’ve forgotten the difference between words. You don’t recognise speech. It’s all just gone on to that space in your head that says “make sense of later. Can’t deal with now”

(And don’t lie. We all have a space like that)

Sometimes we all need a place to escape too. But it seems that all of the time, this is impossible. We can’t get up and leave our everyday lives with no contact. We can’t lock ourselves away. It seems that those moments to ourselves are all too rare. All too fleeting. All too non-existing.

So we take a breath.

Stay strong.

Keep going.

a lack of control

Irrationality;

It hits us in unrelenting waves as we strike others around us with weight of the emotion. We have the thought that everybody must be setting out to annoy you today through their own stupidity and complete inability to manage things for themselves. It’s frustrating.
Needless to say, this is what occurred today when I threw a temper tantrum that Veruca Salt would have been proud of. It was compete with a stamping foot, a slammed door and a high pitched wail as I tried to make my point.

Incidentally, the point I was trying to make has managed to escape me, though I’m sure you can all appreciate its importance. However, whatever the reason for my transition back to a spoilt four year old, as far as a justification goes, it manages to fall flat.

Because really, where is the justification in emotion? Emotions are solidly illogical things. They control us. They are the captain of our whole being. They navigate us and there is little we can do except go along with it. Some days we can put up with more than we can on other days. There is no reason for it. No argument can be conjured on either side to defend your mood swings. They are what they are. We are ruled by them.

Mark Twain once said, “Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary,” which in my mind, says it all. We are unable to predict our moods. They have the ability to swing from happy to sad in less than hour. We can’t ignore them either. Or at least, I can’t ignore them. I’ve yet to see the healthy aspects of keeping all your rage locked in like a cat in a crate. And, like the cat in the crate, they always manage to escape at some point. However, it always seems to end much better if you’re the one who lets it out. At least then you know where it’s going.

"To give vent now and then to his feelings, whether of pleasure or discontent, is a great ease to a man's heart"
-Francesco Guicciardini