For Juan.
Stuff I made.
• About Les Rois.
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Everything's better from the 24th floor.
• About Les Rois.
• Get in touch.
• Inquiries?
Everything's better from the 24th floor.
Email snippet.
My therapist has a theory that I don’t know how to have good things in my life or how to be happy so I make bad decisions purposely and create disorder and sadness in my life by choosing it subconsciously, I thought it was a load of psychobabble but I am coming round to the idea. What do you think? Do you think peoples brains work like that? It seems like I have made a rather large amount of rash attempts at fucking things up in my life, from school to college, boys to friend choices and the often abrupt leaving of a job as soon as I get settled or am comfortable. Up until now I have always had ways of justifying these decisions and normally actually making myself believe that my reasons for these traits in me are endearing and interesting parts of my personality, am I actually just trying to trip myself up at every hurdle? If so, how do I stop doing it when I had never even realised I was in the first place. Imagine if every time I had been happy in the past ten years or so I had purposely (whether I was aware of it or not) made things unpleasant. That’s really quite sad isn’t it. It’s actually making me want to cry.
Fuck my life. Fuck the DLR.
I feel so numb and nothingy that it’s kindov proving hard to write, I tried last night, and thought about trying the night before too, I’m not sure if the evening is the best time to try, by evening I mean it is dark outside and British winter time has tricked me into thinking it is the evening. I don’t know when ever is really a good time to try and write, sometimes it just seems to flow out of me and I haven’t yet worked out if this is due to any particular factors or just my peculiar brain being too tired or not tired enough to fake not wanting to write down what’s going on inside.
I seem to have branded myself as a person that can only let out creativity every so often, I’ve made myself believe there are only certain times in which I can be so, hence why I never write and no longer attend school, as if to do it on demand is too much to ask for, is it? Or have I just created a security blanket in which I can curl up in and reassure myself that it’s okay to not be able to write or draw because that’s just the way I am. Have I crippled my own creativity/ honestly with a large dose of dishonesty force fed to myself until the point of near choking, and belief. I’m not sure. I’m not even sure if that analogy makes sense, I’ll have to wait until I read this back.
I’m struggling quite a lot at the minute, I say at the minute but in actual fact I think it is always, as the things that I’m struggling with aren’t fluctuating factors, they’re constant, it’s just only in certain moments that I let myself contemplate them, much like my strict schedule for when I allow myself to be creative, I apparently have strict rules on when I am allowed to think about things that matter, in a way which matters.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, I mean I know everyone thinks that, it’s just no reassurance to me. Whenever I let myself think seriously about my life I am overwhelmed with how little I know about myself, how little I understand myself or what is going on, what I want, what I don’t want, literally, I haven’t a fucking clue. My conflictions range from menial and stupid to fairly fucking important and because I never organise them and listen to them properly, when I do it is too much, I have no idea how to tackle all of these issues and questions, I don’t know where to start. And every time I manage to have a moment like this where I allow myself to hear all of this, I know it won’t last long enough for me to make any changes or decisions, soon enough some completely unimportant outside factor will interrupt any progress made inside me, it will probably be the television. Does everyone feel like this?
