Sometimes, I Go To The Store At Night, Just Because The Streets Are Empty And There’s A Kind Of Loneliness

So I sat in anxiety fueled suspense waiting and telling the little voice that kept saying "just ignore the call it's fine" to stfup, all for nothing. Last minute this phone call has been rescheduled for Saturday and it's now an in person appointment, which I don't know if that's worse or not . (yep that's worse).But thankyou for the support guys.

In about ten minutes I'm going to receive a phone call and I probably shouldn't be making a post, because I always start freaking out just before (so rn). but I'm doing this to trick my brain into being semi productive, basically I'm getting the ball rolling and hoping I can cling to whatever motion is left for the phone call.

I usually sit in literal silence for hours before any call so that I can store up social energy and mentally prepare myself, but sometimes I instead start getting more anxious the closer it comes to the call time, and when that happens I just don't pick it up. It feels like there's a wild animal waiting on the other end but also one looking over my shoulder ready to get me if I don't pick up.

So I'm going to just make this random rambling post and hope I stay out of my amygdala. Gosh I hate this lol, I've been through way scarier things but waiting on phone calls always feel like falling down an elevator shaft.

The icecream man is driving down my street with the song playing loud and I'm Feeling intense nostalgia, for the childhood I still cling to. I feel it melting away, it's cool softness turning watery, slipping between my fingers.

I don't let myself look up what my school friends are doing now, I'm afraid. Afraid I'll find pictures of a something I missed. I remember us at 11 crowded around a school library computer, you both looked up your favourite wedding dresses most of them mermaid and lacy white, you picked out our bridesmaids dresses and talked about how we would find a colour that at least looked good on us all; I thought powdered blue. I miss being that young, when the only worries where our homework and hoping we where first out for lunch. Maybe you did get married, maybe if I log in to my socials I'll find an invite. Or maybe time has changed too much, we aren't eleven anymore. I wonder if you picked powdered blue or a mermaid dress in lacy white, I wonder if something remains the same.

Having a really bad day, depressed, anxious, crying and uncomfortable in my own skin never mind my clothes, so I'm going to get some chocolate. Will this get rid of my depression? No. But will it make me feel a little bit better ? Yes.

I'm older than you, but you scare me sometimes. I worry about this anger that manifests inside you like a black hole, sucking in all the negativie feelings you have and spitting them out at the slightest trigger. You are better at talking about your feelings now, the black hole isn't as active. I feel like I've taught you alot about it being okay to be vulnerable, we've learnt alot about what we mean to each other and our intentions. But sometimes that black whole starts up again and I'll be none the wiser and that scares me sometimes.

Holy shit! I saw that anonymous ask on your last post. I found your post so relatable and heartbreaking and was heartbroken to see it getting criticized. I hope that anon understands the actual sentiment

Sadly it's just expected, I don't think anon was really even fully taking in the point of my post and instead only saw the parts that they felt where somehow an attack on their values (which is concerning considering the post topic). I'm sorry you found it relatable and I hope you have a lovely day.

I want to write about the pain of it all, I want to write about the people I qued with outside of food banks; there was an old man who looked like a wise wizard with his long white hair, he waited for a small portion of pasta most days and offered me advice on the best times to turn up, there was a group of polish men with cans of alcohol shared between them, who at first assumed I was polish aswell and tried to talk to me, but all I could say was Przepraszam, nie wiem Polski the old man told me to stand next to him after that, there was also a brother and sister who where both addicted to heroine, most days they seemed to be going through intense withdrawals. We would all wait in a old medieval churchyard, some sat on toppled headstones while others leaned against stone angels with their faces covered. I want to write about what complete isolation and poverty does to you, how eyes don't meet yours and voices talk over you. But when I do, the room goes quiet and people look away, suddenly i feel the need to awkwardly laugh and say so yeah anyway.

Andrew Piankovski - Red scarf (detail)

kafka coded and would still read

Honestly? My main piece of advice for writing well-rounded characters is to make them a little bit lame. No real living person is 100% cool and suave 100% of the time. Everyone's a little awkward sometimes, or gets too excited about something goofy, or has a silly fear, or laughs about stupid things. Being a bit of a loser is an incurable part of the human condition. Utilize that in your writing.

Hollow eyes watching the crowd

it's mid day, It's busy

People rush to stores like beds of fish

Fish with magpie eyes looking for shiny things to take back to their home

The figure watching, Is ignored

To look at those hollow eyes would mean to look at their own magpies ones

To confront the misery and their lack of it

So instead they talk louder as they walk past, they drown out a defeated "excuse m–

Or they become silent, their steps quick and their eyes down as they click and swipe

As the figure with hollow eyes watches you pretend to type.