Lacuna Inc.

I would quite like to erase the past two days from my memory if possible. Here's hoping I somehow get transported into the film 'Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind' quite soon.

I have wasted time and energy on you. Effort, and love, and hope, and desperation. And now I am done. Because you will never understand, or be aware enough to realise that I am sick of you hurting me and making me feel like shit. This should have ended years ago. It's ending now.

Let the sky grow dark, with a heavy heart.

I hate the pity filled eyes of the strangers the most, who will glance over to me and my brothers regularly to see how 'we are holding up'.

But I really don't care.

And all our most brilliant friends are doubting themselves.

So. School has ended forever and we're on study leave from now until the end of eternity, which basically means that in the last week or so I have rewatched my entire DVD collection and made about 17 pointless trips to Tescos. And it also explains why i'm up right now, although it's not that insane as all the hours have sort of merged-revision limbo.

On the plus side I have been listening to a lot of really great music lately that I've been meaning to check out- The Radio Department, Kyte, The Volcano Choir... All great chilled out stuff which is good for soothing the poor confuzzled brain of an A2 Biology student (MASSIVE spotify love). AND I finally got round to deciding which uni to go to next year, so now I actually have somewhere to go in September. (Although, they're a bit optimistic with their entry requirements....)

I'm focusing on the fact that between me and uni, summer and festivals lay 6 exams. 6*. (No more, no less, no magic number and no unlucky for some).

But the real world is carrying on, and it's a bit of a bitch really because it keeps hitting everyone when they're down. And the nicest people, the strongest people, who have had it so crap for so long are getting it all again, and history is repeating itself. I'm just a spectator.

I'm more average than I'd like to think I am, but I'm finally appreciating this.

* A fact which my mother enjoys continually reminding me of. Today's fresh paranoia was over exam timings- a character in The Archers missed their exam because they thought it was in the afternoon not the morning, which obviously means I will make the exact same mistake.

This is not him- it must be the wrong room. I was not expecting to see this. A childish scared voice, a confused and muttered sentence, a scrawny face. But this is what I wanted ... 'One last time'. And I saw where he would go, and I saw who went before him. But this is not the man I knew, who gave me pink milk and pingu videos, and piggybacks. And I stand there, in the unfamiliar kitchen and I search through twenty mugs to find the lightest, so that it is easier for him to lift. Still his hand shakes and he looks at me blankly.

He has regressed, back to handled cups and liquid foods, and wide eyed fear at the world. Half formed words and missing teeth, it ends like it began, in a hospital bed surrounded by strangers.

He looks at me with a cold dead stare and shuts the door in my face, and I wish that this was a story, but it's not, and there's no ending or climax just the continuous cycle of up and down. So familiar I can predict when and what will happen. Is he drunk? Yes, but is he drunk enough? No. Not enough. He is angry drunk and so hide upstairs and turn up the music loud because all the intervening years have disappeared and this is the new kitchen table to huddle under, but this time there is no one else to sit with you. And I breath shallow and don't speak, and listen to his footsteps as he moves about the house. And when he finally sleeps, creep downstairs to survey the damage, and wait until the new day to see what he will be like.

Tonight, I am nothing, nothing to him.

A day when limitless possibilities close in and suddenly i'm left with an empty box of memories and a half filled house.

Tired and splurging, my brain shouts down to my mouth to say whatever I think, walking backwards but stuck to the floor. Running faster into nothingness and losing everything, no more pictures, no more drawings, no more speaking. Ragged breaths and stabbing pain. A thief, a bastard, a cheat. Hide and seek. It was always there, in the corner of my mind. Hide behind the boxes, crouch and shrink smaller and smaller and maybe we'll disappear.

Too late to change anything, too late to stop so keep running and don't look back because it will all have changed and we'll sink and see too far, past the end and further. Sleep screaming, sleep failing and unprotected. Open and wide and exposed and seen, falling deeper, away from this closer to that. Hitting mud and struggling through, slowing down too much and it's catching up and never running fast enough. What happened to those childhood bikes? They could evade this. Broken bottle and broken brick. This is what I am. When did it come to this? Songs lost along the way and strewn across the roadside, melodies darker. Loud in my ears, blood that beats fast and tears through me.

I've done it. I've shot myself in the foot again.

I am verbal and I am loaded.