Bloody Roses

I just want to be well again. I recognise a lot of this is self-inflicted bullshit (it would be silly to blame everything on mental illness – explanation is not an excuse) but still.

Maybe I should rephrase that as ‘stop being an idiot ‘.

On the plus side – I am always reluctant to talk about anything I am working on in case I jinx it – I wrote a large part of a script treatment yesterday and that was the first day I didn’t cry over anything. I listened to some of my favourite Queen songs, a joy that I suddenly lost last year when every single time I’d try even their upbeat stuff I’d burst into tears, thinking how fucking unfair it was that Freddie isn’t here, that he couldn’t see how he is still loved. The man whose last words to his fans was “I still love you.” The euphoria of BoRhap had worn off (not my love of the movie – I’ll die defending that movie just as i’ll die defending Christopher Nolan’s work that some have so gleefully misrepresented to outright lied about – just that I no longer found myself able to enjoy the fan side) Same with Nirvana and a lot of other bands and authors and films I love. Everything I loved was suddenly tainted.

I just couldn’t enjoy anything I used to. I’d watch stupidly camp movies because I couldn’t stomach anything else. Funnily enough, Candy (the novel) was one of the few things I could manage. Maybe it was the security blanket of experiences that I understood a little, but I had enough distance from it I could still get through it (I was skipping chapters though). One day I’ll get to the movie, but it still seems too soon. Yes, I know Heath has been gone 14 years, but that was a deep wound. I miss him everyday. People can think it’s stupid all they want. I’m beyond caring. I miss him. I don’t regret my tattoo tribute to Heath one bit. All the people I call muses have helped me through tough times, so people can take their judgemental crap and shove it up their ass.

That and Stephen King were anchors during a dreadful and lonely time. Movies, music and literature have always been my “friends”, and suddenly we weren’t friends anymore, just acquaintances that barely callled. Not the best comparison, but I’m recovering from a booster jab that knocked me back, the Christmas debacle (I may share that story one day, it was awful but also kind of funny) and blood samples I gave today. Cut me some slack. 😉

What I said in another post about my cemetery visits is true. I’ve always liked cemeteries – not for aesthetic reasons, but because I liked to imagine the stories of the dead.

I’ll never know anything about those people, and it is not my business to know then and now. I just felt a kinship with the dead because, to be blunt, I wanted to join them. In the past I could divert such feelings with whatever media I enjoyed. But I didn’t enjoy anything then. Maybe, as Jim Morrison sang with perfect morose inflection, this was the end.

am I glad I didn’t follow through? I don’t know. I feel I made a solid enough decision to “keep [myself] alive”. I guess that will have to do. Apologies to my family and friends if this is upsetting to read about. I love you all, but I can’t lie about what a struggle I went through either, and you had to put up with a lot of bullshit from me. I lash out sometimes when angry and unhappy. It’s not something I’m proud of. I hope you understand.

I originally wrote this on Instagram. I cleaned up the format, spelling and grammar but it is pretty much as is.

If you can possibly spare anything at all, my Cashapp is £SaferThanHeaven84, my ko-fi is:

https://ko-fi.com/emmaslens and my paypal is emmaconner84@gmail.com.