Wolves Riding Bears.

There is nothing that makes any of this worth it.

I am stuck in one place, unable to move, constantly pressured and constantly dead inside.

No hope. No escape. Never and always.

Less than an hour ago, I had the nicest kiss I have had in a long while. After watching Let The Right One In, a conversation via a typewriter, an verbal conversation, some photography, he left, kissing me goodbye.

That was nice. But I'm not to get my hopes up, apparently.

I get the feeling that British gig audiences haven't the capacity to physically enjoy any live music. You seem them, giving the musicians a weird air, like they're standing up at church. Occasionally, someone'll bob their head, and everyone will keep giving them odd glances until their innards burn away their esteem and they return to static, hands fixed in pockets. And it's a contagious atmosphere too, not unlike the ripple effect of yawns. When in that environment, it feels almost impossible to unlock yourself and open up a bit of fun and pure enjoyment. You feel trapped, constricted to awkward stances, shuffling your mannerisms from in the pockets, to crossed arms, to crossed legs, to moving about the floor to find a different position, only to remember that there is no right position; sadly, you wont escape it.

And there's always a massive gap between the stage and the crowd; just to not give any impression that they have come to see live music, despite the fact that they are staring at them like cats wrestling. It's often dotted with stray kids trying desperately to visually encourage worrying nerve-o's that it's okay to embrace the act with open arms; eventually, however, they stand alone, looking a little bit too enthusiastic, judged by the cynical cliental.

I think it's quite sad. I have always been favourable about that classic image of a corner-placed rock and roll band, with a grooving audience, enjoying the music and not drilling their empty eyes into the musicians as they play, but actually enjoying what they hear, like they would in a club. That's the ideal audience, rather than the typical, militaristic attention that is so forced.

Shape it up, Britain.

I am constantly ignored. I am constantly forgotten. I am constantly alone. And I hate talking about it. It makes me feel worse. But I know what else to do.

I am so lost and confused. I don't want to reach the brink of suicide, but when pretty much everyone you know makes you feel like they don't want you there, and how you're pretty much on your own nearly all the time, it begs the qustion: What is the point of trying to ignore that? It's clearly something I can't avoid. I'm just not enjoyable. I'm probably annoying, boring, all those negative words.

And I'm helpless.

Fuck. This just seems to be getting worse. But I don't have anything to cling onto anymore. I mean, what do I have, really? Nothing that's making me happy, that's for sure. I have a free house for a week and a bit as my parents have gone holiday. I'm 19, nearly 20 this year and what friends do I have to show for it? Non. I mean, I have mates, but not friends. I can't say that I know anyone that means anything to me, or I mean anything to them. I have nothing in common with anyone I know, really. I feel so distant from everyone. I mean, where are the friends coming over all the time and us having a laugh and me being happy? I hate this, I hate everything. I never get any interest, I never get any gratification that I might actually be a likeable fucking human being. I just feel like 'That guy'. You know what that means? 'That guy' is nothing more than his title. I mean, I might get 'that weird guy' if I'm lucky? But fuck, I'm on no one's list. I am no one's best friend. I am no one's no. 1. I am no one's crush. I am no one's cool new friend. I am no one. I feel so worthless. People are meant to make me happy, but here I am, feeling like fucking shit and have been for the past two years. I never meet anyone I can corner into being friends with me, and I've never been shown mercy by people I would even want to spend time with and enjoy being friends with. I just see impurities everywhere. Sure, I see the basic needs, like a house, food, and a loving family, but as it seems, that doesn't seem to be enough. I feel like I'm growing old too fast and I feel like any young love and life I could have had has sailed by me, leaving me to just get on with my life. I want to enjoy my youth. It wont be long before I'm 25 and looking back on the past five years wondering what happened to them too.

I just wish I could promise myself a future, but it just seems too bleak to be positive. Every day I try and over look how I feel and how shit everything feels, and you know what? It doesn't change, and I don't feel better.

It's fair to say that things aren't how they should be. The fact of my life now, and for what has been years now, is that I am not happy. I'm not happy with anything. The friends aren't good enough. They don't treat me right. And they're not even my kind of people. They do nothing I like, really. I constantly have to pertain to them because I know they wont give a shit about what I do. Non of them are interested in my life, and I know deed down that I don't care about theirs either, but I pretend to because of a lack of choice, it seems. I can't find the commitment to cut everyone out and start again. Because I feel like I'll just end up alienating people I'll have to see again. I want to be with really cool people. I want to be with people I adore and feel like a tight knit unit with. I never grew up around or with anyone with any kind of thing about them. Everyone I know is just like everyone else. There's no group of cool guys that I can get with and feel comfortable with that skate, get high and act like a real fucking good group to each other. Nothing means anything to anybody. Everyone's bitchy, and selfish and horrid. They're all shit. And it kills me whenever I go to Chester and I see really cool kids who very clearly are good friends, and love each other very much, but yet still listen to good music, have personality and ambition. I hate the fact that I grew up in this cold, dank, shitty town. I am better than all of this, all these people. All these posers and fakes. Who think they're funny, and cool and hip and fashionable, but really are just fucking the sick-stained masses. But they're all the same. It's all Lady GaGa, Facebook, Topman, :L, "Fail", oh, and I'm cool because of this. I'm cool because I do photography, because I'm in a band, because 'I'm vintage', because 'I'm indie', because I'm on a media course. It's as if real culture is being swamped by amaturish little fucks that don't know anything and have taken the heart and soul out of it. And the truth pains my head.

I don't care. I don't care about you or anyone else you know. You're probably a twat. I need to get away from here, from all these people.

God, everything fucking sucks now. Nothing feels good, nothing feels like it has any soul. I feel like I've left my life behind and i'll never get it back. I'm coming up to twenty this year, and I don't want to be. I've not even enjoyed my teenage years yet, how am I expected to come to terms with turning twenty? I don't want this, I want to be a 15 year old again, living without responsibilities or the drawbacks of going to university, or thinking about anything but friends. And the friends I have now are completely different from me, from the real me. I don't have anything in common with them. I feel so lost, lost in a time I can't get out of. I'm stuck in college with people I hate, doing a course I don't like, and I have no true friends.

Argh. What's a 19 year old boy to do in situations like this? Because I know that things aren't right :(
Bring back the MySpace years, fucking, please. That's when life was good, and that's when I felt alive.

Not now. I don't feel alive anymore.

You'll be my true blog. Tumblr isn't the same. It feels yucky. Whenever I post on here, I feel a bit more truthful. Maybe because I know that people aren't watching.

Today I went to Birmingham. I mainly did it to do some shopping. I suppose the ploy was going to see Mike. Whatever. When I was on the train, I was standing up with some people by one the main doors. I assumed naturally that there weren't any seats. We got to the next stop and I moved from by the door to let people in. I noticed there were a few seats free that I could nab. One of which was next to a raven wing haired boy with glasses. Without much hesitation I made my way to him, asked politely to park myself next to him, to which he obliged. He was dressed all in black, including his hair, but he had a sophisticated edge to him, which enticed me. Jeans, tank top, shirt, and he was wearing a nice pair of glasses. A cute pair of cheeks on his face, a piercing under his lip and nice skin. He was quite quaint, but I could tell he had something about him too. Sort of emo-skater look, and the neatness gave him a nice quality. He was pretty. I had a slight feeling he had his eyes on me occasionally, which felt quite nice. I got that odd, sinking feeling from time to time that he probably had a girlfriend or something. Guys like him always have girlfriends. And unfortunately, he seemed like the perfect type of guy I go for. I was smitten. I was almost tempted to write my number on a piece of paper and throw it behind me as I left. The only problems there would be, I didn't know my number off by heart, and he was getting off at Shewsbury, like I was. I was connecting, he was actually going to the place. To see him go was saddening. In my romantic offset, I envisioned him casting the turning point in my life. The rift up the hill. I thought about him a while after, and it made me sad over the fact that boys like him don't pop up in my life as much as I would like them to. Perhaps it's the crowd I'm in. I guess I'm not like him, at least, not anymore. But then again, even when I was a bit of emo-skater kid I didn't really get into that kind of crowd. It kind of made me wish that I had a better grasp on my life. Why can't I be like them? I mean, I suppose it isn't too late. I can't say I'm happy. I'm not happy with where my life is, or the kind of circle I'm in. I'm not very comfortable in my skin of late. It's too cold to just wear a shirt and hoodie though. Hmm. I may just give a lot of my clothes away. Kind of sick of this whole vintage shit. It might be the cause of my depression. What'll happen is I will throw them away, and nothing will change. God, I wish things were clearer, honestly.

In other news, last Sunday, a couple of acquaintances and I got together for Valentine's Day and had somewhat of an Anti-Valentine's Day thing going on. We watched some films, one being Apocalypto, which turned out to be quite good. It was vastly superior to Up which I watched the day after. That was dreadfully disappointing. I enjoyed the montage that told of Carl's life, that was very cute, but after that it just went downhill for me. I didn't care much for it. But, I digress; I took some photos, and they've all come out quite nicely. Here are a few favourites:








I am at a loss of more subject matter, yet I want to continue on. It has be a while since I spoke a lot and in a way I respected. I often feel apart from myself. I'm going to Leeds Metropolitan University tomorrow to have a look around, as it is one of my UCAS choices. It will more than likely be my university of choice, however I feel a bit tired, but I am sure it'll be interesting.

Eliot, signing off. Thank you.

Everything's banal monotonous nothing. Everyone's selfish and self-centred. No one's interesting or vibrant. Everything is bland and yet everything is confusing. I feel like I'm locked in a box with loads of people, all of whom are ignoring me. My emotions are in tatters, and the more and more people ignore and disregard me, the more I want to hate them. But I can't even experience true hatred anymore. I've forgotten how to feel love and how to feel hate. I don't even know what I am now. I just brood, all day, with no respite. I am constantly pent up with frustration and I am never settled. I don't have any distinguishable feelings for anyone or anything and I see no change. I try and look for help and I get fuck all. I try and look for sympathy and am ignored or disregarded. I try and over look it, but people just anger me so much that I am forced to think ill of everything again.
I hate this so much, I feel close to breaking every single fucking day. I feel so alone and so disliked and below everything remotely good. I can't remember how happiness feels. I can't remember the last time I loved anyone. I am disconnected from everything and there's nothing I can do to help myself. I can't even pacify the feeling with music or films or books. I feel like shit. And I don't care about putting it in context with people who are in worse situations than I. Fuck you for patronising me. This always happens. I am so paranoid. I feel like everyone's just out to give me negativity and no one wants to prove me wrong! I don't want to feel like this, but whenever I try and be open to everyone and everything, nothing changes.

I am so lot. So very, very lost.
I constantly check my phone or social networking sites, in the vain hope that anybody will have me in their thoughts, and more often than not, I am proven right. If not, it's some inane twat I have no interest in. Always the way. God. This is such a rut. And I never shut up about it. I'm in a cycle I can't escape from.
No end.

So, my Christmas shopping has been halted. I was expecting to be paid for my new job tonight. However, it's not as simple as that, is it. The retarded cut off date for pay was the 5th of December, and I started working at where I work now (which is Odeon, Wrexham) on the 1st, meaning all my earnings, even the ones before the 5th will be finally given to me next month, which stilts my Christmas present buying. Luckily, I have most, but I'd like to buy more. I tend to like to buy two presents for people, and have been able to for some, but for people like my mum, and elder sister, I haven't been able to afford it. See, my sister's birthday is on Christmas Eve, so two presents are more required for her than anyone. And my grandmother's is on Boxing day, so. And I haven't even managed to afford to get her anything either.

This is really an inconvenience, especially at Christmas time. You would think they would be a bit generous and let me have it early for this month given that it's my first month and it is Christmas.

It's a real shame.

I constantly feel, in many aspects of my life, that I am lowering myself in several aspects of my life, and when I say several, I more specifically mean, too many. It is like I am making do with what I have, despite the clear lack in quality; eventually, after being acustom to that kind of low quality, you eventually misremember what certain feelings and brilliances actually are and you begin to think you feel certain emotions for certain things, because you try and remind yourself that where the bad lies, the good must too somewhere, and you modestly convince yourself that it's you and not the world. But the reality is that you are surrounded by less than brilliant products of reality and you are merely stooping; stooping to exist.
What can you do; opt out of life and not participate? People would think things if you were to do that. Besides, we all have commitments we've constrained ourselves to, each as listless as everything else. To not continue with them would be seen as ridiculous. They are like ongoing train rides; eventually you might end up at a stop that shows promise, but that is a rarity. So you stay on, holding the strap coming from the roof. Eventually, it gets a bit too much and you sit down and immerse yourself in your own self pity, before resigning to rise again. Occasionally you might throw yourself at the door and bang on it and scream "LET ME OUT! PLEASE! I HAVE SO MUCH TO GAIN FROM LIFE!" But the train can do nothing but carry you along and you've got to hope that some day, it'll stop at a stop that you want to go to and you know that you will benefit from. Until then, you will stay on the train.
Stooping. And making do.

I don't know what is wrong with me, or how to fix it. I feel incased in a feeling, a feeling that has knocked me into a state of disorientation so I can't find my way out. Every sentence I write feels like a page long. And yet I can't do anything else. I want to get it out, maybe express how I'm feeling fully, but whenever I try to, I feel so unable and put on the spot. It's terrible.

It's bonfire night. And I didn't do anything. I could've taken photos. What a dullard I am.

Is it pathetic that I'm writing this for no one to read? It never seems to help me any. I just remain the same. Empty, and whining. It makes me sick. Why am I like this? What have I done to end up in this state? covered in grime and depression. I don't understand it. I can't get my head around why my life seems to suck so badly. And compared to others, it probably is quite stupid to even contemplate what I am feeling, but I wish I could drill that into my head. I've tried, but it doesn't seem to work.
I hate my mind. Its weight is huge. It eats away at me, my self esteem, my logic. It feels almost faulty. Like certain aspects aren't on or functioning properly.
I can't have fun.
I can't enjoy sex.
I can't think clearly.
I can't make proper conversation.
I can't decide how I feel about people.
Etc, etc.

What the fuck is doing this to me? I used to think it was fate, pushing down on me. I don't even think that now. I don't even know what I think.

And I have no conclusion.
I hate this. I HATE THIS. I just want to scream at the walls at the top of my lungs with my eyes closed for the longest time possible and I don't want anyone to notice or to worry or anything. I don't want to think.
I don't want to think anymore.

When you're friends with perky people, they generally bitch and gossip about you more than you'd prefer. I have a friend, who will remain nameless, but it's fair to say, his mouth is forever spilling important information that he really shouldn't be telling people. Even to me, which, even though I know I can keep secrets, and wouldn't bitch about a friend, I can tell that if he can just tell me that, he would tell someone else just as easily, and is that person he could be telling reliable? Who knows, but my point is that he's been saying stuff about my private life (and has done for a while) to just his and (I guess) my friends, and I don't think its his place to and then continues to tease me about them. I tell him things because I feel I can trust him, and that he understands me, but clearly, I don't know anyone like that, so I make do with people like him.

And he's the kind of person everyone adores, so you could never NOT be friends with him. And not that I'm complete for that, but the more he does this kind of stuff, the more I just want him to fuck off and never return.

I hate you all. I hate everyone. I hate you. I hate your friends. I hate everyone you know. I hate everyone I know. I hate everything and everyone.

Everything is shit and so is everyone else and I JUST WANT TO DIE.

I'm growing a hatred and a disparaging apathy to everything around me now. I cannot stand or care about a single thing in my life.

My life is pretty much worthless now. It has no perks and I have no sense of fulfillment.
I really want to die.

Morbid, but true. Everything is meaningless and there's nothing we can do to escape it. And when you can't enjoy anything, like I can't, and am constantly under strain from hating everything, you really start to feel it.

Christmas is returning, and I can smell it. The smell of the frosty breeze; there's nothing more enriching to perk your senses up and remind you of your reality, and of how alive you are. The sense of smell is probably the most authentic sense you have. Nothing is more enriching than a beautiful smell. The smell of a boy's deodorant, the cutting whips of Christmas air, the smell of gravy, the fumes of coffee.

Christmas is returning to us all, and I am actually becoming excited over it. It's the best time of the year, seriously. It's so beautifully festive, from the lights to the corny themed shows, to the santa hats. Nothing brings the nation together like Christmas does. It's such a beautifully unifying time.

And I can't wait.

I'm sorry that I ever left you. I got caught up in the glitzy social networkings of Tumblr, but now I've realised that it's not a proper blogging site anymore. So, I think I'll be returning to Blogger. It's somewhere I can blog freely and release all the built up tensions in my life. And unfortunately, they're oddly numbering.

First to start. How I am now. Well, over the last year or so, I've slowly been devolving into a pit of symptomless depression. I've been getting over emotional about things, losing track of work, losing connection with the positives in life and generally shriveling into a little prune, unable to do anything with myself. It's been so hard, you cannot fathom. I've been destroyed by it. It's turned me into this dried up, empty person, not knowing what I want, who I want, how I want it, and when I want it. I've become randomly instinctive and doing things without my better judgement. I've been going about things the wrong way, and on and on, day by day I can feel things constantly getting too worse for me. I feel trapped, pressured by it. It feels like a great weight on my shoulders, a weight that I am unable to shift, no matter how much I will it away. No matter how much I remind myself that it's causeless and that I am basically distilling this depression in my own head, with nowhere for it to go, but to circulate and pollute my spirits and my productivity as a human being. It prohibits my happiness, my enjoyment and my connection to things. I cannot feel a distinct hold on people, on records, on films or clothes or anything anymore. It's terribly heartbreaking. Like I'm this robot that's trying to feel love, but just can't quite do it.

So that's why I have returned to you, Blogger. I can take faith in you. I know that I am the only one reading this and it makes me happy because of that. I can fully express every problem I can confess, no one will read it, and I know I don't have to impress anyone.

Thank you Blogger. You're an old friend of mine. Many a time you sat silently at my side.

We're bloggering again, are we?
Seems to be.

So, what's new in my life.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell.
Glad you asked.
Not a lot really, it's all pretty similar. Still single. Still a bit depressed and still a bit lonely, but let's move on from that because people don't like serious things, do they?
Let's talk funny.
Hah, hah.
Hm.

I want some sex.

End.