A gay indie boy living in suburban South West London recounts his trials and tribulations dealing with sex, sexuality, growing up and getting older

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Older, wiser... And older

At the moment, I'm trying to cure my writer's block by writing about anything. So I've decided to try and grab onto my thoughts and scribe them while I can.

It's no surprise to anyone that my life hasn't turned out quite how I envisaged. Since I moved to Balham two and a half years ago, I have been stuck in my own little cocoon. I go to work and I come home... I am mostly alone. And when I am not alone, I am seeing David – he is 'a friend with benefits'... Thing is, he's been a friend of this kind for well over two years. And part of me knows that we both know that it will end one day. So we don't talk about it, because not talking about it is far easier than talking about it, arguing about it and then meeting up again and inevitably having sex.

I am alarmed at my constant ability to form unhealthy, co-dependent and fiercely intense friendships that always end in tears and heartache.

I don't really meet anyone new. I have become very lazy. Going out seems pointless and love seems almost impossible – like a dream I remember but I woke up from a long time ago. I work. And work and work and work. Every day I think about quitting my job and every time I tell someone that I write, they tell me how lucky I am. I haven't met any new friends, really. And the friends that I do have, I just don't feel like I can talk to anymore. They all think David and I are 'going out'. The truth is I have been sleeping around and not telling anyone because I know their answers will be so predictable and I am so fucking tired of hearing them justify my own behaviour to me so it makes sense to them. Part of me wants to keep on taking advantage of my body while I still have the time, but ultimately I am incredibly lonely because no one knows completely what is going on and I can't be honest with anyone. My life feels extremely stale and crumbling like a biscuit in the Sahara.

I've realised that I have spent a lot of my life actually very scared and inside my own head. Someone said to me recently that "thoughts require perfection, and that's a pretty impossible ideal to live up to." Part of me thinks it's hilarious – instead of being in the moment, I've been away in my head where almost anything can happen. In many ways, it's much more appealing: if I want to imagine that something sensational and exciting for me is waiting just around the next corner, anticipating the next second it will all kick off then it is. In fact, I'm already there in my mind. I don't know how many films I have been in, how many songs I have sung, how many wonderful adventures and things I have achieved in my imagination.

I wish that they translated to reality. The fact is I am a nobody – a nobody, just like everybody else. I was an idiot. I wish I had behaved differently when I was younger. I used to believe in destiny and now I don't believe in anything. In fact, I find it quite hard to get passionate about anything nowadays. I can't do anything. I can't be creative anymore... I am on the verge of giving up and yet I can't give up because I won't let myself. I'm always kicking my own backside for nothing.

I just wish I could be happy. I often think 'there must be a piece of happiness here for me in this life'... But then I think that perhaps humans are programmed that way. We just can't 'accept' things... But then part of me thinks I have not taken enough risks. Perhaps I took too many. Sometimes, I think that happiness lies in simplicity – a retreat far away from everything, a small Scottie terrier called McDougal, a fire crackling, a job at the village pub, a whisky every evening... And nothing more. I can't tell if it's me, or if it is the way I grew up that makes me covet 'success', but I think we were lied to. We're told that we can achieve anything in this life, but I really don't think that's the case anymore. To be able to achieve anything you need money and connections... The rest of us are fucked.

I spent some time researching today's up and coming stars and you know what? They all went to the BRIT school, or their parents paid £18,000 for them to attend RADA, or their family were already famous. I'm not sure I believe social mobility exists nowadays. We don't live in the 80s anymore, where someone like Julie fucking Burchill can start off manning the reception at the NME and end up as a hateful cow who writes for the Observer every month spewing her worthless opinions about how bisexuality doesn't exist.

The woman answered phones. How is she in any way qualified to give her opinion?

No – we're all meant to make do and mend at the bottom of the heap while the privileged do what they always did and expect us to respect and admire them while they shit all over us.

I know I sound bitter, but it's the truth.

By the way, Kat, you're the only one who subscribes to this so if anyone is reading it, it's just you. And I doubt this is news given the approach to 28.

Most days I feel like I am decaying and my body is starting to reflect that. I feel like I will never be loved in the way I once was. I am no longer the youngest or prettiest in the room – I'm just hateful old cowbag that no one wants. And still a lot of the time I feel like I wasted a large part of my 20s. Since I turned 25, life has been rather stagnant. Small victories – be it in my performance or writing – only feel like a thing I 'must' do on the way to something bigger. I can't enjoy them. Sometimes I don't and if you don't there's no point in doing them, right?

I feel like everything I do is sub-standard and my work gets in the way. It interferes with my mind and I am fatigued most days – I can't think, everything's foggy. I don't text or call people nearly 5% as much as I used to. I come home and I'm tired, I wake up and I'm tired. I want to quit and I'm too scared to face the financial insecurity on the other side.

What I really need is a shake up. A change. A new life somewhere else. If I can't kill myself then I have to kill off who I am.

But then I'm scared.

And also tired of creating these little fantasies... Because ultimately that's what's preventing me from achieving anything solid in this life.

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Blogger Kat Fiction said...

I just had a choking fit when I got to the "By the way, Kat..." bit.

You'd name a dog McDougal??

1:45 AM


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