you’re never too old to be emo

TW: sh, suicide, ill-tempered sadness.

When I can’t speak and I don’t want to feel, when I can’t concentrate on reading and all music sounds discordant, when the slightest provocation rattles right through me and when I remember it in the first place, I slope around the Internet, head down, a smoke in my mouth and a mood like a thundercloud, looking for poetry. I have many, many, many volumes of poetry, but that’s no good for this level of storm brewing. Why not? Simple – I need to be able to copy/paste it and smash it unhappily into a post so that I can weep and bleed and mutter all over my blog. The day afterwards, I’ll be blowing my nose on it instead.

On such days, prn meds do absofuckinglutely nothing to keep the ill winds out. They do nothing towards granting oblivion, because as much as I want to fall into that velvet darkness, I’m far too hyperfuckingvigilant. These neurobiological illnesses come with such an array off add-ons, it’s like being a kid in a candy store owned by Satan. While I can still feel (while I still allow myself to feel without sitting myself with fear), what I feel is serious severe extreme debilitating heartbreak and that can last for one hell of a long time. It leads to despair. Every. Single. Fucking. Time. I can think of two flavours right now; there’s the desolation of anhedonia and there’s the terror that comes on soft feet, occasionally nudging me to remind me that a meltdown is waiting. The breaking of that sea wall is inevitable, inexorable and even necessary. It being necessary doesn’t inspire any desire to get it over with. It’s a balancing act and I’m always waiting for the fall with no break to it except bones. As many physical and emotional shapes that the meltdown might take, there’s a simple distinction for me; either I get lucky and there’s a storm over the sea like the one inside me, or I’m trapped inside my own head, possibly with witnesses around to see my mind fragment. Release via weeping or screaming somewhere safe and private is infinitely preferable to me either thrashing the fuck out of my head or throat with my fists, than feeling the walls close in to the extent that I’ll whack myself and/or tell people I love, to fuck off.

Who the fuck wants to be around someone like that, someone like me? Even cutters tend to give me a very old fashioned look when I relate my methods of self harm. Even my psychiatrist winced. Thus far, the only people who have told me that they do it too have been men. I don’t want to be around someone like me. I understand why it happens, that understanding allowed me to learn to find that miniscule line of rationality that can be widened, so that those episodes occur less and less. Hi my name is blah and I’ve been free of self harm for… Actually I don’t know, all I can tell you is that there’s only been one episode (and a relatively mild one) since early 2013. I was proud of it until that one episode happened, after that I felt hope trickle away, and I didn’t have a lot of that anyway. Where’s the point where self pity becomes self judgment and how do I get the fuck off that curve? How can I even wish for it, when I’ve never, ever experienced it. Next time shrink one tells me confidently that I’ll grow old and cheerful, I’m not going to roll my eyes and reach for the gallows humour; I’m going to explain carefully that I don’t believe it for a moment. There’s such a fucking schism between what the medics say and what the tribe says – and since we’re the ones on the fucking front line…

So I swallow the pills, keep regular hours, get some exercise and basically live (mostly) like a model fucking bipolar patient. All I can see of the future is a dim road to an unhappy death. I have one dream and that is to go quietly very fucking soon after my dog does.

Why is your dog so important to your survival, why can’t you treat yourself that way?

Well, shrink one, I have a lot of evidence for death to be attractive and a long history of hope against hope. My dog saves my life every damn day and there are times when I wish I hadn’t made that commitment to the whole sodding process of inhaling and exhaling and all of the shit that goes along with it. Why do I want to die? Well, why the fuck would I want to live. Hope, dreams, health – you fuckers have a decade to get here. Or not. Whatever. Justice does not exist. The chance of it all turning around is far less than 50/50, I’ve got 45 years of that negative evidence I mentioned, and frankly, fuck you, karma and religion and all notions of universal equilibrium, you’re just nasty lies.


Here’s a poem I didn’t have to think about or look for, here’s the saddest goddamn poem I know. There isn’t a woman in it for me now, there is only that thing I refer to as my life, my heart. And right now, the best I can hope for is a gentle descent into the depths of depression, because I can’t bear the thought of that dry and flinty edge of chaos that waits and waits and waits. If you’re familiar with Neruda, you already know which poem I chose; there is no other.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines (Pablo Neruda)

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,’The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.


Published by


battlescarred, bright, bewildered, bent, blue & bipolar

49 thoughts on “you’re never too old to be emo”

  1. Admitted with no pride but on occasion, I hit the wall and taken a fist to my own head. I don’t like go John Bonham ona drumset, but between that and the raking of nails in my own flesh to distract psychological pain with physical pain…
    Yep. I get it. Suckage on a flaming stick of pegacorn poop.

    Frankly I worry less about being around people in my mental states than I do when hormonal. Hormones make me batshit, as in bawling and whining. Least bipolar makes me good and angry or paranoid and freakish. That’s far more respectable. If people need to bail til it passes…I may speak to them again or not.

    TragicH8ball will let me know. ;)

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Oh yeah… Walls. Mhm me too, it vanished when the fisticuffs blew in. Morgue – a serious thank you for having the balls to tell me that. In true tribal parlance, I’m sorry you go there, but it helps to know that I’m not alone there. I scared myself shitless the first time the throat thing happened. And I’ve wreaked havoc a ridiculous number of times before/in/after that state. Fucking drama.

      Can’t we get a slingshot and fire TragicH8ball at muggles or something?

      I had a violent slam of a fall today, perhaps that’s why I’m so fucked up now. Oh wait, I’m pretty much always headfucked.

      Thanks again mate.

      Liked by 2 people

      1. YVW. I think that’s what our tribe is here for- to let others know, it’s not just you, and while you don’t have to take pride in the anomalous behaviors…You also don’t have to feel like Jack The Ripper. This is our reality, denying it just adds to the problem.

        I doubt any of us would have these behaviors were our chemicals sending the right message. Oddly, when someone has a brain tumor or whatever that causes them to have outbursts, no one condemns them. Interruption in normal brain processes, same thing.
        Muggles need to be impaled by barbwire electrified pegacorn horns.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. YesYes, yes, yes and yes.couldn’t agree more with your comment, it’s spot on. Good point about the chemicals etc, I’m going to try to remember that when the shame and self loathing hit.

          And if pegacorns have that kind of horn – can they be set to a certain voltage? If so, can I get ECT that way, instead of surrounded by muggles?

          Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh Blah. I’m in a good place today and I can still BARELY read that poem without melting down. Gentle hug, an extra squeeze, and quiet sympathy for the struggle. Loves you.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Or you are never too emo to be old.

    My thoughts are always with you as you know. I had a deep blue day with an adult-child-conflict chaser yesterday and kept that bold sky you live under, milky way, Southern Cross and all, close to my heart to get through. Hang on tight. And a big hug and scratch behind the ears to S there. I know just how much she means to you.


    Liked by 1 person

  4. Neruda rocks. Good choice for such a dark topic.

    I slap myself; I’ll admit it. No punches; I’d rather hurt myself through some push. Blow my knees out or my feet out with a hard walk (done it). The hardest thing I ever ask myself to do is SIT STILL when I feel like that.

    Geez, is your fucking shrink a moron? ‘Why is your dog so important to you?’ in-fucking-deed. Duh-uh. Times like that I wish I was there with piles of fucking data from studies thirty goddamn years ago that clearly state pets have a positive affect on mood. Why does shrink one ask such inane questions?

    Just wanted to let you know I sincerely feel your presence in my life – and I know we’re just fellow bloggers, but really! you’ve done so much for me already – is a positive thing. I kid and all that, but you really are a kind and thoughtful person, Blah. Thank you for being there for me. <3

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks beeps, thanks for sharing the self harm too. I feel so much shame connected to mind and that’s such a bugger of a thing to shift. What about swimming when you feel like that, or does it arrive too fast? First time I hit myself, I didn’t expect it at all and felt like a right twat afterwards.

      Nah shrink two isn’t a moron – her ultimate goal is to get me to look at the characteristics Dog and I have in common (I’ve already confessed to the growling) and then to look at… Ag blah blah blah I can’t be arsed typing it all out lol. The fact that she starts with that question makes me growl though.

      And thank you for your kind words and thank you for being there for me.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Swimming is a PREVENTATIVE measure. I feel much less like slapping myself after a swim; I’ve already done so much then, it’s hard to diss myself over anything.

        Never confessed to hitting myself before; see what you do to me? Make me open up and be all honest and shit. Caught myself doing it the other day (slapping) – first in a long time. I did it in language class ’cause I was glitching over the syllables in a phrase. That’s what it feels like, and quite often a little slap on my face clears it up. But I saw the woman to my left look at me in HORROR. Fucking horror that I’d done that to myself. It was an eye opener. Guess I need to ‘fess up when I talk to a counselor. Yes, I self-harm. *sigh*

        Well, I growled too at that question. Maybe your shrink wants you to go all canine on her ass. ;)

        Right back at ya. xo

        Liked by 1 person

        1. Well, the opening up and honesty shit is appreciated one hell of a lot, it really does help. Dunno quite why I wrote about it yesterday, it’s been a while since I’ve done it. Hmmm… I was agitated, which is the feeling before doing it I suppose. Good to process it, and good to be able to relate to people too. Glad you swam today.

          I ain’t going canine on her ass. Now if shrink one wanted to be canined I’d find it difficult to refuse.

          Liked by 1 person

  5. I really do hope you’re never too old to be emo otherwise my time is even short than I ever imagined!
    I’ve got a feeling a lot of people self harm in a very similar way. For me I find the injuries easier to explain away, it can look more accidental and it makes me feel more in control of there’s only me and not a foreign object involved.
    Beautiful poem and the perfect choice

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Lol! Thank you for your comment and general and for sharing your stuff too. And many hugs for your pain and the injuries it inflicts on you and the pain of those injuries.

      Liked by 1 person

  6. Hi there Blah, I “discovered” you via Our Lived Experience, last week. You write extremely well, I am so inspired by you. Brave, bold, clear, and lucid !!! I had a quick look around your site, and it is all so very well done. So, from one who understands the weight of living, and how alluring it can be to think of drawing a line, making a full-stop; congratulations.

    I hope this work helps you and brings relief. If I may ask, does writing like this, maintaining this blog, increase the focus on your illness (sorry is that the term?) or is it positive catharsis?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Anni, good to meet you, and thanks lots. Initially it was about increasing my knowledge, by dumping research here, and finding other people with bipolar, because they’re in short supply round here. Now it’s about hanging out with the tribe, venting, thinking and a lot less research. Writing is usually my way to find out wtf I think and feel, because I frequently have no idea at all.

      Are you South African?

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Hi yes, I am. CT. And have my own story, battle, and scars. But uni-polar. My sister is bipolar, with all that it brings. I was ill and lost for a long time, all the way to the homeless shelter. I used to write about all this, and it helped me a lot. Then life got better and my focus changed.

        You are doing something important. Thank you.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. There isn’t a blog linked to your username, do you have one? Also, if you’d consider sharing your story on our lived experience, we’d be truly delighted. And last but not least, thank you too.

          Liked by 1 person

  7. Well, you got me out of bed! I was lying in bed way too early to get up after some cat trouble, and reading, and felt the urge to respond but was logged out on the phone and I hate typing on the phone… so up I got, but then stuff intervened, so finally here we are! And this comment is entirely selfish, because don’t think that there will be any useful insight coming from it. I just need to open my digital mouth and speak, I hope you don’t mind.
    First: you got me out of bed. I’m sure that applies to a lot of people. Who will get these people out of bed if your doggy goes? Not you. So, how about doing what my friends up north do for their cats, and get new puppies on a regular rota, so you’ve always got a backup doggy if the other one goes too soon?
    I agree, it is very very difficult to believe Shrink One (I know this was probably deliberate on your part but I cannot shake seeing your shrinks as Dr Seuss’ Thing One and Thing Two with a lab coat) when she says you will die old and happy. However, the thing remains, should you quit before it’s over, you will never know.
    There are places worth going to see. Fair enough you are happy to be a wee lab rat at the moment, and considering your curious mind it makes a lot of sense, but sooner or later that will stop, and you might find there are places worth seeing, worth being in, maybe even in SA itself (after all, my friend Shena hails from there, and she created beauty in Spain).
    I have been reading your posts on grief for a few days now. My impression is that you are completely and utterly entitled to all that grief. It is not self-pity when there is stuff to pity yourself for!
    But I think you have a gift, and that is being single. That means you can browse the internet for places to explore rather than horror stories. There are places where it’s really really cheap to travel and live in. You could blog about them as you go, even with dog. If I succeed in my impossible dream, I’ll invite you there and that’s a promise. Don’t you want to find out if I ever make it?

    Whatever, you don’t even need to think about them now. But they are out there. One thing at a time. Be the lab rat, let them experiment on you, why not. I have no idea how to deal with self-harm, it scares the wits out of me, have had beautiful amazing people with this problem and it’s terrible, you want to just say do.not.punish.yourself but you know it’s no use. The magic words to help with that have not been found yet. Can you laugh about it afterwards? Can you at least not feel guilty about it, since the only person you have hurt is yourself? Would it help to have a totem of you that you can beat the brains out when you’re in a rage?
    I don’t know. What I do know, is that whereas all people with Bipolar may well have a lot in common, they are each and every one of them unique people. As such, some are shit people, and some are pretty cool people, and the bipolar is just an extra. You fall in the latter category, I have no doubt about that. So just wait and see, when the time is right, you may never stop thrashing and swearing in the midst of beautiful contemplation, but that needn’t stop you from contemplating new and surprising things that you just would not otherwise.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I always love your comments and this one is no exception. After 55 homes in 4 countries, I think living here the way I do is the right thing for me. For sure I’ll visit your impossible dreamland though. And Dog is young and there is time for it all to turn around for me, or not. We’ll see. Your comment didntdidn’t strike me as selfish at all btw.

      Lol I wondered if anyone had pinpointed the Things one and two thing. It’ll be sad to see the end of that once my 24 CBT sessions with shrink one are finished.

      There are times when I can laugh about having punched myself, as long as nobody else was around to see it. I don’t ever want to hear, “it feels as though you’re battering ME,” ever again in my misbegotten life. It’s understandable, but it’s also one of the things that keeps my self loathing topped up and seething. Anyway, the fact that it’s only happened once since early 2013 is positive. It means I’ve developed some strategies and the most important one of those is minimising stress, conflict and that trapped feeling.

      Hearing from you is always good.

      Liked by 1 person

  8. Big Hug amoeba mia. Reading that poem gave me a visual of the Eiffel Tower toppling over and scrunching itself into the fetal position over top crushed metal and bodies and trickling blood forming pools and then drying, seeping into the cracked earth.

    And now for something more gentle and awe-inspiring – the blood lily:

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I know you don’t believe that I give you genuine compliments, but that analogy is powerful and beautiful – genuine thanks for writing it down here. And thank you for the blood lily too.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I think my self-esteem is beyond repair. Don’t take it personally. I love flowers. I love gifting flowers, and I love that they will stubbornly grow and stretch through the unlikeliest of places. Have a lovely day :)

        Liked by 1 person

        1. I’m too old to be emo, but I think black shiny nail polish would be fabulous.

          But enough about that. . . With a hot name like la sabrosona and a face to match, you can still say that? mm hmm, yeah I think those closest to you beg to boost your self esteem, including this reader. I only follow the beautiful ones. ;) Have a day as lovely as I think you are, and ponder not “why do others think I’m beautiful?” but rather, “others think I’m beautiful!!” If I could I’d send all of you this many flowers, and they’d be purple because that’s what I like.

          Liked by 1 person

          1. Yay I love that we’re sending one another virtual flowers. Very cool. And my self-esteem stuff, well, let’s just say it’s more about writing than my physical appearance. But I think we shouldn’t hijack space on zee blah’s page and you could mosey on over to my casa for some coffee..or we could pretend it’s not fall and cold and have some sweet Italian Moscata wine that’s chilling in the fridge. I love that stuff.

            Liked by 1 person

  9. I really never know how to reply to your posts. There is so much to hear, analyse, contribute. At the very least I could try and say one thing that might cheer you up. But you’re such a fucking brilliant writer that I get sidetracked from the bipolar topic at hand and I’m mesmerized by the beauty of your words and the enormity of your conviction to stay connected to this world despite wishing you didn’t have to.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. That’s a very lovely thing to say – all of it, and I’m glad that the words are louder than their story. That is possibly the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said about the way I write.


  10. That poem is deep,,, I’ve actually battered/banged both sides of my head severely with my fists & named my head on my interior concrete wall to the point of almost losing consciousness/passing out. I have history of severe citing & burning with cig butts *haven’t done either for over 2 yrs thank God.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Well fuck me, I’ve googled this whole thing before and never found women who did it. Di, thanks ten thousand times for telling me about it and bloody well done for your “clean time”. And hugs for you just because.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thank you, really kind of embarrassing, *TW: I have 4 approx 5cm long scars I cut down to muscle fascia with a surgical blade (repaired at the ER) & 17 cig burn marks scattered on my left arm. I’m only now within this past summer able to not cover them from embarrassment. {{{BIG HUGS}}}

        Liked by 2 people

  11. That poem is deep,,, I’ve actually battered/banged both sides of my head severely with my fists & named my head on my interior concrete wall to the point of almost losing consciousness/passing out. I have history of severe citing & burning with cig butts *haven’t done either for over 2 yrs thank God. Hugs

    Liked by 2 people

  12. Shit, having an awful day here, but you know I love you.
    I consider you my close friend even though I’ve never heard your voice or seen your face –
    crazy, eh?
    So grateful for you, and while I know you might not warm to this, I hope your pooch defies all world records and lives a very long fucking time! XOXO

    Liked by 2 people

  13. Well I’d say and beg you not to use your fists against yourself but that would be mighty hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it? And as for the wish to fade away… there’s really nothing that we haven’t said or typed on that subject. I want you to live long with minimum pain, outlive your dog by decades. But I’m not sure if I have figured it out for myself yet. And I know that in certain moments (which hopefully will never happen to any of us again) all the promises you made to yourself and others go out of the window. I just hope that we will be both around and with less pain that we have felt up to this moment and that in our moment of death (hopefully far in the future) we will think that it was worth sticking around, even if we never managed to gain painfree.

    Liked by 1 person

  14. I bite myself. Sounds insane but hey! Yeah. And do dangerous things like taking a shot to help the medicines go doooooown in the most delightful way.

    This entire post. Relate. Deeply.

    Liked by 1 person

  15. I missed everything from here on out because I was stupid and forgot to give feedly your new blog address. ARRGH! Hope your dog lives a good few years yet!
    When I’m agitated, I’ve worked out that I only self harm by punching inanimate things. Walls, metal, furniture, doors (doors are a favourite) then my hands are covered in cuts and swollen, and somehow the burn makes me feel better, like someone’s opened a valve and cooled shit down.

    Liked by 1 person

  16. Emo is a place I find myself a lot. As I read your words I knew the place you described. It’s as if you are so filled up with everything you don’t want to be that you need to somehow get it out. Writing and words have no way to do that. I’ve been at the top of the basement stairs and thought about banging my head and body into the wall. Over and over and over again. Sort of picturing the blood and my body spattering onto the concrete. I haven’t been in that place for a while. I like to think I won’t go there again but I know I will. Rage can be an inner hell of sorts but luckily (at least for me) the opposite end of rage is grace and it lifts me up and out into beauty.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. The usual caveat applies here: I truly wish you didn’t have to go through it all, but I am damn glad to walk the road with you, since the road is unavoidable. Strongs.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. It is what it is at this point. I’m coming to this acceptance that I’m okay being not okay at times. Maybe I’m old enough or mature enough to know the thoughts will pass. They are just thoughts. I’m maybe not as afraid anymore. Yoga. More yoga lol

        Liked by 1 person

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