Can't Help You

In the way that my mind does, I've been thinking about stuff. Lots of stuff, as it happens. My brain is all over the shop.

One of the things I've been thinking about - creating stuff. I love creating. We went to one of those "Paint a Pot" things in Beeston last week - Vic and her housemate wanted to go. I didn't paint anything because I couldn't afford it, primarily, but also because I felt so completely at a loss for anything to put on it. And Vic and Claire did these stunning designs on their mugs, and I tried to doodle and draw something which didn't irritate me, but I just couldn't. And it's not just stupid painting things - it's music, the one thing I have a huge passion for. I can't create anything good or new or beautiful. And it's like I have all these amazing (!!) songs in my head that I just can't write. I'm trapped! I can't get them out of me. I can feel them and I can hear them and I KNOW what they feel like to sing and play, but yet I can't get them out. And it annoys me, because I listen to the music I own which blows me away and yet is so often so simple, and I think "I COULD DO THAT!!", and yet I can't. My voice isn't what I wish it was, my songs aren't good enough, everything is not good enough. I'm my own worst enemy. I can't even write the way I wish. Even now I'm getting annoyed at how angsty and 'fed-up' this blogsite of mine sounds. And even annoyed at the amount of times I've started a sentence with the word "and".

I also don't like the way I hurt people. People I care for. I'd do anything to not. I just can't seem to help it. I do it without even knowing it, completely unintentionally. I can't undo what's been done, and I can't change the things that are. I'd give anything to undo half of my life. Anything at all.

In other news, I miss Wheelock. I was thinking about this. While I was there, it felt like I'd always been there and been a part of the church. But now that I've left, I feel like I was never there at all. I get the odd phone-call from one of the old ladies, but apart from that it's like I was never there. I find it strange, and don't quite know what to make of it.

And then on top of that, I don't think my depression's as good as my good-mood lets on. I think I'm covering. And that scares me, because that usually means a blow-out around the corner.

Sometimes I just want to stop walking...