I wish I had been there. I am consumed by guilt because I feel like there is something I could have done. Maybe if I had, you would still be here.
There are so many things that could have affected this awful, horrendous, heartbreaking situation. You asked the doctor for help, they turned you away. You tried to reach out to your family, to your sisters, but they didn’t understand. Your parents tried smothering you with affection and support, but it didn’t make you feel better, only worse. You got to a point where you realised that your suffering was affecting everyone around you. You thought the only way to make it all stop was to disappear. You didn’t think about the fact that the reason everyone is so affected by your pain is because you matter. You matter so much. Your pain was never an inconvenience. Now we are all left with an empty, gaping hole in our lives that will never truly be filled. Time mends pain but this kind of pain never truly goes away.
The worst part is not even your loss, but the pain you felt that lead up to it. When you passed, a fraction of the pain you felt that caused you to jump in front of that train channelled into everyone that loves you. You can’t feel that pain anymore, and hopefully you are in a better place. But for me all I can do is keep imagining how you felt as you approached the platform, as you walked through miles of fields to get there in the middle of the night. How you felt knowing it was almost Mother’s Day. And while it isn’t anything on the scale of what you felt, I feel your pain. I feel sick to my stomach, I feel like I myself just want to vanish. I compare the bubbly, bright and incredibly compassionate young boy with this boy who ended his life. They seem like two completely separate people. I think that maybe you died quite a while before your death. I think that I wasn’t around to see you deteriorate, and I will regret not being there for you for the rest of my life.
So many of my happy, childhood memories have you there. You were always there. I might not have seen you all the time, but I knew that we would be seeing each other again soon. But never again. It’s a difficult concept to grasp, that someone close to you that’s been there for your whole upbringing now ceases to exist. The very nature of death itself, to go from being a person in existence to being nothing; non-existent. This however does remind me of a theory I read about, which in some way gives me comfort. Summarised in simple terms, it states that time on Earth is linear. Past, present, future all coexist together. Certain parts of time align with certain parts of space, and they are all equally real. For example, depending on whereabouts in the universe they are, if a star billions of light years away is aligned at a certain angle that is not visible within our own dimension, it might be aligned with a part of time on Earth where Justin still exists and is happy.
On a Sunday night sitting in my dingey university house I can never stop my mind from wandering to imagine all the places I’d rather be. The main one obviously being home. I don’t get homesick at university and luckily I never really have, but I do occasionally get a sense of longing for my bed at home and all the comforts of being there. Having my pets around, always having food in the fridge, heating that actually works.
Then, as that awful Sunday feeling gets progressively worse I start to let my mind wander to even greater extents. What if I just got on a plane and got a round- the-world ticket? I think seeing constant photos on Instagram of beautiful, exotic places all around the world, especially knowing so many friends who are currently travelling, inevitably gives me a sense of envy.
I just try to remember that all of that is within my reach, and for now I just have to try and be satisfied with my dingey little house in Nottingham.
I was always an artist growing up. I was always an introverted child who preferred being infatuated by fantasy worlds I’ve created myself rather than participating in dull sphere we call reality.
I loved drawing and painting. From a young age I knew this was what I was most passionate about, that and reading. Growing up, I wanted to go to art school. I could never see myself not doing art, I couldn’t imagine not developing my talent, not expressing myself through art. I couldn’t imagine what else there is.
Then unfortunately at school I had one teacher who seemed to dislike me and my work from the beginning. He stood over my shoulder for years, condescending me, criticising every piece of work I produced. As a child I had my work published, I would draw in cafe’s and have people walk up to me and ask ‘did you really draw that?’. When I was a teenager my work progressed, I loved to draw people, I posted my work online, always received extremely positive feedback. But he ruined art for me, and after years of being told I wasn’t good enough because my taste just didn’t fit whatever construct of ‘good art’ he had in his own mind, I started to lose hope.
I’ve had friends go on to do art professionally, and looked upon them and their work both happy for them and what they’ve achieved, but disappointed in myself for not being able to do the same. People who used to look up to me and my work are now succeeding more in art than I ever have. More than anything I think I am just angry with myself for giving up. His opinion didn’t matter, his opinion didn’t define my worth. But as a very introverted and insecure teenager, his constant and intense criticism affected me so deeply that I started to resent art itself. Art became a reminder of my feelings of inadequacy and failure. Art became a symbol of something I could never hope to succeed in, a symbol of my crushed childhood dreams.
I just hope that some time in the future I can be inspired again. It’s so frustrating knowing that I have this talent and this passion, so much to express, but have grown too stubborn and too scared to indulge myself in it.
Let me know your thoughts if you have any. Still just trying to get my blog on here started!
That awkward stage of a blog.
Where you can’t quite navigate the website and have literally no page views or new followers. It all seemed so much easier back in the days of Tumblr. I haven’t quite got to grips with this website yet and I have no idea how to…
If anyone manages to stumble upon this post please feel free to message me and give me some welcoming tips
If I weren’t a poor student and I could have any pair of shoes, it would be these. The classic vintage style, adorable colour and thick heel giving a good amount of height (which is great if you’re 5’1 like me) make these shoes a solid 10/10.
Unfortunately, after trailing around the internet it seems one can’t purchase these beauties for less than £100, which you could pretty much expect from any brand like Nike/Adidas. Personally, I’m loving the comeback of vintage sports brands in recent times, these items are gorgeous and timeless! Obviously things like the airmax 95 are even more classic, and such brands are always coming out with new designs. In my opinion, nothing beats these though! If anyone wants to kindly buy me them, I will kindly accept.
For somebody who does an English degree and wants to be a writer I think it’s safe to say I definitely do not do enough writing. So here I am, after having finished all of my exams, thinking… I’m just so bored. It’s funny how when you’re busy all you want is to lie in bed and have no responsibilities, but when you’re lying in bed with no responsibilities all you want is to be busy. I enjoy my own company to an extent but then I end up driving myself crazy with my own thoughts. And just constantly thinking… I could be doing something way more productive with my time right now. So here it is, my feeble attempt to feel ‘productive’ – a my silly, pointless, first ever post on WordPress that hopefully I can look back on one day and think- I’m so glad I wrote that! This could be the start of my career as a writer, this could get the ball rolling. Realistically I’m kinda just talking to myself and procrastinating getting up.