drunk-actions-sober-thoughts

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“i miss you”

“i’m right here”

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SNOG

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“i think i’ve started to fall in love with you, but only because you’ll never be mine.”

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and you’re a few pints in and you want to snog him and the light hits him just right and he’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen

and yet, in the light of day, he’s just another man with a girlfriend

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there’s something a little poetic about telling yourself that you won’t end up like those women who “experimented in college” and dated women and came home and married a man and laugh as though it’s not the most devastating concept ever…. and then coming home and moving back in with your parents and forcing yourself so far back into the closet you start to think that maybe you’re not really into women at all because everyone keeps asking if you’ve got a boyfriend yet and all your friends are straight, and you’re bisexual so you can almost almost convince yourself that you only like men, and that it was all just a phase, and then you stop and you reassess and you remind yourself that there was a point in your life where the only thing you were sure of is that you were attracted to women and you didn’t even know if you liked men at all. and you tell yourself that no, it wasn’t ever a phase, and you’re almost in mourning for the freedom of university. and it brings you back to the women who perhaps were like you, and went to university and had the freedom for the first time in their lives, to love who they wanted to and sleep with whoever they fancied, and maybe came back home to expectations that they couldn’t deny, and ended up sacrificing that part of themselves and settling.

and i’ve taken a step back and i’m scared that will happen to me.

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kiss me til i can’t breathe

touch my body

worship me with your tongue

my body is your temple

and you kneel at the foot of the altar

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i want a snog, it’s been so long.

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thart agus thart

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i am not so good at small talk, i find it easier to talk deeply about things

and so with me

friendships become intense so quickly

it’s like falling through the air, building momentum and gaining speed.

and suddenly you look around and you don’t know how you’ve got to this point.

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it’s interesting,

to be that person that’s just calm, a little quiet,

pretty enough, but probably not beautiful.

it draws people to you.

people like you, for what seems like no reason at all,

and you draw men to you, men who aren’t attracted to you but simply need you, to be the responsible one, to look after them to nurture and care for them.

in lieu of their parent

and you love the attention, so you do it

so you can have that ownership over them

and you take their shit, their bad treatment of you, because you feel like you deserve it

and it happens over

and over

and over

until they find a girlfriend who can fill that hole better than you.

and you’re disregarded

chucked to the side

binned off

and it’s shit every time

but you can’t stop doing it.

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so you’re in love with a man from work, who’s happily in a relationship

and it’s the christmas party and you’re leaving and he says to you, stay, and i’ll buy you drinks

and you’re in love with him so you say ok, and he does

and then he says to you,

let’s go home together

and you ask him why

and he says to drink more and to sniff and to get fucked up

and you agree

and you go with him and you’re still questioning whether this is a good idea

and he’s lost his keys and you have to go back to the party together and find them

and you sober up and you decide that no

this is not a good idea

if you go back to this man’s house you will sleep with him

and that’s not fair to his girlfriend, who doesn’t have a clue

and that’s not fair to you, who’ll just end up feeling used

and so you decide to go home

but he’s pleading with you, whispering to you, just come back, just come back with me

just come back to mine and we can get fucked up

but you stick to your guns and you laugh it off with your colleagues

he’s just a silly boy, you say, a little too drunk

and then he’s messaging you

and you tell him you’re going home

and he tells you that he’s made it home already and he’s in bed

and that you could’ve been there with him.

and you’re a little drunk still

and flirting feels right

so you say ok

next time x

and then you wake up the next day and you feel rotten on the inside

and maybe it’s just the alcohol

but maybe you feel a little like a homewrecker too

and nothing happened, not really

but it could have.

and he says he doesn’t remember, and you have to face him at work,

and it’s like he’s blameless,

it’s your responsibility to tell him what did and didn’t happen.

and you feel the burden of it all on you,

and for the first time in nearly a decade,

it feels like perhaps you ought to go to catholic confession.

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what a travesty it is to be the person that falls in love so easily.

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trying to romanticise the changing seasons (so i don’t get SAD again)

- long pyjamas

- hearty food

- crisp autumn walks

- crunchy leaves

- jackets

- fishnets

- doc marten boots

- roaring fire

- blankets

- harry potter in the dark

- the twilight soundtrack

- peppermint tea in a takeaway cup

- the cure

- bauhaus

- dark eye makeup

- gingerbread biscuits

- halloween

- pumpkins

- stew

- halloween costumes

- long sleeves

- reading in a café

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tomorrow, monday 2nd september, is the first back to school day in nineteen years (that’s nearly two decades) in which i will not be experiencing going “back to school”

i am watching the nights draw in, the leaves turn from green to brown, the apples fall from the trees in my garden, all of the tell tale signs that autumn is coming, and yet, for the first time in nineteen years, the last of the summer sun does not signal a return to school, to education.

the changing of the seasons this year, is no longer associated with the anxiety i used to feel upon returning to school. no longer will i endure sleepless september nights in anticipation.

and yet, with no more school, no more university to return to (having finally graduated in the july of this year), the freedom from the drudgery and routine of education, the endless weeks of summer stretch into boredom and listlessness.

the novelty of free time and agency begin to turn into a hopeless feeling of despair.

for the first time in my life, september does not mean the end of summer. and for the first time in my life, the rest of my life stretches on endlessly, and i am not prepared to meet it.

and suddenly i wish i had one more year, to mess up and be told what to do.

i am struck by the fact that i can now freely do whatever i want to do, but i don’t have a clue what that is.

things were far simpler when the golden leaves and balmy autumn sun warming my skin meant homework planners, new classrooms and seeing my friends every day.

what happens next?

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the concept of my bisexuality has always been a storm of conflicting and confusing emotions and thoughts.

once, when i was a lot younger and only coming to terms with things i used to debate whether or not i was pansexual or bisexual, and that was my biggest issue. in that time i decided only on bisexual because i liked the colours of the flag more. that was as complicated as things were. back then, when things were simpler i used to think that really it didn’t matter who it was, because i’d fancy whoever i fancied, regardless of gender.

things are different now. i’m much older, perhaps a little wiser. i process things differently as my brain grows and matures. gender does matter.

but it’s like clockwork, and i never know how much of it is within my control.

this is perhaps an occupational hazard of having been born female (a burden i am forced to live with), but the effect that my cycle and my hormones have over my life is so large, they affect who i am attracted to, right down to the gender.

breaking it down, the week of my period and perhaps the week after, i am all but repulsed by men, they enrage me, they sicken me, i have no desire to be touched by one or to touch one. in these two weeks, i feel a far stronger connection to women, and like clockwork, once a month, i begin to question if i might be a lesbian. i long for feminine energy and peace and warmth. during these weeks i think only of women, i do not hold any attraction to men.

on the week of my ovulation, and perhaps the week after as well, i find myself attracted to many types of men, i long for a male body to sleep next to and hold. my standards drop significantly. like a dog in heat, anyone will do. which leads to my second point; how much of what i think and feel is instinctual, how much is societal and how much is actually me? is the me in ovulation week overridden by the instinctual need to mate and produce offspring? because in those weeks, i forget to notice women, and begin to see them as a threat to the men i set my eyes on.

and yet, alongside this, when i look forwards into the future, i do not see myself satisfied in a relationship with a man.

it’s hard to say what will happen in the future. sometimes i think i will cave and marry a man, and i’ll relate to my friends, and no one will be scandalised. and sometimes i have hope that one day i’ll marry a woman and we’ll be happy.

and so

my bisexuality only exists within strict and confusing conditions and constraints.

i flip flop from one extreme to the other, 80% straight to 99% lesbian, dependant on the time of the month.

am i still valid? we may never know.

and maybe one day i’ll settle down and be in a relationship with someone and nothing will matter anymore. but i don’t know whether i can ever be satisfied.

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nightswimming.

a funny concept,

i wonder,

what makes the idea of swimming so much more attractive when it’s dark?

like skinny dipping, but only slightly less scandalous.

is it the risk? the clear and present danger of drowning, being dragged out to sea?

is it the privacy? an empty pool, alone with your thoughts, or small company?

who can say?

all that i know is that for as long as i can remember, i have been chasing the idea behind the concept.

and having finally, finally experienced it, finally made the jump and been night swimming,

i can say, unequivocally,

it’s wondrous.

an outstretched hand, “come on, let’s go to the beach” and i go with him, because the boy is beautiful and i’m drunk.

being chased out of the sea, still drunk and laughing, with my best friend, the beautiful boy, and his brother, and we’re almost strangers, not quite friends,

this is human connection, this is what i was made for.

not drowning, having the time of our lives,

running from the security, only to jump into the pool on the way back.

the pool with its eerie blue glow,

stripping off in front of my best friend and the boys (“don’t look”)

a handstand competition, a laugh,

being chased out of the pool,

it’s 5am and we’re laughing now, still inexplicably drunk,

up in the lift, a mirror selfie, half naked and disheveled,

my best pair of sunglasses lost, trousers sodden,

but no regrets, not one.

a quick shower and to bed, 6am and it’s light outside

well worn out and feeling good

an easy journey into sleep, a smile on my face.

one of the best nights of my life.

and i remember it only in fragments.

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muse.

a new one,

an irish boy this time.

long hair, an air of the sirius black about him.

he’s in a band, and they make good music,

and it’s like actually good!

he’s a sleazebag, according to his brother,

and i can see it, to be fair.

but he’s beautiful, long hair, straight nose, chocolate brown eyes, pierced ear.

but he knows it.

but we met on holiday, and i may never see him again.

but i can’t stop thinking about him.

the way he listened when i talked,

the way he took my hand and said

“come on, let’s go to the beach”

and we swam in the sea, the four of us together at five in the morning

and i was just lying there, floating on my back

and he picked me up and threw me in.

splash.

but as all good things do end,

so too, the end of the holiday meant the end of everything.

sweet goodbye and a photograph to remember it by.

open my message, “happy birthday”, but he won’t.