eccentric heel. feeling 22.


"The trouble with showing your lover your scars,

Is that everyone’s lover is covered in scars.”

Adam went to Leicester on Friday, to see Frank Turner. Whilst there, during the set - namely during “Recovery” - he realised something. That song, lyrically is close to home. Not only to him, but to many around the world.

Imagine it. ” Blacking in and out in a strange flat in East London. Somebody I don’t really know just gave me something to help settle me down and to stop me from always thinking about you.” We drink to forget. Forget not only the bad times, but the good too. Those days of elation mean just as much, if not more to you, than the worst of days. Every memory is etched onto your brain, dug in to your subconscious. You try to destroy it, the only way you know how… destroying brain cells with alcohol/substance abuse. But it never works. It’s dug too deep.

So you go on. You find yourself “waking in the morning, just like every other day,” and realising that actually, you’re still feeling that pain. You’ve been dropped/replaced/forgotten about. And the pain swallows you, just for that split second. Just in that moment, just as you wake, maybe check your phone, expecting that sweet ‘good morning beautiful’ text, or even go to send one. That’s when it’s worst. “So [you] fumble for [their] figure in the darkness just to make it go away.” And it does. Slowly. And with each passing day, it dies a little. Or you become so numb to it, you just don’t feel it. You wake in the morning, arm outstretched, psychosomatically feeling that person in your arms. “But [they’re] not lying there any longer and” somehow, for some stupid fucking reason, you search for reasons. You search and search, dragging up everything you’ve ever said, done, or even thought, that may have driven them away, because somehow, you say to yourself “I know that that’s my fault.”

But then, go a few days/weeks/months down the line. It’s not your fault. The pain isn’t there. Or you’re too numb to feel it. You don’t need to tell yourself to get up, to force yourself to survive. You lose count of the days it’s been since you first felt that pain. You’re no longer addicted to that person. But they’re forever a part of you. You’re recovering. Nobody but you can tell you how far down that road you are, but one day, hopefully soon, you will reach that destination. You will have travelled the road of recovery.

This isn’t a feel good, ‘you can do it, just believe’ sort of thing. This is me, saying that I’m still on that road, and I passed a sign that told me that I’m not where I thought I was. But I know the road ahead is long and fraught with “my fuck ups and my flaws.” So it sort of is, actually. My bad.

This isn’t surviving any longer. This is living.

You turned out to be just like everybody else.

You see, I’m not that guy who falls for someone and does everything for them. Not anymore. Not even back then, really. I’m a (semi) realist. If I can’t afford to do something, I won’t do it. I won’t commit my everything to one person after a few weeks of dating. Hell, we could be together for 6 years and you still won’t be my whole world. You’d be the majority, but never the whole hog. Or, quite simply, you’d have my heart and soul, but you will not have my brain. See, (semi) realism. Or selfishness… Which, quite frankly, I feel that I have earned.

I met a girl. Years ago. I fell in love. We both did some bad things to each other. I was so madly in love that I had lost who I was. And then she dumped me. And I had to find myself again. It’s an ongoing process, and I still have a long way to go.

But I digress… No. Wait. I don’t. This is the point I’m trying to make.

I did everything I mentioned above. I allowed myself to invest everything I was in this person. And she let me down. She took it all, and ran with it. With my identity. I had just found myself, when this happens. Since I became single, almost a year ago, I’ve not been ok. Some say I’m not over my ex, which in some ways, I’m not. I don’t miss her, I miss who she was to me. And some say I’m just messed up. I agree wholeheartedly with this one. Although, Frank Turner is right; “you’re not as messed up as you think you are. [and] your self absorption makes you messier.” But I am messy. And I am terrible. But I am working at it. And I took a leap forwards last Saturday.

In the pub, pre-drinking, when I go over to these two girls who are being chatted up by an older guy, and invite them to join me and my friends. And they accept. They actually accepted my invitation, and not only that, they stayed with us for the rest of the night. But, I missed out on any potential date or whatever, because I was so dumbstruck by doing that, I didn’t know what to do next. I was like a dog that caught the car it was chasing, like “what do I do now?” was the only thought in my mind.

Anyway. I’m sleepy. My Anger seems to have gone.

For now.

I need to kiss you so badly. One of those kisses where I’m pressing against you as much as possible and my hands are in your hair and moving down your back, clutching to you in any way I can, kissing you as deeply as possible and thinking you’re mine, mine mine.


Have you ever just looked at someone and thought, “I really love you”. They’re just talking or humming or watching a movie or reading a book or laughing or something, and there’s something about them in that moment that makes you think, “I just really love you”

(Source: ringo-sugarplum, via shoot-fromthehip)