Where can you reduce clutter in your life?
My damn brain.
Give that shit a reboot.
Or just yeet it out the window and start over.
Byeeee clutter.
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I couldn’t write last night. I didn’t feel as though I had anything to say which is funny because I spent the whole day with the giggles. I spent the whole day catching myself laughing over absolutely nothing which is such a contrast to how I’ve been recently with this ache, the pull in my chest.
Maybe I finally felt relief from discovering what it was and my body processed that through literal giggles all day… Honestly, I was like a five year old laughing over the most mundane shit. At one point I was laughing because I was ripping up a cardboard box for the bin… What?
Anyway, it’s now the next day – I am sat in a coffee shop, supposed to be working but I just feel this need to write, to get my thoughts out. I can’t really hear the thoughts or make sense of them, they’re like half finished sentences in my brain currently. Lots of them all at once, just when I think I’m about to latch onto one, a new one catches my attention.
That’s what it’s like in my brain all the time. I don’t think I ever complete a full thought.
I started reading White Nights by Dostoyevsky the other day – I haven’t finished reading Crime and Punishment yet, or my fantasy read I’m a third of the way through… But you know, I’m not this chaotic mess without the chaos.
Anyway, the point of me saying that is because the first three pages spoke to me in a way I have been thinking about since I read them. He talks/pretends to hear to inanimate objects, gives them personalities and also avoids conversations with strangers…
Now, I have no idea if this character is delulu – I had to stop reading after the third page due to my ‘holy shit’ moment – so I could be admitting on the internet that I am also delulu but it was a special sort of recognition moment.The more I read Dostoyevsky, the more I fall in love with his characters and also how he makes me feel less alone, less silly. Humans have been chaotic, emotional messes for centuries and I am not just broken. It’s a special sort of comfort.
See, now that I’m here, once again I have no idea what the point of all this was. I just zoned out for ten minutes, people watching whilst I tried to figure out the point. I didn’t get to the point.
I’m just getting to the point where I think I need to write almost everyday to help empty my thoughts. That reminds me of a song actually… Let me find the lyrics: “I pick up the pieces, turn ’em to verses. Digital hearses, all from my mind.” – Such a powerful line that resonates so hard… Even if I won’t be rapping anytime soon. (The song is smbdy2u by ix, uyi – for those interested).
So it is now the evening and I have opened this tab back up to see this entry… Honestly forgot I wrote this earlier until I saw it there.
Still not sure on the point.
Maybe the point is what I said above – I need to write everyday to help empty my thoughts.
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I just turned the music up in my headphones to avoid feeling, to stop thinking.
Of course it didn’t work, the thoughts just got louder. They don’t want to be silenced now that I understand them. My head and heart are finally speaking the same language and they refuse to be silenced.
This isn’t something I can outrun. This isn’t something I can pretend I didn’t learn. It’s not something I can just put in a box. I have to feel it. I have to work through it.
So yeah. I have figured out what the ache in my chest was/is. My revelation came at the worst time. Both kids running wild and causing chaos before tea (or dinner) – the after school/nursery crazies. I was in the middle of washing up after preparing tea and the ache came again and then for the first time it followed with words, with something I could understand.
‘Fuck’.
Quite literally my first thought, breathed out slowly. There’s not much I could do about it then so I quickly grabbed my phone and wrote out everything into my notes app whilst the kids continued to shout and make the living room look like a bomb had gone off.
Now it’s about three hours later, the boys are in bed and I was quietly hoping I could avoid thinking about it again, but of course it has creeped back in. So I did what every normal person avoiding their emotions and thoughts would do, put on my headphones and slowly turned the volume up.
I quickly found Ascensionism by Sleep Token and put it on repeat. I’ve been quietly obsessed with this song for a while now – I just thought it was a certain part of the song I was hooked on but as I sit and listen (whilst trying to ignore this ache), I realise the lyrics are crazy specific to my journey.
I don’t just resonate with the lyrics, I recognise them.
I want to transcend. I’m constantly split between longing and logic. I love so deeply it becomes spiritual, I hurt so quietly that it becomes cosmic. I have been living in this space of who I once was and who I am becoming. Grieving the old me’s – the Lucy’s that never got this, the Lucy’s that could never make it over the threshold.
The song to some people may be about love/obsession, Vessels relationship with Sleep (Sleep Token lore for those that don’t know), but for me it’s about the state I am in.
I am becoming alive inside but my life, my outershell – they haven’t caught up yet and don’t reflect everything inside of me.
I am living in a liminal space.
I need to learn to be okay with that, for now. I just need to sit with this new knowledge, understand what it means for me and how to slowly make my life work for the Lucy I am becoming. For now, I just need to witness this.
I am not late. I am not broken. I am waking up.
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So this week I wrote about not really being ready for the end of the year or ready to close that chapter of my life yet – how I feel like I’m still searching for something else but having no idea what it is I’m searching for.
I’m still clueless sadly. This won’t be a ‘yay, I have the answers’ entry (I bloody wish). No. The reason I’m writing right now is because I felt this surge again to search, to get the answers. At first it comes like an ache in my chest, then deep in my gut and then it manifests into anxiety – racing heart, unable to sit still, fidgeting. It’s extremely uncomfortable so instead of avoiding it again, I’m going to try write through it.
We’ll see how this goes.
Truthfully, it has calmed itself since I started writing about it (any therapists out there are probably saying “well duh, you’re processing and grounding yourself simultaneously”) but it’s still lingering in my chest – this need for answers.
I wish I knew what the bloody question was. Maybe I need to start a new project or invest my time into something else equally stimulating and fulfilling but nothing calls to me. Nothing feels satisfying.
Am I just depressed? I don’t feel depressed. I was thinking last week that I think I’ve avoided seasonal depression this year but then I told my best friend about my revelation and she reminded me I’m just depressed every day of the year anyway. I cackled. She isn’t wrong.
I truly think I just have a lot of something to give and have no where to put it. I’m not sure what that something is. Love? Maybe. I’m good at loving people and things. That has just reminded me of what i said to a friend today. I told him how I feel too much, see too much but saying it like that feels like a really negative way to look at it.
Why do I describe it as a bad thing? Surely it’s a good thing to feel deeply? To see things others miss? Yeah, it can be pretty shit for me, feeling everything and seeing everything but it could be classed as a super power. I’m not convinced (yet).
Am I just deluded? Probably.
I don’t know where I’m trying to go with any of this. The yearning feeling has disappeared now too… Maybe writing about it isn’t the answer. Maybe trying to intellectualise it is not going to work – I mean it rarely does.
YOLO x
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I’ve been quiet on my online journal but I’ve still been writing lots, processing lots. I should probably collate everything and put it on here or I’m not really sharing my true ‘becoming’ journey.
But December was a crazy month – as it is with children – then towards the end I just sort of crashed. The rush, the constant going, all ended at once and it was a shock to my system. I’m still coming out the other side of it, honestly – still trying to figure out what caused me to become stagnant. Probably not processing my emotions when I felt them in true Lucy fashion. Will I ever learn? Probably not.
I’ve been writing about a lot of topics though, trying to figure out where my head and heart is. Annoyingly, they don’t seem to be speaking the same language so communication has been a bit hard, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. If not, I’ll just have another existential crisis and laugh about it after a few tears. Live, laugh, love, right?
I haven’t reflected on 2025 yet. Usually I will sit down, light a candle (I know, how cliché) and write my proudest achievements of the year. They’re never usually big or loud but they’re important to me. One year my list was something like: I grieved, I survived and I didn’t kill myself. Sounds so bloody depressing but I made it through the year and I was proud of myself for that (as I should be. Go me!)
But this year, or rather last year now – I haven’t written that list. I can’t bring myself to do it and I’m not sure why. I can think of things I’m proud of instantly, there are things coming into my head right now but I can’t bring myself to write it, to reflect.
I don’t feel complete. I think that’s what it is. I am just naming this now so just bear with me… Please?
As the year drew to a close, I felt more and more lost… Like I was still searching for answers but I wasn’t sure what the question was. I still feel that way – not sure why I’m writing in past tense. But I feel like I’m yearning for something and I don’t know what it is. I’ve tried everything that usually stimulates my brain or calms my nervous system but nothing is easing the pull, the ache I feel in my chest.
I’ve got a lot of something to give but nowhere to put it. I feel like I’ve outgrown this container I’m in but I don’t have anywhere else to go so I’m just sort of stuck. Feeling incomplete… Like this chapter isn’t ready to close with the year.
And maybe it doesn’t have to. But I’m not quite sure where that leaves me.
Living, laughing, loving? Fuck knows.
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I’m floating free
But the waves keep trapping meWaves are supposed to move as one
But the waves are fracturedWaves surround me
Coming at me from all angles
Crashing into me
Wave after waveI can’t breathe
But I’m floating,
FreeI’m not going under
I’m floating
I’m breathing
Free
If I trust the water,
I can just beI can let the waves crash into me
I can just be
Free
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Recently I have been lost – feeling alone, numb, quiet, tired.
Protecting myself (I think) from processing, from truly feeling my emotions. I’m not sure what gave me the push to process again or when and why I suddenly felt safe enough to do so but this week was that turning point.Thank god.
I say thank god as I was tired of being numb, tired of being tired, tired of being quiet and retreating in. That’s not to say it was easy – I really had to dig deep to figure out what was going on for me, to name my emotions and then to let them out, let them come to the surface. Truthfully, I think it was writing again that finally made the emotions stir – I didn’t write for awhile because of how tired I was which I suppose just made me more tired because I wasn’t processing anything.
But yes, this week. This week was a turning point for me. I noticed my patience with everyone and everything has been low, work has been more procrastination than work, life has felt robotic rather than lived. Every thought I had ended with “I’m so tired.”
I didn’t feel enough whilst also feeling stretched; stretched so thin and not being able to do anything about it. I had no one to turn to. I kept hiding, hiding behind tv shows, going to sleep early… I was disappearing into the cracks of my own life.
Whilst processing that, trying to figure out how to get out of this rut, I was struck by grief. Grief, heartbreak, whatever you want to call it, that I’m alone, that I have no one. I have people, don’t get me wrong, people in my life I love dearly but I have no one that knows how to emotionally hold me. Someone who doesn’t try to fix it but just let’s me be and holds that space for me.
As I read that back, it sounds rather depressing… And it is but that’s not the point. The point of it all was/is I should be proud. I wrote a poem about it, I wrote it down, I processed it, I felt it. I’m proud I was able to verbalise it, I’m proud I didn’t shy away from a hard truth. Sure, it’s sad it’s my reality but it’s okay, I’m okay. I’m still here, surviving, living. I still show up with curiosity, with hope, with a smile, I’m still here and I’m okay.
All week, I have been wanting to say the words “I love you” out loud, it has been this overwhelming urge and I have had no idea why because it was always when I was alone (at one point I thought maybe my subconscious knew there was a ghost following me around and I thought, “whelp, this is it, I’m going crazy”). It turns out, I have wanted to say those three words to myself.
And I am. I am in love with myself. I’m in love with my ‘becoming’, my softness, my intelligence, my growth, my bravery, my strength, vulnerability, my awareness. I have so many things to love about me and I finally get it.
In that moment, when I spoke those words out loud, it felt like relief, recognition, expansion, warmth… Just everything all at once. I learned to love myself in the middle of it all – the becoming, the mess, the exhaustion and that’s a special sort of love.
Real love.
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A realisation I had yesterday…
I started at the front
I started strong,
with hope,
a steady pace.I walk the road with others,
surrounded by familiar faces.
Faces that are comforting,
encouraging.The road is hard,
I have fallen behind.
I’m being held back,
something is holding me back.Familiar faces pass me by,
smiling, 1, 2, 3.
My hands are getting full,
my shoulders are dropping.I’m tired,
my body is tired.
My hands hurt,
they’re burning,
red and blistering.Are your hands red and blistering?
There’s no one there.
So many people in front of me,
How did I get to the back?They’re walking so freely,
each step light, easy.
Their hands are
empty.I feel stuck,
I feel tired.
I’m carrying so much,
they don’t look back,
I’m left behind.Why are their hands empty?
My hands are full.
Red, blistering,
full.I should let this go,
my hands are full,
I can’t let them down,
I can’t put this down.I’m stuck.
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Hey you…
It has been a while hasn’t it?
Life has been… well life. Kids ill constantly, myself ill, travelling, work, Christmas events. It has been nonstop. But I haven’t come back to talk about the everyday things.
I don’t really know what I’m here to talk about. I haven’t been feeling anything big or dramatic recently but I also haven’t really been allowing myself to feel. I haven’t had time to process, to think, to sit in my emotions.
I’ve just been keeping myself busy – numb to everything.
As I write now, I can feel the emotions stirring under the surface, wanting to come out.
I just haven’t had time, you know? Or when I have, I’m just too tired. I’m tired now.
I know I can’t keep everything locked in forever though. I know I have been neglecting processing everything. Neglecting feeling my emotions. Neglecting my journal. Neglecting me.
I do this all the time – forget about myself for a bit, put myself last on my list. I’m not looking for pity or whatever you want to dish out, I’m just saying it how it is… I guess I’m just telling myself off. I shouldn’t be putting myself last or I’m never going to be able to care for anyone else.
Why do I know this but do absolutely fuck all about it?
I’m not even sure what the point of it all is. Of anything.
Rivers flow, leaves fall, the sky moves, I’m still.
What’s the point of it all?
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I’m so exhausted. And I feel like that’s all I say at the moment. I don’t know. It’s so frustrating. I really feel like I have nothing to write about, and anything that does come out of me… God it just feels like a cliché or sounds just horrid.
I want to be able to write, i really do but I’m just stuck. Nothing feels inspiring at the moment. That’s a lie.
I have been writing, about love, about feelings… A lot actually but I don’t know if I’m ready to share them on the internet… I did promise this would be raw and real writing but I don’t know if I’m ready to share it in real time.
Well now that I really think about it, is the reason I don’t want to share it is because I’m embarrassed? Embarrassed about the love I want to receive and to give, to be part of? What is embarrassing about having a love that makes me happy, that fulfils me? Not that I have that but why can’t I write about it, yearn for it? Does it make me seem desperate? Needy? Too much? What is possibly wrong with me knowing what I want?
I haven’t a clue. I wish I knew why sharing those pieces feels so vulnerable for me. I don’t know, it’s tricky. Everything feels tricky. I think because I’m so exhausted, everything feels so raw, so vulnerable at the moment and I’m kind of scared to share it.
I’m in a season of heavy feeling, of deep feeling where I am feeling everything without really a reason. Processing things without a reason, my brain, my body are just kind of purging all the bad.
This happened to me in May time I think this year. I’m sure it was around May. It was tiring – things I hadn’t thought about in years coming up and forcing me to think about them, to process what I went through.
I changed a lot through that time, I felt like I was going through a rebirth and I rediscovered things about myself I hadn’t touched in years and ultimately, that process was stepping stones to now, to this, to me blogging, to journaling, to writing poetry, to the creative side of me I kept hidden for so, so long.
So maybe I need to stop being so… restrictive and allow this process to wash over me, allow the layers to peel away, shed my skin to reveal what has been hidden beneath all along. It may be uncomfortable but it’s part of my becoming.
I wrote the above during the week, I don’t know what stopped me from posting it or why I didn’t really bother to look at it again – I suppose the exhaustion is real.
Anyway, after I had wrote that, I felt better. I let go more and more as I continued to write, everything flowed out of me easily, unrestricted – which made me realise my own brain is blocking me a lot of the time from processing and feeling when I ‘want’ to (which is so cool our brains can do that but annoyingly frustrating). So a few days later, I wrote the below. Now it isn’t good, it isn’t perfect but I just knew I needed to somehow get the metaphors swirling round my mind out and then one day when I truly understand it, I can come back and refine it, make it better… When my brain decides to stop being so restrictive.
My consciousness is a dam
filtering through thoughts
only allowing a few throughthe dam releases
the dam lets go
and I’m freeBut now there’s too much
too fast
all at onceBut I need to let go
I’m better when I’m free
I’m me when I’m freetoo much
just enough
follow my own flow
follow my own way
my own makingI am a river.
