my thoughts are more cluttered than they ever have been and I have no one to help

Because hangovers hurt less than heartache.
Six Word Story by P.P. (via grillfriend)


you should plant a tree

or some flowers

or your lips on mine

I’m jealous of the stars because they see you more than I can.
― (via wetforest)

(Source: sortofsad)

Find me on the motherfucking floor with my eyes rolling back
My girl has given up, she couldn’t deal with all the crap
I do it cause it’s fun and I do it cause I can
But I’m older than I used to be and now it’s sorta sad

and even if everything I had burned to the ground,
when asked what I missed the most,
the answer would still be you.

I drank until you weren’t real.
― Six Word Story (#12)

(Source: writingraw)

I’m wrecking myself beyond what I ever thought I could. I’m ruining everything and the truth is I couldn’t give a fuck.

I’m going to do some things I never have done before.
― Flannery O’Connor, Wise Blood (via mingdliu)
Reality is just a refuge for people who can’t handle drugs
― Robin Williams

It was around 12:30am on the 1st of January 2014. I was stood on the first low railing of a small fence on the Story Bridge. Below me lay an empty concrete footpath. My mind was set on one thing only.

At 12am, whist people had been celebrating the beginning of a new year; I was crouched, with my back leaning against the graffiti on a brick wall of Coniston Lane. I left my friends inside clubbing, I was scared to see everyone else so happy.

My life had been a constant downhill since I left ‘her’. It still is. I’m an idiot.

While I was stood on that bridge a million different minute thoughts ran through my head. I relentlessly questioned myself to wether or not it was really worth it. Is it worth ending it all when you have nothing good left? I’m still questioning to this day, but these wounds are still fresh.

She had told me she didn’t want me again. I have no hope anymore, my life has turned into sleepless nights and lonely days.

At around 12:10am, beside the road at the front of Coniston Lane, I found the group I was with outside of the club. I told my best friend I didn’t want to be there anymore. I couldn’t deal with everyone around me. Under a chemical influence he let out in rage, abusing me of using him for money. The truth is both of us were dirt poor. He told me to leave. I did.

As I walked to the bridge, I tried my best to find positives, a task very difficult in my state of mind.

All it takes is hearing your name said by someone asking “what happened?” to break me.

I stand on the low rail of the bridge. One small step to what was meant to be the end. People were passing by on the footpath. I didn’t want anyone to see me so I waited for the groups to go by. I looked forward and tried my best to hide any emotion.

At this point, the feeling of nothingness runs through my body. I am a waste of unused potential. I lost my job, my car, my licence, my friends and most importantly, her.

I was drawing nearer and nearer to removing my existence, when unpredictably, a stranger came and stood beside me. He questioned why I was looking over the cement and not the water. I tried to stop myself from breaking down and instead remain looking emotionless.

I had been feeling bad for months now, I hated working away. I tried to convince myself otherwise but the truth is it was horrible. It was ruining everything I had, all for shitty apprentice wages and working with a man who would buy vanilla yoghurt instead of strawberry, just because there was a couple grams less of sugar. Staying there was one of my many downfalls.

The stranger on the bridge stood by me. Eventually I cracked and gave in. I told him a little bit of my reasoning. We chatted a bit and both headed back towards the valley. Not something I entirely wanted to do, but at the same time I felt like I owed this guy something. Just for stopping, noticing and caring.

The more you have, the more you have to lose. I used to look at suicide as an easy way out. It’s not easy, and if it is, you’re fucking stupid. Don’t be prepared to throw it all away without properly thinking it through.

Lately I’ve been trying my best to get over everything, I’m doing my best to be social with people, I went to court and got my license back and I’m doing my best to get a car registered so I can get to TAFE and find another job. None of it feels right still

It’s now the 31st of January, 4:43am. I’m still sleepless, I still feel like shit mentally, fine physically. I write this as some sort of relief. Thoughts, memories and items remind me all of her. At my worst I couldn’t do anything without reminiscing about things we did. Nothing I’ve done since we broke up feels right. All I want is to be able to sleep at night again. I want to change. These paragraphs are as scattered as my thoughts.

My name is Benjamin Flood, I’m still here.