Decided (and inspired) to start blogging again here http://jensenwilder.wix.com/so-blue-it-hurt
A new place with Wix because I like their service better.
I already have a website with them http://jensenwilder.co.uk
August 20, 2014 • 2:51 pm 0
August 5, 2012 • 1:48 pm 0
I went home to the Wirral for a little while to conserve some funds and have come back to a clean room and a cup of tea. I’ve got some chocolate biscuits and I’m listening to Ventures and Adventures in Topography on Resonance FM.
I really love this show, it’s about rambling around London, what I love about it is how much the free spirit is celebrated even in the starkest of city’s. The unholy urban turned into another environment. The people met along the way, those they take with them, all are questioned. Why do they live in these places? Not vocally, but the suggestion is there. It makes one wonder if it isn’t possible to escape even in the city I live in.
I’ve walked often around Liverpool. I’ve walked the length and breadth of it. I walked the other day to Sefton park. If I’m honest about it, I’d slept with someone the night before and I was on the long walk home, so it wasn’t entirely a walk for its own sake. As I passed a low hedge, I saw a birds nest had fallen and saw small flakes of eggshell lying by it.
After seeing these things, I walked out across the large field and started being followed. It was entirely empty, the field. I should instead say that it was ‘unpeopled’ because there were some fairground rides, half-dismantled, on the far west side of it. As I walked the thing following me swept past on my right and then swam round my left and then spiralled round me. It circled me over and over, the orbit widening as I walked. Each time I stopped it would orbit nearer to me, until I figured it might skim my head and so I walked on. It was a moment or two before I could identify it. A swift!
The thing was a blessing. It was like being hugged. I’d felt down in the morning and taken it out on the woman I had spent the night with. I felt shit about that as well, but here was a small winged creature absolving me. I can apologise to the woman next time I see her, but for now all the guilt ebbed away.
July 28, 2012 • 2:06 am 0
I’m finding myself fighting with the urge to escape again. I’m a little manic and want to pick up a walking staff and pack a backpack and just go on a little adventure for a few weeks. I have very little money left now and just fancy a tiny trip away. A friend called Claire has gone away to Spain cycling and tomorrow she boards a train to Portugal.
Today was great though, a nice lie-in and then headed into town at about 2pm. I got to the bank and found that I’d been paid. I immediately paid all of that in rent and bills (the council pay my rent next week, so I’ll get it back and have money again on the 6th – but until then I’m skint).
After that I took out the remaining £20 and spent it on a book of poetry by Ted Hughes (found in a charity shop) a packet of tobacco and drinks (soft drinks *former self weeps for me*) in The Kazimier Garden for their little Olympic krunk night shin-dig.
Spent the evening on my own until I dropped in on Mello Mello for a whiskey and met a friend called Rose. We ended up talking until only 30mins ago, when she left mine (we live around the corner from one another). We chatted about philosophy and art. Talked a bit about Much too. She’s still on my mind from finding those damned files.
July 25, 2012 • 9:36 pm 0
A little update since the last post. I continued to work at the jewellers where I had been working until March 9th this year, when I was signed off for having extreme anxiety. I quickly realised that I was having what is called a ‘mixed state’ and the Dr assessed me me as having an ‘undetermined mood disorder’. I was signed off work for two months and put on mood stabalisers (Depakote) which was slowly increased. I told them how antidepressants used to send me into sky-high mode and on a spending spree. I used to take them for a week or two, shoot up in my mood and then stop taking them. I told them about how the last 8 years had been for me and then they diagnosed me.
I was given a diagnosis of rapid cycling bipolar affective disorder. It is almost three months since I was diagnosed, at the beginning of this week (approaching five months off from work) I am having to leave work behind due to health grounds.
When I was given the dianosis I didn’t think anything of it at the time, was in a bit of shock, then my mood sunk with the knowledge. I have tried (and I’m still trying) to come to terms with things and set my life up the way I want it. To that end I have set up exhibitions of my poetry. I have one coming up in Liverpool on the 1st of September in thirteen of the most high-profile venues in the city. I have taken up yoga. I have started eating right and completely taken alcohol out of my life. I’m slowly moving away from smoking and I now cycle all around the city for exercise. I have also attempted to curb my penchant for un-fulfilling relationships with the other sex. I am a lot clearer from the start about who I am and maintain a good dialogue with women in my life.
I have also had a lot of time to sit and read. With that my writing has improved a great deal, I have been published and look set to release two small publications (poetry and prose) along with illustrations by some good friends. With writing I can savour the heart-numbing prospect of having to live with this condition. For the first time I am not wallowing in it, a certain amount of reflection is healthy, so I have started up blogging here again. I have been blogging in many different places and with many different names over the last few years (for reasons of anonymity), but I’m returning to this blog because it has my name on it, because this is who I am, and because it feels like coming home to a history I have tried to ignore. In short, it feels like putting myself back together.
There is far more to talk about, but I will no doubt cover it as I continue this journey.
Today I recieved a letter I had been waiting for. My consultant psychiatrist was asked for a letter that outlined my condition for my current employer. It was a techincality to enable them to put it on-record that I am leaving due to health grounds and not simply handing in my notice. It was a short letter, one page that outlines the last four and something months. It was also confirmation that what I have, this condition, is a long-term thing.
I am now stamped as mentally ill. I am diagnosed with rapid cycling bipolar affective disorder. I have been prescribed Depakote (which is a mood-stabliser) at 750mg twice a day and at the beginning of last week I was also put on 5mg of Olanzapine (an antipsychotic) to be taken at night. The letter says that ‘despite treatment he continues to experience disabling symptoms of the illness and his life is profoundly affected.’
Later it says that I am ‘at risk of serious self-harm/suicide’, which, looking back, makes it clear how I have grown steadily worse. In the beginning, when I first started showing symptoms in my first year of university, I was mild. I used to get depressed but not badly. Then came my first break-down at the end of my first year where I would just weep and lie in bed all day. Some years later I had another and then a final one that brought me back to Liverpool. That one was the one where I came closest to suicide. I held a knife in my hand as I rang my father and, when he told me that he would come get me, I kept hold of it. I kept on holding it and it became a phantom knife; a knife which I turned into a finger and drew up my wrists when I felt bad. I couldn’t eat in those first few months and dropped in weight. I looked like a ghost myself.
The word that rings out from the whole letter is the word ‘suffers’. I agree with it, but can’t help wishing I could see a scale of suffering. I can never quite get to grips with something so subjective. Someone suffers from an allergy, or hay fever, or cardiac arrest, or starvation… I suffer, that is the word I use… but I can’t hold onto how much, in relation to others. I feel angry with myself for complaining of wishing to die, when people actually are. It always brings me back to my nightmares. Ones where I am standing in front of young children being killed and I have the power to give my life so that one of them can live and I try with all my energy and it doesn’t work.
I swear to god! I sound worse than I feel. I feel better, lighter, than I have ever felt.
August 14, 2011 • 11:36 pm 0
Quite some time ago I met a young girl by the name of Miss Perfect. She was named thus because she was, certainly in my own heart and mind, a perfect example of what I was searching for in life. At the time I was only slightly smitten, I was already with The Smile Reverser and she was quite the catch herself (this was a while before The Smile Reverser and I started showing relationship-decay). I didn’t harbour romantic feelings, no love there, just desire to start with and a small crush when I got to know her.
The Smile Reverser and I made friends with Miss Perfect and got to know her boyfriend. I made a decision pretty early on to accept the circumstances and not attempt to shift the boundaries in any direction. Not without proof of feeling from her. She never showed any, so things rushed along. The Smile Reverser took to Miss Perfect and I was occasionally invited along. After while it became clear that The Smile Reverser hated Miss Perfect’s boyfriend, for reasons I think I can infer.
Then 3 years go by. In that time The Smile Reverser and Miss Perfect stopped being friends. The Smile Reverser and I split up, never to speak again. I moved to Liverpool. Both became pregnant with their partners and I was just elsewhere in body and spirit.
Flash forward: Miss Perfect is now Mrs Perfect. Same guy. Has children. Contacted me again recently. We’d talked a little before, but now I think I have a lot better understanding of her. She’s still got the elements I fall for. She’s tragic, beautiful, smart, funny, talented… etc… I’d go into specifics, but that rather removes her from the realm of anonymity.
Yes, all the same elements were there for me to romanticise the hell out of her, this time I haven’t reacted the same way. I have a habit of it, I do it with every woman I befriend. If they are even slightly well-matched, those characteristics are pumped-up, highlighted and flood-lit. It might last a few weeks, sometimes a few years. In the case of the last relationship (The Grin) things were a little closer to becoming serious, but she didn’t really show the interest back. So my heart went back to sleep.
I’ve been thinking recently, because of Mrs Perfect, what makes me romanticise these women if I don’t romanticise her? What is it within me that seems to reach out for this imagined/perfect woman? Do I want a relationship or not?
I’ve been reading Kant and exploring the idea of freedom. That is the crux of my dilemma when it comes to relationships. I tend to want my freedom. The desire to walk at night, never questioned. The short trip to see friends down South, never prevented. It is selfish. Now I am aware of it, I will question myself more often and attempt to overcome it.
But another thing that Kant poses within his theory of freedom is the idea of being a ‘slave to our preferences’. Using taste as a metaphor. You are presented with three ice cream flavours. Chocolate, Strawberry or Vanilla. Which single one do you choose, assuming the other two are inaccessible once the first has been chosen? Whatever the answer, it is not led by reason and logic, it is led by your taste-buds. Led by your senses, preferences, desires… did you ever ‘choose’ to like chocolate? No, you are stuck with your tastes. You can acquire new ones, sure… but for the most part if you hate Vanilla it doesn’t matter what they cover it in, you wont desire it.
So back to women. I have, for a very long time, determined to ignore my ‘preferences’ in regard to women and instead try many flavours. Sometimes choosing extremely unsuitable women (The Anarchist, Little Miss Riddled… etc…) So if I can ensure my freedom in this sense, can I also free myself from my habit of romanticising people?
I believe I can and have, though I know not how. When I ended things with The Grin, I was all-too aware that I would soon meet the consequence of that action. I would soon feel depressed and rotten and place her on a pedestal in my heart and ignore reason in favour of mourning the loss of a perfect creature. I remember being on the stairs in Bath with The Smile Reverser and warning her:
“Please don’t hate me, but I am going to be really fucked-up in a few days. I’m going to romanticise you and I’m going to have to kill it. I might be mean to you, I don’t mean it. I really need you to promise that you’ll not hate me. A few months down the line, we’ll be fine. Friends again.”
(They always end up hating you.)
As it happened, with The Grin, I did not reach that familiar stage. I am still trying to work out the recipe, but it seems I have avoided that stage. Hopefully, once I do get the correct mixture together, I can apply it before the relationship begins, so that I don’t put undue pressure on things by goddessing the women I meet.
Mrs Perfect will keep her name. She deserves it. I am thinking objectively. She continues to intrigue me, astound me and perplex me. She has so much love in her and so much sadness also. A dangerous mix, but a strong one. I’m happy that her life has progressed to its current stage. I’m proud of her (though I have no right to feel that way, it seems patronising, yet it is still pride that I feel). Her husband is a lucky guy. And if she does mean more to me than most, it is because how often do you meet the measure of your perfect woman? Most of us are expected to grope around and stumble across ‘the one’. At least now I know what I’m looking for.
August 11, 2011 • 5:58 pm 0
Sometimes I am more attracted to what a woman is wearing than how she looks physically. Not in the sense that I want to try on the clothes, that is weird, more that I just think certain colours and fabrics make goddesses out of ordinary women.
Been reading a lot of Thomas Merton recently. The guy is a bit of a hero of mine because our childhoods and early adulthoods are quiet similar. It seems his mind worked a little like mine, from what I understand from the essays and biographies I have read.
He led me to the idea of the four basic instincts or ‘roots of passion’. These are ‘roots of passion’ toward god, but I’ve never been one to apply a theory in just its established direction. Instead I’ve decided to direct them into a desire to live. And here we go…
There are two positive roots which don’t require much explanation, they are clearly very easy things to draw a desire for life from:
The two negative ones are far more interesting:
This can be a great motivation, but I like to focus on the idea of moving with fear. Using it as a method of maintaining respect for life. In the same way that god is meant to be feared. (Here starts the regurgitation of my Christian upbringing.)
Proverbs 1:7 says, “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge.”
I like to remove the word ‘LORD’ obviously and upon doing so, we have a whole new philosophy.
The fear of god is respecting him, obeying him, submitting to his discipline, and worshipping him in awe.
The fear of life is respecting it, not struggling in the face of its rules, accepting its limits and taking opportunities that present themselves and the last is rejoicing in life’s beauty.
This is a little more tricky, but I applied my technique in regard to depression… depression is the measure of our joy. Anything lost is only mourned because it meant so much to us. There is a balance to it, when struggling with loss, we have to focus on the feeling and move through it to pay for the joy we took in it.
Something else from Merton (paraphrased) “As if we were created to ask a question and in that creative act the question was answered. We are both question and answer in the absolute. The question is its own answer. It is an experience, ‘I am.’”
August 11, 2011 • 12:07 am 0
because i made a promise to blog, but my mind is a little scattered, this blog will be a blog based on random, seemingly separate, thoughts. a mind sneeze.
i have re-connected with a friend who i never really knew when we were in the same physical location, but thanks to the power of the internet we are now good friends.
i can’t believe that only one month (or longer) (or shorter) ago I was singing britney spears in a packed pub. it wasn’t even karaoke.
i will feel sad when i have to take my art down from the walls in my bedroom. i am no longer moving out, but i think i still need to take them down to motivate me to leave.
i want to make a home movie tomorrow.
i need to remember to finish doing the photograph for the aforementioned friend.
there are riots in liverpool and i really don’t care. i mean, i care that it is all pointless, but a lot of what we do is pointless. most of it is just walking around. i do that all the time; I, therefore, identify. or perhaps I really don’t care at all. I’m not sure and I don’t want to think about riots.
i would like to try my luck at moving away for a little while this year. perhaps i will move to a different country. then i can come back and start university somewhere.
i used to cry at night, when i was a kid – because i was convinced that i would never find someone just like me.
the dogs that i live with are howling. we are their pack, they are trying to locate us. we know where we are. they would know if they stopped howling and thought about it.
i regret not being able to be friends with The Grin, she was funny. i miss her story-telling voice. i don’t even think she knows that she does that.
i might just lock myself away from the world in a little room somewhere in silent contemplation.
my sense of ‘fair’ came from a kids tv show where the boys get £10 (between the two of them) for saving a man’s life. ever since i’ve found it hard to believe fairness exists in the world. if even fiction can’t be fair, who will believe the world could be better?
i am really tired.
i talked honestly with someone about The Smile Reverser tonight. i actually talked more openly than i do in this.
my home movie idea is me drinking something and then reversing the film. i hope it looks as cliché and pretentious as possible.
i am going to sleep.
August 8, 2011 • 5:14 pm 0
I’ve been doing my usual trick of trying to love recently. Hand me a shotgun, quick. I need to stop myself before I hurt more people!
I’m just kidding, how could I pull the trigger on a face like this?
I’d stuck with Nightingale, as a friend, and she still felt a great deal for me. So when I got with The Grin I got a dose of heartbreak from the ex, in the form of complete isolation.
I’ve relied on Nightingale to keep my chin up for the past two years. She’s got a sharp mind, good for a philosophical discussion and challenges me.
I’m glad now that The Grin and I are finished with, because it means I can be friends with Nightingale more easily. Although I do still have to deal with her residual feeling for me. These things take time.
Yes, The Grin turned out to be awful for me. I should have known, but sometimes you can’t see how unsuitable someone is for you if you like them. And I did like her, I was an inch away from being smitten.
I got with The Grin after a festival in Liverpool, went back to her’s and then tried to have sex after FAR too much wine. Which ended in my first taste of the slow to rise. Anyway, after a few weeks we’re part of a ‘thing’. We’ve been for meals and then she invites me to a wedding. So I buy a suit, spend more than a royal flush on some drinks and a few taxi rides into the middle of nowhere.
Then comes the trip back to Liverpool. She turns cold as a ice-cube on the train and just gets on with her book. Whilst my skin is prickling when she reaches for a drink and I want her to touch me. I start to think. This is a bad move.
So I think about staying with her, weathering it. Then learn she’s getting a job in a distant city. Which is clever. I mean, that’s fate being smart. Throw in a distance to drag us apart.
The more I thought, the more I remembered small things. She never talked philosophy. Couldn’t handle an argument, she just thinks it is an attack and shrinks away. She doesn’t read quick (or the right stuff). We’re incompatible inspirationally, she does her performance and I like my written poetry. I think I fell for a pretty face, I deluded myself into thinking there was something under the wrapping paper.
So I ended things by a text.
I know, I know. A bit shit, but she’d never have picked up and I knew she would never understand.
I mean, seriously. On an intelligence level. She just wouldn’t understand that she was the one in the wrong. She’d clam up. Return to the cold as a starfish setting.
Because if she’d shown me a hint of love, I’d have fallen into it.
Anyway, I got over it in a week. I’m moving to Liverpool. I’m going to live in the attic of a little house near Sefton Park. It is going to be magic to live in a city again. Much to do, much to see. Not having to get the last train back at 11:30.
I’m now onto the mission of monkishness.
I want to level back my life to the bare rubble of simplicity. I want to have work, exercise, food, sleep. The combination to a stress-less existence.
And you have Thomas Merton to thank. More on that later.
May 29, 2011 • 9:48 pm 0
lets play a game of getting it right – as if we are picking out a coffee from these girls – instead of mildly (decaff) degrading them – i’d take girl one’s body, then girl two’s smile and skintone – colour girl one’s hair style into girl three’s colour and you have the perfect top of the head – but girl one still is a firm favorite for lips and nose – eye colour is girl three again – those deep dark eyes that remind me of something timid and shaking – add being timid and shaking into the equasion and you have a night i’d like to make pocket-sized and carry with me. with one more thing added… the personality and soul of a girl i have yet to have the pleasure of being introduced to.