Scared of The Dark

Have you ever been afraid of the day that is to follow?

I have. I am right now.

Tomorrow is a day which I cannot mess up, or else my days will grow worse.

It’s human to feel this way. But it’s hard to tell yourself that, hell, even I struggle to tell myself that. Worrying is what gives us that sense of wanting to achieve or impress, that desire to do something good, even if the outcome may not be that bleak.

Rejection. That’s what we fear. I hate the word. It sounds desperate and cruel, but it’s the most accurate word for the situation. I’m scared that I may be rejected as an author, scared that I may be rejected back into education should that day come.

It haunts us, but there’s no need to be scared of the dark. Rejection can be resourceful, if one knows how to harness it. Let it drive you. Only you know truly what to do, no one can tell you otherwise. They may advise you, yet that cannot control you. your thoughts are as free and as wild as harsh winds that plague the world.

Fear rejection, and you will know how to overcome in. Picture it like this: You are aware of what it is that you have or haven’t done for this terrible, daunting outcome. So, by definition, you know what you should have done. Well, what’s stopping you?

If all you need is a little push to change the tides, then there’s nothing stopping you doing anything.

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A Jobseeker Journey

Well this went t*ts-up quickly, didn’t it?

After a failed year at sixth-form, I ventured down the path of apprenticeships – a great way into a career for both, but a nightmare for me. What a surprise!

I won’t go too in-depth with the boring details of a career path that was worse that putting the milk in first for a cup of tea (seriously, I don’t trust anyone who puts the milk in first, like, who even are you?), so I’ll skip straight to the first time was on job seekers – yeah, the FIRST time, the second time is worse, and still on going… anyone who wants to pray for Liam?

At first, the fact i was unemployed didn’t phase me too much. For the first week, I spent every second of my time writing up a new best selling novel… don’t laugh, ok? I was four years ago, I was young! It was at this point where I suddenly felt free; I had just got rid of a dead-end relationship, and now, I was free of a horrific job that made me go deaf in both eyes and blind in both ears.

But soon the writing came to a halt, and the realisation that money is even more important than food hit me faster than my money hit the counter at Waterstones. So, I began the dreaded job search.

I got a job within a month – and may I add, it was an incredibly long month. But, a job is a job! Anything that pays the bills and keeps Death behind a door is a positive thing.

Now, I went from one job directly into the next within a year. I was finally happy in the role that I had found, as I was finally allowed to tell people off without getting a court order for assault… to clarify, I’m a good boy…

But, that role fell through, as thus JSA welcomes me back like a puppy, just not as cute or as wanted. This time around, it’s hard. By God it’s bloody hard. Within the space of a month, I had lost the best relationship I’ve ever had, and another job. Nothing more could have gone wrong, right? Wrong. I’m sure you’re familiar with money, and how it allows you to buy and keep things?

I own a pretty cheap but nifty car that I relied on for commuting to and from work, but now that I was unemployed, I couldn’t afford the petrol nor the insurance. The worst part of this was the fact that being without a vehicle makes is 1000% more difficult to find a job.

There’s only so much you can take. When you’re sitting on a job search website, throwing your CV out to anyone with a pair of eyes, you feel less of a person, having to reply on had working people’s money in order for you to literally survive. (To all of you readers who are tax payers, I thank you on behalf of everyone going through my issue for allowing us to have another chance. We’d literally be underground if not for you).

As the months strolled by, it became clear to me that this was not going to be as easy as the last time. The mind can only stretch so far before is break, and believe me, mine is near its maximum pull.

Yet, there is a tiny, very hard to see silver lining. In the darkness, there is hope, just like how in the light, there is fear. The time taken for me to find a job has given me a further, more complete understanding of how the world works, how sometimes the innocent is punished, and the grotesque rewarded. Yet support is there for both, whenever needed. It’s a bitter sweet thing to realise, but I hope that for those of you who are going through the same struggle as I am, can find and share a likeliness between you and I, and know that there is help when it’s needed, no matter how dyer the situation seems.

For anyone who feels like they have no one to turn to, or no voice to speak up, I encourage you to contact myself at: liamalexlaing3@hotmail.co.uk  and put the subject “Notebook – WordPress”

 

My Education

Like the majority of the population, after finishing secondary education, I proceeded on to Sixth Form to Study four A-Levels: Geography, I.T, Classic Studies, and Sport and P.E (I was forced to choose Sport and P.E… they may as well have held a knife to my throat).

From day one, it was great! I was finally going to study the subjects I wanted, step closer to the career I dreamed for, finally learn about… about what? Learn about how I would be stuck in work until I was 70? Contributing to a government that near forces you to work the second you can speak, up until a point where you can do barely anything at all?

No, that wasn’t me. I wasn’t suggesting that I didn’t want to contribute to society, quite to contrary, my grandmother raised me so well, and sadly she required care from a government funded care-home, so I felt it my duty to put back in what I reaped. but I didn’t want to contribute in a way that degraded the human life.

Now, any job is good, no matter how degrading. Don’t let those “above” you say otherwise. If you’re getting up day after day, working hard so that you may live, then that’s something to be proud of.

I’m forever getting on a tangent – my bad! So, I started sixth-form, a met some new people, and at the same time, made the most embarrassing mistake of my life so far (this I will never disclose, as I don’t want you to die from laughter). The lessons began, and it was great, especially Geography. There was no more R.S or learning about a city I’ve lived in for 21 years in History, no, it was just the topics I wanted to study – well, all but one.

But just as all was going well, something happened. I wrote a story. Just a story, you say? Yes, a simple, 750 word story. Not much, is it? Well, picture this; a young man of 16 writes a short story and believes it to be rubbish. Of course it is! Who on Earth would disagree?! Well, it turned out that a lot of people did – they loved it! They believed I had a talent for writing. My hopes were inflated like a bubblegum balloon. I immediately began writing more; a new idea! A bigger, better one! Longer… much, much longer… a novel!

Alas, it went to my head. I wrote day after day, well over 2,000 words per day, dreaming about reaching the end, holding up my novel in the air like a cliche Tennis Player at Wimbledon. I’d never been so happy… until I got called out of my Classics class one afternoon. I’d fallen behind… really, and I mean really f*cking far behind. Without knowing, I’d skipped the months needed for revision for exams, which were next week.

Struck with panic, I did all I could: stayed behind until 5pm, pulled all nighters, begged for help from friends, and even contemplated deleting my entire writing document out of sheer rage.

Alas, it wasn’t enough.

I failed absolutely every exams that was stuck in front of me. U, U, U and U. I can’t describe how low I felt at that point. It was like I’d just found out I was just a figment of someone’s imagination – but far more fabulous.

It’s hard to say exactly where I went wrong. I was a smart young man, but I believe I was just too tempted. I refused to accept the idea that I needed a backup plan, an education to support my writing. Now, I have next to no education, and have little motivation to write for fear of making the same mistake again.

I’d like you take something from this overly long blog. Just one thing: to think; you’ll be faced with God knows how many choices where one option is better than you other, but just take a moment and think. Is it the best choice? Are you going to be safe should all fall through? If it does, and you’re not prepared, believe me, it will ruin you/

Is This Goodbye?

Perhaps I’m just over thinking. Perhaps this isn’t the end. Or is it?

The sound of trains screech as they depart the station. Hurried passengers pant and groan as they make their way through the thick crowd of people, but all I can hear are the world coming from his lips. It seems strange, that we miss the people we claim we care about, as though they give out lives meaning. But do they really?

His lips seems to move so slowly. Or is that my head trying to keep hold of the moment? Whichever it is, it’s painful to watch as he bid his farewell, possibly for the last time. And I can think of nothing other than the next time I set my eyes on his, if that moment is ever to occur again.

Distance is the biggest challenge of all. Loyalty is just a great a risk. Love, is the biggest killer. My heart both flutters and wails, refusing to sway to one side. It’s almost too much to bare.

“Tell me when you’re home safely.” I force myself to say as I hold back the tears. I don’t want him to see me cry. “We aren’t having a sad goodbye, this time.” I keep repeating in my head. But he always knew a sadness would fall upon me. Deep down, he knows how much I care for him, and I almost believe he cares too.

“I will. You too.” He checks his watch, comparing it to the time of the train’s departure. “I’m going to head off now.” He smiles, yet it fades as his eyes examine my face. It’s as though he can see the tears that have now built up behind my eyes, even though they refuse to step into the light.

I hug him tightly, burying my head into his should as though afraid. But I am afraid. Afraid that Once I let go, he’s gone forever. Afraid that this moment in time will fade too soon. Afraid of everything.

“Is this goodbye?” I ask shyly as I pull away from his. My hands instantly find the grasp of one-another to hide their trembling. My head has already fallen to the ground, for I cannot bare to see his face if the answer is the dreaded “yes”.

“No, it’s not goodbye. It’s see you soon.” He said confidently. I notice his weary smile as I allow my eyes to flick up for a moment, before they fall to his feet. Even if I never see his face again, I never want to look away for a moment. I find myself rushing back to his warmth, possibly for the last time. It seems to last for no longer than a second, and even though the hug is brief, I almost forget why we are here.

“Goodbye.” He spoke for the final time before turning his head, moving his feet away from me, and towards the train. I fail to say goodbye back, as my voice is caught in my dry, painful throat. I want to call out to him, and tell him that I love him, but I know he doesn’t love me, at least not truly.

He boards the train without as much as a glance back to me, yet I watch as he fades from my… And that’s it. Gone, but not forgotten. Is this the way it is to be? Forever saddened by the departure of a loved one? Or is this time different? Will I ever see him again?

Is this really goodbye?

One Moment In Time

For that one moment, he didn’t care about age, and for that one moment, he wanted the world to see what he was seeing. His wife to be.

As he looked fondly into the eyes of his lover with long, brown silk like hair, a complexion of perfection and eyes as flawless as a cut diamond, he smiled, and he didn’t wish to hide it. This was their one moment in time to be together without a single care in the world.

The man stood, hand in hand at the altar with the love of his life whom he met so many years ago on that special evening. Together they danced, smiled, laughed and stumbled as they were caught in each other’s gaze. It was almost love at first sight.

The conversed words of love echoed through the room, creating a memory in the minds of those who watched fondly, friends and family alike. There was not a single dry eye to be seen.

The man slipped the ring onto his fiancée’s delicate hand, trying not to drop the round piece of metal as his hand shook violently, but soon, it was on, and there it was to stay for the years to come. Soon, another ring was exchanged, this time given to the man by a woman who was evidently just as nervous. And then it was done. They were now husband and wife.

The day entailed with further smiles as the happily married couple drank and danced the night away. Their first dance together was almost like their first encounter with one another; the same smiles, the same wide eyes, the same everything, but now, they could call themselves more than friends.

The man wished the night would never end as he laughed with old friends, danced ridiculously with hyperactive children, and sang his heart out on the karaoke before stuffing his face with cake. It was a night to remember, a night to never forget.

____________________________

He gently clicked laptop lid closed and looked to his wife, who was now laying silently in her bed, smiling with her eyes closed. Together, they lived the happiest day of both their lives, revisiting a life full of everything other than regret. The years had passed from that one day. That one moment in time has led to this, their final moment in time together. The end of their moment had come.

The man placed his hand on his wife’s, clutching her fingers with his. He climbed on the bed which she lay in, wrapped his arms around her to hold her close one last time. He had forever told her that he would be there to hold her tight until the end of time, and now, that time had come, and his wife faded from the world, dying in the place she loved most – In the arms of her husband.

The Child That Lived

His smile could bring life to a million flowers, his laugh could light up the world. He lives in a world that frown upon those who are deemed different, different in a way that seems out of the ordinary.

His name was Leon, and to the world, he was different. Upon birth, Leon had a condition known as spina bifida, meaning his legs could never move. Many people would feel sorry for themselves, others would try to fit into a world that would never accept them, yet Leon gave a glimmer of hope to those who had already given up on the game of life.

It’s a known truth that a child’s mind will generate questions to be answered, so they can learn and grow. It was predicted that Leon would ask questions about his condition, why the other children could walk and why he had to spend his days pushing himself around in a wheelchair, however, the day never came when he questioned his difference, he simply smiled, laughed and played like any child.

A shock to many, Leon’s positive attitude showed the world just how easy it is to enjoy life, no matter your difference. It’s mind over matter, that’s all.

If you see a child in the street, cursed with something that may bring them comments of horror, remember Leon, and remember just how one small thing can make a difference.

Life is beautiful, no matter who you are.

One Night Over

It’s a universally known truth that a man or woman will always feel a deep pain when it comes to a lack of lust in their life, even if they deny it. It’s human nature. Woman are more likely to express this feeling, yet men fear that their ‘man card’ will be taken away from them if they so much a shed an inch of light on their soppy love life.

It was roughly 3am, I couldn’t really tell as it was too dark, but I got a glimpse of the clock at the far end of the room when the moonlight was caught in its reflection. The deep breathing of the man beside me seemed to grow louder in sequence with the ticking; one second passed, and he drew a breath, another passed, and that breath seemed deeper, heavier than the last. He wasn’t falling asleep, as I could feel his hands moving up and down my leg, yet I could tell what he wanted – He wanted me to leave so he could sleep, but isn’t this what it’s all about, the soft, gentle quiet that follows an amazing, and often intense, night? Or have I been lying to myself these past few years?

My eyes remained glued to the ceiling, I was looking at nothing in particular, but I was looking. My mind forced my body to find a way to focus on something other than the questions being pelted against me, taunting me as thought I were experiencing a conscious nightmare. I felt used, but in a way that was my own fault.

“Do you want me to leave?” I asked, turning my head to face a pair of eyes that looked back at me with eagerness and humour. I could tell simply by the pause in his response that he wanted me to get out of his bed, yet there was something residing in him that didn’t want me to feel bad about being kicked out at such a time.

“I do need to get some sleep, but I don’t want you to leave if you don’t want to.” He sighed as he placed his head on my chest. The warm sensation that occurred at that moment almost made me forget about what he just said. It was almost like an instant pain relief, in a way. Should I simply get up and leave? I finally allow myself to listen to the questions I pain myself to ask over and over.

“It’s fine, I’ll go home.” I finally said in a plain voice, not wanting to let him hear my upset. I should be used to this by now, but I can never truly bring myself to stop. The feel of being wanted, knowing that someone finds me attractive in the slightest, is one of the best feelings, yet I know deep down that I’m only doing it because I’m alone. Is it really worth the inevitable? Each time is the same, each time I’m forever faced with the dreaded walk home, alone, cold and distraught.

I commenced with the usual sluggish movements to get ready, slowly searching for my clothes with my hands. I took as much time as possible, just to mull over my thoughts. It isn’t an easy process, yet I put myself through it just for the satisfaction of human contact.

As I was slipping on my underwear, I felt the man’s warm arms wrap around me. It’s a pleasant feeling, and I allow it to tame my trepidation for a moment, only to see the light at the end of the tunnel which is another oncoming train.

I managed to get ready without a single word being spoken. It took me several moments to adjust my jumper, which was another excuse to linger around for longer, but I was finally ready to turn and face him to say goodbye. As I did, I saw a feel of regret in his eyes. Did he truly care? That’s a question I’ll never know the answer to, but for the duration of my stay, it felt as though he did.

“I’m sorry you have to leave. I really wish you could stay.” He groaned as he took hold of my hands. There was almost a pain in his voice that suggested his words were true, yet I refused to allow them to touch my heart, which was forever cold.

His lips found their way to the skin of my hands as he kissed me softly before looking into my painful eyes. I could make out a hint of a smile that said so much.

“Text me when you get home, please? I want to know that you’re safe.” He continued, moving his hands to my arms. This is what I dreaded; the cute, soppy goodbye. It was almost a poetic tragedy, ending the same way it began.

“Yeah…” I said softly, trying to mask the regret that found a home on my tongue.

The goodbye was sweet but short, and I finally left, hugging myself for warmth, despite wearing a thick, light blue jumper.

The walk home felt longer than it was. I felt eyes on me every time a car passed me, fearing that they know the truth of where I have been, yet I know I’m just over-thinking, as I tend to do.

As I was walking through the dark streets, there was nothing going through my head. It felt like an empty dream, yet sadly this was no dream. It was a waken mistake.

As I finally entered the silent house that I call my home, I slipped my phone out of my pocket and slowly pressed various letter to form a shaky text. Do I put a kiss on the end? I asked myself as my thumb was held over the send button, but I deleted any form of affection at the last second. It was my not, not his own. I allowed myself to feel this way, to allow the tears to run down my face as I hit send.

This was yet another example of how my life had turned for the worst, how I let myself be consumed by guilt, regret and sorrow. But I knew only too well that soon I would be facing another episode of One Night Over.