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3 July 2007

Angsty Poetry

I have been wondering looking back in old diaries why it was that though I have been self harming since a stupidly young age that there are periods of greater destrustion that doesn’t seem emensly linked to how stressed or low I am feeling.

As a teeneger I was writing poems continuosly, a couple a day and lots of whiny diary entries but then my mother tried to get hold of it to read and that release of emotional prressure was suddenly blocked and so the self harm frequency begain to rise. The same happened with a room mate at University and the invasion of my personal space, all be it creative, was intolerable and so I stopped writing and drawing – especially as the demands of my course rose to consume all energy and effort.

I begain to look back on what I’d written and see it as pathetic teenage angst, dark and brooding and depressing and descided that it wasn’t for me. My mother had found some of the poems and just refered to them as too depressing rubbish and so I thought they were no good.

But the poems are good – they probably are bad poems and depressing and whiny and dark broody gothic; but as I write them once more I find the process almost akin to self harm, I can express the pain, the longing, the confusion – there on a page or screen and it is suddenly real. I can shift things around, make it better or delete it and this is like seeing the pain made physical in my self infliction.

Therefore the sensible course of action I feel has been to write the angsty poetry and though I think of it as so much bildge rot, it is expression and I don’t particually care how good it is – besides if I keep going I’m bound to find I’ve writen something worth while – well maybe.