I'm Sam and I live in England. If I'm not on Tumblr I'm probably reading or writing or playing guitar or bass. I will however drop any of that to talk to you.

 

I need help, Tumblr.
I feel so fucking awful. I can’t deal. I don’t want to be alone tonight because I don’t trust myself.

Message received loud and clear. I’ll stop bugging you now.

Ow man I forgot how good this campaign was. 

Best single player Halo experience. Not even close. 

Before you speak, ask yourself, is it kind, is it necessary, is it true, does it improve on the silence?

Sai Baba  (via stayinflyyy)

(Source: hallucinojenjen)

sexetc:

unimoosapus:

gayisthenewokay:

if i was bisexual i would use this line all the time

I am bisexual and I will, in fact, be using this in the future

Don’t forget Celebrate Bisexuality Day on September 23rd! Reblog if you support bisexual people!

(Source: cantcontrolthegay)

Am I the only one who always plays female characters in video games when I get the choice. 

Replaying Halo Reach, of course with a female spartan. 

I choose to believe she’s named Steph, and she’s gunna shoot her some aliens. 

Time to re-read The Rosie Project. 

Best feel-good book ever written. 

I kinda want to be productive tonight, but I just don’t feel up to it.

My blog’s been kind of a depressing read lately…

Sorry about that.
I’m just going through sort of a tough time.

Your regularly scheduled blogging will resume shortly.

I’m kind of weird about physical intimacy, but I’d work on that.
I’m quite clingy, and equally paranoid, but I’d work on that.
I’m not great at expressing my feelings, but I’d work on that.
I’d work on making myself worth your time, if you chose to invest it in me.

But why would anyone want a project like that when they could just have someone well adjusted?

How can someone be this militantly cognizant of their failings and still be happy?

Super depressed all of a sudden. I guess it has been a while since my last episode.
Just gotta survive until the end of my shift then I can go home and dissolve into a puddle of self hate.

Oh oh oh. This is super exciting. Eeeeeeeeeeeeee :D :D :D 

No chance of me sleeping for a while. 

But EEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEE I don’t care! 

A bit more of The Brightest Star

This continues directly from the last part I posted. 

We’re still in the first chapter. I wanted to define Sarah and Noah’s relationship super early in the book, and you don’t get much earlier than the first chapter. 

Yes, Sarah is depressed, no it’s not a story about depression. It’s a story about the relationships in Noah’s life. Sarah’s depression is a facet of Noah’s relationship with her. And later Maya’s relationship with Sarah (Ohhhh spoilers)

* * *

The first thing to do was to put some music on, I settled on some Elvis Presley, I listened to a lot of the King back then. The next task was procrastination. That’s the thing about working on a computer, distractions are so abundant and easy to access. The first of these I succumbed to was to check my blog, and to my surprise there was a little red number one above the mail icon along the top of my homepage. This was a rare occurrence given the handful of readers I had.  

Hey,

I saw the pictures you took of Maya Delany. They’re really good. My brother’s obsessed with her music, keeps going on about going to England to see her. What’s she like in person? Do I get the pleasure of telling him that she’s completely evil? Not that I’d take pleasure from my brother’s suffering, but, well, I totally would.

Before replying I decided to check out her blog. I went to her about page and was presented with a few lines of generic blurb everyone puts on their about page. Below that though was a picture of a girl with long, dark hair and blue eyes, and a little more weight than you’d find on the frame of a lad’s mag cover girl. She was smiling a big and natural smile, and the effect was quite beautiful. She was quite beautiful.

I was about to go back a couple of pages and reply when I heard the sound of breaking glass from the bathroom, followed by an impressive stream of invective. I knew immediately that today was not going to be a good day for Sarah. I suppose I should get this out of the way now- back then Sarah was pretty depressed. Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those stories. She remains alive and kicking through to the end. She’s just not always happy. You can deal with that, right? Well she did, so I’m sure you can.

Anyway. Our bathroom was -prepare yourself for this- small -shocking, huh?- There was a sink that was waist height for Sarah, and just bellow nipple height for me, and a shower cubicle that could best be described as compact. The toilet was fine though. They’re a pretty interchangeable item. Not much variation in toilets. Sarah was stood in front of the sink leaning on it, seemingly trying to disappear in on herself. Thankfully she was still clothed, otherwise the next five minutes would have been infinitely worse for both of us. There was a toothbrush in her right hand, clutched like a weapon.

“What happened?”

“I broke a glass,” she said.

“Well that’s nothing to stress over. We’re not so poverty stricken that we can’t afford to replace a glass.” My attempt at humour fell flat, as of course I knew it would. It still had to be made though.

“If,” she paused and the tears came. “If I can’t even clean my teeth without breaking something what chance do I have of actually finishing my degree?”

“A better chance than me,” I suggested. Prolific academic that I am, I could barely finish my GCSEs.

Given that thus far Sarah had refused to turn around I figured she was set in that orientation for the duration, so when I hugged her it was an awkward sort of embrace. My front to her back. I ended up with a face full of shoulder blade. I knotted my hands at her waist, she put one of hers over mine then cried for real. Sobs that jarred my bones.

I’d like to say I know what you’re thinking, but I really don’t. Different people have different reactions to depression. I hadn’t known much about it at first, but after the first breakdown I educated myself.

After we told our parents about it their response was to tell her to look on the bright side. They didn’t comprehend that depression steals your bright side. Asking Sarah to look on the bright side is like asking me and my limited intellectual resources to contemplate the vastness of the universe.

After a couple of minutes I told Sarah to go sit down. I went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on, then called her tutor to tell him that Sarah wasn’t going to be in today.