A Dangerous State of Mind – A Rant


A couple of hours ago, as I was walking home from Portchester after a stupendously pessimistic conversation about the future with my friend Kris, I had everything I wanted to say mapped out neatly in my mind as I envisioned what this post would look like. Now as I stare at this plain, white screen, I’m not too sure where I should start. I realise its been a while since I’ve written something for this site, not that it should concern the globe, but the sad honesty of it all is that I’ve simply lost interest in writing. As a matter of fact, I’ve lost quite a lot of interest in everything. Even now, there’s an unrelenting urge welling up from within me to give up this post, and delete this entire poxy website. God knows how often I actually use the twat. But then again, I feel like I need to say something. And quite frankly, I couldn’t find the right chords for a song about my troubles, so if by some slim chance you’re actually reading this post, then I thank you very much for your time. Time is the most valuable thing really, especially to me.

I’m not entirely sure what good can come from writing this post, but then again, fuck it.

I want to be better and more interesting than everybody else, I always have and I probably always will. That’s the reason I play musical instruments, just so that I can say that I can do something that the majority of people can’t. Is this a narcissistic way of thinking? Or is it just self confidence? Whatever it is, its given me a lot of drive over the years but at the same time its made me think a bit less of myself. After all, the people that I look up to have always told me to put others before myself, but I used to live under a slightly distorted way of thinking;

“Always put others before myself, but only if I’m better than them”

Its pure evil to me, and I have no way of justifying it other than it made me the person I am today. I’m still not entirely sure whether or not thats a good thing. Of course I don’t live by this way of thinking anymore, I like to think I’ve grown a lot over the past few years. With growth comes maturity and a realisation that I’m never going to be better than everybody else and that I should treat people as I would like to be treated regardless of whether or not I think I’m better than them.

I’m rambling a lot more than I expected I would, but perhaps that’s healthy. Its been too long since this blog has been active, and that’s due to my lack of interest in writing. I’m not sure why I stopped giving a toss, I just remember one day realising that I hadn’t written anything for The Scarlet Door in two months, and that it had totally slipped my mind. This blog cost me a bloody hell of a lot of money to establish, and here I was sitting about wanking my time away when I could have been utilising this very useful tool. My days admiring journalism seem to have disappeared. Funny that, it was all I could think about at the beginning of 2018; I had finally found my true calling. It was relief that for once in my life there was a sort of plan, not an entirely meaty, well thought out plan with veins and all, but a skeleton of a plan nevertheless. Now The Door serves as a reminder of my stupidity, and my desperate clutch onto the idea that I could live a successful future as a creative.

I was round Kristian’s house today working on our special subject investigation for our college course; we’re working on a documentary following the writing and production of an album Kris is working on for his solo music. Kris, his girlfriend Chloe, and myself were sat on a sofa with a microphone in front of us capturing every single word we spoke, talking randomly about music and recording. After an hour of recording our awkward drivel, we gave up and went downstairs to watch low budget horror films on Netflix. Something about our less than productive day really struck a nerve within me; maybe I’m not capable enough to carry out these ideas that I have? Maybe I’m not good enough to be a better and more interesting person?

After Chloe had gone home, me and Kris went for a long walk and spoke about our future. In recent history, we’ve been considering the possibility of us renting a flat together and collaborating on music. In fact, our ideas of the future have led us to many different possibilities; some included us moving to Melbourne and establishing an avant-garde musical trend, and some included a long trip to Vietnam where we would experience a different culture in an attempt to broaden our minds. I suppose it all boils down to me and Kris wanting to be successful in our creative fields; release a few songs, maybe an album, build a fanbase, establish trends, tour the world, collaborate with our heroes. Everything’s easier said than done, isn’t it? In all fairness, you shouldn’t really climb such tall trees unless you know you’re ready for the climb, all the hard work and toil. Kind of takes the fun out of dreaming, doesn’t it?

Everything just seems bleak recently, as Kris pointed out to me earlier, we keep repeating the same cycle over and over again expecting something to change. College during the week, sneaking off on our breaks to smoke weed and chat shit, getting back in time for our next lecture. Working our mindless customer service jobs, getting paid to serve consumers so that we may one day consume for ourselves. Going to a house party on a Friday, necking cheap vodka and Lambrini, getting pissed in someones back garden, dancing to drum and bass, smoking F-plate white widow blunts, professing our undying love for each other, and yelling about how we’re all going to be friends forever and ever and more. Its just not the harmless horseplay it used to be. I don’t even know if I can say I’m living in my youth at 20 years old.

Youth is a dangerous state of mind.

I wish things were a lot easier; I wish music didn’t have to be so unique in order to stand out from the rest. I wish I wasn’t so afraid of dying. I wish I was good with my money. I wish I didn’t smoke cigarettes to provide a temporary numb to my stress. I wish I didn’t have to smoke cannabis to feel genuine laughter roar from my belly. I wish I knew what to do with my talents. I wish I took an interest in the world around me, and actually understood just how much of an impact Brexit will have on me.  I wish that I was mature enough to say yes to attending University, and getting a degree that looks good on the CV. There’s a lot of things about me that I would change in a heartbeat, but everybody’s their own biggest critic, am I right? Sure, doubt is hardwired into us to protect us from making mistakes, but how long can you keep doubting yourself for until you realise you’ve fucked everything up?





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