#22

It's just one of those things being single and lonely.

When I go to a party and find I'm the only

Singleton there, something creases inside me.

A reminder that life isn't smooth, neat or tidy.

Tonight's one such time; I'll be wheel No. 7.

And when everyone raises their arms to the heavens,

They'll have someone to kiss and remember New Year by

While I stand still, smile, my face telling a lie.

#21

Friends are exhausting.

Poker is fun.

My brain's priorities

Are second to none...

#20

Loneliness is not defined

By how many friends we have.

Rather how we relate to the world.

We are our own sat nav.

#19

Home alone.

Not since that night.

Two weeks of comfort.

Now, time to fight.

Big, empty house.

Just me and my brain.

Separate entities.

Split in twain.

Alarm set.

Home alone.

Music on loud.

Within reach of a phone.

Strength? Courage?

Shut up, Noel.

      My box has 28/12 on it.

To open it's my goal.

#18

Returning to the city

I wonder if I'll cope

Amongst the public transport

And money for old rope.

#17

Boxing Day, the 26th, a fist fight with my brain.

Crackers, hats and roasted meats; they all emerge again.

The medication's taking hold; I feel a little odd.
Owls swoop in a parliament and whales hunt in a pod.
Little facts and trivia help keep me in the zone.
Tweets and texts and Gmail chat appear upon my phone.
Perhaps I'll go out for a walk, I wonder to myself.
Or watch a festive movie, like Home Alone or Elf.
The Bodyguard is the biggest selling soundtrack of all time.
A traditional mojito's made with lemon, rum and lime.
Hivemind dominates my life while nothing else distracts me.
But if it wasn't there at all, well, just how dull would that be?

#16

Happy Yulemas to y'all, then!

I hope it brings joy

In the form of a good book

Or a newfangled toy.

Material things, though

Are merely the icing

On a communal day

That's serene and enticing.

Look after yourself

And those for which you care.

Remember that many

Need a good friend out there.

#15

Jokes, innuendo.

A silly kids' panto.

The latest Miranda.

A cute baby panda.

A win for my team.

Strawberries and cream.

My favourite song.

The J. Arthur Rank gong.

The kids from Outnumbered.

A life unencumbered.

The smell of cut grass.

A slap on the arse.

A flush on the flop.

Beverly Hills Cop.

The view from The Wrekin.

The girl I've been seeking.

Reasons to be cheerful? 

No.

Nothing.

I have reached anhedonia. 

#14

The letter from the Psych Team came

To set out all my goals.

One line set itself apart:

"To find, in life, a role".

I take direction from myself

But, like Wiseau in The Room,

My skills in that field aren't so great.

The imperfections loom.

#13

"Gym, Jim?"

"Yes, Jess."

"Feeling okay?"

"Yeah. Today."

"That's great!"

"Well, I ate."

"You've lost weight, then?"

"Yeah, down to 10."

"Come round. I'll feed you."

"Um, maybe. Thank you."

"I'm here, you know."

"Yeah, I do know."

"Have you seen her?"

"No, no. As per..."

"You'll move on."

"When she's gone."

"When she's dead?!"

"From my head."

#12

Sometimes

Saying nothing

Is preferable.

#11

The seventh day of Pill My Life,

The show that might not end.

New and live on VID TV,

The show to watch me mend.

Of course nothing has happened yet,

We've only just begun.

But dizziness and painful heads

Are spoiling all my fun.

At least I've got in a good schtick,

Of tablet with cuisine.

My daily bread comes with a dose

Of pure fluoxetine.

#10

The guilt arrives this time of year;

It's party season around here.

It helps to be around my friends

But a little voice within me tends

To tell me "No, you can't have fun!

Instead it's time for feeling glum."

I worry people see behind

The happy face that masks my mind;

That I do betray the thoughts inside

Like I'm taking myself for a ride.

The trick, I guess, is not to care

What's known about my life out there

I think not going public here

Is part of my own wider fear.

#9

It's tempting when you're feeling down

To get the tissues, go to town

On songs that might just draw a tear,

But I say no! Let's have some cheer.

So amongst all this solemnity

I hark for High Fidelity
And make pleasant mixtapes for myself
To try to nurture better health.

Of Montreal to Adam Ant,
The Go! Team, Four Tet, Apparat
And Ian Dury, Mr. Scruff,
A playlist for when life gets tough.

#8

I walked into the room

And sat down in the chair

There offered by the woman

With swathes of curly hair.

"I think I'd like to leave today,

I think I need to go."

I waited for what seemed an age

Before she said "I know."

Six years ago I left my school

To try to start anew.

17/12/2006;

From that point my life grew.

#7

A big part of learning to deal with all this

Is to find a few people to whom you can hiss

"It's happening again. Have you got time to talk?"

Or "I need some fresh air, mate, do you fancy a walk?"

But it's reaching that stage that's the difficult bit;

Not everyone's able to handle this shit.

The value of friendship should in no way depend

On whether someone has a shoulder to lend.

Some best friends can in fact be defined

By them saying "No, sorry, it's too much, I do mind."

Emotional investment or just your regular bias

Can mean good intentions sounding callous and pious.

They just care after all, they just want you to smile

And they may well be right that in fact you should dial

One of the helplines out there, an impartial receiver;

My best friend's kept saying this, and now I believe her.

#6

I started this blog up at an apposite juncture;

I guess this whole year has been one long slow puncture.

It started in January (as all years do)

With me groggily rising for the 05:22.

The Tube runs all night on New Year's Eve

So there wasn't much stress with choosing when to leave.

It had been a fun night, with hugs, kisses, singing and laughter

But one thing that only just dawned on me after

Was just how many couples had been in that room

And just how being single was a matter of gloom.

I'm a sensitive guy (if you couldn't yet tell)

And that fact got me down on the bus to Fulwell.

I alighted at the picturesque Twickenham Green

For a hangover party for us all to convene.

When I see happy couples, I find myself equating

Their sense of well-being with the fact that they're dating.

I'd had girlfriends, yes, but nothing ever enduring;

I'd never found coupling especially alluring.

But a thing in me flipped on that bright Sunday morning

When my feelings of loneliness started a-swarming.

#5

I'm afraid I've had a dreadful time

So this will be a shorter rhyme.

I was put on a programme of pills today

To try to keep all my bad thoughts away.

It was just like that great Iannucci scene;

Four pills is too many but three is too mean.

It's all about finding the exact number

That allows me to sleep, that allows me to slumber.

#4

Depressives unite! Let's form a new band.

Let's combat refusal to understand.

To reflect the main cause of our crippling pain

We'll call ourselves 'Hey! You! Stop judging my brain!'

Unsure of ourselves, we'll make a slow start

But within a few months, we'll have stormed up the charts.

"Our band's just too big, Jools, we really won't fit

And we're all right for keys, thanks. Now go have a sit."

A million guitarists keep bringing the noise,

The world's largest bass section maintain our songs' poise.

And what's that? Yeah, brilliant! We've ten on kazoo!

The kids on maracas and tambourine too.

We won't need no speakers, we'll make ourselves heard

As our message reverberates around the whole world.

And the message is this, to the people who sneer,

To the people who scoff at our panic and fear:

Our illness should never require a 'belief'.

When someone you love dies, do we laugh at your grief?

When you can't face the prospect of a morning at work

Do we tell you to buck up while masking a smirk?

With the funeral looming, while tears help you sleep,

Do you wish that you didn't hold those feelings so deep?

Because that's how I feel on a regular basis,

It really is hard to maintain homeostasis.

There's no point comparing, we're not keeping score,

It just is what it is and nothing more.

I grieve for the person I thought I could be,

Who wasn't unhappy at age 23.

#3

Wake up. Sigh. This isn't a dream.

At least in my sleep, things aren't what they seem.

Trivial objects frame concepts of home;

My toothbrush, my moisturiser, my comb.

But yet all these things mask the torture inside;

Behind an acceptable visage I'll hide

So people don't have to deal with my mess,

So people don't have to see my distress.

But it doesn't help, does it? When we hide from the world,

When we refuse to present our own psyche unfurled.

With a gap between public and private persona

We feel like McGowan or Ronni Ancona.

A perpetual impression of people we feel

Present a model of happiness that's total and real.

But maybe it's healthy to keep some control

So some light is still visible from out of the hole.

#2

"This poetry thing, then. What's the whole deal?

It's an odd way to talk about things that are real."

Well I'm just trying, you know, to make it more fun

Than a typical day when I don't see the sun.

A verse offers structure, a rhythm, a beat;

A literary sandwich with rhyme as its meat.

Each line an achievement, each stanza a win,

Each poem attempting to muster a grin

Amid all that I feel, amid all that I don't.

Amid all that I can't, amid all that I won't.

The main thing is having an outlet to vent

About all that I've been through and all that it meant.

The future looks brighter unclouded by thinking,

And feeling progression instead of just sinking.

If there's one thing I do know, it's that I can write

And that thought can settle me down in the night.

I don't have Plath's anger or Milligan's wit

But I'm able to juggle my words so they fit.

#1

So this is a story all about how

My life got flipped, turned -- No. Not now.

'04 - '12, not much has changed.

Throughout that time, feelings have ranged

From up to down, from here to there.

A horrible sense of going nowhere.

This project aims to help you out

If you're also plagued by such self-doubt.

A poem a day, a mental plaster

For you there Sir, Madam, Miss or Master.

A means to getting out of bed

And putting your hat on the side of your head.

So return tomorrow, I promise I'll be here.

Another few lines, a friendly ear.

I'm sorry I cannot yet show you my face

But sadly this isn't the time or the place.

However, I hope that you'll find a new home

In our poetry zone for the painfully alone.