Empty.

Empty.

An existence. One filled with a ‘feeling’ so hard to comprehend, and consequently, inexplicably hard to define.

Being empty is when you are running on only the most necessary state of mind needed for the simplest survival; you carry out day-to-day tasks without realising. You walk, you eat, you drink, you sit down, you lie down, you stare, you disappear. You don’t realise.

Being empty is when you see your reflection and see it as just a reflection of a person whom you do not recognise. It is when you stand and stare at the person in the mirror for endless minutes, thinking nothing, seeing nothing. You do not see the emotions or the history behind the skin. You see only a person, it is not you, is it even a reflection any more?

Being empty is when you hit things, punch walls, cut deep, without a second thought. It is when you wait for the pain to set in because you need it so badly to remind you that you are still alive, not just in a limbo of confused existence. It is when you don’t even realise you needed the pain, you just do it as a reflex.

Being empty is being physically unable to move or talk or listen. You cannot move from your state of paralysis in front of the mirror or in the corner of your room. You cannot move the fingers that you have so intricately entwined with a blade away from your wrist. You cannot answer the question you were just asked. You cannot recognise the words that are being spoken.

Being empty is where you see only denotation. The connotations you automatically think have disappeared and you are left with nothing but ‘ceiling’, ‘rain’, ‘blood’.

Being empty is where you are not sad, nor happy, nor angry. You feel them all at once, in a rush so strong that you cannot feel them at all. Perhaps it could be said that there is so much emotion that there is none.

Being empty is where you do not know which is worse; the emotion or the state of numbness.

Being empty is when you do not feel. Being empty is when you cannot feel. Being empty is being a ghost.

Being empty is feeling nothing when your lover kisses you or wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. It is feeling nothing when she strokes your face and tells you that it is going to be alright.

Being empty is when you cannot cry because there is nothing to bring the tears, despite the millions of thoughts that circled in your mind just ten minutes ago.

Being empty is not living.

Being empty is existing.

Being empty is being hopeless.

Ghost town?

Side note: If you don’t like the idea of the paranormal, don’t read this post. Or simply skip to the bottom half of the post which I have started in bold as this contains no creepy stories, just a random thought I had. Hope you enjoy.

A thought popped into my head this morning as I walked by the river in Richmond today. At first it was fleeting, but then I began to really think about it. Firstly I must say that I know this is illogical, unrealistic and totally untrue. It was just a thought that makes you think ‘what if?‘ because what’a the point of having an imagination if you cannot consider these impossible things?

So this post, as you can guess from the title, is based around the mysteries of the paranormal, you know, ghosts and things.

I don’t know whether you believe in ghosts and to be truthful, I’m not sure whether I do either. There are so many stories and tales about ghosts being around us, living around us, along side us: haunted houses, the ghosts of long-dead queens (one of which supposedly haunts Hampton Court and runs down the halls screaming as she apparently did before her execution during the rule of Henry 8th) and experiences of the general public. For example my neighbour has a friend whose daughter is friends with a girl living a road away from our house. That’s irrelevant but anyway. These two girls, teenagers, we alone in this friend’s house, watching TV when suddenly there was an incredibly loud noise, described as, I quote, ‘like a washing machine had dropped from the ceiling into the floor‘, and not even half a second later, they were physically thrown back off the sofa onto the back wall by a humongous, incredibly forceful gust of wind. They now won’t be alone on the house by themselves, they’re too scared. In addition, the people who live there have also said that you can often hear footsteps running down the stairs. Moreover, a visitor to the house saw a little girl playing in their back garden, dressed in old, traditional clothes worn in the Victorian era, but when asked who she was, the family were shocked as there was no possibility of a young girl getting into their garden… And when they turned round again, she was gone.

OKAY GUYS, if you’ve been skipping the first half, you can read from now on.

So, we’re constantly told about these things and some believe them, some don’t. But a thought occurred to me.

What if we’re the ghosts?

Yes, I know, this totally impossible and a crazy idea… But what if?

What is we were reborn as ghosts, living in a world of the dead, oblivious to the fact that we are the dead, not the living? What if the living are here right now, right next to us, blissfully unaware that we are here? Who says the after life can’t be like this one? Why shouldn’t ghosts listen to music and go to concerts and have an education and live a new life until they are old? Or what if this world, the world of the dead, is so totally different to that of the living? What if the living world is one that is far more advanced? Or maybe it is stuck in the Victorian era? (I’m not sure whether people who aren’t English will know about these different eras considering it is not relevant to other countries, and if you don’t, let’s just say it was a long time ago.) So what if we are experiencing this life in acceptance that this is how the world is because we don’t know any different? Maybe we are the ghosts that the living will experience and be afraid of and maybe the spirits we may experience are other dead, living in a parallel world? What if this world is parallel to thousands of others, each in certain generations… Maybe ghosts can die. What if this is our afterlife? What if this is Heaven or Hell? What if this is the ‘Inbetween’? Yes, I did just make that up. The reason I called it the ‘Inbetween’ was because there is so much happiness that it surely cannot be Hell however there is so much pain and suffering that it could not possibly be Heaven.

I’m not religious, so I don’t particularly believe in Heaven and Hell but I do like to think there is an afterlife. I was brought up by a Christian mother so some things kind of stuck with me. And it just made me think.
What if?
I’d love to know what you think about the paranormal and afterlifes, etc. Maybe we all died and are here in preparation for the regeneration into the world of Sexy that George and I discussed. …Only he and those who have read our extremely long comment thread will understand.

Anyway, let me know your views in the comments, I really enjoy discussing these things!

Xx

P.s. I’m writing this in the car on the way back from London so that is why ou have a random post published in an illogical order without the 30 Day Challenge or any of the others I said I’d so. I am doing to do them, I promise, but when this is published, you will probably not get another one for the night. Enjoy your day 🙂

What is your ‘first kiss’?

So, I had a thought this evening. And it probably seems like one of the stupidest questions ever. And one of the soppiest. Sorry not sorry.

What is your ‘first kiss’?

Because, I suppose it depends on your perspective and viewpoint (and whether you’re a hopeless romantic who watches too many chic-flicks, comme moi).

Is it really, the first kiss you had, no matter who it was, when, where or why? I mean, would you class that kiss that you had at a school disco when you were 7 as your ‘first kiss’? Or perhaps one when you were drunk at a party playing Spin the Bottle?

Or is it… the first kiss that really meant something.

anime-kiss

Do you see what I’m getting at here?

Because I always thought of ‘a first kiss’ as being something that really meant something, you know? It was something that mattered. I always thought it’d be with the person you love, rather than some stranger. But on the other hand, a first kiss is, basically, the first time you kissed someone, but with added romantic stigma.

Haha, I was a really soppy kid.

And does your first kiss really matter? How significant is it to other people? And can you have multiple ‘first kisses’, for example, your first kiss with a different partner?

What are your views on this? Either vote on the poll (getting techy here) or let me know in the comments and make me feel like I’m not the only one who thinks about these things.

 

“You’ve been watching ‘Soppy Friday Night with Girlwiththesilverlocket, thank you and good night.”

xx