It’s Getting Bad Again

March 4, 1926 Journals of Anais Nin 1923-1927 [volume 3]

21 January, 1926 The Letters of Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf (1924-1941)

i live in the memories of the abuse and i truly don’t think i’ll ever get out

i wish and i wish and i wish but it will never make things return to the way they used to be. i can wish all i want, but it will never be enough. i wish for the same thing every time: to be special to someone again. i know i shouldn’t tell you because now it won’t come true, but i think i was doomed anyway.

I have seen very few movies that are able to display grief so despairingly accurate, and as beautifully as Aftersun. And the most incredible part, is that all of the emotions and experiences the movie centers around remain unspoken, yet are blindingly prominent. After doing a google search or two, I discovered that Aftersun was based on the director, Charlotte Wells’ life, and that allowed me to see this movie in a different light; especially considering her father passed when she was sixteen, and I lost my father at fifteen.

While the movie never makes it explicitly clear what happens to Calum at the end, we can assume the vacation with Sofie was the last time she saw her father. Especially considering the ending, with the song “Under Pressure” playing in background while Sofie and Calum dance. I would also like to point out that towards the end of the dance, David Bowie’s part comes to an end with the lyrics, “this is our last dance” repeating while the scene fades out. While we don’t see anything explicitly sinister on screen, there are persistent undertones of dread and melancholy, as well as innocence and nostalgia.

This movie is nothing short of heartbreaking, yet it is also remarkably beautiful. The cinematography captures the world through the eyes of a child perfectly, and every single shot is so thought out and human. Because of how intimate the cinematography is, it feels like the audience is in Sofie’s memories as well. I love how this movie walks you through the dynamic of Sofie and Calum’s relationship not only emotionally, but visually as well. Despite Calum’s mistakes, his love for his daughter never needed to be questioned. Though, we can infer that Calum feels guilty for Sofie’s emotional turmoil. In the scene where Sofie is laying on the bed describing what sounds like symptoms of depression, she asks Calum if he feels the same way, the camera returns to the bathroom where we then see Calum spit in the mirror. That scene reminded me of my own father, and the subtle nod to Calum’s guilt was absolutely incredible. Not to mention both actors, Paul Mescal and Frankie Corio were nothing short of incredible. Their performance felt so incredibly real.

Aftersun felt like a dream in the best and worst ways possible. An unspoken longing for the past, and the persistent grief and depression that follows. This movie genuinely holds such a special place in my heart. Absolutely magnificent.

Sorry for acting weird I foresaw omens in my youth that came to fruition

Suns out. flowers are blooming. birds are chirping. yaoi shit is happening to me. maybe it'll all be ok

tldr; i need to get the fuck out of my head

the idea of it is so liberating, quiet, and eternal; yet at the same time it is so horrifying, parlous, and uncertain.

i am a phony man, a paper tiger. sometimes i feel like i walk around with a plastic trophy of survival on display, presenting myself as some sort of phony symbol of courage, of survival. i walk around with glass skin, fractured and stained, and i know people see the cracks. i know i am breaking. you do not have to gaze upon me with such contempt. i am a sunbittern, flashing my wings, making myself look big. to protect myself? maybe, that’s what i like to tell myself, but i know it boils down to attention. it boils down to my sickening desire to be seen as something more than i really am. i make my trivial successes seem like home-runs, i make my words sound more significant than they really are, and i make my survival sound more epic than it really is. i am a liar, a con man, with my immaturity and pseudo-boy mentality. i was born a liar, and i will die one.

i guess there’s not much to tell that hasn’t already been told. i was forged in a broken household seemingly forgotten by god. i was raised by a broken man with skeletons, and bottles alike, in his closet, and a woman sipping whiskey and spitting violence between her prayers; both killed by their poisons. i used to take strikes at the hands of those who were supposed to protect me, with my body tallying the score. i still feel it, you know. that fear. i feel it all the time, like i’m just waiting for the next blow. i know this is odd, but sometimes i wish they were still around to hit me, i wish i had more proof than distant memories. i wish i had something more than a faded recollection of my mother’s venomous words and firm hand, and my father’s brutality. the only proof that’s substantial is buried in my flesh. however, i forgive my father, sometimes it seemed like he was just a scared boy in a worn man’s body. my mother on the other hand, is not so easily forgiven. her wrath and rage ran deep, and when it was fueled by the liquor, it was hard to believe a mother was supposed to love like that. but she was a girl too, alone and fatherless. i think about her as a girl and it makes it harder to believe she was so cruel.

i don’t really know the point i’m trying to drive home. i just feel so behind, and i’m constantly running out of time. every second that passes is a moment of time i’ve lost, and the overwhelming majority of them are wasted. i waste so much time smoking pot but it’s the only thing that makes me feel okay. i can’t do school, i can’t take care of myself, i can’t properly care for others, and i can’t seem to clean my room no matter how bad i want to. and i know it’s a whole mindset thing blah blah blah, i’ve heard it all before. i know i’m not getting much better at all, and i know the habits preventing me from doing so, yet it feels like i’m completely trapped in cycles. i am so tired. and this is a bunch of word vomit bullshit and i don’t think anyone will read this far. but i am just so fucking bad at being human dude. i am a complete failure. i have accomplished nothing, and i don’t know how to be alive. i don’t understand things that most people do, and i just can’t seem to do anything functionally these days.

i guess for now i won’t seek out what is beyond our existence, but the thought of doing so taps at the back of my skull to the tune of gymnopédie no. 1, a haunting constant in my mind.

i just wish i was normal so bad man

It makes me so insanely pissed that people care

I know it sounds stupid and self loathing and it is

But I don’t understand why people still stay with me despite how fucked up and neurotic I am

I feel like I do nothing except make my problems other peoples burden

Take this stupid fucking account for example

All I do is bitch and whine

I’m sorry you have to be around someone like me

I’m sorry that I hate myself so much that it bleeds out of me in every way possible

I wish I was different so bad

I wish I could be a better friend

I wish I could be a better brother

I wish I could of been a better son

I wish they didn’t die only knowing me as their daughter

I’m sorry that this is such a big part of me

I’m sorry none of this makes sense

I am in so much pain