the ancient mariner

there is no way.

i feel as though i’m losing the ability to look at things objectively.

losing the ability to understand.

it feels progressive - like an illness that’s creeping in and taking my mind away from me.

i can’t understand. i look at myself, try to think and analyse my feelings - and it just doesn’t work. i feel wrong all over.

To me it seemed there sat, in the back of my mind, a certain resignation - to a squandered youth, a stagnant life, a death hardly noted, let alone mourned - and this was never something I particularly lamented. There was no need - I was a fisherman. Being remembered was for rich men, and lucky ones. No one ever taught me that, but I had learned it well in time, and hence, I had learned not to aim for much at all. Now, with decades gone, with knuckles swollen to near disfigurement, sunken eyes and heavy shoulders, I knew I was not a lucky man.

To catch fish here is easy, and always has been, if you know where to go. My father was a fisherman, and his father before him and his father before his. No need to venture far out, catch enough to feed your family and stay out of debt. His words, which i followed to the letter. To be true, I was frugal, and content to stay exactly where I was, so long as everything was more or less okay. I never needed to be rich when I had the sea, and her steady, calm waves - she would give me all the wealth and luck i needed.

That day, I set off with a sensation in my fingertips I still can’t really describe. Anticipation? Dread? I’m not sure, but either way, it was electric, and I left with my heart pounding in my chest and my shoulders hunched, tense. In hindsight, the memory is hazy and dreamlike - It was as though I had been going through my morning by sheer instinct - observing, yes, but certainly not taking it in beyond the moment in which i saw it. One thought, coherent enough for me to remember, save for later - ‘I don’t remember the last time I felt this much at all!’

I don’t want to find Frances relatable. Bobbi reminds me more of a smarter version of my 13 year old self. Brash, smart, and major man hater. But Frances reminds me of me now. I think she’s just very very lonely. I don’t normally cry when i read sex scenes in books but now i do it seems. It’s like I can feel the intensity, or the hollowness through the pages. In the beginning of the book something is mentioned about Bobbi saying Frances doesn’t have a real personality - which is something i’ve also thought about myself for a very long time. But i disagree completely. Frances as a character is like. the essence of being a young woman learning who they are. I think she knows more about herself than she seems to realise throughout the story, and this makes me sort of feel the same way about myself. Basing my review of a book based on how the characters relate to me personally is far from a sound literary analysis- but all the same. It’s just beautiful and personal in a way I don’t really know how to articulate.

I actually thought it was kind of stupid - I thought it was embarrassing. The last thing i’d do at a party was get up and start dancing - no, I was too unbothered for that, too aloof. A nice way to tell yourself you aren’t hopelessly embarrassed by every step you take.

It took a long time, and a lot of alcohol, for me to start moving here and there. even at home, i hated how my body looked and felt when i danced. I hated myself so much i couldn’t even be alone in peace.

You always think you’re older than you are. I’m 19 now, and it took until a few months ago to go out more, and realise, that i had nothing to be ashamed of. I realised, that i loved music and i loved moving and i loved that so did everyone else, and that I wasn’t attracting a second glance. One night, in the most packed, loudest, darkest, brightest room i’d ever been in, my head spinning, i realised no one was watching.

and then the floodgates were just open.

It manifests as a cool sensation all over my skin, that makes the burning rush of my blood feel stronger, faster, hotter, in contrast. A constant buzz of anticipation. Feeling rough. Feeling alive.

Things have been going wrong - and it’ll be a summer i’ll remember. One that’s been messy, reckless and where i’ve been awful. I’ve never been less sure of myself, I’ve never seen myself the way I do now, I’ve never known so little, so much about who i am and everything i’ve ever been - and there’s nothing frightening about it.