001: nuke day . 11th october 2025 / started about 5.50 a.m. | finished 6.38 a.m. -

i was sat in a lecture on utopian fiction earlier this year when an ex-friend texted me that the government was planning to prepare for a possible nuclear war. they were working in the civil service and had meetings in ten downing with mister starmer himself so it was hard to take my lecturer seriously when she told the class to try and imagine a better world today at the end of our two hours.

university has waved freedom in my face in the same way you would wave bank notes at the homeless. i've never felt more stuck between feeling that i should be able to be free to live the life that i want to but being so trapped by everything that has happened to me before and everything that may continue to happen to me going forwards. i know the cold war is a phenomenon of forty years ago but i found myself violently awake and drenched in fear that my life could end within minutes only a year ago. i moved to a major city for university that just so happened to be a hotspot for a nuclear attack. there would be about fifteen minutes to get away from complete obliteration but if you knew the horrors of surviving a blast then you may reconsider running away at all. i was supposed to get away but ran myself back into a blitz-like shelter. writing about it only ties my rib bones back into intangible knots.

i actually had an appointment with a psychological consultant of some sort who asked me questions that were far too ambiguous for the simple yes or no answer that they demanded. she then asked me follow-ups and i expanded the best that i could. i think that i most importantly told her of how i felt assaulted by my memory which she then she told me that i probably have ptsd of some kind. this began september of 2024 and i am now on a waiting list that guarantees treatment in 2026. at least. as if i'm not going to kill myself by then. alright. anyways. they are aware that cognitive behavioural therapy has not worked at all for me in the past so they are going to refer me for "trauma-based" cognitive behavioural therapy instead. they said it is different. i am skeptical.

it was around november when my attempted poetry became more experimental until i eventually wrote that "lately it feels as if my brain has been melting" and then forgot to pick that pen back up. trump was re-elected and nearing a year later it is safe to say everybody was right about his plans and he remains to be full of shit. it felt to be the nail in the coffin of any hope i had for the state of the world. it was around this time in which i would only eat the odd slice of bread, the same bread but toasted on the oven, and soup from a sachet. the hot water would be boiled on the oven hob from the same saucepan that i had to cook in. i also brewed cups of tea this way and i'm pretty sure it is what gave then such a bitter and almost fowl taste. this same taste went unnoticed in the soup though. this would have been after my nineteenth birthday if trump were to be officially elected around the fourth. i spent the day on negative hours of sleep, shaky, red-eyed, and wandering around the nearest tesco's trying to convince myself to buy a cake while listening to 'haunt me x3' by teen suicide. i did buy a cake and candles but swiftly realised i could not light them in my flat since the smoke alarms would likely set off. it was a horrible day and it is approaching once again. it also falls on the same weekend following halloween if it wasn't bad enough. i was going to dress up as maybe daria morgendoeffer or fix-it felix for halloween this year. that was until i realised i would be sitting alone in my room and i'd rather draw as little attention to the date as possible if i am to spend it alone again. i'd say that i think i hate my life but i'm not sure if i was ever granted the ability to enjoy it.