A phantom that inhabits me wherever I go

This is an anonymous story collected from the public as part of the Human Archive Project

I am in the cafe and veil myself in the proficiency a cup of coffee and a laptop presents. Today I am ok, but I have dragged displacement about me like a weight or like a phantom that inhabits me wherever I go. Only in the creative process of my work is this distilled and centres me like an internal compass, and I transmute the phantoms in the act of being an artist. I am the daughter of two migrants, each from separate countries who both fled or were war damaged. I was born in England but moved to Ireland over 20 years ago. I have negotiated 4 cultures now but belong to none. I look to what dissolves these boundaries that people are so fixed on. When I make work, I am exhilarated, it is the only thing that dissolves the unbelonging I have felt all my life. The atmospheric silent invisible treacle that can bind me is also dissolved when I meet others like me and it has taught me to find a meeting place and empathic listening in all people I encounter and somehow people give me their stories. It’s like I have been an atmospheric barometer all my life to work out the nuances of what is going on. This habit comes from being a child in situations where you are having to learn ways of being other people have embedded in them from being born in a place of belonging. I try not to dwell on displacement anymore, but it is a dwelling, it is where we , the others, dwell.

A print of myself into your memory

This is an anonymous story collected from the public as part of the Human Archive Project

When I am down. I fall deeply down. I mope in my thoughts. Sometimes I confide in someone. Sometimes I keep it to myself. Last time I used to vomit out the words into my diary. The thing is, I seem often happy. Really, compare me to any other more unfortunate people around the world lacking in food, water and shelter, I am considered well-off enough. I do not need to worry about the next day and how I can survive. But yet, sometimes I feel down. I've seen more than one friendship that I've had fading away in front of me. And sometimes (maybe because I don't necessary ask for it) , I wonder if I mean anything to anyone. If I am gone one day, will I be missed? Will they just mourn for me until a month or a week is over and put it aside in their mind? Why am I here again? Is there a reason I was born? What if I am actually unneeded? Then what is the point? Is my life meaningless? Those questions are the reason why I try so hard to leave something behind to show that I existed. A print of myself into your memory. A good deed done for a random stranger. Reaching out first to help people. But then again, the things you do for others, they might not always remember. They move on with their lives. And that is just how it is. But what can I do? For now, I don't really know. Because the future is uncertain, although I wish there was some way to know.

I am me, not an example

This is an anonymous story collected from the public as part of the Human Archive Project

I am person who really not say been through alot but i would like to say going through times where i got scolded and punished by my parents, i really hope that a have a 2nd personality to cope with me through those times. I have stolen from my family a number of times, some might say i am young.. well i have to agree but now thinking back , Hey! I just wanted to be noticed. I was the oldest out of 3 children, and i was always told since i am the oldest i have to set an example. But now i know, i am me, not an example, i want to try and find the path i want to go and strive towards it, I am not the oldest I am me.

Left out there to survive on my own

I have realised that I've been thrown into a fire by my colleagues. Rather than saving me with water, they poured oil into it instead. No one thought me anything. No one helped. Left out there to survive on my own. Was it wrong to pity them? Was it wrong to help them?

I am unable to help myself

I decided to stop taking my depression medication for a few months, and I can feel myself falling back into a bad place again. It has been a long fight and honestly there are so many times I want to give in and give up on everything in my life.

The worst part is that I have to mask my condition, and I managed get through till my last year in university, but I am so afraid that in this final year when it counts the most, would be the time that I will fall again. And the strangest part is that I study in a social science course that is suppose to help people, and yet I am unable to help myself. And I feel most ashamed of that, and that I don't have the right to help others because I cannot even help myself.

I ran away

I ran away. I couldnt take the stress so I chose the easier way out. It seems like its a suitable choice, but I cant help feeling like a coward. Its not nice feeling mediocre. there's nothing that I'm special at, so it feels as if even if I disappear, not much will change. It doesnt feel good knowing you're forgettable, like the second choice when someone else is unavailable. but its okay!!! I'll do my best to bring positivity to make someone's else life a little brighter. I'll be as sincere as I can. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Think to be more relaxed

Think to be more relaxed

Nobody knows that I have been drinking alcohol like a mineral water

I hit to the pub, to drink. Only to find myself tipsy... and drunk. It has become a habit now. A habit where people around me do not know or taken noticed of. I hide it from family and friends as our religious has restricted us from touching alcohol. For each and every time I drink, it reminded me of..... the 44 days unforgivable from god. I don't know how to stop. Nobody knows that I have been drinking alcohol like a mineral water. It's funny, I know....

My only regret in life is not expressing my appreciation for someone I loved so dearly

My only regret in life is not expressing my appreciation for someone I loved so dearly. Stupid because that was a reason why he broke up with me, and it still haunts me till this day. I guess it wasn't that I didn't notice the things that he did, it was just that I was scared that he would get tired of me expressing my gratefulness. What a stupid fear, what an absolutely horrid excuse. It has haunted me for so long and I don't know if I can ever recover from the guilt that I feel.

I have destroyed the lives of those who loved me in the past

I am selfish. Though, I like to tell others I'm not. I have destroyed the lives of those who loved me in the past. I have cheated in every relationship I have been in. I have cheated with others who are in a relationship and destroyed theirs. I am impatient, self important and I can get evil. But I also want to help people. I want to help those who are troubled in this society. I want to create a level ground for everyone from every background. PS: I've always wanted to be Prime Minister.

There is someone whom I regret making the decision to leave

There is someone whom I regret making the decision to leave, he will always be part of me and I will learn to let go, someday. Or I might never be able to do that.

I collect my old hopes and keep them in a jar

I’ve always felt this way. I don’t expect to be seen. I’m walking in warning lights and beeping sounds. I dream in high ceilings and ominous skies. I want a context and a definition. I want to be taken as a whole but I don’t know what that whole is. I want to embrace everything. I’m homeless all the time. I’m seeking solace. I don’t know how to let go of the pen at the end of the page. There is a lake I can’t cross; I’m still searching for a boat. I’m looking for equilibrium. I don’t actually know how to stop. I swim in my feelings. I walk with my head underwater. I collect my old hopes and keep them in a jar. I list the number of times I’ve questioned myself. I’m trying to rebuild broken things. I’m trying to find my own voice. I write hoping to be seen. I write hoping to hold myself. I’m in an epilogue trying to find the start of a new story. I really don't like disagreeing. It makes me feel lost. I want to feel like a person. I want to know who you are.

I get told how lucky I am

To others my life looks amazing, that I have it all. A healthy family, a hardworking husband, a home, nice things, financial freedom. I get told how lucky I am and I am lucky in many ways. The truth is that I am ungrateful. I expect more, I'm never satisfied. I am lazy. I stopped trying and started expecting everything to happen without putting in my part. I have driven my husband away and now he may want to divorce me.

I've finally realised the faults and issues about myself, I've realised why I've been that way, how I've allowed issues from my past to haunt me and cause me to destroy my own happiness. But have I realised this too late? And I've learned he has secrets too. Secrets that I may never know the full truth of. Secrets that rip my heart apart.

Despite my issues and his issues, I now know that there's nothing more in the world I want than to work it all out and find our happy place again, but it might be too late.

The truth is, I feel so lost

People seem to think I'm this incredibly driven, passionate, and intelligent person. But the truth is, I feel so lost. I'm living alone and I don't have anyone that I can always run to. It's lonely, and it's confusing, and I feel there are so many things I do not know, so many people I have yet to meet, and God, all the knowledge I cannot absorb. I'm not as high up as everyone thinks I am. I'm just learning my way around and doing the best I can, and most of the times, it's not smiles and rainbows. Sometimes it's tears no one sees and screams no one hears. But at all times, I just want someone to understand that I'm ordinary and I'm human. I want to be reckless and irresponsible and spontaneous, but everyone seems to rely on my responsible and discipline front. I'm tired. All I want is a few days down.

I fail so often that I find it hard to believe in myself

My children are my greatest joy. By seeing them grow and experience things i never could, fills me with happiness. Without them I would die.

I feel sad that I have not always protected them from some of the difficulties I have to face and guilty that I have inflicted some of my unhappiness on them.

I have not always been a good mother but I hope I can make up for that.

My personal achievements are few but I want to be a good person who helps others.

I fail so often that I find it hard to believe in myself.

Being an artist

This is an anonymous story collected from the public as part of the Human Archive Project

Being an artist and an author can be fun.