w00t

Very very quickly...

HaPpY hApPy NEW YEAR !!!!

Enjoy yourself, be merry...or not.

I'm off to my gran's, my belly full of reheated spaghetti bolognaise (which I made myself). Feeling Okay. Feeling Okay.

Tomorrow, whenever I wake up - 2004: Well...

But I think from my blog, you can conclude that quite a bit changed: my life is fucked up: too much, too much my dear, has happened....

So erm, yeah. New Year everybody.

~ South East Asia - I'm so sorry ~

Can't help being useless, can I? But I can say sorry...
Gotta go. 2005, another year, awaits.

Hmmm

I told myself that I would do a politics essay just after I've finished this apple (which is gorgeous, but you can't see it, canya?). Hmmm, cos you see I've finished the apple and I'm still writing....

Darn, I wish I hadn't gotten so lazy. But I swear, when college starts I'm going to get so mad busy this holiday will be a dream. I've found this really cool magazine that is for young people and writes about hot, underground music and the latest fashion. AND they want people to work for them! The way they work is a sort of writing academy for young writers like me. I will work for them for free, and in return my work gets published, and I am able to build up my portfolio further. It's a good deal. It really is. I've found two mags like this already, my luck must be going up.

I'm also gonna be head editor for this feature on second generation young people, although that is moving slowly at the moment. And there's also the training gig with the 11 year olds. This time I'm going to teach the more technical points of writing for the internet, which I know almost nothing about. Should be fun!

What else? Oh, AS levels and Oxbridge applications, I'm guessing that should be like, top priority and take up all my time and all that. If only I cared!

Anything else? Alice, my amazing girlfriend. Things have been weird, but I'm better now and nothing else and nothing else is going to change that. And when was the last time I cut? I think it was Christmas Eve, but it meant nothing. It's a routine, unemotional, insurance cut to make sure the Big Day went smoothly and I didn't burst into tears or anything distracting.

Could life get better? Well, my poetry is going really well, and I'm really getting into my style. I went onto the BBC site for tips that didn't make my blood boil, and found some structure designs, including this french one called the Rondeau, which is simple, poignant, old, v. rhythmic and French. I love it. I am purged. And...I was talking to Ali last night about stuff and she told me a bit about this secret book. I can't tell you anything cos I don't know that much, but when she finishes her first draft I'm soo reading it. And as she was talking about her cult book project, I remembered my story from last April (April! AND I still dream about it sometimes), and I thought to myself I HAD to read it. And I did, making mini changes with my red pen (well, the most you can do at 1 in the morning) and I found holes - major ones in the plot, and I'm building them back up. I just need a proper, logical, almost emotionally blank outline. I need to know what I'm going to do, I can do it quicker and better that way, right? Can anyone help me on this? Oh well, but I think that's my *resoulution*. But its not really, or of course, I'll never get it done, like ever!

Christmas Cheer, Christmas Calamity, and Christmas Callousness

Babe, I'm just writing that for the title ;)

Today was a getting the turkey day. Of course, in Britain, as in everywhere else (as sure I am in my self-contained world) turkey is v. important. Brits eat 10 million turkeys during the Christmas season. There are guaranteed cat fights over the last Turkey in Tesco every year.

It started last night, when at 11:30pm, me and Dad left for Tesco. This was a good, but hilarious move for although it was better, it was only more slightly bearable than usual. Somehow we spent £126 on total crap such as chocolate and yoghurts and loads of good good cheese. I have to say though, that even at midnight in the corporate oasis you have crazy people, half asleep meglomaniacs or just poor alpha males whining "baby, I just want to go sleeeeeep! Sleeeeep!". I'm afraid to say that shopping, especially christmas shopping is a woman's and this is from experiences of a 10 year old girl writing the lists, signing the cards and begging the bro to wrap everything and getting none of the credit. We even had some mad woman nick our mince pies when our backs were turned! We finished putting everything away at 1am - to bed with me...

I couldn't stop thinking about eating. I hadn't really been eating properly since I realised I was losing weight. I'm not anorexic - I just don't want/deserve to eat until I fit into that shows off my flat stomach...but each and every year, for once in a blue moon (they come round once a year, right?) there is chocolate! and biscuits! and too much ice cream in the house! Red fucking alert, I mean the stomach's coming back with a vengeance. But no, so far I've been good, maybe I'll actually lose weight over the holidays...

That communist (nice ghosts that don't solidify) idea flew outta the window when I saw the turkey we bought. It totally fleeced us as nearly a cost of £60, and this was 28 pounds of turkey madness. I couldn't lift the damn thing, and I gotta help grandma make the stuffing for it tomorrow. Crazy drivers doing u-turns in a busy high street (Dad), rushing around with massive bags of rice, planning what to cook for my Boxing day dessert, I have a nice thin sheen of a headache now. Lovely.

But you gotta love Christmas! I just can't wait to see my family, and have some good good food with you know, good good people. I really shouldn't like, dislike hating christmas so much. I'm going off to write some good poetry and I'm never using the word 'good' again.
There.

Something I love

A little project. I want to write something brilliant for my creative writing club in the New Year. Moreover, I want to write something happy:

I wish to write about everything that there is impossible to write about. I love to write.

You see, when I want to express myself all I have to do these days is put pen to paper. I don’t even have to write something substantial. And then all my crap, all my feelings are made into something useful, something that I can look back and call upon.

For me, writing puts things into such great perspective I almost get a feeling of vertigo, and I remember that there are so many things I love, though sometimes it appears to be so little. Maybe it’s a case of a “whoa!” factor of my Storybox. Its basically a file folder thing in which all my poetry, songs, stories and good random stuff I want to be remembered for is put into. Now, I’ve made one every year, in the second or third week of June for 5 years.

But you know something I would love to be able to do? Write Slash. It’s the most brilliant art form in a way, fanfiction for its does put your creativity to the test. Its not your baby, and you different expectations to the original writer, and you would have a different style that could ruin the whole plot. The writer of fanfiction cannot just put their head down and get to it. They have to keep all these things in mind, and write like a novel: lots of dialogue, development of character, maintenance of plot without alienating the readers who already have an expectation of the background, history of the characters and their assigned personalities. It’s a tough gig. But once you get into it, its magical because you already have a fan base and its always spellbinding to see what is possible in an alternative universe of a story such as Harry Potter, an what could happen in that alternative universe. Oh, just the thought of it makes me giddy.

Crawling out

I'll make this short. I've been at Oxfam, or partying, or studying. Now I'm doing none of these. Its my day off. Then on monday I'm going to become lead editor on a story about second generation young peeps, finishing a newsletter (yes, a newsletter. Journalism doesn't sleep-its on the CYB residential in Mancs I went to on the 4th/5th december) then I'm meeting up with Ria and we're going to Earls Court to see MUSE !! !! !! Ahem, should be brilliant - everytime I mention it someone else I know is going. People are begging for tickets, The Zutons, who rock, are supporting and I'm going to hang with Ria and give her a massive hug.

I want to be poetic, but I haven't got the time, for I'm tidying up the house to make Dad sweet for tomorrow, as I'll be away from home all day and night, and Ria will sleeping over. Then I have the GYUK meet, but I won't stay long and I'll leave with Alice. Then theres the Children's Express christmas party/showcase which I might go to...then I'm cooking some cakes and then there's Xmas...then Hollie's birthday party, then the new year, then College on the 4th. When the hell am I supposed to do my Classics coursework???

Relax?

PAH!

At least I'll get to eat. Eventually. I'll make it up on Christmas day...

I'd also like to proclaim that me, and Alice M.P have been girlfriend and girlfriend for a month. Today, the 19th of December, is our one month anniversary.

We met up at a party yesterday. We waltzed to the Spice Girls. I think I'm falling in love with her. She has made my life so much brighter, and she is my english rose. She literally gave me one yesterday. If you listened to Paul Weller, you'd understand.

Quote of the Day

"Excuuuse me, I'm conversating, OK? Con-ver-sat-ing!!"

Ah, bad grammar from a hiphop bunny in the library's computer room. Horribly funny, especially if you're trying to write the most pointless essay in the world...Doo be doo.

Get a Grip

I'm emailing my blogpost this time. Well, I've shook off my hormonal, self-pitying selfish weirdo of me last night and got a grip. I'm really glad for it.

I was listening my cutting CD (yes I have a CD, though not especially made), when Cry by Alex Parks came on, and I was reading my old diary. It had my original 20+ wishes. I had completed a lot of them - going out into Central london, getting lost in a place I can get unlost in, coming out to dad, getting a job, changing the world just a little and one of my favourite: "to write loads, reams and masses." Done that too. I also realised I had a beautiful girlfriend who I had blew off yesterday cos my mind was that fucked up; that I had been making myself throw up while my Dad was relaxing to jazz downstairs. I realised how bratty I had been. Yeah, I had hit a rock bottom of sorts, and I needed breathing space but it didn't mean I had to push everyone away. I'm better than that. And so, I got a grip on my dissolving grip. I didn't cut last night. And today wasn't too bad. But I have an essay to write and time too is dissolving (until thursday 17th when Xmas hols start)

2 weeks pre-Xmas madness

Woke up at 9:30, went to Oxfam for their re-opening in a bigger venue. Its freaky because the place looks gorgeous and looks so professional-linoeum floor, central heating, proper lighting, a jukebox the works! They even have this massive poster/painting/picture of Sgt. Pepper which erm Peter, em Blake! had signed. There was booze everywhere, of course and everyone was happy but I was just delighted I wasn't on the till cos the place was going mad. We must have gotten at least 2 grand, and all for charidee.

I got cornered by the lovely Hilary and I went raffle-ing. First prize was a signed Eric Clapton LP (who, at the launch party, hardly anyone liked!) and each raffle was £1 each, and I sold over 100 tickets. Feeling quite proud of meself, methinks. Then I managed to escape that around 2:45pm (its soo hard to sell raffles half-pissed, lol. There was no orange juice-anywhere), and went to Grandma's where I had a hunky chicken soup and did a quick gasp of Christmas shopping in this great £1 shop and bought plenty of christmas cards, and other stuff (can't say cos Ria's present is involved and she reads this.) and by the time I got home my feet were screaming. I had pretty much been on my feet from 10:30am to 17:56pm. Oh, the aarghness of it all still reminds me how much life I'm living at this moment, and how I need to use it properly (ie: all the charity work I'm doing, the new friends I've made, my writing).

I also decided to keep SG. . .

It turns out, I can't look after myself for more than a week. 6 days was the longest I was able to last without having to...I don't know. But I knew I had to. One of the things I liked about myself was that my hands and fingers were warm whatever the winter and I've always liked that because it made me seem cuddly, and approachable. (Ria) would always ask me to warm her hands because hers are always freezing. But since I've started cutting, my fingers are always cold and so its harder to type than usual which is particularly depressing. I decided to look on the web to find out if this was normal with "prefects" (my brother's in the room), and they've actually compared it to heroin addiction, that "prefects" apparently get the same rush when they er, "discipline" themselves as a heroin addict. Some "prefects" even get prescribed the same medication, its nuts and quite scary. I remember emailing a friend why I couldn't give SG away: I'm addicted. If I was a drunk I'd have lost all my friends and I'd be in spiralling debt, not at least stinky and scratchy. If I was a crack/heroin addict (how appropriate) I'd be careless, in some descript blank walled house begging for more, half dead. I'm not there yet. And I don't wish to be.

When I wasn't disciplining myself last week I was completely numb, which is so much more dangerous than the burning version of depression. People with numb depression plan suicide perfectly, and execute it perfectly. I know this because my plans were beating inside me and would not go away. Death didn't scare as much and that fact didn't scare me. I couldn't cry, at least properly. Tears would just come out of nowhere, and it wasn't a release, it was just a fact of life in Betty's life. She cried, and it was nothing to be worried about.

My life is (was?) nicely organised, but I was just falling apart on the inside. Now I feel I have to cut, slice away all those slices of dust on my mind. Dust used to make me happy. ("remember that there are little squares of light rushing around to make you happy" - blog post I made in June), but now they are demons. Everything is out to get me and everyone, almost everyone is killing me. Their "normalcy" is killing me. Its so unfair, and I'm crying again. It feels painful, not a release, not yet. I still have a few cuts to go before I can feel everything again. I'm stuck within my own madness.

I Have a Plan

^Last words written on me paper diary.

Maybe, not all hope is lost. Is it possible that the last bits of creativity have thought up a great send-off, my salavation, perhaps?

I thought it up yesterday, decided it was a crazy, mad, folly idea and why hadn't I thought of this in the first place?

I'm going to spurn my SG. Literally. Physically. I'm sending it to Ria, and I won't cut (we only have disposable razors and I can't get the blade out) cos I literally can't.

I got to this conclusion because Mancs was so much fun, and interviewing all those people, the four hour train journey, Lazerquest (think paintball, indoors, in the dark, with lazer guns) gave me much needed breathing space. I able to look at my problems from many miles away, for I didn't bring SG (scissor god) with me in fear of sharing a room and losing myself. But I had my own room, and at night I walked around in a strappy red top which I hadn't worn for months. I wore long tops instead at night in fear of being caught. I hadn't worn short tops since February (!!! February !!!) and I felt so, so comfortable. The idea came there.

This may/may not turn me mad, but this is my last chance. I can't relive being 12 again. Its made me the fucked up piece of shit I am, and I can't survive that. Never. So, thats the plan, and I'm sticking to it.

Quick post before manchester

I'm going round in an emotional circle, I can feel it. I'm 12 again. I'm all moody and hunched and psycho depressed and I'm thinking about death way too much. Is this what happens when you totally give up on yourself? Or is this a circle of depression?

See, I was wondering why I had been so honest and that I managed not to scream at my patronising doctor this morning when I swallowed my pride and asked for a psychiatrist. And I wondered why I gave Richard that 'story'. And I wondered why, only a week ago, I was almost free. I felt normal, like happy, crazy, beautiful, angsty normal like any other 16 year old. And then the depression is back and I'm near tears but I'm not surprised because the depression is back and my Salesmen have got down on my knees, on the fucking edge and I don't know if I really want to live any more.

I just, can't believe I've given up myself. I just assume I'm hated and that I'll always hate me so why bother...

I just believe I'll cut forever so why be nice to myself. Why be nice to anyone?

And I know the meaning of life. To figure it out, to search, to travel. So I'm done. I'm never gonna have children, I've fallen in love (once with Ria, now Alice), I sort of understand the truth about love and I've given back to the world. I just haven't had sex or had my works published, but I'm sure that can be done when I'm dead. Whats left?

I can't believe I've gotten this far, and that I was close, and that I've just soo lost it. Almost, crying, I bid you goodnight. I'll see you on monday. I'm going to Manchester to do journalism stuff. (I'm living my dream, but so fucking disconnected. Exactly the same thing I would have written four years ago. I'm back where I started. I have nothing left.)

The 25th Hour

I'm at home, alone. The heating was off before and my fingers are freezing. I can't type well...I'm supposed to be doing my politics essay, but I'll have some time off, methinks.

Feeling horribly depressed. And cold.

I got drunk last night-not by a lot, but I felt sleepy and silly. I took the knife from the kitchen cabinet - the sharp jagged one, with the black plastic handle. It's inexplicably shiny, and I was excited. This knife, you see, I almost cut with four years ago. I hated using it for cooking since, but last night I felt as if I had to finish what I'd started. It was mine. I hid it in the waistband of my knickers, which dug a little into my thigh as I walked upstairs, but it did not cut. In my room, I was choosing my music. I had kissed Dad goodnight and his music was on, my bro was in his room not bothering me. I chose Lene Marlin eventually and got listening. I even wrote a little prelude in my paper diary, I was that pretentious and excited last night.

Then it got to the last song. I was crying, shaking and oh god, so nervous. I thought there would be blood everywhere. I hoped I would gape. I thought the pain would take me somewhere new, so when it came to the doctor's appointment, there'd be a real problem to fix - they'd spend all their time mopping me up, no questions asked. So then I got out my wrists, and dashed them. Nothing. Not a pop up of blood, just white scratch marks, stinging and a feeling of defeatism. I tried again - kept cutting the same place again and again for a verse of Lene's voice. No blood. Not a drop. The thirst I had acquired was choking me so I used SG instead. This morning, I managed to make my skin softer using Baby johnson cream and sliced a bit of my thigh. Then I sterilised it and I've been wanting to cut all day. Should I post this? Lidded eyes and all, I feel so stupid. And unfocussed. My fingers are still freezing.

EDIT: 2nd December

I think I'm gonna have to go onto drugs if all I want to do is curl up and bleed to death. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill myself (although my brain is getting used to the idea) but in my mind I'm just not living anymore and no one seems to care because people just aren't there when I call them, and I'm hardly eating and my eyes just focus and I just want to cry all the time. 'S not good.

Simile

I'm drunk. I'm such a lightweight. Two shots of baileys and two shots of whisky and I'm tumbling onto the keyboard. My limbs are wayy too heavy and I may fall..asleep any...mome..nt. Yah. Went out last night to cinema-The Incredibles. Funny funny film. I cannae complain. The TV's gone, like weird. Far out. I'm a little depressed. Sent Alice an email tellingher I'm seeing a doctor, and soon a psychiatrist and she hasn't emailed back yet. We don';t tend to talk about these things. Everyone at GYUK is so happy for us (I feel, like popular) but there's so many crappy things: she's in Stratford, which is hard enough as it is without me moving to Surrey, (next county down, s#not that far way), shes closeted and goes to an allgirld catholic school-'s'no good. True. Wassup?
I'm going to bed now and soon if I get a 25 hour day through lucj I'll write you a proper entry. Oh, and disgruntled moose is one of my best mates, got me through a hunk and half of depressive shit, and I'd write that drunk or soberry.
In all madness,
Betty xXX

Codswallop

= Such a stupid British word heehee =

Anyway, the coolest compliment has been paid to me: a fan (? A cool australian gal anyways) thought my blog were pages out of a book. That rules...either my life is that interesting or/and up to a point my writing is that good, and that is only a compliment, so cheers #Megan# - get a blog! Its free and your life sounds cool. So there.

Anyway, back to previous weird post...well, yeah I didn't eat till 9pm when I had a bowl of malted wheats and I felt so gross I just wanted to throw it all back up. It wasn't too hard really - I was out of the door and at Oxfam there's nothing to eat anyway, and you're so cold because the door's open and so you just drink loads of ribeana and everything is just fine. Then I ran out of the shop into Dad's car to go househunting with my aunties and we went round this mini Palace of Minos (lots of little rooms you can't do anything with, not particularly a maze) in Staines, and just looking round Surrey until we went to Feltham. Now, if you don't know this place, no worries - its famous for an infamous young offenders institution: therefore crime. But this is all from one council estate which is being knocked for a shopping centre.......

I'm a little worried

I'm having my second glass of water. I'm not eating my cornflakes. In fact, I'm refusing to eat anything. I have to choose btw house hunting or Manchester planning and I'm going to disappoint somebody. Therefore I can't eat. Won't eat. Almost as if I don't deserve to eat-aargh. This is my thought process and I'm sticking to it. Might as well starve for a day-whats the worst that can happen? There's plenty of fat to dissappear miraculously.
Yours in madness,
Betty --

My people

You have a Broken Heart. You have experienced many
sad things in your life. This fact causes you
to shy away from the rest of the world. If only
someone would understand your pain!

Is this anything like me????


What kind of heart do you have?
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Daylight and Cloudy, Yellow Moons

I really had the greatest day today. And yesterday. The day before that was pretty good too. But today was the best...

Woke up perfectly on time. I had cut, and bled and it was all over my upper arm-I got cleaned up and got over it quickly-I just needed to take the 'pressure' off me, I was just going mad with this happiness thing. But I'll say more about that later. Anyway, cool breakfast, met with my breakfast buddies and talked about weird but great sandwich fillings ie: chocolate and marmalade/peanut butter and bannana. Then I got on the train to Hammersmith just as it was pulling into the station in perfect timing and got to college ten minutes early-early enough to talk about the virtues of weetabix with various classmates.

My first of two lessons was double Classics and I hadn't done my homework for two weeks (ok, three) in a row but luckily Liz wasn't in and we had a Swedish substitute for the first half, then one of my classmates-Kit (cool austrailian dude who had the nervous breakdown last year) took over. We played hangman (titfuck and bazooka were the words) with the really nervous Swedish teacher popping in now and again. Hilarious. He then showed us his bong (to smoke weed with! Oh, you and your dirty mind...) and his 'happy box' and was giving out ginger chocolate and discussing the theories of the meaning of life (he does philosophy) I had to go to politics.

Then there was this impromptu trip to visit the ducks (our college, in Twickenham, is right by the Thames) with Richard, and some others. They alll turned out to be from my creative writing club! You see, after you perform fake laughing on the carpet an sing together for a laugh, a bond is made. Which was evident. There were 10 of us: three ellies, jack, richard, me, andy, alexis, rowena and dominic-we all got on had a laugh collecting provisions (within I was able to convince Alexis about the genius of belgian chocolate flapjacks and have him buy me one. I'm such a vixen.) So laden with german/greek biscuits, cheap bread and farle (? its irish potato bread. One of the weirdest things I've tasted) and went to the thames-we had like a two hour break so it was fine. There were swans and geese and ducks and we almost got surrounded cos they loved the greek praline twizzler things we were throwing at them. Once we had run out, we ate some ginger biscuits and watched hobos rowing with those woody rower contraptions in a metal boat. It looked like something you'd see in 1940s Mississipi or a scenery thing in A View From A Bridge by Arthur Miller. Classic. And this woman was handing feeding the swans, and this lonely looking asian man emptied out five loaves worth of stale bread and we were surrounded by pigeons and seagulls. Maybe he just wanted to rule the world. Maybe we just hated us having such a laugh and wanted to have the ginger crunch. We had to leave...

Taking our time about Twickenham town, we talked and laughed about all sorts of silly things. We named ourselves the alternative group. And I wondered about yesterday, when I was so up but so down on it, and decided not to rain on my own parade for once. It's Richard's 17th b'day on Saturday, and he was feeling down because he didn't get any presents, or do anything last year. I had a good idea about how he felt, and I bought him this pad of plain paper because he's always doodling medieval characters or the ancient greek he's taught himself during Politics. It bought it from Wilkos (woot!) and put three sheets on the top cause it looked so cheap, and I put on it Richard C's little book of somethings, a doodle of his pipe he doesn't smoke with (ashmatic), and then a list of great things about Britain, because we went out to lunch and met up with this muslim couple and he ordered bacon and eggs...they left, of course and Rich felt crap afterwards, insulting his britishness. I couldn't stand for that, and made a list that included the invention of the compass, Sir Ian Mckellen and libraries (like me, his favourite smell is old books. They're dead sexy). And made some pages for him to fill out (fave music/people/books etc). There were six of us left now by Twickenham station, because it was nearly 2pm and I finished at midday (I *love* Thursdays). He was so happy and so...god. He gave me a hug, and he doesn't hug anybody. He even said it was the best present anybody had ever given him, ever. He was so cheered, and I was just so surprised because I didn't think this day could get better and it only took me half a hour to make last night, and now I gotta do something fabulous for christmas. He even took down my birthday on his phone, just to make sure he doesn't forget it! I felt lame cos I couldn't do anything for him on the day (I wonder if he has anything planned?), but after half a hour of deliberations and scrumptious stallings, I went for home. Read a chapter of Fingersmith by Sarah Waters and got home to a an empty quiet home, where I had to write this diary entry...

Feeling quite content. If I didn't cut last night, maybe this day wouldn't be so clearly brilliant. Maybe I'd be wearing shadowy glasses and I'd forget to bring Richards present and I'd pick apart every little thing I wore. Hated me pink wool top...You see, I'm quite a cynical character when it comes to things concerning me, myself and my mind. I cannot comprehend it. Happiness?! I don't deserve it, you see. Wish I knew why. But then, if I did, I would have to forgive myself and I would have a 'perfect' life. I can't:

• Have a girlfriend
• A job (as a carer for grandad. A few hours a week...)
• Be going to Manchester in two weeks...
• Have gone down two dress sizes in three months
• Have great friends
• Have good grades
• Writing some good stuff that matters, that is real and presents itself truly.
• Have Alice want me!
• I can't, I can't, I can't feel happy. Ever. I don't allow it.

I'm scared of the daylight...but I know what I feel is implausible. I know I'm being unfair on myself, and I know that Alice likes me. I felt it, somewhere and I held onto it for three months (since I accepted that I wanted her). So, hell yes, I'm scared of the daylight, the sun, happiness, my possible truth, but there's a clingy girl inside of me who knows how to love and is confident in her loving. She is tugging me insistently to hope. I won't brush her off, just yet.

Gosh- and when I was walking to the bus stop, there was a gorgeous sunset, it was pink and gold and smothering, everlasting. And...I got a buy one get one free (coffee and hot choc) offer from Starbucks - perfect because I'm seeing Alice on Sunday, and she loves coffee, whilst I love hot chocolate. And you can understand now why I'm indignant?

If there was a song that could complete me now...

Coldplay - Daylight

To my surprise, and my delight

I saw sunrise, I saw sunlight

I am nothing in the dark

And the clouds burst to show daylight

Ooh and the sun will shine

Yeah on this heart of mine

Ooh and I realise

Who cannot live without

Ooh come apart without

On a hill top, on a sky-rise

Like a first born child

On a full day, and a full flight

Defeat darkness, breaking daylight

Ooh and the sun will shine

Yeah on this heart of mine

Ooh and I realise

Who cannot live without

Ooh come apart withoutDaylight

Slowly breaking through the daylight (x22 to fade)

Diary Entry

You know the feeling when you've written a work of fiction and you realise later it was really about you? Did you ever type it up then give it to a friend you've known honestly for only two months? I did. I wrote it on the night of Weds 15th November. Richard (the 2 month friend) was with me at creative writing club and wrote this really moving story, which displayed writing brilliance and it was so personal, so brilliant. And it inspired me. And I was depressed too and looking for a way to explain how I felt after I found I couldn't look into mirrors without hurting myself. I tried it in the reflection on the train. Didn't work. I ended up crying instead. At least I didn't slap myself, but I was it was public unconsciousness.Anyway, here's the 'short story'. The physical actions aren't all true but the feelings are.

Let Go

I knew something was wrong because I was listening to Avril Lavigne. I hadn’t taken her seriously for years. Then again, I also knew I was blowing off Richard for Ashton, who I was caring less and less for. Why else would I feel so angry, and undeterred within it?

Time and time again, I just pissed them off, pissing me off. I dunno-maybe I really am losing it. Maybe I am really going nuts. Maybe its time to be really honest with myself-I mean no puns, no metaphors, no fancy imagery about oil paintings and the theatre: who am I? Where do I belong?

I looked once again at the broken mirror, its cracks punctuated with my blood, and I grimaced. Smile? Make it worthwhile. I never meant to go that far. I never meant to let go at all, I just wanted to be perfect and I’m starting to realise it may never happen. Ha! I stare as hard as I can. Icky spots, crusty lips and rotting teeth. I try to look deeper. Maybe there’s something real in there-tap, tap. Anybody home? Try again…

Oh God.

Despair disgust, disgust despair, disgust despair, disgust despair –

Ow! I didn’t have to hit myself, did I? Hmm? Try again. Repress yourself. Forget the spots. Just remember that you’re perfect, yeah?

Oh God. Disgust despair! I can’t take it! I can’t hack it! I can’t fake it! How can I look when I’d rather fight myself than look in a mirror?

What’s so horrid to see? I’m not a reflection; I’m just me, myself-absolutely fucking useless. I’m still listening to Lavigne, aren’t I? I must be feeling…really…crap.

Well, the mirror is cleaned up and I’m picking up the pieces. The damn mirror only broke because I was trying to see. Maybe if I saw what everyone else did, I’d call myself beautiful, believe it and all my problems could-just-evapourate. Maybe someone who understands could stop and look at me right now. Yes. And he’d have this well of tears in his eyes and he’d be all sincere and tell me I’m lovely. It’s so hard to be sincere when you’re trying to be lovely. And he’d look all appraisingly at me despite me being all clumsy in my heels and my ill-chosen clothes in a desperate attempt to be all ‘studenty’; and he’d tell me to shut up, and that I’m beautiful, crazy for not knowing so.

Crazy/beautiful. Why does that sound so denied and so true?

The mirror is gone. I don’t have to try and see anymore. I just need to check my hair from time to time and mutter something or other about fixing it on the train, which never happens. It just doesn’t. Man, I wish I was beautiful.

And, maybe if I smiled more I would be able to trust; I could talk to people and look them in the eye when I’m singing and be the girl with the halo everyone loves so much. Now, I know I’m rambling, but before this ends, maybe someone could tell me the truth. Am I beautiful? Non? Sigh.
I can get over this. It’s a spontaneous epiphany-you breathe out and suddenly you’re feeling a whole lot better. You can tie up the plastic bag with the broken mirror. Cry a little. Warble a bit. Then go to bed and live your life as if this honest, dark night was all a dream.

Shifting

I need to tell you about my training day...

Well, as you might know I'm a member of Childrens Express. This is a charity which a sort of learning through journalism sort of thing. It makes its money from members writing articles about young people which are published in newspapers/internet/TV (spec. Sky News). Some other members become trainers and they use their newly acquired skills to teach other kids about journalism, which I did last week. Was mucho crazy mad. Mainly because it was only my second training, I was leading it and it for a bunch of 11 year olds from Brent who were setting up their own website for the council. So, everyday after college I'd make the long journey from Twickenham to Kings cross which took an hour and a half, prepared and rehearsed with my team who had to leave early cos they were younger than me, and I'd stay down there till 7, home by 8:30, do some homework and literally collapse, hopefully onto the bed. My whole life used to be in my bedroom, now its simply the cutting room. And the sleeping place, of course.

Saturday came and I wasn't feeling too nervous, apart from my travel fare matters. I'm supposed to pay adult fare which isn't fair cos I'm under 18 and I can buy weekly fares at child rates, but not daily rates. I didn't get caught and I got there nice and gorgeously early, as did the rest of my team (K+Gh+Jo). We set up, and at our last rehearsal when they came. It all went really well, the pizza was nice and I got all my cues right, because I doing a seminar on basic writing for the web, which they took in well. I know all about what you should do on layout etc and that tabloids aim their writing at three year olds; but I still don't know how make links on the margin bit! Oh woe is me...oh and I treated my triumph with a hot chocolate from Nero with extra whipped cream and extra extra chocolate. I'm a lady!

Oh! And I'm a size 16!!!!!!!!! You know, when I'm really depressed, the idea with me nearly at the national average size....SIZE 16 !!!!!!! I haven't even been dieting. I just eat two apples a day, because of my cravings, lots of water. I've been living a lot as well. Just not bothered to eat. Although, I must say I cannot shake my cravings for the giant chocolate cookies from Tesco-they're so oaty...

As you can tell, I'm quite cheered today. I gave Richard a weird crappy short short story with I'll publish soon, which means I really like him. Or starting to trust him in a strange roundabout way. A lot of the time, when I'm being personal (such as during creative writing where I sang Halo by Texas) I can't look him in the eye because his opinion is starting to matter to me. It's easy, too easy for your mind to slip over facts, such as I who has known Richard for two months. It feels so much more...timeless than that. College feels timeless. I've written my first review for the College mag(For Scissor Sisters-will post! Whoo, I have lots to post now...).

Oh, god more stuff. Due to suspiciously superstitious circumstances (ie: walking under signposts) my gorgeous trainers which I only bought four months ago fell apart. Got nice cheap purple/pink replacement. More stationery, new diary-my other one disappeared and I'm too flighty about it to really worry. I have a crush on this tomboyish (yet straight) red headed girl, and I literally can't keep my hands off her-I've no control over them now. My classics class are starting to notice but thankfully, she hasn't. Anyway there's a little essay I've put off for nearly two hours...

Don't you miss long blog posts?

Ooh? Crap!

Main words in my vocab at the moment...
I'll keep this short:

I'm making good friends with Richard and Clare. He actually texted me on weds to check that I got home alright from Children's Express (Kings Cross), and he said why my petri dish crap of dialogue was good. I really want to hug him but he might freak out!

The Training (which I will tell you alll about tomorrow) which is taking over my life. This is the first time I've been on the net properly since last week.

And...I saw my cocksucking (ahem) arse of a doctor and he recommended psychotherapy. After telling him I don't want drugs, he says my mind is too addled to be all objective (in his doctor speak way). But...after 12 cuts (?!!!!!!!) in one week and the gradual losing of my mind, that I see my depression lasting forever and I can't stop thinking about death, is this the best way?! I'm starting the Oxford application process in March and I need to be perfect (yes, perfect)

Now, I must go. Qi beckons. Should I take the drugs or non?

Relax? Eat?

Firstly:

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Moderate
Level 2 (Lustful)	Low
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	Extreme
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Very High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante's" Inferno Test

Secondly, I am extremely tired, and extremely stressed and I have too much to do!
Remember Nanowrimo? Well, I've written around 1,500 (outta 50,000! Will I even get to 10K by the end of the month???) words in three days becasue I have no time to do it. I have an essay to do for my most critical teacher for tomorrow, my friend is in a crisis and I'm really worried about her, I miss my best friend Ria, Bush won again and my entire college is depressed despite I'm the only person who has bothered to look into the specifics and my typing is now extremely fast. I've lost my Iliad book again and I'm working and working. I've joined..I've joined...*counts on fingers*...four writing alliances/club thingies. For Children's Express I have to teach these eleven year olds about researching and doing journalism on the internet, which I really don't know lots about so I have to find out everything about Brent for eleven year olds, and there's nothing else there except a dodgy girl guides, a crap museum, Wembely Stadium and a cemetery.

In the midst I'm depressed but I've only cut once this week because I'm either too tired (about 5 hours sleep per night), or too concentrated, or stressed. I usually love stress because its how I work, I mean my fingers are flying on the keyboard and its almost perfect like me ha!

So at the library waiting for a computer (we're trying to sell the house again and Dad turned off the internet so I'd work, whoops. Now its back on. Yay!), I made a list. Apologise to two different people for blowing them off (my counsellor and my journalist friend dude), homework, books to read, make time for Sunflower seed (her nickname) and other things. Then I realised I was really hungry, that I was about to keel over from tiredness and I might sucker-punch the next person to bump me in the corridor. So "Relax?" "Eat?" came as a humourable aftermath.

I think I got all stressed from trying to enrol in the college gym (free). I should never have bothered, they only let in 3 people at a time andanyway rude people shove right 0of you and you know they're rude bastards so ndon't bother chat back. Yesterday, I finished college at 4pm and went straight to Islington (which took 75 mins), left there at 7pm and got home at 8:45pm ate my chips and then I was up till 10:30pm cleaning the fridge, which by the way, is massive. Hsd fours sleep. I think I'm doing something wrong here. Look at my hell rating-7th Level! You only get this stressed in London. (Hmm, full-on proof that residents in London have an infinitely higher chance of ending up0 in hell...)

Now, I'm going to write this essay, be it crap but well structured, and get on with well, everything else. I can't believe I was so low and despondent at the last post, that was only 6 days ago...everything has changed, believe me-I've actually got people depending on me doing things right, like I'm supposed to anyways...

End of Days

Depression’s back.

Damn.

I mean I guess I can’t complain too much. I’ve been some sort of happy for about three weeks. For me, that’s monumental, and I have had such great times and I could laugh and be a bit free but I knew that well, really it can’t last. It never lasts. When it came back last night I wasn’t surprised that it came back, hell I was wondering where the hell it went. It was just the way it came-it didn’t come at all! It was just there, as if it never left, and it fitted like a glove, and I got all my tools of deception back and I could lie effectively, I got my cloak to cover my eyes…I did try to cut last night but I left it too long and I choked, which felt a bit embarrassing. Recoveryourlife.com has gone down for some reason so the only thing I can do right now is hope I cut and get it over and done with. I really don’t want to wrestle with my salesmen. I just want to give up. I can’t do it. Not today.

Here's the link

http://wondrous-inevitable.blogspot.com - here's the link for my nanowimo blog experience. Don't expect this to go very very well...

The Scissor Sisters are great, but they're a lisp's worst nightmare

Still feeling pretty perky, but thats because I'm not thinking much, which in turn makes me more catty, and I realise nasty people really are happier, but I have no real idea as such except for the total insensitivity issue. I wasn't brought up among many girls so I haven't the bitchy factor which perfects female intuition instilled in me. But I'm making up for it by hanging with my increasingly widening gay crowd and having so much fun...

Been to two different gay groups, found out the really opinionated guy in Politics is gay and we get on great, managed to convince people gay marriage should be legalised, lost weight, eating out was great and I have half term next week. Ooh, and I hanged out with Ash("ton") in Twickenham, c'etait tres amusant. No wonder I'm feeling giddy with normality (not undulated happiness, it just doesn't happen).

But I have been a little bored, you see. I'm desperate to go out to a gay bar like everyone else does. Yes, I know I should be happy with myself and all that but it just doesn't work like that. I would also, like to make my life matter in some way shape or form, as I have tried to do recently, and I'm not going to stop. I will swim like a shark: be fucking relentless, for I do want to live and if I stop anyways I'll sink and no one could help me then, could they? Anyhoo, I've signed up for the Nanowrimo. Yep. Basically November is national novel writing month and there's this event where writers try to write an entire novel (50,000 words people) in one month. I'm gonna do it. Hell, I'm at least gonna try, I have to-thats my attitude. When I get everything set up, you'll get a link to my new blog specifically for this. Its imperative I get some reviews because it'll be so rough it might make you cry, but of course when this is done I'll get it edited and republished and you'll swoon at the difference and the fact you would have blogged along on this journey with me...

Watch this space!

Take your time

Food poisoning from Mcdonalds followed by a virus followed by a horrid essay have almost taken all my energy...but I've been bitten by the poetry bug. I'm going to have to ride on that for a while.
I'm not too sure what to say. I'm getting used to the idea even if it might be Slough (it'd make a great comedy sketch). And I've seen this comp for a Poetry Idol and even though I think my poetry is good enough, I've never read out stuff in public before and I don't know if I would fuck it up or not...no, what I would love to do is see my old friends again, especially Ria, Patrick and Smita who I haven't seen for almost a month. Halloween soon! This time I'm going to celebrate it properly. Hell, I might even over-do it, its about time I've celebrated life-I haven't this year and its been bloody miserable.
Today, I was at the computer, and I watched the rainbow fade with the rain. There was such a heavy downpour, and the sun was enough to spread a rainbow and spread from one edge of my sky to the other. And then, like a watercolour painting, it simply disappeared again, edging away, the sudden burst of colour breaking down into grey. It was depressing beautiful, like a death that has been a long time coming.
The small problem I have now is that I've been giddy and way too honest about it. I tend to have a depressed happening after this, so watch out...hehe I sound like a murkblob (depress-ed being)

Star Guitar

I have loads of homework, emails to write, people to respond to, stories to read. But I can barely stand up, let alone write an essay. I'm exhausted.

Woke up at 8am with every intention to make today count. I kinda did-had one of those when you feel that someone you thought you were getting on with hates your guts even they aren't being shitty to you..which made me uneasy, but I didn't have time to dwell on it, because I'm starting my CSPA (community sports leader award)-I'm going to learn about sports and how to coach. This means doing the bloody sport itself. And since I was by far the most unfit in the class I was all out of breath and annoyed with myself. I'll get better-I'll have to if I don't want to keep
embarrassing myself...

At the end of that, I luckily had a 15 minute break before my first partners' scheme thing, and by now I was nearly having tremors cause of my low sugar level-my yoghurt fixed that. Then I went to partners' scheme, determined not to feel sorry for the learning disabled children like my friend did. It was an art class and it was fun. I had to work with this girl called Kim who kept dribbling but she had a great sense of humour and made a great monsters mask for their trick-or-treat thing. I rather liked them-they were really nice and friendly and sensitive. So that was cool. Then I sneaked a 10 minute break (had a cookie) then double classics where I really did try to concentrate but I ended up thinking about Disney stuff (I was talking about it with some of my Classics friends during break); now then I got a crappy 6 outta 10 in my first mini essay about what Greek/Romans have done for us. Compared to my 42/50 mark in my English story h/work, its pretty dismal. I'm gonna have to work my butt off there.

Then I met some people from CSLA at the train station and we got chatting, and it turns out she lives right by me in a really nice estate in Wembely. We might even go to the Freshers' Ball, though I'm not sure because I'll be stumbling out with at 2am in Brixton, but they say its fine and they;ve never had hassle-gotta get my Dad's permission first though.

Had to walk from Wembely station, made dinner, read emails (not able to make response to comments and emails because my brain won't do you justice. I'm certainly not a genius-I'm a potential genius who hasn't proved herself yet because I didn't get 8 A/A*s in my GCSEs, though I did get a level 8 in English in year 9, which gets me in the top 1% of the country-in that year. I've probably fucked it all up now!). Collapsed in extreme tiredness, I'm about to leave y'all cos I gotta at least start my questions or thats not commitment. *blows tired raspberry...but I am happy for getting through today, especially Partner's Scheme. I really enjoyed myself, but I might get another time because I'm not really doing much...can't stop working me...I'm only Sunday's Child...
But I'm too tired to be depressed because adrenalin is the only keeping me from keeling over...and they aren't depressants, so consider myself satisfied for today...

(Oh, and all you British people: SPOOKS! Its british spy series show thriller--thing which rules and has the best cliffhanger(the mother of all stitch ups on the characters-not the audience) the main character shot his boss and is supposed to be dead. If anyone watched it, cast your mind back, the lady in there was the one in Tipping the Velvet..yes, her-wasn't she hot!? She's in the show. Watch it-BBC1, 9pm...)

Now Playing: Like A Prayer

Hey, the song is inspiring..cannae spell.

I feel like flying, the way I do in my dreams so rarely. Just jump out the window and float, like an autumn leaf. Its my favourite season when its warmer. All the wind swirling around the leaves tickling me. Kicking them around, comparing conkers at class, arguing you can eat the nuts inside, wearing gorgeous reds and purples and browns. Looking good and no one is wearing short sleeves. (we're at the burning crosses bit, now...) I'm writing slowly, because I feel like being leisurely. Feeling lonley and knowing I have to work, resting up for the week ahead, seeing my friends, and hopefully Ria after nearly a month. You have no idea how much I miss her, she's like my little sister, my true confidante, and I bet she looks gorgeous...songs ended.

New Song! (American Pie, Madonna)

...And maybe they'd be happy, for a while...

Dream on, Betty.

In the last year or so, I've been stripped of all my beliefs that I had as a child. So I'm figuring here, I'm properly growing up, aren't I? Late nights out and seeing live bands (which I've been wanting to do for years now, but too nervous to) beckons? Who knows? But I do know I'm getting out more, dreaming less, doing more. Definitely. But its not as if I'm getting better, and so instead of wondering how close to the edge I am, how much I hate my doctor, how crap at work I am, and how many miles of scars will I have to travel till I feel at home, feel happy. I'm going to forget about that, and start working.

Song ends...

New Song!

Die another Day (Madonna, yep, its a theme, sorta)

...I'm going to close my body now....

Reminds of old times. This is how I coped. I completely shut down-I ripped out my soul, and made plans to be great. finding ways to avoid death, cos Lioness is right, people under 20 really shouldn't kill themselves, yes? My life is all about finding your way out, though it isn't a matter of life and death, its certainly a fear of that situation.

That song has finished too. The lyrics:


I'm gonna wake up, yes and no
I'm gonna kiss some part of
I'm gonna keep this secret
I'm gonna close my body now
I guess, I'll die another day x5
[Another day]

I guess I'll die another day
[Another day]
I guess I'll die another day
[Another day]
I guess I'll die another day
(Spoken:)Sigmund Freud
Analyze this
Analyze this
Analyze this

I'm gonna break the cycle
I'm gonna shake up the system
I'm gonna destroy my ego
I'm gonna close my body now
Uh, uh
I think I'll find another way
There's so much more to know
I guess I'll die another day
It's not my time to go
For every sin, I'll have to pay
I've come to work, I've come to play
I think I'll find another way
It's not my time to go

I'm gonna avoid the cliché
I'm gonna suspend my senses
I'm gonna delay my pleasure
I'm gonna close my body now
I guess, die another day
I guess I'll die another day
I guess, die another day
I guess I'll die another day
I think I'll find another way
There's so much more to know


I remember kept me so strong, reminded me of my inner, invincible strength(don't laugh, its true!) and so I used to be able to stray from the scissors. It used to be so easy to do that. Now it just doesn't work anymore, and if I can't rely on myself to be strong, how can you expect me to harbour hope that I'm going to get out this intact, alive in any/every sense of the word? How could I place that on myself when I don't know if I can do anything remarkable? Life saving?

Now Playing:The Scientist

Now, edited....

(Idea strikes, first lines of Coldplay, the Scientist)
This post, is going to last as long as this song. No proper chekcing of spelling and punctuation just yet. Just writing.
Thinking about terrorism. Is it wrong for me to want to not care anymore? Its too painful and complicated and scary and I'm still 16 and people half my age are dying for a cause no one seems to want to tell me anything about. I'm so stupid... I was just guessing(at numbers and figures), basing everything on some of kind of sense and principle. (we're now in the middle of the second verse, people)
I used to believe what my dad thought, but now I know he'd just rather kill Bush and dust off his hands in 'achievement'. He just hates the world, and I'm not there yet, because I hate myself enough, thanks very much. Why is everything so hard, so fucking varied, so underhand, off course? Who the hell is normal these days, anyway? Who ever was? Was it just books and theorists and the media playing one big trick? (end is nigh of song)
I just don't know. So confused. So sad for Ken Bigley even though he's only one man and millions die of ignorance and passion. And this happens every day under our clean noses.
The song has finished.

Important Info

Its about salesmen. What they do. This isn't what counsellors ask, because I don't think they can understand how someone so 'pretty' and not disfigured is soo unfine.

I have weird habits which I'm pretty sure are out of my control. Its a measure of how fucked up I am, and how my salesmen work.

(cold mist rising, an unearthly cackle...) I see dead people.

In daydreams, waking nightmares, drifting soap operas. They don't stop. Everybody I care about dies. They are killed, before their time, before I could really appreciate them. They die either by car crash, or some stranger shoots them or they're stabbed or drown. Unusual deaths. And I'm the one who has to organize their funeral. And despite me knowing what happens, I'm constantly mourning, and of course I can't mention this because whenever people talk about dreams they're fun kooky mad things, whereas mine are about losing everyone I love, becoming truly alone. So of course this builds up. I have to cut, I have to cope. This is how I'm still cheery and confident, the scars keep me on the straight and narrow. If I'm forced somehow not to cut, I'll find some other to hurt myself. Or 'crazy shit' will happen. So don't expect to go cold turkey. It isn't a drug, its almost like a religion a way of life I'm fanatical about.

*****

I've been thinking about things that make me mad. I can't stand people who are insecure about their knowledge. Like in the presentations we do, they say things like: "Well, Thetis is Achilleus' mother, right?" or "I think this line is really expressive...yeah?" as if their emotions have to correlate with a sheet of answers on the back.

You can be arrogant.

You can be rude.

You could do things out of spite because you think it teaches people a lesson.

You could patronize people and believe its helping somebody.

But don't you DARE, ever, EVER, burn books.

Its education! Its truth in several forms! Its paranoia, and all the other annoying things above mixed together in a danger pastime! Its barbaric! I'd never burn Mein Kampf, because we have to remember some people believe that Jews are destroying the world and we should just kill them all, so why would you burn Harry Potter? Why can't people leave Philip Pullman alone? They're only the victims of great writing and unsecret thoughts and ideas. It's just wrong, people. Hehe.

I just wanted to end this double post on some level near to normal...

Stop It

After reading Lionness' blog entry about terrrorism, I felt like being angry. I don't think I'm angry nearly enough, and I don't say it well enough. I'm way too scared to do that.

But the last two days I feel like a package labelled 'UNSTABLE PSYCHO-PATRONIZE CAREFULLY'. I've seen a doctor, a counsellor, a nurse and now some other person. I'm a freak. How on earth am I going to move on when they believe its something I could just snap out of?

Why didn't they tell me this when I was 12, and I had a bottle of paracetemol in my hands, and I was serious. What the hell stopped me? I had almost lost Maria, I was losing everything and nobody had a clue. It'd make the headlines, but I didn't do it because it hurt too much. I couldnt bear the idea of death, of drowning, my voice came out, told me what to do and I was reborn. It had nothing to do with what I looked like.

They say my case is 'very worrisome'. I know that, so why are you asking about my family, about college how everything is so new, how exams must tire me out, how do you handle the pressure. You are so brave, seeing us like this, being so honest, but I must say you seem a little to happy to be depressed. Too confident, too coherent. Are you sure its not a phase you're going through? Maybe you need to lose weight. Get a grip. Take some drugs. In six months, you'll be happy (again). Tut tut, you've been cutting yourself again, haven't you? This is silly. You're too 'precious' for this.

Admit it. I'm a bloody drop in the ocean.

Goodness, why didn't I hear about this sooner? I mightn't had to cut my arms, I could swim again. I could sing words about being 'cut up' without wincing. I wouldn't have to be so afraid of losing everything, because I shouldn't be depressed, yet I'm way too sad to see clearly. Think wisely. Listen properly. I wouldn't be so scared to be loved.

Can you expect me to fall at your feet, cry my heart and suddenly make sense? Must I tell you Why....despite the good grades, good friends, good future, good family, good living, great music, great books, in this sea of greatness and good stuff I'm drifting further away from ever being happy again. Why? Because two days ago I was so low I cried to my friend, slid down to the floor and realised the wrenching inside my gut will never go away. That this will end in some way. That I'm just terrified because I'm not sure how its going to end and I'm scared of telling the people who are supposed to help because they might take away more of my liberties. They might shove me under the mental health act, into a loony bin for a month so I could forget who I am and become so...much...better.

There are tears in my eyes and I don't know who I'm shouting at, but I think I can face my salesmen now.

Phone Call

I've just had a very strange phone call.

I was watching BBC2 and this show called the Apprentice which was making me laugh-its great entertainment. I had lost weight-I had had loads of chocolate, I got appreciated for my poetry and I'm going to The House of Commons tomorrow (UK version of the White House, just in case-I'm not being patronising) . To top it off I watching rain on the bus-there is nothing more beautiful about travel than rain-it makes the greatest sound, it reminds you're going somewhere. The double rainbow was giving me focus-you could see the whole semi-circle which you never do... Life was being cool.

Then I got the phone call.

It was from a doctor, who used to treat my Granddad who has really bad arthritis (he can't walk anymore because of it) and it turns out he also got the message that I was 'feeling down'. He was just talking about his whole process-about some letter he recieved from I don't know where, and that he probably knows about the overdose which I've gotten over on-it happened, it was shit, its over. Anyways, I have an appointment with him on Friday at 6. I'm seeing my counsellor on Thursday, as well as the nurse so she can check on my scars and I'm going to show her my feet (more later).

I'm getting over subscribed here-its scary. He was saying he can fix it scientifically-with tablets!-and thats he's not going to tell my family, and I'm on the other line almost shaking, I'm horrified here. Everyone is helping me. Depression is my way of life, and everyone is trying to cheer me up. Its twisted, but you have to understand this has been an extending, more extreme addition of my life for four years now. I'm bloody terrified. If I end up telling my parents and going onto pills, you may shoot me-I'll give the assigned address and everything...

Oh yes, my feet. See, its been my method of not cutting without really hurting myself. I'd start scratching them. It was first athlete's foot. Then it became a nervous habit. Now its an obsession. I keep scratching my (left) foot till it bleeds, it looks like it been diseased or something. I have single handedly fucked up my foot, but I would like to find a way to fix it, and so I'm taking it up with the nurse.

So, the best thing for me is to take it all in my stride, because this is how I do things. I'm a spontaneous super power. My best pieces of work, poetry, things I've bought have been a result of reworded phrases of 'What the hell?'. So I'm reading slash, thinking about homework, and saving up cash.

Whirlwind

I'm at college with nothing to do for the next...ten minutes so I thought I'd post something. In response to CarpeDM, they dont do anything cos I don't give them a chance to figure anything out. I'm not close enough to mum, and I only see Dad about 2 hours a day, tops. And during then I'm a little perky, so I appear to be the same goofy, crazy happy lovely daughter I was supposed to grow up into. Also, the bandages are hidden over my long sleeve-its just a backup ploy or something to do on extremely hot days-which are completely non-existent (including this summer..sigh.)

I'm quite excited because I just took out the Odyssey from the library. I'm excited because its an ancient text that is interesting and coherent. Not the Iliad isn't interesting but the (epithets-sp?) descriptions of every character everytime they speak is slightly unnerving. I mean there's swift footed, and godlike and this is when they're arguing with each other! Goodness...at least you understand the kind of epic Tolkien was aiming for when he wrote LOTR.

Anyway, i'm off to double politics, a dyslexia meeting thang, signing up for the ~Community Sport Leaders Award 'lunch', double classics and I'm sure I missed something else here...just the way my life is...but hey, its all in the plan of getting my life back, and if I end up doing too many things, so be it.

Why I love Blogger

I had a problem with the site, and try as I might I just couldn't sign in.
I realised with a blush, that I have must
Forgotten a password and given a wrong address
-Such a mess!
I sent an email to blogger
And imagined I'd be a waiting
For a millenia and a day to fix my conundrum
But no! No! No!
It took 6 days...
What can hotmail say about that?
Howzat!

Blogger, Serialangel aka Betty B, salutes you.

I am not a housewife.

At college, my favourite subject so far has been 19th Century History, especially 19th Century Women, which is our coursework piece and so I feel very assured it will be epic...
It's just that life is so different its almost scary. At the beginning of the 1800's, some men believed women didn't have a soul...you could (illegally) sell your wife, beat her with a stick as long as it wasn't thicker than your thumb. Husbands owned their wives, as a quote once said: "My wife and I are one, and I am he."Classic.

Anyway, it's stirred up my feminist fire again. I was feminist to the point of sexist towards guys, then I got some sense back. I'm making all sorts of Richmond now. There's this girl called Alice in there with perfect red hair and cheekbones I'm secretly in love with, a Brazilian guy named Ickarus who has the title of 'Coolest guy in RUTC', Clare my Clare Bosworth lookalike fabbygirl and Richard who I've really clicked with. I'm making progress there, definitely.

For one thing I'm helping myself. I went to my first counselling session yesterday. The lady was nice and we just outlined stuff. She said things I was thinking she would say: that I was at risk, and that I should see a GP for treatment for the depression, and that I had strange contrasts in my life: my (relatively) healthy diet, good grades, settling in well thing yet I got the cutting. She even suggested a residential thing, which obviously can't happen for my parents not to know. But it was nice to get started again.

Then I had to see the nurse, because NHS direct called her about my overdose and she's been looking for me since. Turns out she was born in my home town too so I liked her immediately...she put some cream on my arm where the scars are because it was dry, and then put some bandage thing on (the sort of thing you put on sprained muscles) to help them heal cause I had cut for three nights in a row and it kept creating friction against my shirt and it was driving me mad. It also gives me license to wear it on hot days and say I bumped my arm. A genius move, as I'm going to this Greece trip in March(hopefully). I'm seeing her again. I'm going shopping tomorrow, going to Childrens Express, Parliament trip next week, poetry open mic night coming up...loads of homework (bah!)....I think I'm getting my life back.

Bittersweetness

I’m typing this firstly in word because I don’t know if this will get published. I’ve had the most amazing response to my blog. See, I have an email notification for my blog for each comment, and when I signed in I had 17 different ones from lioness, who by the looks of it read my entire blog in the middle of the night and commented on most of it. That is stupendous. It really made my day, thank you. Gosh, people care. And for my regular CarpeDM, well, what can I say? The last week has been hectic, as you will see in the post above. I’m so sorry if I’ve scared you. To tell you the truth, I’ve just been busy. That is the long and short of it.

Today was Ok. I learned about the electoral system in Britain (same as USA and Canada except we don’t choose the actual Prime Minister). I was with my new friends Richard and Andy, and upon a discussion after class about whether women rule the world (which the men so obviously do, even if they are by the most part controlled by their private parts.) I said cock in front of two boys and my politics teacher. Happy days..

I’ve also started off in this new gay youth group. It’s pretty good actually. There were liquid condoms and all sort of sex accessories. The people were nice, and they have all sorts of plans for cinema trips and Pride stuff and all sorts to cheer me up during the winter months.

I left at about 7pm, and by the time I got the train to Turnham Green it was pitch black and I felt pretty scared. I thought I loved the night. Its like a blanket that covers your face, and hides any pretence of grace and its all your mind that can keep you awake. I should know. Almost all of my poetry and my stories have been written in the middle of the night. I thought the night would be my friend, but I got scared because I couldn’t see anything in the dark. It reminded of all my panic attacks I’ve had before I cut myself (I now realise), and I didn’t like it, for want to be more of a writer and be more expressive in my writings. I felt like such a fraud. Of course, I’m so middle class I realise, with Dads car and my TV and stereo and broadband. I’m so fucking lucky, and look at how I thank the world. So I took one of those travelling perks, the good old abandoned magazine and read the pictures my life was surely bound to lead to.

Now I have to go…its time for bed. More reading, and trying to write. I just feel like theres this fucking amazing poem waiting to come out and greet me. It’ll be there.

Now I know I'm Crazy

Okay, I've changed my mind. For one night and half a day, I let this post out of the bag. Its a confessional. I'm not going to change a thing. A damn thing. I guess I just wanted to be honest. I'm sorry. I will name this post "The Blog that Must Not Be Named". Originally posted 17th September 2004....

NB: This notice will be on board till1pm Saturday 18th September. I'm not sure I want Nik to see this.
On Wednesday, I had an overdose. I was not trying to kill myself. I do not think I want to kill myself, Ok? Look, I had to punish myself because I cut myself on Monday and I really enjoyed it. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop wondering if I'm crazy. I think I am, or at least I had some psychotic episode. You see when I was 12, there were voices in my head telling to do all sorts of crazy shit like hurting other people. At one point, I was obsessed with emulating Christ, although I am not religious. I thought I had to save the world and it had something to do with a boy I had a crush on at the time, and I really believed it. Of course, I didn't save the world and I thought I was going to die, but Sept 11th came about. I think I blamed myself for that too. I remember crying for all those people. Fucking nuts, I was.
What am I now? Severely depressed. Took triple the dosage of Night Nurse, double the amount of Covona and washed it down with some whisky. I'll be fine, no one pumped my stomach-I was just very sleepy and out-of-it the next which I was able to laugh off. No one is sniffing this trail. I did call NHS Direct, just to make sure I'd be OK. Talked to this lady called Verna and she wanted me to tell my parents. Ha. No....Chance. No...No...No...Chance. It isn't even part of the question. I don't even consider telling my family to be an option, so don't bother try to 'convince' me. So, after that she said if it was Ok to tell my college nurse, which was fine, she ain't gonna try to find me. I'm not suicidal, I'm healthy, and yes she would know I self harm but thats no biggie. Verna reccommended counselling which plausible. I'm willing to negotiate. I'm not making sense, am I?
My brother is a dick. Sorry, went a bit off track.
(See, he just cussed the great Alicia Keys-saying that the line 'And it feels like ooooohh...you don't know my name' is stupid. It is, from a superficial point of view. But, sometimes words can be meaningless, like 'I love you' and 'Sorry' just doesn't cut it, and when you try to think of a word, it isn't there and all you have left is the whirlwind of emotions you feel and your deep maddening intentions, all punctuated by meaningless words. So, nothing is better than the 'ooooooh' because you can fill your own gap. It gives the listener space to feel, and that is a wondrous thing. Dunno if she was thinking like that though.)
But yes, I was reading up stuff on Channel 4, and it presented symptons of schitzophrenia(sp?) and I saw myself in all of them. It also said people with schitzophrenia, that 25% may have only one big episode and be fine afterwards. Sometimes its just misunderstood severe depression, which I can't have had for 4 years, cause I would be dead by now, right? How could I cope, acting and not having anyone else know, apart from the people I trust explicitly, truly?
I don't know. Like a line in a poem of mine, "Who can say, who can tell?"
I'm sorry if I...er, offended anyone etc.

Writing Block

At the moment, I'm stuck with all the words I want to say. It's not ok because its been going on for too long: since I've made a poem, since I've added to my book, since I've taken a proper look at what's going on.
I've been so stuck in myself and I can't help it. Not awestruck. Ha. I think I hate myself more than I have for a while now. I'm just trying to write something new and interesting yet all my words are the same pattern. (the way I write is like knitting, but I'll explain that later)

College is cool. Today went well, despite being covered in bar-b-q sauce from Subway. I was thinking about all the cool people I've met, and I thought about everyone I left behind, and I didn't feel homesick, and I don't miss them the way I thought I would. I'm not wishing for the 'good ol' days' cause no one cared about what I thought, there were moments, but I had moved on and despite everything I'm loving everything about college. I'm so free and a lot happier here, I just am. I was never the rulebook type.

'No dear, it wasn't just a fuck!
I was, awestruck-yes-in her lovliness!'

--Well, that wasn't too bad, for a mini-poem. Rate it out of 10?

Curious Hopelessness

*Darn, got a link just underneath the title spot-what are you supposed to put in this?

Anyway, all apologies for the lateness. You may tut away, but get on with it. Done? Fabulous...

I know I've been doing too much. I can't stop saying yes to things, its in my blood. It's in my upbringing, you see, for I was made to be exceptionally polite. I see it as many things:

• A good business method. The primal: 'You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours' sorta thing.
• It's a comfort. Throughout my life, I've been many different Bettys: the bully, the swot, the quiet one, the nutter, the individual. I've always been polite, so its nice to have that consistentcy in my life. It helps me remember who I am.
• It doesn't make me a suspect.

Lets clarify that one. Sometimes, to make those mundane 9 to 5 days bearable, I like to imagine my life as a whodunit crime thriller. You have your red herrings and the obvious ones you waste chapters digging into. Being polite gives me a sense of neutrality that shifts to the 'good' side of society. I mean nothing, but I'm probably something 'nice'. Does that make sense?

And as a suspect, what the hell am I talking about? My depression, my madness. Thats what I'm hiding from. I guess it makes me unique, if I was to go off on a tangent.

Anyhoo, I've joined several clubs including the college magazine which is vital to do because I want to be a journalist when I 'grow up'. And speaking of journalism, I want to get some work experience. You see, this isn't something I have to do, but I do want it and I need some advice, so I'll be talking to one of the college staff people.

I like today. I've had this horrible cold, which I'm sure is in protest of my ambitions, and its calmed down enough for me to do my homework, and prepare for the next week which I'm sure will go swimmingly. I might even try to start some therapy. But I won't get my hopes up.

That Day!

Today, is quite historic for me: today was my first day at Richmond College, in Twickenham. It has turned out to be one of those things that you know are going to be hard, and even that they'll even be harder than you think but you still don't fully understand how tough it may be.

I think it was mainly because today was crap. Today, of all days-my luck is amazing. Its either completely brilliant, or completely hopeless, or just bizarre. Kinda like my life, lol.

Yesterday, there were delays on the District line, and I ended up being 30 minutes late for my induction day. Thats annoying enough, cos I was all sweaty and stressed and dazed, so I didn't get to make any friends. Then today I lost my photocard and my travelcard, which apparentely is practically guaranteed to be lost. You could imagine my distress-I was crying in the stupid station, trying to not shout at myself for being so embarrassing. Then I spent all my money on a new travelcard, was late for my first lesson-then the phone went off, the library was disappointingly empty of fiction, and it took me ages to find Ash, who's like my only friend in the place. The place is massive. There are like 2000 people there, and its going to be soo bad tomorrow because the second year students are coming and that'll be a nightmare! I'm still not cutting. I'm not really worrying about it, just worrying about slapping myself in public, and people seeing my scars. Because at the moment I'm completely no one because everyone is tall and perfect and Ash is one them. Almost all the girls are 5"8, skinny enough to wear low riding jeans and show off their hip bones. And loads of people smoke, its crazy and crowded but its still only my first bloody day and I have to get a grip. Mad, bad luck, crazy shit happens to people all the time. I know, that somewhere, I am being tested. Who else gets two crazy disasters in two days when she's starting over? Nobody! Its just to test my commitment and my once-inane ability to not cry. (however, I do have an inane ability about keeping my head together.)

Breathe.....sigh...aaah....rant over.

Gotta go, I have to wake up early and spend lots more money to get my shit together. I will write a proper entry in this blog-stay tuned.

The Chronicles of Madness

I'm not too sure whats going on, but hey, it ain't big or clever. I don't know where my friends are! My friend Ash is supposed to have come over two hours ago, but he hasn't and I don't know where he is! I know I don't trust him, and thank fuck for that or is sabbatical would have hurt my feelings and I'd be even more scared of college tomorrow.

Free falling

I can't type much. I went to a GYUK meet, finished my job, did a training day for the first time ever and got liked. My friends and whoever else is coming out of the woodwork. And I'm so, so, tired.
I watched Leon last week, I think. I dunno when, but it was very good, although I wasn't 100% listening. Now, I'm watching Jerry Maguire which is a great comedy! You know its great cos you recognise that this is where all the cliches came from (eg: Some Like It Hot) I'm at the point where he just lost Cush as well to a contract, because of Cuba Gooding Jr. Oh, no.
However, Tuesday night, I watched the worst film of all time. It was a superhero Marvel adaption named Captain Fury. I better number this. I really do think I've found the worst film of all time. If you can, er 'better' this for want of another word, I will applaud and place your link on my blog, cos face it, we all want to be seen.

1. Captain Fury is David Hasselhoff.
2. You'd there : "Good God, 'nuff said!'. But wait, theres more. Said character wears cotton eye patch.
3. His sidekicks are in some leather uniform all cut in a really crap way. I mean, David Hasselhoff in leather, goodness
4. Their enemy is the Nazis, yet at the end of the film the hero gets away in this weird looking spaceship thing (crap special effects too)
5. One of sidekicks has crap hair and a fake mole.
6. Terrible jokes...cliched things that aren't even funny because they are cliched.

Those are all the reasons I can think right now, but my other diary has about 14+ reasons why that film was so diabolical. There's no reason...why the hell did they get David Hasselhoff? Has anyone else seen that movie....? This entry isn't the best, I agree. But I really am not thinking straight. Hell, I ain't straight, but thats so beside the point. I have till Thursday (first day at college) to get my act together and start a new phase of my life..and all that jazz.

Blog-it, sniff it, scratch it, post it

What did I do today?

Today was boring. But it was one of those long, almost gracefully stupid days needed for living.
Its...slippery in a way that you lose all sense of time except day and night, itchy and starving, rock or techno, lost or confused. Its one of those days when you forget its not a Sunday or that you've woken up at 11:30, officially the second longest day you've woken up since summer began. You forget about starting over, y'know its that time your Dad has returned from the OLYMPICS and its as if he never left, although it means you have to be quiet at nights and you can't eat ridiculous things like porridge for dinner again, (internetting at 11pm is out of the question!).

Of course, its silly, but its not. Its a refreshingly boring day. You remember all the future you would never considered to be a thought: your cousins growing older and all th movies you haven't seen. An interview, a poetry reading, a GYUK meeting. Food, that morish dude. You remember you have a future and family who are involved somehow although you never really tell them anything.

An overdue celebration needs planning that you've only cried about on the Samaritans and in an email or two to a Disgruntled Moose - hold up, thats the past. Blast, blast it away for its almost forgotten now.

You've got a future. And it needs worrying about. I mean, seven books to read in around a month and now GCSEs to distract you!

Actually, the best thing about these days is that you forget a month ever existed and that you've busted your butt, even if there are no regrets? Who'd ever thought today there'd be a second to last day in August? September is getting impatient and I have a window to break and a shutter to pull down on this night. Get down to it.

Drumroll please! Thank you...

Well, today was strange. I felt really disappointed.

Firstly I was so not nervous it was starting unerve me, which in my brain was going completely ridiculous-probably the choice of words. So in my mind I was spinning round in circles. My inner child giggling.

Then, I could barely sleep last night so I decided to do my hair while I watched Flipside TV on channel 4 (its some show when they flick through all those mysterious channels on Digital. I found a new channel called The Horror Channel thanks to them. So watching that tonight-I need a laugh)

ell asleep about 3am, which was the latest I've been up in weeks. I of course then had the nightmare that has made my day.

In my dream, I was at work, but in another building-it was this nice cream coloured building on the ground floor by the 'High Street' (by that I mean where the off-licence is. Its a town of drunks) and I was on my own in the office and I was having a crap time of it, running around in my 3-inch heels and a dodgy half buttoned long sleeved top. Then, about midday in the dream I realised it was my results day, and that everyone else would have pissed off because we were supposed to meet at 9 am and they won't have missed me anyway. So I was running to the bus stop and some guy asked me for directions to Ealing Broadway, and I sent him to the bus going that way, becoming even later. I stared after him, and after a mintue I turned to walk to the other bus stop but I found I was wearing 3/4 sleeves, meaning that I my scars were in full view (I'm sure this is a metaphor of nudity). Then I was walking trying to hide my sleeves and everyone could see me and I was gasped and gaped at. I bumped into my cousin who said 'What on earth...?' and my dream ended.

The alarm rang.

So I rushed out of the door, and saw my good old school, CW, RC for the very last time. It was very pretty.

Just waiting, waiting for the results, in a small cue, waiting for Maria, who's always a little late. Then came Charlotte looking wasted and in good fashion. I vaguely remembered her saying she was going to arrange some big get-together, and that she never called. I forgot it again. It was only a little slip of paper, and it was all there, simply black and white and condesceding:

English lit - A
English lang - A*
Mathematics - B
Double Science - A/A
History - A
Religious Studies - A
Business Studies - A
French - B
Textiles - B

I was so, so disappointed (why, you cry!) I knew why, but no one could really understand it; they're fantastic results, and hey, I don't even know the margin. I should be over the moon, jumping over boulders and skipping like an agile Graham Norton (like so many straight guys all around me), but I felt terrible. It might have been breakfast-I found out way too late it was gone off, but then again gone off food had been following me around like a curse, so it didn't really imprint on my mind. Everyone was so happy with their results, and everyone was congratulating for deserved results. I couldn't help the breakdown and my thoughts which lead to carelessness and unrivalled hatred inside myself, attacking me. There was also Walk For Life, in which I raised £70 for people with HIV, the decent friend I've been, all the good poems I've written, my marvellous coping skills and I felt a tiny bit better.

Then, to better this feeling, Maria and her friends just decided to leave. We walked behind them but they didn't look back on us and no one asked me if they wanted to do something. Just walked off and I was left with Meg, before she left me too. Ash, came and went in a very quiet haze in his mum's car. Avril, his best friend at the end of the year, didn't mention him. Neither did anyone else, for that matter. You tend to forget that Ash is a loner at the best of times.

I think that my day is comfortably punctuated through conversations, with myself and other people.

The one that comes to mind was after everyone had left and I was on the bus to Ealing Broadway because I felt like buying a book and I wanted to disappear for a while. I almost burst into tears because I realised I got 7 A-A*s and not the 8 needed to be a candidate for NAGTY (national association for gifted and talented youth - a gov. scheme). Now I look back on it, its so stupid and I realise that I'm measuring myself up to standards that aren't individual to me at all-like a really badly made glove, its not one size fits all and I forgot it in the stab of depression. They're like little darts, the bastards.

So, I was getting off the bus when Aunty Audrey called me-I told her my results, she was very happy, pleased. Said 'she wasn't worried, I knew you'd do well.' All the while I was convincing myself to not to hit myself for the fifth time. Against a brick wall, next to temporary bus stop we talked:

"Are you happy with your results, then?"
"Yeah." (Blinking away tears)
"Where are you now?"
"I'm in Ealing Broadway"
"With all your friends, I bet!"
"Yeah" (digging nails into palms)
"Are you going to the cinema or are you going to each other's houses?"
"Nah, its just going to be quiet." (blinking, blinking, don't wanna do any thinking...)
"Never mind, it would be funny watching you walk around with a big fat smile on your face!"
"HmHehe" (a quiet sob, beautifully disguised as laughter. I was dying here! Mortifed I had just sobbed, albeit unnoticed and brief, I leaned against the wall)
"Well congratulations!"
"Aww thanks." (my most common phrase today)
(Like the stage directions?)

I hated the fact everyone thought I'd have something planned, like a drink or a fun night out or just having friends round, when I'm on my own, very alone, very frustrated on the internet when everyone else is doing something. They all sound disappointed that I've barely acted like a teenager-or how I feel. It's strange, cos because I've gotten the best I'm officially the cleverest in the family and they don't know I cut and it feels so surreal, because if they knew maybe they'd understand why I believe its not a big deal.

I just talked to my Grandparents, and they're really proud of me. They so believed I was fine, and Grandad was actually a little worried, which made the results so much for him and me more grateful that people like me for some reason. It made like my results and I think when in Richmond I meet people and they ask about my results and they ask if I'm happy (if they don't squeal) then I would say I am and be honest about it. I plan to be very honest this year. As much as possible..I've lied so much to so many people that the Real Me, whoever that was disappeared under a smoke screen. Then I changed and that other person who everyone saw except me changed forever and that hidden Me was my true persona since year 9 and I really wanted to understand myself better. Of course, this changes if people ask about the sleeves, but they wouldn't really until summer, if its hot and I can rely on good old British weather to help me out in that department.

I did buy a book (called Middlesex, and so far I think its brilliant. It won the 2003 Pulitzer prize, soit had credentials as well) and take out the next series of fearless so I'll be reading a lot. I'm leaving my job on Tuesday, so I'll have more time to write and prepare myself for college in two weeks time. I just need a shield to bat away those bastardly depression darts. We'll see.

Things You Shouldn't Do When You're Tired

This would be a long running list. I hardly ever sleep-most nights I end going to sleep around 1am after listening to an album (namely Beth Orton) or reading a great book (still Tipping the Velvet) or resisting a mad urge to lose all my friends by phoning them for an animated chat 2 in the morning. I'm full of humour and fabulous ancedotes and I have no one to share it with.
This is me! when I'm not miserable, isn't it nice?

Okay, its just that since I'm tired all the time, I do a lot of different things that are in fact, stupid. Its either that or I'm being an A* idiot and I'm blaming on insomnia. Think of it as being a really annoying Christian.

In a sentence, its a compilation of all the stupid things people do, its just that tiredness is either an issue, or an excuse!

You have to learn from all your mistakes. Its just that some are so ridiculous and so hilarious you HAVE to write them down. And so it begins:

Things You Really Shouldn't Do When You're Tired (part 1!):

1. Drive Heavy Machinery
2. Decide to watch indie movies instead of sleeping when you're already tired
3. Mis-number lists
4. Email your best, straight, taken friend to tell her 'You're hot, duh!'
5. Do any exams. Especially GCSEs which is the basic qualification for any job you do, and therefore, a massive percentage of self-worth
6. Forget how to spell 'Paedriatic' (yay!)
7. Forget that a week this Saturday would be the 4th, not the 9th
8. Force themselves to go to a very popular poetry night as a virgin
9. Fall in love with said best friend
10. Sit back and watch all your numeracy skills go to pot
11. Forget how to spell 'Remember' (thankfully this didn't happen to me as I am the spelling queen)
12. Use a frying pan (for whatever reason. Be it fulfilling a crime, a paint palette, fashion wear, or actual cookery)
13. Being stubborn-this goes into so many things and may be repeated. Today, this means deciding to read Draco slash! instead of watching Nip/Tuck on Channel 4.

Thats all for now. Go on, if you have any extra stupid you have done today you're gonna blame on tiredness, ergo removing responisbly for those beautfil 'Stupid, stupid' thangs, post in the comments box! Love ya...wish me luck for tomorrow-my GCSE results are out and I'm not 'too' nervous. Good luck to everyone else! We will fail together...