Paperclips

Done my work. Depressed...its the depression after the rush. Of the last three weeks. I really don't feel good and I've just found a bottle of Meltus cough syrup...no one would notice...should I even post this? I'm just giving people misery. Well, I made a promise, and a calculation.

If I keep living until I'm 25, the promise Lioness sees in me for whatever reason will blossom for I would have escaped adolescence, and I could see myself living for another sixty years. I'm 16, so thats nine years of torture. Fuck. But, I made a promise to the people I trust that I will not kill myself. I don't break my promises...

PS: And all my readers, you are not fools. Of course not. You are wonderful beings. I'm just tired and teary, and this stage, this state has not waned. People are looking at me more weirdly then when I got 76% in my AS History Mock...

Prologue

The tiredness in my limbs is a long, almost painful progresive ache. I am certain I am misspelling words wosmewhere - hey! An overlong anagram. You figure it out. I'm a half-asleep meglomanicas and I want to know what eponymous means. Ooh! I'll show you my selfish article...actually we'll wait until I'm published, or not. Knackered, knackered knackered.

I'm sorting out my hotmail account. Putting all my blog related emails (comments and entries) into a folder. It's pointless. Don't ask me why I'm doing it - see I still have the adrenaline but I just can't move. I'd feel ill if I ate now (w00t) The training I remember vaguely. I got there after my train was stopped to catch a criminal in my carraige (as you do) and I was really nervous and everything seemed to be falling apart. Then they came, everything went OK and I was the commanding busy-body teacher. 23 kids, 3 adults - worse behaved and certainly chatted the most. Me and my time bitched over a frothy hot chocolate in Cafe Nero as we did our evaluation. One of the funniest things was the ice-breaker. The matchstick game (explain later), and I needed 360 paperclips. You'd have thought in a office (CE is a wild one) you'd have buckets. But no, I had to hunt through newsagents and grab whatever I could find. After the training the place just looked like a paperclip explosion. I'm going to bed? Blegh. I wouldn't mind using the phone but Dad's being chatty for some reason. Sunday will be a dream...serene smile. Gosh, Lioness you post a lot don't you. Thanks!!!!! Big Smile and SMOOCH for being so wondrous. I haven't been on the Net for a few days so I'll just how you are...

Here On Earth

Horrible things almost happen for no reason (Lioness. In my thoughts. Staying there. Hold on - you're one of the strongest women I know! Truly.)

I think I'll make another post.

Hot cheeks and freezing fingers: This is My Winter

What to say?

I haven't been doing well, not at all. I had a long bloody weekend. On Saturday had to sort through numerous CDs because of fucked admin, and now I get a crunching sound from left shoulder when I move it sometimes. Went to Islington, Children's Express. More notes, more prepping for my training this! saturday. I don't feel prepared at all, to tell you the truth. I'm just expecting brats and for cameras to break and just so so many things to go wrong. This week I've also had two pieces of coursework and a 1500 word essay on Liberal Social Reforms. Ooh. Je suis tres, tres, exhausted. On Sunday I cracked in the evening. I moved to my motel and got all cloaked up in my depression. Overdosed on alcohol and medicine; simply because I had no one to talk to, which keeps happening when I need people. Then again I'm most depressed just before I'm going to bed, and when you're tired, your wits are no longer about you, and you're just impatient. So brought up a cup to my room, and drank. Then the room began to spin...

When I awoke the next morning. The room was still spinning...slower. I was still in my clothes the day before and I had slept on top of the covers. I was surprised I was capable. I had a vague recollection of clawing my way up the bed...the room was a tip. Cushions, clothes and books and all sorts of other things had strung itself into a tight ball and shoved itself against the door. There was blood everywhere. I'm not exaggerating. All over the bed, my clothes, the radiator, the floor, my mobile - all splashed with my own blood. I could barely get up. Then I felt stinging. All over my thighs, and both arms where I had cut. Wincing, I got up gingerly to go to the bathroom, then remembered that my cyan coloured top and my white trousers was going to fool nobody. I got cleaned up. Returned to my room, and put most of my things away, and washed the blood away from the floor and my mobile. Changed my clothes. Then trotted downstairs to complete my classics coursework. God.

Monday...how was Monday...well I remember reading, I remember tiredness, the never-evil-always-wacky-Nancy asked how I was. I looked tired enough. On the way home, both trains were delayed, the piccadilly was packed and I had to walk from my stop because of a drink-drive fatality on my street and the police had cut off the road. I remember trying to write an essay whilst my mind had been going, going gone for ages now. I know I cut quite a bit again. I feel like a self-inflicted grenade. It hurts to walk because of all my scars there, it hurts to take off or put on my bag cos it irritates my scars there, and last week I was dominated by darts of pain on my left temple because I had punched myself there. I hit myself there like two weeks ago...I'm falling apart and I'm blogging about it.

I tried to sleep in today, but of course Dad doesn't understand that working at full tilt for the last week and a half has left me exhausted. He doesn't know about my long bloody weekend either, so he drove me to college instead.

Oh, the critics!

My classics essay was slaughtered. It was diabolical...really terrible. I had missed out facts and wrote too little on some things, written too little on others. My grammar was warped, the structure was non existent and I managed to turn my Classics into a gabbling mess of distaste. It was so deceptive. When she came for my session, she seemed so happy an enthusiastic. Smiling, and just being cheerful. Then I saw that she had four pages of corrections. Most people only get one. The hope started to wane in little bits from then. At the end, I had tears in my eyes. It was unrelentingly bad. There's no word for it. I can't even spell "distinguish". Oh wait, I just did. Aaargh! It was the fact that it was all constructive, all so correct of her and that there was so much of it. Myself and my essay, which I had laboured on so long for, was completed slaughtered. Gore unprecedented since the grim war of Troy.

After a few tears alone in the girls bathroom, I met up in the biting, dry cold with Nathan. He's cool, he can play music and he's just this lovely normal guy. He would make an interesting one month boyfriend, if I was straight. I kept thinking he fancied me. Maybe because he sought me out to walk to the train station, or just polish whatever pride I had left. I can't even wear my gorgeous, bargain white coat because Dad (Prison Warden. Damn him. I can't even answer the door after 7pm now.) said it was too dirty. "Shoulda gotten the grey one." he says. I bought it because it was beautiful and I didn't feel like blending into the winter. I wanted to be the White Fluffy Gorgeous Thing of Joy. Now I'm just frumpy navy blue Deloris. (sorry, Delorises. It's just so fifties...). The day has been Okay from then. Got my story critiqued. It ain't that bad! Yes, something I haven't turned to shit. Now I'm afraid to touch it, hehe.

The day wasn't all bad. I bunked off tutor (BLOC PARTY: HERE WE ARE. my song). Went to this Tsunami karaoke thing. Boring, so I gave £2 and a hug (some of my James and Dan were there.) and went to buy cookies. Ashley was there. He's like a pixie, I swear. Today, the 25th of January, its about 5 celsius, tops. Ashley was in his thin green jacket thing. His hair looked as if he styled it then went outside for the cold to melt it. It wouldn't even shiver. I met up with his friend Amy the 2nd (he knows ten.) Who was exactly like me. I didn't feel any silly year 10 jealousy, we all got on just fine. We travelled across the plains of the fester fields (the dope and shag park behind college) to M&S, and the cake shop, where I saw him eat cake for the first time. He's been eating healthily and has put on weight, which made me happier than I thought it would.

He's really happy here, I thought to myself. Left him complaining though. He just, made me feel...he gave me...a smile that wasn't artificial. It was the happiest I felt for the last couple of weeks. The skinny bear hug queen. Wow, I've got him in one. I love him. He has a link to this, does he read (this blog, words, anything at all)? But then, of course I had to go to Classics. Every smiles turns to tears soon enough, right? But thats enough. I've written enough. Too much for casual readers to indulge. Sorry. Its the way I write. But here;s the lyrics to Bloc Party's Here We Are, which I've been replaying and replaying. It's my modern classique...and has so far defined winter: Dark, deep, lonely, and lovely, love-ly.

And you, the "Fools" Who Read This Crap, why?? Why do you read my blog? I can't finish this in other way than to present you with lyrics I promised...52 words ago and my fangirly scream "Woo-hooo!!! O.C on E4 tonight, baby!"

Ahem.

Bloc Party : Here We Are

I caught a glimpse
But its been forgotten
Cos here we are
Again

I made a vow
To carry the one hope
I really tried
To want your want?
Now all youranggro?
Again

I made a vow
To carry the one
If you can’t see it
If you pass out

Aaaaaah
Oh Oh

I think it’s enough
I think it’s enough
I think it’s enough
I think it’s enough

I can see it through
I can see it through
I can see it through

I can sing it again
I can sing it again
I can sing it again
I can sing it again
I can sing it again

Listen to it. I dare you. And tell me: Are the lyrics right? Cos I can't find them anywhere on the net. Strange.

Book mishaps, trains and a broken heart

Broken hearted (sounds like an occupation. Feels like mine in the last month. Screwed twice in a month! How dumb must I be?)

I don't seem to be feeling much. Maybe its because the MASK is back, and I've slipped back in my hotel (quiet, pleasant depression. Not MOTEL - dark horrid depression. You see, I have waay too many analogies.). I also signed a letter, promising never to love again, apart from the people I love. It's been signed and everything. I listed all the people I've loved and have screwed me other: Mum, Dad, Bro, Ria, Al, and Ash. I don't trust/love a lot of people. It's not my way and its not my style, which why I'm wondering if I really loved Alice, or if it was just the feeling that someone actually found me attractive, because if I loved her, wouldn't I go to her, when she needs me? A couple of days ago I was just too hurt, but now, there's nothing. Could this sixth heartbreak taken my heart away, clean from my iron chest? I don't know. I'm just theorizing.

Had creative writing today and we had to script for radio. Mine was - surprise, surprise - depressing. About a Coming out gone horribly wrong, and the mother finding out about her self-harm (or self mutilation, as Debs said it was). She started telling me off for making it a stage script and saying I must put more confidence and trust in writing dialogue only. It's much harder than you think. All your emotion, and description and character has be trusted in perfect pauses, delicious dialogue and surreptious sound effects. It's all dialogue. Then again I've never listened to a play on Radio 4 so i don't know if they use sound effects, but I doubt it. I felt really scared, and threatened. My dialogue is crap and I find it terrifying to write anyway. I'm as sensitive to it than people telling me how lovely I am (ha! No wonder I got dumped) so it was disconcerting to have Debs, my creative writing teech telling me to leave out the stage directions and to bloody well get on with it. I think she sees potential. Or the fear in my eyes. Argh. I only want to write fanfiction. And I will, before Harry Potter finishes because HP is soo dead. It's the only way it works. And if you look around on fansites, there's loads of complicated theories that look into the palindrome in chapter 6 in the Prisoner of Azkaban. I'm right.

Anyways, I have to go. Article to discover. Essay to write.

All Alone

No one is replying to my emails. The phone is off the hook. My girlfriend has broken up with me, and its all my fault. All of it. She told me that she couldn't understand that I could love her, but hate myself so much. And in turn she became very depressed. I never thought depression could be so infectious. I read the news (dumped via email) at noon. I started drinking whatever alcohol I could find. It worked nicely. I still cried, but I didn't cut and I gave my other browbone a big fat bruise.

Now, that I have eaten and I have stopped crying for a bit, I wonder if I shouldn't have reacted in the way that I did. I just...she still said I was beautiful and that the friends of hers that I've met think I'm beautiful, but I feel uglier than ever. How can she find me "attractive" when I hate myself so much? Also, to find my first love only to be told she doesn't love me back? I have to be her friend, too. But I just want to shove everyone out, bring back up my defences and live in safe, simple solitary solidarity. Everyone I love screws me over...it took *counts on fingers* six knockbacks like these to finally understand I am simply not meant to be loved, or indefinitely loved back. Turns, out that is eveyone I've ever truly loved anyway.

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love and be loved in return." (Moulin Rouge)

It's got a point. Humans are too fucking dumb to realise that dream, for that dream isn't real. It can't possibly be real.

So yes, here's my resignation. I will never ever fall in love again. I will hate everyone, if need be. You have been warned.

Hel-ooo!

I'm sorrry! Haven't posted! Don't know why!

Well, I sorta do. I've been suffering from blog-performance anxiety and writer's block for the last couple and I just don't feel as if anything I do is up to standard, like so many parts of my life and if I can't write I can't do anything, so its like that.

Well, was. I still have horrid writer's block and all that, but I'm not beating myself over it. It's January, what can I say? The gears are shed (as the tinsel falls away) and you get new ones (Valentines Day puts everyone into a higher gear) and the rest of the year 'happens'. Basically I couldn't cope with the fact I had nothing to do, no one to look up to and the staggering amount of strange analogies I use...

So, last weekend on the erm, 6th Jan perhaps I was shopping around in Ealing Broadway, which was weird for me because I never shop and if I do it's for books and CDs and I had plenty of those. I've also grown this dislike for spending money for some reason, I get weird even when I'm buying sale items. Not that day. I bought my bargain of the year - a £60 white, fake woolly-collared coat gone down to £15! That's 75% off! Later on, I went to Boots, just wondering if I should start a beauty regime of sorts when I ended up next to the razor section. All these razors, ready to use. I've been reading into too many self-harming competitions. It's become a sick competition of how deep you can cut, how often, AAS (attempted attempted suicide) that crap. It's gets into your mind, it's poison...

So yes, I was considering the cheapest, but sharpest razors (cos everyone else on the net - who I encounter - use those) I caught myself in my thinkstream ( - Okay, I'll get the gilette razor, but then it says I have to say so at the counter...oh god what if they ask to see my arms, what if they ask if I was on anti-depressants, I'd never be able to step into Boots again - ) shook myself and strode into the marketplace.

I was feeling really down and embarrassed of myself for being so silly. Then I saw these gorgeous silver looking things. The lady got all interested and started to show all sorts of pendants and such. Sunshapes, and flowers and crosses. Then she chose this silver sun shaped shaped thing with straight lines coming out of it and an amethyst in the circle. I tried it on and I was inspired. I was going to collect pendants! It just seemed like a good idea, and I think it'll hold out. New start: new gorgeous pendant. Everytime. And to top it off, I had a hot homemade shop waffle in chocolate sauce. It tasted pretty damn good...

The rest of the week has been in preparation for the rest of the month:

** I'm doing another teaching session for the same kids I taught the basics of journalism to last Autumn. This time: How to use a camera etc. But I don't actually know how.

** Coursework x 4. I'm doing a short story for English. I must be really stupid.

** Seeing Alice again on Sunday. I don't care what Dad says. It's been three weeks - I need to see her!

** And writing scripts. It's going sorta Ok.

Thats all for now. My bro is hassling to use the computer so I gotta go. A bout of PMT created a massive row on Tuesday but we're cool again...

Feeling ill

This is what happens when I eat normally. I've cut down so much I think my stomach has shrunk. I'm not sure really. I just know that food and portions of food I would have been able to handle I feel uncomfortable with nowadays, and I hate the fact that my family just thinks that I'm going to eat loads of food because we're at a party. Don't they realise I only ate because I was miserable? Are they that unable to look past my mask AT ALL?

And I'm telling myself off because I was supposed to be doing 600 words today on my coursework but I haven't done anything and I'm such a whiny failure. Then I almost cried at The Streets dry your eyes; I wish I could just being, oh god, so, so pathetic.

And where the hell is the Lioness? Is there something I should have noted cos she hasn't posted on her blog for ages now...

Drawn out, thrown out, flung shut

Ahem.

I...

Can't speak. I can't wait for the day when Ria comes down to my house with the men in white coats, and I follow her, dumbly, with lidded mad eyes, to the madhouse for the rest of my days. Cos then, me, as I am would have disappeared and I would be absolutely truly worthless.

These moods sneak in and out. I've been heavily crazily depressed. Madly busy, eating more than I should cos I'm not feeling good about myself. I don't feel like Betty Browne. I feel like someone different entirely. Well, considering I didn't really know who I was then, its not the greatest loss, but I wouldn't mind understanding what I'm leaving behind. I want to know what I'm getting into.

I'm getting all crazy into fanfiction. I've had a girlfriend for nearly six weeks and it feels like she's never there cos she can't be and long-distance relationships are so damn hard. I'm on RYL so much its so so strange. I keep punching, bruising myself, but the swelling has gone down and no one has noticed. I am no longer an outsider. Instead, I am exclusively involved in several universes, and each of these have not much of a clue of my other worlds.

And last year? Well, my horoscope said that someone was going to treat me like shit and I was/should ditch them, and I was going to find my knight in shining armour who would walk over broken glass to make me happy; it talked about important people listening to me; talked about my Big Break. Its all true. But I don't know has destroyed me, who I've chucked when I should have clung on, who I've stuck to when they would only lead me self-murder. And who loves me, did I realise that someone loves me, because I don't think I ever have. Because I've being attacked and praised, by myself and others, many of them who I cannot remember. I've made new friends and amends to change a life that was already changing. Will my universes collide in the year 2005? I'm not sure. I have to stop procrasinating first.