Sometimes, I like to think I'm interesting. Today is not one of those days. The morning, I think, will be the best part of today. I saw The (Japanese) Ring last night for the third time - it's so much better than the american version...I'm still grappling a little with my story. It's on that important crux where it could almost fall apart completely and I could never fix it again, but tonight will be the decider of that. I'll also be watching Ring 2 which I've never seen before but I've heard it was crap...so I guess I'll just have to find out.
Anyway, I woke up at 9:45 this morning - for me, a record early morning. Everything felt cosy in my room despite it being a tip. My room is so small its bordering on claustrophobic at times but I've learnt to deal with it most of the time without collapsing into a shivering heap at the corner of my bed. But anyways, I had three hours to myself to listen to music, read if I wanted, watching the O.C without my Dad telling me to watch some 'proper TV'. I felt completely at ease with myself. I was feeling so peaceful...then Elliott came down:
"What are you listening to?"
"The Cure" (concentrating on typing...go away..)
"Why?"
"Because they're cool"
"Why? Isn't that the guy who wears make up? Isn't that a bit..."
"What?" (Aargh!)
"Never mind" (painful smirk. He starts to whistle...)
I don't why he winds me up so well. That wasn't even a real conversation and that still ticked me off. But, most of the conversation go on like that. He always says why - why I went out and why, why I like that 'lame' band, why do I like books so much....niang!niang!niang! I sound like a constipated cat, and maybe thats how I feel with him. Always under attack. Anyway, I'm soothing my 'sorrows' with music. The Cure can fix anything...
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Breaking Out
I went out today. Saw a couple of houses and we made another offer. Hopefully by the summer I'll be in a cosy house in Feltham by July. And then I went to Children's Express and joined in with this radio story from a really cool BBC researcher, but I'm forgetting, forgotten all of that right now. That right now doesn't really matter. One of my internet buddies - Emma, Irresistable Poison is suicidal. And now no one can contact her, and there's nothing, nothing I can do. All I can do is offer *hugz* and "Oh god, I hope she's ok." All I can do is hope, and I never been a real fan of hope.
Goo Goo Dolls Iris
And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
And you bleed just to know you're alive
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
I've been quite useless lately. I know it, I feel ... pissed off. My brother is a dick. My brother doesn't understand someone can be emotional. I've been feeling ill all day, but I can't throw anything up, even though I've been purging everyday for the last 6 days. It's so tiring. Last night I had fried chicken and I was up until half 2 in the morning purging. Now I just want to sleep, y'know?
Goo Goo Dolls Iris
And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
And you bleed just to know you're alive
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
I've been quite useless lately. I know it, I feel ... pissed off. My brother is a dick. My brother doesn't understand someone can be emotional. I've been feeling ill all day, but I can't throw anything up, even though I've been purging everyday for the last 6 days. It's so tiring. Last night I had fried chicken and I was up until half 2 in the morning purging. Now I just want to sleep, y'know?
"The man who trades freedom for security usually ends up with neither." Benjamin Franklin
Oh, I have no rhythm. No story, no morning glory unless you like swear words in the morning.
I've started writing again. It's so easy. You don't even need an extra milky super chocolatey hot chocolate. You just need a very simple idea: a girl grieving, a girl running, dead people coming back to life. I used to think my stories were boring but they do work with the right style. I've written 200 words for my story so far, and they're all nice simple words, but they're only the beginning of the web. This is how I make stories. I see as a simple gob of unspecified sticky stuff and I swish my hands around and suddenly I have a complicated, yet specifically beautiful web, complete with drops of dew, weighing it down emotionally. That's my perfect story, and its incredibly weird to get. You have to forget everything you're doing and just try really hard to just do it...
Now thats out of the way, I want to show this link. It might cheer yous up on this dank Tuesday morning, now that most peeps have to go back to work - it's an Guardian article on funny accidents. Can you imagine being bitten by a centipede? But Americans have the stranger ones; something to do with around 45,000 Americans being injured in public toilets in a year - by the toilets themselves. And from this site here (comment at your will) it shows that that chance of dying at the hands of weapons of mass destruction are the same as pigs mutating and sprouting wings: 1 in 6 million. It's nice to think pigs might fly one day and kill off a phrase, just like that. Whats wrong with pigs anyway? Sure, they love their poo, but they seem like a happy bunch. They are given quite a lot of respect for a farm animal, they're smart, they were given a pivotal role in George Orwell's Animal Farm (which you must read, its brilliant) and they seem to have this overriding self confidence that makes me blush. Apart from the slaughter thing, I'd love to a be a pig in the next life. If there is such a contraption.Okay, I have more. Homosexual necrophiliac ducks. It's the future, and just plain strange. I used to think ducks were such innocent beings. Oh and pigeons do it too. Whats up with necrophilia? I only wanted to be more informed of the news so I could act all intelligent and have really interesting dinner parties. I doubt anyone is going to want to listen to me now. Sorry for all of the hyperlinks, I got overexcited, but they're all quite decent. Go on, have a look, read the luscious writings of the guardian online.
I've started writing again. It's so easy. You don't even need an extra milky super chocolatey hot chocolate. You just need a very simple idea: a girl grieving, a girl running, dead people coming back to life. I used to think my stories were boring but they do work with the right style. I've written 200 words for my story so far, and they're all nice simple words, but they're only the beginning of the web. This is how I make stories. I see as a simple gob of unspecified sticky stuff and I swish my hands around and suddenly I have a complicated, yet specifically beautiful web, complete with drops of dew, weighing it down emotionally. That's my perfect story, and its incredibly weird to get. You have to forget everything you're doing and just try really hard to just do it...
Now thats out of the way, I want to show this link. It might cheer yous up on this dank Tuesday morning, now that most peeps have to go back to work - it's an Guardian article on funny accidents. Can you imagine being bitten by a centipede? But Americans have the stranger ones; something to do with around 45,000 Americans being injured in public toilets in a year - by the toilets themselves. And from this site here (comment at your will) it shows that that chance of dying at the hands of weapons of mass destruction are the same as pigs mutating and sprouting wings: 1 in 6 million. It's nice to think pigs might fly one day and kill off a phrase, just like that. Whats wrong with pigs anyway? Sure, they love their poo, but they seem like a happy bunch. They are given quite a lot of respect for a farm animal, they're smart, they were given a pivotal role in George Orwell's Animal Farm (which you must read, its brilliant) and they seem to have this overriding self confidence that makes me blush. Apart from the slaughter thing, I'd love to a be a pig in the next life. If there is such a contraption.Okay, I have more. Homosexual necrophiliac ducks. It's the future, and just plain strange. I used to think ducks were such innocent beings. Oh and pigeons do it too. Whats up with necrophilia? I only wanted to be more informed of the news so I could act all intelligent and have really interesting dinner parties. I doubt anyone is going to want to listen to me now. Sorry for all of the hyperlinks, I got overexcited, but they're all quite decent. Go on, have a look, read the luscious writings of the guardian online.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
A little poem
Passion.
The end,
All of the beginnings.
And unlike the other emotions, it likes to roar.
So passion in its recklessness stands alone,
Passion sings and rattles sorrow’s drone.
Her loveliness never fades,
Un-likened to Love’s silly renegade.
And its strangeness
Stands solitary to the groups of jealous molecules
She only quivers towards anger’s spite and ridicule.
Passion is primal, she is only nature’s fool.
Passion only longs to be.
Passion is the only part of life
That aims to run free.
It’s the only living part of me.
The end,
All of the beginnings.
And unlike the other emotions, it likes to roar.
So passion in its recklessness stands alone,
Passion sings and rattles sorrow’s drone.
Her loveliness never fades,
Un-likened to Love’s silly renegade.
And its strangeness
Stands solitary to the groups of jealous molecules
She only quivers towards anger’s spite and ridicule.
Passion is primal, she is only nature’s fool.
Passion only longs to be.
Passion is the only part of life
That aims to run free.
It’s the only living part of me.
Monday, March 28, 2005
EAT DUST - Actually...
DID U KNOW? That dust has calories. Yes. Actually calories. I was just joking with Dad, trying to decide what to have for dinner, and I told to eat from the good advice of the impeccable Marjorie from Little Britain. However, Dad gave me a weird look, but I thought that was because he didn't get the joke. Turns out, dust is made up of dead human skin. Meat. Therefore eating dust makes us cannibals. Even worse, eating dust could make you fat. Is nothing sacred?!?!
My Dad has been very nice to me today. I have to say, for a Father-daughter, it's pretty preppy, even though he doesn't know this entire side of me. The closest he's ever gotten to understand my other problems is when he heard me retching in the bathroom and asked if I was alright, and didn't persue it.
However, he seemed to induce the psychic mum charm today. I woke up before 11 am for once and came down to finally start my history work, but of course he took me out for shopping instead, on one of our Primark runs. Got myself a flowery gyspy skirt *niang!* a pink jumper, a peach hoodie (it works with my skin), some off the shoulder white/grey top thats a little chav but thats ok, toe socks and nine other trainer socks of assorted colours, and a muddy brown combed cotton top that needs bangles to cover up my wrists. Then we went and got stationery. I love getting stationery - all those pens and paper waiting to be infused by a human touch of thought and creativity. I delight in it, I simply adore it. Oh, how geeky, lol. Then I had a chicken patty (I would have eaten Callaloo, I was wavy with hunger) and we went home. Then we laughed at the rats scurrying across the newly cleaned patio. We need Jamacian non-approved chemicals to work their magic, otherwise they just get plump and green/blue which happened when we had mice in my bro's bedroom.
So, now I'm looking around on the internet, reading classic slash: http://www.schnoogle.com/authors/francespotter/R01.html (the 'select hyperlink' thingy isn't working.) looking at the rising popularity of SI from sad desperate white lillies. *double takes*. Yeah. I myself haven't been aware of it. When this whole thing started for me four years ago every web board I mentioned it on found me absolutely barmy, so I didn't I just wanted to make friends. Now I'm making friends because its one of the few things I have in common with people on the internet. Then there's this site where they're asking oh how can do I cut myself, how should I kill myself (poll). I mean god, its just sick tip-sharing. I'm hearing so many stories now. Sisters passing down tips to their little kids. A bunch of 10 year olds cutting in groups, showing off their scars. An older sister cutting in front of her sister in pulic to show how its done. What the fuck is going on? I keep missing these things, this, this spread of madness, I don't know what to do about it. Then again, I could. Remember the self harm documentary post? http://alternate-reality.blogspot.com/2005/03/freewriting.html#comments. Let me elaborate. Me, along with loads of other RYL members, are working together with this coolie director named Nicola to create this self harm documentary for channel four in September or so. Should be interesting, methinks. And I think its needed, to bring attention to this rising fashion trends. I'm seeing arm socks everywhere, even from people that don't cut, but I'm looking. Just looking. It feels horrible that these people are only people I can only connect to on the internet. Makes you an island, which no one should ever be.
I’ve just joined the NY times online paper, cos it’ll be interesting to see what goes on. And I like their arts section, because they always talk about blogs. They love blogs, I’d bet they’d be the first to go on about blog-o-sophy to become a degree course. That’d be pretty cool, actually. Anyway we bloggers should rejoice – we’ve taken water out of the bottle and returned it to the tap. By this I mean the breakdown of the superiority of gossip columnists: http://www.nytimes.com/2005/03/28/business/media/28gossip.html?th=&adxnnl=1&emc=th&adxnnlx=1112040792-Hpvyw9HCmRhptRhsNS5BiQ
NYT talks about how gossip columns just aren’t individual anymore. I don’t really think they need to be. There’s so much of it, on so many scales. Anyone can be a gossip and be good at it because human beings are simply nosy buggers who get in the way of well…everything.
My Dad has been very nice to me today. I have to say, for a Father-daughter, it's pretty preppy, even though he doesn't know this entire side of me. The closest he's ever gotten to understand my other problems is when he heard me retching in the bathroom and asked if I was alright, and didn't persue it.
However, he seemed to induce the psychic mum charm today. I woke up before 11 am for once and came down to finally start my history work, but of course he took me out for shopping instead, on one of our Primark runs. Got myself a flowery gyspy skirt *niang!* a pink jumper, a peach hoodie (it works with my skin), some off the shoulder white/grey top thats a little chav but thats ok, toe socks and nine other trainer socks of assorted colours, and a muddy brown combed cotton top that needs bangles to cover up my wrists. Then we went and got stationery. I love getting stationery - all those pens and paper waiting to be infused by a human touch of thought and creativity. I delight in it, I simply adore it. Oh, how geeky, lol. Then I had a chicken patty (I would have eaten Callaloo, I was wavy with hunger) and we went home. Then we laughed at the rats scurrying across the newly cleaned patio. We need Jamacian non-approved chemicals to work their magic, otherwise they just get plump and green/blue which happened when we had mice in my bro's bedroom.
So, now I'm looking around on the internet, reading classic slash: http://www.schnoogle.com/authors/francespotter/R01.html (the 'select hyperlink' thingy isn't working.) looking at the rising popularity of SI from sad desperate white lillies. *double takes*. Yeah. I myself haven't been aware of it. When this whole thing started for me four years ago every web board I mentioned it on found me absolutely barmy, so I didn't I just wanted to make friends. Now I'm making friends because its one of the few things I have in common with people on the internet. Then there's this site where they're asking oh how can do I cut myself, how should I kill myself (poll). I mean god, its just sick tip-sharing. I'm hearing so many stories now. Sisters passing down tips to their little kids. A bunch of 10 year olds cutting in groups, showing off their scars. An older sister cutting in front of her sister in pulic to show how its done. What the fuck is going on? I keep missing these things, this, this spread of madness, I don't know what to do about it. Then again, I could. Remember the self harm documentary post? http://alternate-reality.blogspot.com/2005/03/freewriting.html#comments. Let me elaborate. Me, along with loads of other RYL members, are working together with this coolie director named Nicola to create this self harm documentary for channel four in September or so. Should be interesting, methinks. And I think its needed, to bring attention to this rising fashion trends. I'm seeing arm socks everywhere, even from people that don't cut, but I'm looking. Just looking. It feels horrible that these people are only people I can only connect to on the internet. Makes you an island, which no one should ever be.
I’ve just joined the NY times online paper, cos it’ll be interesting to see what goes on. And I like their arts section, because they always talk about blogs. They love blogs, I’d bet they’d be the first to go on about blog-o-sophy to become a degree course. That’d be pretty cool, actually. Anyway we bloggers should rejoice – we’ve taken water out of the bottle and returned it to the tap. By this I mean the breakdown of the superiority of gossip columnists: http://www.nytimes.com/2005/03/28/business/media/28gossip.html?th=&adxnnl=1&emc=th&adxnnlx=1112040792-Hpvyw9HCmRhptRhsNS5BiQ
NYT talks about how gossip columns just aren’t individual anymore. I don’t really think they need to be. There’s so much of it, on so many scales. Anyone can be a gossip and be good at it because human beings are simply nosy buggers who get in the way of well…everything.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
The Easter Race
Easter isn't such a big deal for me. Some years, it means a four day weekend. Some years, it means that I get to stuff myself wiht chocolate, and that can only be a good thing. This year, it means both, in negative ways. Sure, I love the lie ins, but my Dad and bro are here, stuck at home, nosing in at me, and I can't get rid of them just yet.
It also means I have to eat properly, and I haven't the space to get rid of it. I bet my friends are happy for me. I'm sorta glad, cos I never want to hurt anybody. In fact, right now I'm also doing something harmless: watching the Oxford/Cambridge boat race. I don't care who wins, really, but I do feel more of a link to it because of my friend Claire* - she lives near Mortlake and her sister goes to one of the unis. I can't remember anything these days. Anyway, it's not such a close race - Oxford is winning because they're big and pretty.
Now, the race is all finished, Dad's all naggy about my non existent homework, but thats not on my mind. I'm thinking of my writing. I've been looking at my poetry, which I need to copy up. I used to be good. I used to do 8 four line ABAB stanza with perfect rhythm, in story form, without even realising it. Now I can't even do a decent Acronym story. I blame English lit/lang - always making me think about what I'm writing. What blessed me as a wannabe writer was ignorance. And to think that I hate(d) forced ignorance. Now I think too much, and I know what I'm aiming, and poetic nirvana now just seems a lot harder to reach. What I'm going to do now is search for Philip Pullman interviews. I would be the happiest girl alive if I was half as talented and together as he is. He's ignorant and intelligent, and is aware of this, and doesn't let it stop him from producing such legendary, ambitious works. Because I need to soothe away my writing blocks before it becomes a deaf defying iron curtain, a lethal hole in my psyche. Maybe I just need to leave the wound alone, and let it seal over, and relax a little. Perhaps I need to stop thinking about writing competitions, and use my old stuff if I have to, and just wait for all the ideas to knock and my door and sell themselves. After all, the best poems I've written have come out in creative burps: An idea that came rushing towards me, almost fully formed and written in under ten minutes. Thats my style. I'm a natural writer. Searching for things just throws me off course. Dear God, what was I thinking??? I think I was just trying to impress you guys. It's fun, being impressive. Its make you mighty and it boosts your confidence, realising your own potential and I'd like to that every day. It just turns out I...can't. Ooh! I've found the link, I knew it was here. Have a read, if you're trying to figure out how to write.
It also means I have to eat properly, and I haven't the space to get rid of it. I bet my friends are happy for me. I'm sorta glad, cos I never want to hurt anybody. In fact, right now I'm also doing something harmless: watching the Oxford/Cambridge boat race. I don't care who wins, really, but I do feel more of a link to it because of my friend Claire* - she lives near Mortlake and her sister goes to one of the unis. I can't remember anything these days. Anyway, it's not such a close race - Oxford is winning because they're big and pretty.
Now, the race is all finished, Dad's all naggy about my non existent homework, but thats not on my mind. I'm thinking of my writing. I've been looking at my poetry, which I need to copy up. I used to be good. I used to do 8 four line ABAB stanza with perfect rhythm, in story form, without even realising it. Now I can't even do a decent Acronym story. I blame English lit/lang - always making me think about what I'm writing. What blessed me as a wannabe writer was ignorance. And to think that I hate(d) forced ignorance. Now I think too much, and I know what I'm aiming, and poetic nirvana now just seems a lot harder to reach. What I'm going to do now is search for Philip Pullman interviews. I would be the happiest girl alive if I was half as talented and together as he is. He's ignorant and intelligent, and is aware of this, and doesn't let it stop him from producing such legendary, ambitious works. Because I need to soothe away my writing blocks before it becomes a deaf defying iron curtain, a lethal hole in my psyche. Maybe I just need to leave the wound alone, and let it seal over, and relax a little. Perhaps I need to stop thinking about writing competitions, and use my old stuff if I have to, and just wait for all the ideas to knock and my door and sell themselves. After all, the best poems I've written have come out in creative burps: An idea that came rushing towards me, almost fully formed and written in under ten minutes. Thats my style. I'm a natural writer. Searching for things just throws me off course. Dear God, what was I thinking??? I think I was just trying to impress you guys. It's fun, being impressive. Its make you mighty and it boosts your confidence, realising your own potential and I'd like to that every day. It just turns out I...can't. Ooh! I've found the link, I knew it was here. Have a read, if you're trying to figure out how to write.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Let's Be Positive - 50 Good Things I Have Done
And, incorporated, some things about myself. POSITIVE things. Bugger!
- Been myself throughout this entire blog
- Got a decent taste in fashion
- The "smart/sexy" CASUAL type
- I treat my good friends like good guud people
- I have the best cuddles due to my grab and pull technique
- I have written decent stories
- I use my brain to a decent extent
- I speak against rude, ignorant people
- I always stick up for the people I love
- I have been loyal to people I love all of my life
- I have forgiven my mum
- I haven't cut for about three weeks (W00T!)
- I've made online depressed feel as if their life is worth living
- Last year, for the WalkforLife HIV 10k walk, I raised £72 for people with HIV in Britain during my GCSEs
- I've worked in Oxfam for ... 9! months
- I have given my friend Richard "the best birthday present ever" for his 17th
- I feel guilty when I'm supposed to, and I act on it
- 9 times out of ten, I take responsibilty for my actions
- Not bad for a 16 year old, no?
- I don't pretend I'm part of any religion
- And I don't (always) bash them down either
- I live by a good moral standard (note: Not christian. Good doesn't always mean christian, believe me.)
- Look after my Dad.
- This includes making cakes for him...
- Helping Dad with the shopping....
- Choosing his clothes....
- Giving him dating tips even I've never been on a date in my life...
- Getting good grades for him....
- Having a massive clean up once in a while to prove that a woman does live here, bless her soul.
- I helped build Grandma and Grandad's new house
- According to Ria, I've saved her life
- I make good lists.
- Therefore, good entertainment for everybody!
- I don't kill cats, dogs or any animal cos they are little people
- I've introduced you all to DUST.
- And Bloc Party
- And given you Feeder's website.
- I mean really - they brill, aren't they? Gorgeous artwork
- I try my best to give my readers tip-top writing
- I make killer biscuits
- I eat chocolate Hob-nobs so no one else has to
- I let people beat me at monopoly
- I buy almost all of my music from Oxfam music shop
- I've always thought for myself eg: Going to Richmond College, despite all of the pleas and predictions I'd go completely crazy
- I'm not completely crazy.
- Really. Surely. I'm very sure of myself most of the time
- I've got principles, which doesn't mean I always stick to them but I do try my damndest
- I ALWAYS try my damn-dest - at anything: algebra, black holes, quitting, photography, poetry, dance, (now exercise)
- I have a lifetime record of never giving up
- I always help with the gardening, but then again, thats because I'm honest
- I've managed to write 50 good things about myself.
- Could I go on with this...?
- I mean there was the time my old best friend Lizan was threatened by my other friends who didn't like her cos she was Iraqi and I stayed, of course.
- Ooh, and I always push for the underdog (eg: Mel Giedroyc, in the impending Games, (celebrity olympics. And since I AM an athletics freak, I must, must watch it) tonight, 9pm on Ch.4. Come on, she curvy, funny and Jewish!)
- Okay, this ends now.
- Been a lot of fun though. Bloggers, we should try it, cast out your innner demons DAMMIT!
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Back to Standard Procedure
Hey everyone. I went to Ria's, watched Black Books series 1, regrouped and ate properly without throwing up...things of course, aren't back to normal (naive silly crap), but they are moving on nicely enough.
I realise that I used to be a binger. I mean I knew, but I didn't realise it was an illness. How is a child supposed to know that hiding hordes of food from your family is bad? And of course, now that I'm simply not a binger anymore there's the whole past fucking up the future sort of thing, of course. I'm ready. During my stay in the motel I forget all of the sensible, lovely words Lioness, Nik and Ria had given me, and simply reading them over has made such a difference - and its given me an idea. A support box. Putting all of your friends supportive muses, cool pictures, well written blog entries etc. into some file/box to look at during my Motel stay. I forget I'm supposed to go there sometimes, you know, it creeps up on ya. And it sooo dull there. People think depression gets you all...creative and magical, it does not. It sucks up your creativity to give you new excuses for staying in your Motel - maybe you wanna watch some porn channels, or go for a dip in the rat infested pool, or one more night with a vibrating bed for all of the good reasons.
Anyway, I'm typing now simply because I've just eaten and there's no one to stop me purging. Bugger. Have you ever felt yourself digesting food, felt it sink into your gut? It's horrible...so now I'm just trying to distract myself. Hey! I've got the internet. Piece. of. Cake. I could...
I realise that I used to be a binger. I mean I knew, but I didn't realise it was an illness. How is a child supposed to know that hiding hordes of food from your family is bad? And of course, now that I'm simply not a binger anymore there's the whole past fucking up the future sort of thing, of course. I'm ready. During my stay in the motel I forget all of the sensible, lovely words Lioness, Nik and Ria had given me, and simply reading them over has made such a difference - and its given me an idea. A support box. Putting all of your friends supportive muses, cool pictures, well written blog entries etc. into some file/box to look at during my Motel stay. I forget I'm supposed to go there sometimes, you know, it creeps up on ya. And it sooo dull there. People think depression gets you all...creative and magical, it does not. It sucks up your creativity to give you new excuses for staying in your Motel - maybe you wanna watch some porn channels, or go for a dip in the rat infested pool, or one more night with a vibrating bed for all of the good reasons.
Anyway, I'm typing now simply because I've just eaten and there's no one to stop me purging. Bugger. Have you ever felt yourself digesting food, felt it sink into your gut? It's horrible...so now I'm just trying to distract myself. Hey! I've got the internet. Piece. of. Cake. I could...
- Paint my nails
- Take up photography
- Get busy with my happy! box
- Keep blogging
- Draw
- Doodle
- Read funny slash (eg: All's Fair)
- Read poetry
- Watch TV
- Call friends
- Lark around
- Refuse, plainly, to have a mid-teenage-life crisis.
- Swear. Bugger.
Oh, me. I was watching TV all day today. Everything on Daytime TV seem so tired with itself. I was watching this show called Extreme Makeover: Home Stylee' (or something like that) and this guy kept shouting to cover up this empty show where they have to tear down the entire house just to drum up interest. When did society get so tired, hardwired on itself? It's gotta stop. I just wish there was a way to give the world a well needed kick up the butt without killing anybody.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Is This Hangover?
A little dizzy, but Bloc Party is helping me clear all of that up...Everything seems bigger, as if I've shrunk overnight. It hurts my eyes to look outside at the bright grey sky, where everyone is so busy and all. Woke up at 11:44 am, wondering why, forgetting about hangovers, considering I made myself throw everything up. I keep eating. Why can't I stop eating?
***By the second turn of Bloc Party's Here We Are: A little clearer. I swear the world's been to a yoga class. Everything seems stretchier. Shirts looser, legs unsteady. I feel quiet, hungry and very heavy. I don't think I drank that much, really...I made a vow over actually nothing. Gotta go. Work to do...History Coursework isn't done by itself, and I want A's.
***By the second turn of Bloc Party's Here We Are: A little clearer. I swear the world's been to a yoga class. Everything seems stretchier. Shirts looser, legs unsteady. I feel quiet, hungry and very heavy. I don't think I drank that much, really...I made a vow over actually nothing. Gotta go. Work to do...History Coursework isn't done by itself, and I want A's.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
How does it make you feel?
I'm sick of people asking stupid questions.
I think people get a kick out of it, as if inside the questions, a meteoric amount of mind reading has commenced. Give me a break. It's all power play.
I think people get a kick out of it, as if inside the questions, a meteoric amount of mind reading has commenced. Give me a break. It's all power play.
How does it make you feel? Oh, honey...? I'm fine, really (?) Why do you do this? Why aren't you doing you're homework? Why don't you try harder, you know you can do better? Why are you sad? Whats wrong with me?
I'm not sure why I'm feeling particulary unpleasant. Sorry. I've had nothing to do, apart from social shit. Silly system of darlings and noos! and go girls! I'm tired of it all, lethargic from all of my thoughts. My salesmen keep wearing me out: Just a Little Cut - Let's Not Eat Tonight - Where are Dad's laxatives? He's not using them anymore, he won't miss them... Ria made me talk, made me feel a little more, just so I could open up. Then she had to go. It's like being at a strip club you weren't aware of. The girl is hot, swaying, strutting her stuff. You're hard, you're wet and you bet she wants you but you reach for you and she's not there! She's off somewhere, with some other poor bastard and her gyrating ass reverberates through your mind: she's left you all hard and ready to go.
Then what? I'm all emotional now. I counted my cuts this morning. 15o, over the last 13 months. One hundred and fifty scars on my body that haven't completely faded as yet. I had made 30 cuts in one night. My body has been cut into ribbons, but my fat means I still have miles left to cover up the whole thing. (You know, I have never assumed self harmers may read this, that I am triggering them.)
There's wine in the fridge, whisky and Baileys ready to be drunk. A new bag of disposable razors, a bottle of cough syrup in my room. No brother, no Dad. All pent-up, soft, and ready to go nuts. Everyone must hate me, surely. I'm sorry for this post.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Moving On Up
I should have written this when I could have remembered everything, but oh well...
Today was a gay festival called Movingonup! in Waterloo. Twas fun, and strange, for several reasons. Namely, because I was meeting up with Alice the first time since Christmas, the fiasco and the breaking up, so it was a shot of reality. Mainly because I wanted to kiss her and I knew I couldn't cos we were friends, and Al acted as if nothing had happened - because loads of lesbian couples break up and become friends - in lesbian culture its perfectly normal to be best friends with your ex. And it's not as if I had a problem with it, so its a problem about not having a problem. Jesus. Anyway, her friend Nadia was supposed to come, whose been brilliant about Al coming up, but she just didn't come, which I thought was really lame, considering Al was trusting her into this whole new world.
So we got to Waterloo, and it turns out I know half of the people there, cos of NRG and my first ever gay group from two years ago, Mosaic - I met N-something who remembered me as 14 and disturbingly shy, not this bouncy girl in a pink top making jokes. I saw Rachel and Antoni, then Sanjeev and Daniel - no Janet, which sucked but I think she's visting her ex and her new girlfriend in Leicester or somewhere (see what I mean?). I think what I loved more than the free muffin and coke, the badge making machine from college which I'll be using from now on, but meeting everyone and me and Al using the playground. I swear, its the playground dreams were made of. It has this really cool wooden sitting area of dark oak with the three bears. They have those really cool hopscotch symbols in the ground with pictures of leaves or stars or trees. There's the most elaborate see-saw ever - it reminds me of sci-fi monsters gone child-friendly with its primary colours and its swing round notion. It has the coolest adventure thing ever with its high, safe heights and this weird jumping thing - I just can't explain it, sorry. Anyways, Al was scared, and I could tell cos I've known for almost a year and I can just tell when she's nervous or overanxious or serious, and it's strange cos I see it as power and I definitely haven't got power over Alice; not that I'm obsessed with it... Even so, I helped her through the course, with eye contact as her reward. The swings, really my favourite playground object of all time was really weird - it had tyres on it and you had to do a really dodgy rocking motion to get it swinging, so we left it and shot some hoops - I'm not as bad as I remembered. I do remember sticking up to bullies for the first time, during a basketball match, so I had to be decent...
Anyway, inside we met with these two drag queens. One was dressed like a character from Final Fantasy nine or ten, long strips of white cloth (mock wedding dress) and had a cher wig, or just showed off his gorgeous blond locks (Simon). The other one was in a white afro, with a silver mock PVC dress and lace detail sewed onto the ends, which looked really good and reminded me of Dusty Springfield or Dolly Parton(Jonno). The day was a gorgeous 20 celsius, and dust was everywhere, the little squares of light multiplying like friendly bacteria and I felt really safe, so today was really fun. Also, there was this really cool guy who showed us from our own ideas on how to intervene with homophobia, as homophobia is now more about keeping our gayness a deadly secret, more than anything else. So it was hilarious to watch Simon really unleash his stuff on the mock homophobic teacher, which was funny as it he was really camp himself anyway. I hate when people assume camp men are weak - you gotta remember they are dudes with the strength of any man, and they know how to use their words better, so watch out - the 'gayer' they are, the more confident they are in their sexuality, so don't cross them! Afterwards we had a debate about:
Today was a gay festival called Movingonup! in Waterloo. Twas fun, and strange, for several reasons. Namely, because I was meeting up with Alice the first time since Christmas, the fiasco and the breaking up, so it was a shot of reality. Mainly because I wanted to kiss her and I knew I couldn't cos we were friends, and Al acted as if nothing had happened - because loads of lesbian couples break up and become friends - in lesbian culture its perfectly normal to be best friends with your ex. And it's not as if I had a problem with it, so its a problem about not having a problem. Jesus. Anyway, her friend Nadia was supposed to come, whose been brilliant about Al coming up, but she just didn't come, which I thought was really lame, considering Al was trusting her into this whole new world.
So we got to Waterloo, and it turns out I know half of the people there, cos of NRG and my first ever gay group from two years ago, Mosaic - I met N-something who remembered me as 14 and disturbingly shy, not this bouncy girl in a pink top making jokes. I saw Rachel and Antoni, then Sanjeev and Daniel - no Janet, which sucked but I think she's visting her ex and her new girlfriend in Leicester or somewhere (see what I mean?). I think what I loved more than the free muffin and coke, the badge making machine from college which I'll be using from now on, but meeting everyone and me and Al using the playground. I swear, its the playground dreams were made of. It has this really cool wooden sitting area of dark oak with the three bears. They have those really cool hopscotch symbols in the ground with pictures of leaves or stars or trees. There's the most elaborate see-saw ever - it reminds me of sci-fi monsters gone child-friendly with its primary colours and its swing round notion. It has the coolest adventure thing ever with its high, safe heights and this weird jumping thing - I just can't explain it, sorry. Anyways, Al was scared, and I could tell cos I've known for almost a year and I can just tell when she's nervous or overanxious or serious, and it's strange cos I see it as power and I definitely haven't got power over Alice; not that I'm obsessed with it... Even so, I helped her through the course, with eye contact as her reward. The swings, really my favourite playground object of all time was really weird - it had tyres on it and you had to do a really dodgy rocking motion to get it swinging, so we left it and shot some hoops - I'm not as bad as I remembered. I do remember sticking up to bullies for the first time, during a basketball match, so I had to be decent...
Anyway, inside we met with these two drag queens. One was dressed like a character from Final Fantasy nine or ten, long strips of white cloth (mock wedding dress) and had a cher wig, or just showed off his gorgeous blond locks (Simon). The other one was in a white afro, with a silver mock PVC dress and lace detail sewed onto the ends, which looked really good and reminded me of Dusty Springfield or Dolly Parton(Jonno). The day was a gorgeous 20 celsius, and dust was everywhere, the little squares of light multiplying like friendly bacteria and I felt really safe, so today was really fun. Also, there was this really cool guy who showed us from our own ideas on how to intervene with homophobia, as homophobia is now more about keeping our gayness a deadly secret, more than anything else. So it was hilarious to watch Simon really unleash his stuff on the mock homophobic teacher, which was funny as it he was really camp himself anyway. I hate when people assume camp men are weak - you gotta remember they are dudes with the strength of any man, and they know how to use their words better, so watch out - the 'gayer' they are, the more confident they are in their sexuality, so don't cross them! Afterwards we had a debate about:
- how much do you really want people to be open (everyone should, but who really wants to hear the gory details about anyone on the bus near children?)
- whether education really is a cure all (you need legislation, policy, attitude changes. It's hard to remember that for people have to want to learn to get anywhere...)
- And...whether I should recite poetry for their poetry, song and dance section. I wouldn't have minded, but all I had on me was depressing stuff and old love poems about Alice, so I had to decline, which was annoying.
Hmm, one of the great! bits was the free photos, courtesy of NRG. It was a good photo, actually. Me, Alice, Sanjeev, David (Simon or Jonno's other half, who were also in the photo.) I looked decent for once, and I was proud for being a gay black confident woman, especially after this speech by this lady who was the first black lesbian to a leader of a council, who filled me with sha-paz *snaps fingers* and good posture. Me and Al left for Waterloo, and different destinations, different lives. We hugged, saying we will see each other again. And I will, but I just won't be kissing her again. Rights for all...
Friday, March 18, 2005
I Get This Ache...and I Tear Everything into Fucking Croquet
This day has been very boring. Full of metaphors. For example, I actually wore a skirt today, in hope of being all studenty-cute girly, but I ended looking like a tired 50's relic. Everyone kept looking at me on the train on the way down, but I didn't really notice it. The sky was so beautiful - so blue and dreamy it hurt my eyes to look at it, clouds dotted across the sky like tangled bedsheets.
The day, all in all, was incredibly boring. Finally tired of trying to impress people and suddenly everyone wants to give all of their attention. It was annoying. I was looking out for Janet who's one of five gay friends I have and I wanted to see her over the easter holidays, but I missed her, and I miss her. On the way home, I'm preparing for the move already by taking photos using this freebie disposable camera. I've got pictures of my house, the garden, the snow and the sun in the same blooming month, and my masterclass will be this church in between Kew Bridge and Gunnersbry where there's this Orthodox church with a gold cross and a massive blue and gold spotted bulb on the top - I think of Dubai everytime I remember to see it. But I still haven't got the picture right, but I will...
Today I've been trying to work but it's hard when the sun is all gorgeous and you're mind is full of the staunton lick...
Then you wrench out of your daydream and everything is dull again. The real world simply isn't tying me down anymore, and I see no use for it. Reading over my blog, I'm proud of my writing, and I'm awed by Nik's and Lioness' comments. They make so much sense. Sense is dull, though. Don't worry, I'm not giving on life just yet. It's just that I'm continually on the edge of an eating disorder. I'm continually forcing myself to eat, shoving away the protestations (You'll get a heart attack! You'll throw it up anyway! You don't deserve to eat!) So, for a while I've been delving into my brain to meet these lies and negotiate on how to make them go away, and maybe thats why I've been drifting. I've found a perfect analogy, actually.
My music section on my conmputer wasn't really working for me and I thought it was bad karma, so I listened to new music wherever I got it (you see why I'm a technophobe?) It wasn't until I was faced with the possibility of losing Nelly Furtado forever that I started to look into it. My brother found that most of my music files are stuck in the old program/windows before it got wiped off and it still thinks its there, cos I made the folder and the files ages ago. I shouldn't even be able to see them. Alas, I see the files but I cannot access them cos they're visually invisible, tracked in an old programme. Geddit? I can't explain computers any easier, but it seemed to track down my life so effectively and it inspired me to write this blog post. I haven't felt inspired for weeks, and I've been weighed down by crippling writers' block for three months. It's choking me. I can't get rid of it. I've been reading poetry, getting some semblance of social life, writing crap or doing nothing at all. It doesn't seem to work, and thats what's really wrong because if I can't write, then I really am visually invisible: I'll smile at you, talk small talk, big talk, whatever you want cos thats my old programme, I cannot and will not communicate, and I might as well evapourate.
But I think the easter will change that. I feel my heart is lighter, and I'm certainly cleaner. Before last night, I couldn't remember my last shower.(*blushes* can't believe I just said that!) Cleaning relieved me...more than I thought it would. It unclogged my head, and let out all of the darts of stress jabbing at me to get back to work (most of them have "DAD" engraved on them.). Speaking of that, I gotta get back to work. My life is changing again. I'm forsaking charity work! Maybe thats else why I feel so empty. Everything and everyone is bored. Everyone is screaming out for change and excitement, its that March Melancholy Menacing Meandering Madness. We're waiting for April's Absolute Absolution. Should be ace.
The day, all in all, was incredibly boring. Finally tired of trying to impress people and suddenly everyone wants to give all of their attention. It was annoying. I was looking out for Janet who's one of five gay friends I have and I wanted to see her over the easter holidays, but I missed her, and I miss her. On the way home, I'm preparing for the move already by taking photos using this freebie disposable camera. I've got pictures of my house, the garden, the snow and the sun in the same blooming month, and my masterclass will be this church in between Kew Bridge and Gunnersbry where there's this Orthodox church with a gold cross and a massive blue and gold spotted bulb on the top - I think of Dubai everytime I remember to see it. But I still haven't got the picture right, but I will...
Today I've been trying to work but it's hard when the sun is all gorgeous and you're mind is full of the staunton lick...
Then you wrench out of your daydream and everything is dull again. The real world simply isn't tying me down anymore, and I see no use for it. Reading over my blog, I'm proud of my writing, and I'm awed by Nik's and Lioness' comments. They make so much sense. Sense is dull, though. Don't worry, I'm not giving on life just yet. It's just that I'm continually on the edge of an eating disorder. I'm continually forcing myself to eat, shoving away the protestations (You'll get a heart attack! You'll throw it up anyway! You don't deserve to eat!) So, for a while I've been delving into my brain to meet these lies and negotiate on how to make them go away, and maybe thats why I've been drifting. I've found a perfect analogy, actually.
My music section on my conmputer wasn't really working for me and I thought it was bad karma, so I listened to new music wherever I got it (you see why I'm a technophobe?) It wasn't until I was faced with the possibility of losing Nelly Furtado forever that I started to look into it. My brother found that most of my music files are stuck in the old program/windows before it got wiped off and it still thinks its there, cos I made the folder and the files ages ago. I shouldn't even be able to see them. Alas, I see the files but I cannot access them cos they're visually invisible, tracked in an old programme. Geddit? I can't explain computers any easier, but it seemed to track down my life so effectively and it inspired me to write this blog post. I haven't felt inspired for weeks, and I've been weighed down by crippling writers' block for three months. It's choking me. I can't get rid of it. I've been reading poetry, getting some semblance of social life, writing crap or doing nothing at all. It doesn't seem to work, and thats what's really wrong because if I can't write, then I really am visually invisible: I'll smile at you, talk small talk, big talk, whatever you want cos thats my old programme, I cannot and will not communicate, and I might as well evapourate.
But I think the easter will change that. I feel my heart is lighter, and I'm certainly cleaner. Before last night, I couldn't remember my last shower.(*blushes* can't believe I just said that!) Cleaning relieved me...more than I thought it would. It unclogged my head, and let out all of the darts of stress jabbing at me to get back to work (most of them have "DAD" engraved on them.). Speaking of that, I gotta get back to work. My life is changing again. I'm forsaking charity work! Maybe thats else why I feel so empty. Everything and everyone is bored. Everyone is screaming out for change and excitement, its that March Melancholy Menacing Meandering Madness. We're waiting for April's Absolute Absolution. Should be ace.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Fast Moving Dramas are Underrated
Time to fuel the massacre of loneliness.
Today was alright. I overslept (as usual), walked with my childhood-friend-now-bus-buddy Nehanda about Michael Jackson, black holes and cannibalism. Although I was irrevecably late, it was nice to have such a nice journey - each stage flowed from one stage to another and I just wanted to enjoy the sunshine - it was 20 degrees after all, and if couldn't wear a strappy top I could bask in the sun.
To tell you the truth, nothing much happened. I haven't been doing much at all. I'm almost bored with doing nothing, but I really need the rest. I've still got to...erm, nothing. Bugger. I'm simply not one for luxury and relaxation. You know, the four hour bubbly bath, the day at the spa - its not my sorta thing. I'd like a two hour bubbly bath once every couple of months, but really, luxury is overrated. You'd get bored, like I am now. I just haven't got the oomph. All of my oomph has been...outted. I wish I could sneeze like a cat barking - Ria can do that perfectly, and I'm seeing her on Weds, hopefully. See? Things are looking up...I hate AS levels, they destroy all of your creativity. Damn 'em!
Today was alright. I overslept (as usual), walked with my childhood-friend-now-bus-buddy Nehanda about Michael Jackson, black holes and cannibalism. Although I was irrevecably late, it was nice to have such a nice journey - each stage flowed from one stage to another and I just wanted to enjoy the sunshine - it was 20 degrees after all, and if couldn't wear a strappy top I could bask in the sun.
To tell you the truth, nothing much happened. I haven't been doing much at all. I'm almost bored with doing nothing, but I really need the rest. I've still got to...erm, nothing. Bugger. I'm simply not one for luxury and relaxation. You know, the four hour bubbly bath, the day at the spa - its not my sorta thing. I'd like a two hour bubbly bath once every couple of months, but really, luxury is overrated. You'd get bored, like I am now. I just haven't got the oomph. All of my oomph has been...outted. I wish I could sneeze like a cat barking - Ria can do that perfectly, and I'm seeing her on Weds, hopefully. See? Things are looking up...I hate AS levels, they destroy all of your creativity. Damn 'em!
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Peace Offering
Ok, thats it. I sobbed down the phone to Ria, and my disgruntled moose told me my blogpost was alcohollically depressing. Something must be down. I've been tugging and you down, twisting you round and confusing everybody with my downtime depression. So here's a peacemaker: http://www.mrmen.com/makemrmen.htm And make your own Little Person! You love me now, don't ya, don't ya? Enjoy it, have a right laugh. You all deserve it!
Monday, March 14, 2005
It's kinda like
NOW....
Does anyone remember: Seems like everyone has got a plan,
Its kinda like Nashville, with a tan
Shawn Mullins, Lullaby
Memories...that haunted me a little. I wish I was happier...I called Ria cos things aren't feeling 'right'. I can't explain it. It's like the world has thrown itself into a disco and no one has noticed, like a friend who's anorexic and crying out for help but no one can see her, literally. Something's not right. This, my friends is where mental illness kicks in. I'm getting very very paranoid. Jumpy, like a spider. I itch everywhere. Nowhere is sacred. I keep thinking people are attacking me. I believe that the people at my college hate me, so I keep meeting new people and hanging with them instead. I keep losing my mind to drink, but I haven't cut yet...I've been really trembly and weak, as if I'm recovering from flu - can't switch on things, I'm forgetting combinations to doors that I've known for almost a year, I'm forgetting all of the processes that make up a basic week, due to my new weaknesses. In short, I'm failing to do some of my basic actions. I am not functioning. But I feel too weak to cut, if you understand me. I'm aware of the pain. Smashing plates seems like a good plan at the moment.
Does anyone remember: Seems like everyone has got a plan,
Its kinda like Nashville, with a tan
Shawn Mullins, Lullaby
Memories...that haunted me a little. I wish I was happier...I called Ria cos things aren't feeling 'right'. I can't explain it. It's like the world has thrown itself into a disco and no one has noticed, like a friend who's anorexic and crying out for help but no one can see her, literally. Something's not right. This, my friends is where mental illness kicks in. I'm getting very very paranoid. Jumpy, like a spider. I itch everywhere. Nowhere is sacred. I keep thinking people are attacking me. I believe that the people at my college hate me, so I keep meeting new people and hanging with them instead. I keep losing my mind to drink, but I haven't cut yet...I've been really trembly and weak, as if I'm recovering from flu - can't switch on things, I'm forgetting combinations to doors that I've known for almost a year, I'm forgetting all of the processes that make up a basic week, due to my new weaknesses. In short, I'm failing to do some of my basic actions. I am not functioning. But I feel too weak to cut, if you understand me. I'm aware of the pain. Smashing plates seems like a good plan at the moment.
Protection
Um, I built myself up, fell apart, calmed down. Now I'm a bit stressed again. It all started with the Staunton Lick, probably the happiest thing I've heard all week. It's one of those summer- guitars-and-you're-messing-about-on-the-beach-and-you've-found-the-love-of-your-life sort of summer jangly guitars. Perfect advert music....
At bed, I was watching these documentary: Sex: the Annabel Chong story. And the bitch was cutting herself on the camera. I swear to god it was one of the most triggering things I've ever seen, because for one thing, before that bit on the film I had never seen any marks on her skin, also she telling the camera her reasons and it sounded like any other cutter including myself, but she was doing this on camera. Ultimately horrifying...and I couldn't sleep, and I felt the itch "just a little cut..." I realised that I hadn't for like a week, which is the longest I've gone without for a while cos everything has been so shitty, and called the Samaritans. They're the best sleeping pill you can ask for...cos not only do you talk out your issues with no real conviction, and they provide their own practical viewpointm they have these gorgeous husky voices that lull you to sleep so easily. I think they get trained to do the voice during their training process. Did you know they visited prisons? Thats what Pete told me on the line. I changed my name to Annabel, and I talked myself out till 2:18 am and hung up, and fell asleep. I slept for 6 glorious hours, and when I woke at 8 this morning I felt a lot calmer, and more sure within myself that although I'm in a shitty place where the help I'm recieving does nothing, there's stuff to do and a life to live. And then I put on fucking Protection by Massive Attack, crying crying. Then I put on Ray of Light by Madonna, and I'm a lot better now...jesus the amount of times her music saved my butt, hehe.
Politics was cancelled, so I'm getting ready to go college at 11 am rather than 9. It's a good way to start the week, and I'm anxious to end it so I can see Alice on Saturday-we've got lots to hug about now that we're friends again.
At bed, I was watching these documentary: Sex: the Annabel Chong story. And the bitch was cutting herself on the camera. I swear to god it was one of the most triggering things I've ever seen, because for one thing, before that bit on the film I had never seen any marks on her skin, also she telling the camera her reasons and it sounded like any other cutter including myself, but she was doing this on camera. Ultimately horrifying...and I couldn't sleep, and I felt the itch "just a little cut..." I realised that I hadn't for like a week, which is the longest I've gone without for a while cos everything has been so shitty, and called the Samaritans. They're the best sleeping pill you can ask for...cos not only do you talk out your issues with no real conviction, and they provide their own practical viewpointm they have these gorgeous husky voices that lull you to sleep so easily. I think they get trained to do the voice during their training process. Did you know they visited prisons? Thats what Pete told me on the line. I changed my name to Annabel, and I talked myself out till 2:18 am and hung up, and fell asleep. I slept for 6 glorious hours, and when I woke at 8 this morning I felt a lot calmer, and more sure within myself that although I'm in a shitty place where the help I'm recieving does nothing, there's stuff to do and a life to live. And then I put on fucking Protection by Massive Attack, crying crying. Then I put on Ray of Light by Madonna, and I'm a lot better now...jesus the amount of times her music saved my butt, hehe.
Politics was cancelled, so I'm getting ready to go college at 11 am rather than 9. It's a good way to start the week, and I'm anxious to end it so I can see Alice on Saturday-we've got lots to hug about now that we're friends again.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Freewriting
I thought I'd make it easy on myself, and I wrote the whole blog piece on the piccadilly line - I've got a steady hand...lol. I'm feeling ok! I might get flashes of erm, bad things, ahem, but they're push-away-able for now.
Before the day is lost to meaning, I shall state it quite simply: everything went according to plan.
Woke up early, got dressed, looked OK! The RYL site wasn;t connecting but I had printed out the directions anyway. Before I went off to Old Street, i had two hours at Oxfam which went by pretty quickly. My partner Carole had found some diamonds - diamonds! in the mud. She's a hit and run victim so she walks funny and has to watch the ground all the time, so she found the diamonds. They're dazzling, but I told her to drop them in water to see if they float or not. Hopefully, they'll be worth thousands cos she deserves it. The two hours went busily but quietly, selling watches, speakers, vinyl, vintage Donald Duck comic books and knocked the window presentation in the process. It took all my beginner yoga whiles to put everything back. I also found an album by this band called Tenderfoot who I heard on Xfm like three years ago when I met Nik and I'd been pining for them since, so of course I reserved them, it had to be done. Even better news is that I'm finally seeing Alice next week!! You have no idea how much I miss her. It's like butterflies are having a food fight in your stomach. I miss her so much it pains.
Now, getting to Old Street was tricky. From Ealing Broadway to Ealing Common on the district line, then the piccadilly to Kings Cross, and the northern line to Old Street. 8 bloody exits! But I got there ok. It was quite scary really, at that point. Strange, with the massive beautiful eye hospital, the famous gherkin in the background. It was as if the London Eye and the Tate Modern building was plopped next to the Chicken House on Ealing Road. The eye hospital dominated and all of the laundrettes and cornershops just trailed behind. I think thats what made the air fresher, the streets cleaner. Sky so blue Bob Marley must miss it. The architecture there was gorgeous, though, and I found it eventually, but I was five minutes early, so I sat on the cement stoop, waiting. After all, I was in a strange place, waiting for strange people to talk about strange, taboo things. Those were five arduous, doubtful, lonely, disturbing minutes, and everyone came. We went into the building and I had hot chocolate, two sugars, a piss and I loved the office. It was the kind of place you could live in.
So we began to talk and I had too much pizza (I felt aware of my unsuitably baggy jeans.) We talked about ideas for the programme - crazy excuses for scars which included squirrel fighting and bread armbands in the proximity of seagulls. It was hilarious, and just crazy. And we talked about cycles of calmness and cutting, what healing scars feel like, 'triggering' things - which is anything, even the Tweenies if you hate it enough. Is it a sad world where people find the Tweenies so hateful they are triggered into cutting?
Psychiatrists, ideas for mini clips - reconstructions of RYL meets, 'seagulls and squirrels', doing It. We watched bits of Harley's interview and we howled with real laughter, laughing with honesty. Knowing that we all hurt/used to hurt ourselves, that we hate ourselves, made us all very nervous. But it was funny to be able to laugh about it. It was nice to be surrounded by long sleeves. I loved it. We also talked about parents and friends and 'coming out' on National television which I just can't do - it's just not fair on my family. We talked about Harley lots, and the old ruinyourlife of which I know nothing...
Nicola (the director) is 31, prefers intimate filmmaking and is shy, quiet and friendly. There were these two other 15 year old girls, one of whom had the one of the nicest smiles I had ever seen. She reminded me of Ella from CE and I wanted...I wanted...to keep talking. Cos Ella is so cool and so quintessentially Ella, and I wanted to keep laughing and sharing pizza all day. One guy was there. He studies politics at LSE - london school of economics (!!) and he's a treasurer for his constituency in the labour party. There was this lass called Irene who was just confident and sassy, I hope I recover to be like her. I think what got us all was talk about attention cutters, because you can never really tell. Are they just punks who inherit all the sterotypes to be all 'alternative' or are they crying out for help? It's such a thin line, and we all started tugging on our scars and scratching our arms/thighs. I left at five and I've been home for a bit now...
A Good Day. Best laid plans held firm, and there's a true smile mastered on my face.
Before the day is lost to meaning, I shall state it quite simply: everything went according to plan.
Woke up early, got dressed, looked OK! The RYL site wasn;t connecting but I had printed out the directions anyway. Before I went off to Old Street, i had two hours at Oxfam which went by pretty quickly. My partner Carole had found some diamonds - diamonds! in the mud. She's a hit and run victim so she walks funny and has to watch the ground all the time, so she found the diamonds. They're dazzling, but I told her to drop them in water to see if they float or not. Hopefully, they'll be worth thousands cos she deserves it. The two hours went busily but quietly, selling watches, speakers, vinyl, vintage Donald Duck comic books and knocked the window presentation in the process. It took all my beginner yoga whiles to put everything back. I also found an album by this band called Tenderfoot who I heard on Xfm like three years ago when I met Nik and I'd been pining for them since, so of course I reserved them, it had to be done. Even better news is that I'm finally seeing Alice next week!! You have no idea how much I miss her. It's like butterflies are having a food fight in your stomach. I miss her so much it pains.
Now, getting to Old Street was tricky. From Ealing Broadway to Ealing Common on the district line, then the piccadilly to Kings Cross, and the northern line to Old Street. 8 bloody exits! But I got there ok. It was quite scary really, at that point. Strange, with the massive beautiful eye hospital, the famous gherkin in the background. It was as if the London Eye and the Tate Modern building was plopped next to the Chicken House on Ealing Road. The eye hospital dominated and all of the laundrettes and cornershops just trailed behind. I think thats what made the air fresher, the streets cleaner. Sky so blue Bob Marley must miss it. The architecture there was gorgeous, though, and I found it eventually, but I was five minutes early, so I sat on the cement stoop, waiting. After all, I was in a strange place, waiting for strange people to talk about strange, taboo things. Those were five arduous, doubtful, lonely, disturbing minutes, and everyone came. We went into the building and I had hot chocolate, two sugars, a piss and I loved the office. It was the kind of place you could live in.
So we began to talk and I had too much pizza (I felt aware of my unsuitably baggy jeans.) We talked about ideas for the programme - crazy excuses for scars which included squirrel fighting and bread armbands in the proximity of seagulls. It was hilarious, and just crazy. And we talked about cycles of calmness and cutting, what healing scars feel like, 'triggering' things - which is anything, even the Tweenies if you hate it enough. Is it a sad world where people find the Tweenies so hateful they are triggered into cutting?
Psychiatrists, ideas for mini clips - reconstructions of RYL meets, 'seagulls and squirrels', doing It. We watched bits of Harley's interview and we howled with real laughter, laughing with honesty. Knowing that we all hurt/used to hurt ourselves, that we hate ourselves, made us all very nervous. But it was funny to be able to laugh about it. It was nice to be surrounded by long sleeves. I loved it. We also talked about parents and friends and 'coming out' on National television which I just can't do - it's just not fair on my family. We talked about Harley lots, and the old ruinyourlife of which I know nothing...
Nicola (the director) is 31, prefers intimate filmmaking and is shy, quiet and friendly. There were these two other 15 year old girls, one of whom had the one of the nicest smiles I had ever seen. She reminded me of Ella from CE and I wanted...I wanted...to keep talking. Cos Ella is so cool and so quintessentially Ella, and I wanted to keep laughing and sharing pizza all day. One guy was there. He studies politics at LSE - london school of economics (!!) and he's a treasurer for his constituency in the labour party. There was this lass called Irene who was just confident and sassy, I hope I recover to be like her. I think what got us all was talk about attention cutters, because you can never really tell. Are they just punks who inherit all the sterotypes to be all 'alternative' or are they crying out for help? It's such a thin line, and we all started tugging on our scars and scratching our arms/thighs. I left at five and I've been home for a bit now...
A Good Day. Best laid plans held firm, and there's a true smile mastered on my face.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
The Languid Language
I really should be working, lol. Ah, fuck it.Today was a preparation of sorts. I've got an essay for wednesday, a doctor's appointment to make preparation for moving. Right now I'm reading slash. I think that is what was missing from my life. It's better than poetry.
I actually started to read slash when I started cutting last february. It kept me distracted, finding this new universe and all, this new brand of writing that entertained and moved me while my mind was falling apart, piece by piece.
The doctor's appointment is about the fact that I haven't had a period since December. I'm surprised, or shocked, or scared. I'm used to never having periods, and never having a decent from them. And there's been the whole massive stress thing - with AS levels kicking in, being betrayed, being dumped, being misunderstood, depressed and terribly lonely. I probably won't get another period for the rest of my life, the way this year is going! Thats all for now, this is a modified post which no one is going to read. Onwards, upwards.
I actually started to read slash when I started cutting last february. It kept me distracted, finding this new universe and all, this new brand of writing that entertained and moved me while my mind was falling apart, piece by piece.
The doctor's appointment is about the fact that I haven't had a period since December. I'm surprised, or shocked, or scared. I'm used to never having periods, and never having a decent from them. And there's been the whole massive stress thing - with AS levels kicking in, being betrayed, being dumped, being misunderstood, depressed and terribly lonely. I probably won't get another period for the rest of my life, the way this year is going! Thats all for now, this is a modified post which no one is going to read. Onwards, upwards.
I was going to post -
I swear. Politics homework - I've just written the amount you write for your coursework not a bloody piece of homework (2000 words), so I don't have time to talk about moving house, my favourite house or put up a micro story I've just written, but I will tell everyone to listen to Coldplay's Trouble. Someone on Celebrity Fame Academy was demolishing it and I had to save it from my minds eye. It's beautiful. Uplifting too, depending on how you look at it.
Maybe next time.
Maybe next time.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Get out
This is a quickie. Um, why did I come here?
I came to tell that I've decided something - I can start crossing off the list. I'm not going to have any counselling at all. It's not working because my heart isn't open, and my heart isn't in it. I know, and have known right from the beginning, that to get better, I need to tell my Dad. But I'm simply not ready. Nowhere near it. So I don't want people telling me that the truth will set me free. The truth can orchestrate your cages. Truth bleeds, retreats, and turns your pages.
I'm on my own, for now. I don't know how I will end up, but I know I'm falling. It's just all in slow motion. I'm a snowflake, watching the snow around me, and I'm waiting to hit the ground. For I know myself, and I'll do it when I'm ready, and I refuse to otherwise.
Until then, I will write, and aspire. I will perspire and cut and do whatever it takes to work through my stubborness, insolent fears. I will look after my friends, and gain a social life. I will never stop talking. I will to try laugh of my own accord and trust people without losing my sword - I'm very defensive these days, you know. I will try.
So how's it hanging?
I came to tell that I've decided something - I can start crossing off the list. I'm not going to have any counselling at all. It's not working because my heart isn't open, and my heart isn't in it. I know, and have known right from the beginning, that to get better, I need to tell my Dad. But I'm simply not ready. Nowhere near it. So I don't want people telling me that the truth will set me free. The truth can orchestrate your cages. Truth bleeds, retreats, and turns your pages.
I'm on my own, for now. I don't know how I will end up, but I know I'm falling. It's just all in slow motion. I'm a snowflake, watching the snow around me, and I'm waiting to hit the ground. For I know myself, and I'll do it when I'm ready, and I refuse to otherwise.
Until then, I will write, and aspire. I will perspire and cut and do whatever it takes to work through my stubborness, insolent fears. I will look after my friends, and gain a social life. I will never stop talking. I will to try laugh of my own accord and trust people without losing my sword - I'm very defensive these days, you know. I will try.
So how's it hanging?
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Writing to Reach You
What's been going on? People keep asking me that, and peering at me closely, as if I've upped and left to Uraguay a few weeks and I'm trying to act as if everything is normal. Well, firstly, I've dropped my counselling sessions. It wasn't going anywhere, but I was thinking of the best metaphors - depression debt, which links to my Salesmen and other ones. But metaphor is good for guile: what did I care? How was she helping? I felt I was just reporting things. It didn't feel as if I was actually getting anywhere. So...I'm on my own. I'm a bit down right now cos I've had a good day and I can't feel my fingers, and I'm really tired. It's been one of those get up and go days, but its also been a day of discovery, and not really learning much at all.
Today was the conference in the University of London on the Iliad. I wanted to go and get away from college life, which is increasingly lonely (so many acquaintances and nope, no real friends.). And as the day approached I was more and more grateful. I hadn't had a proper breakfast this week - I haven't been going to bed early enough and sleeping in instead. And I was up till midnight working on my classics and up at five to carry it on. I then handed in both things on Tuesday afternoon, writing a total of 6,000 words. I needed today. Things started off well. I fell asleep watching TV and I was late looking for my Haruki Murakami (Norwegian Wood) - amazon link. So, without lunch, sanity or organisation I stumbled into the station's snadwich sop. And was amazed. You could get a bacon sandwich - brown sauce and all - for £1.40 - a world away from £2.10 for an egg mayonaise sandwich. So I ordered a crispy bacon/cheese/tomato ketchup sandwich for £1.90, much to the cute lady's reply.
I went to Senator's house, near Russel Square (opposite the backend of British Museum), a little late but I didn't miss much. We started with this lecturer from Durham Uni and she was really cool - all pronounciated (clear/concise - I'm sure pro... is a word)...I was there to be with acquaintance who were so close to being friends, but they don't even know I'm gay - they talk about Johnny Depp and Jude Law all the time. And I've got a crush on Nana, the gorgeous size 14 Tim Wheeler lover. And we all went out shopping afterwards. I really liked it, forsaking non-urgent Childrens Express duties and hanging with Nana, Amy and Adela. Things felt worthwhile, but I still felt down. Right now, I feel really shit, because I've just had an exhausting week, my brother has had his usual 18 hour week of lectures, and then calls me lazy for not taking the bins out. I am ready to cry. I'd rather drink, or binge, or throw up (I've being doing the last two this week. When do people become bulumic?). But being chronically unhappy, I just have to, you know, stiff upper lip and all that bullshit. Cut. I'll smile in the morning.
Oh, I'm crying. I'm just so tired - the coursework, and there's my english coming up, and that has to be really strong because I know my classics was shit and I need to make it up. I need to get my A's. I have to do my politics for Monday. I need to be perfect dammit! The college, the universe, asks for nothing less. I need a drink.
Whats the problem?
As in Stereophonic's brilliant new single, Dakota: "Thinking is due."
Things to decide:
Today was the conference in the University of London on the Iliad. I wanted to go and get away from college life, which is increasingly lonely (so many acquaintances and nope, no real friends.). And as the day approached I was more and more grateful. I hadn't had a proper breakfast this week - I haven't been going to bed early enough and sleeping in instead. And I was up till midnight working on my classics and up at five to carry it on. I then handed in both things on Tuesday afternoon, writing a total of 6,000 words. I needed today. Things started off well. I fell asleep watching TV and I was late looking for my Haruki Murakami (Norwegian Wood) - amazon link. So, without lunch, sanity or organisation I stumbled into the station's snadwich sop. And was amazed. You could get a bacon sandwich - brown sauce and all - for £1.40 - a world away from £2.10 for an egg mayonaise sandwich. So I ordered a crispy bacon/cheese/tomato ketchup sandwich for £1.90, much to the cute lady's reply.
I went to Senator's house, near Russel Square (opposite the backend of British Museum), a little late but I didn't miss much. We started with this lecturer from Durham Uni and she was really cool - all pronounciated (clear/concise - I'm sure pro... is a word)...I was there to be with acquaintance who were so close to being friends, but they don't even know I'm gay - they talk about Johnny Depp and Jude Law all the time. And I've got a crush on Nana, the gorgeous size 14 Tim Wheeler lover. And we all went out shopping afterwards. I really liked it, forsaking non-urgent Childrens Express duties and hanging with Nana, Amy and Adela. Things felt worthwhile, but I still felt down. Right now, I feel really shit, because I've just had an exhausting week, my brother has had his usual 18 hour week of lectures, and then calls me lazy for not taking the bins out. I am ready to cry. I'd rather drink, or binge, or throw up (I've being doing the last two this week. When do people become bulumic?). But being chronically unhappy, I just have to, you know, stiff upper lip and all that bullshit. Cut. I'll smile in the morning.
Oh, I'm crying. I'm just so tired - the coursework, and there's my english coming up, and that has to be really strong because I know my classics was shit and I need to make it up. I need to get my A's. I have to do my politics for Monday. I need to be perfect dammit! The college, the universe, asks for nothing less. I need a drink.
Whats the problem?
As in Stereophonic's brilliant new single, Dakota: "Thinking is due."
Things to decide:
Am I going to let myself slide into bulumia - properly - at last?
*
Do I go to the psychiatrist for counselling?
*
Do I stop drinking?
*
Who do I talk to?
*
How do I get over my poetic writing block?
*
How am I going to earn more money?
*
Where do I get "arm bands" for the summer?
*
How do I trust again?
*
Should I take part in this self harm documentary?
*
Shall I see what all the fuss is about razor-blades?
*
How do I stop crying before my brother comes back down?
*
How do I stop crying?
*
Why am I never pretty when people say I am?
*
Whats wrong with me?
*
Am I ever going to see Alice again?
*
Am I ever going to see Ria again?
*
Will I ever go dancing?
*
When will I ever go out on a date and NOT get dumped/sacked/stood up
*
Which uni do I go to?
*
Am I, ultimately, a failure?
*
Who am I?
Who to reach, how to reach it and why. Do you get me? I'm writing, to reach people, to reach myself, but right now I'm getting nowhere, and I still don't know what to do. I'm sick of drifting...I'm sick of myself and I just want to smash, cut, bleed, sleep, die, crush-be crushed. I don't know. It's not much. And I think, to a degree, everyone thinks this, don't they? Every student, every office worker, every alcoholic, smoker, every charity shop worker, every celebrity, all bloggers, artists, musicians, parents, everyone. Are you as sick as drifting as I am?
Think about it:
Home is where your heart is,
But your heart had to roam,
Drifting over bridges,
Never to return,
Watching bridges burn...
You’re driftwood floating underwater
Breaking into pieces, pieces, pieces.
Just driftwood hollow and of no use,
Waterfalls will find you, bind you, grind you,
(Travis)
Escape. Jump on a bus, or a train, a tram, storm out of the house/college/school/internet cafe. Get out of here, and away until you start to look back, and walk for about another 10 minutes. You'll find something interesting - even if its interesting in its blandness. Every time. Sigh. No more tears.
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