I think, right now I'll type without abandon.
I haven’t been able to blog or comment because I've had no internet. This is, of course, the basis of withdrawal symptons, so I went a little crazy besides which included, but not limited to:
Throwing a tippex pen...all over a black leather sofa, of course. It’s murder to clean out. A hundred white dots, crap.
And It was one of those nights so lonely you’re not sure they’re going to end. I was in the extreme fatigue phase of my depression: I could barely move off of the sofa, and any move I made was throw things or hit myself. I drank some whisky straight for the bottle and sought out Samaritans. The guy was crap. He could barely listen, I think he had been drinking too, but his voice was so clear. But so was mine, and after half an hour I managed to figure out what I’d known all along: misery gets me nowhere. I have had this cruel lonely night so many times before: I call Ria, and she’s out somewhere. My immediate family mysteriously disappear so that I could listen to the rightful destructive music and I could binge/purge or cut (“discipline”) or punch as I see fit. So many times this happens and I just cannot see straight. For the last…well, since Feb 2004 all I’ve been seeing is red, is black, is grey. I had painted myself into a situation where I distrust (and always will) doctors and psychiatrists, where counselling is too easily malleable for me to reside in, where friends just aren’t there when you’re falling just a little deeper into your rabbit hole.
(If anyone cares, in my rabbit hole friends die over and over again, my family are non-existent, I go paranoid, delusional/crazy and I’m encased in the four walls of an empty Motel, complete with a dank swimming pool and an ever-full liquor cabinet)
In that case, you might as well kill yourself. But in my mind I’ve been fighting my salesmen. (I can’t believe I’ve gotten so bad they’ve made The Bid.) There is another answer. If you see my post: Finally (I hadn’t been able to post because blogger messed up) then you’ll see how much I crave to swim. I knew this forever. I knew this last summer when I was talking to a counsellor (?) on OneLife, and she told me to get back in the pool. It was my plan to have my scars healed up enough to go swimming again, but that just can’t happen. I’d disgust and repel everybody, including myself, for I know I’ve gotten fatter, despite everyone saying I’ve lost weight. I just seem wider, you know? And I can’t type for much longer because I have so much darn work to do…bah.
But I’ll have these two minutes.
Because yesterday was a decent day…I went to the Lesbian and Gay Film Festival in the National Film Theatre right by the South Bank and I went with Alice’s gay group, Metro who are lovely bunch, especially Matt who saw me at once after not seeing each other since Christmas, and he remembered my name, age, where I’m from and live what I’m studying, which unnerved me a little, considering I couldn’t even remember his own name. The film was called the Young Ones, a series of shorts from all over the world about young gay people coming out, all gay actors which I liked. I like them all, but the the Palestine (it was on the Gaza Strip, I think) struck a chord because you knew there was no happy ending there, and it was so sad…the American one was very “clichaic”, but for a reason: it kept away from the horrors of not being gorgeous and gay, and it was funny. Then there were two from Helsinki with this lesbian who I connected with because she too was best friends with a Catholic, although hers took it much worse than my Ria, who I am so grateful for accepting me, I realise. Then there was an Irish one which I enjoyed because they played the Jam and The Undertones and it was much more ‘my scene’, even though I actually have no scene: I’ve never been clubbing, never had sex, never done anything harder than weed (and that was smoking on a stick twice nearly two years ago), and I’ve gotten in a bar and tried to get alcohol because I’m underage and until now I’ve had no one to go with, but Matt might change that, and I don’t mind cos he’s lovely and intelligent and he loves lesbians, especially me, lol. And it was a little strange, because Alice was there, even more beautiful now than when we dated in her 50’s chic clothing and Doc Martens, and I’m sure she’s going to get a girl/boyfriend before I do. But that’s everyone thinks I’m straight and I have no idea why. Maybe because only men perv on me and other girls are scared. Don’t be! I’d make a very submissive, funny, crazy girlfriend…so I had to leave straight after (after seeing some random college friends. I’m so out, and I love it) Came home at 5pm to collect Asda internet shopping (namely 40 cans of baked beans and cereal amongst other crap). Called Ria, chatted, started to plan our gap year, watched QI and Vanilla Sky (actually living a dream…I’ll have to blog about that later), ate ice cream, and cut for no reason other than the one sided pursuit for pleasurable pain. And my three minutes are more than up. They obliterated. Too-de-loo.