Check-in, Check-out

Hey there. Long time, no see.

I've been battling those depression demons - they like to swoop upon me at this time of the year through books and TVs and the net and music. They foul my mood and pepper everything with optical and audio illusions. Frankly, these last couple of weeks, I just haven't been up for living. Functioning. Eating. Honesty. Those basics of life.

At this time of the year I'm usually very reclusive, although you wouldn't know it if you were talking to me, but I'm not really there talking to you. I'm very distant, I don't where I go. All I know is that between now and just after my birthday is the time I cry the most. How very dramatic, and how spectacular the timing! I've finished my big fat Chinese Cultural Revolution assignment exam (4,148 words in four hours! W00t!) and now tomorrow I'm to be set my big fat Russian Coursework essay. Thats scary because I have a novel's worth of notes and I have no idea what to do - burn them all for warmth or create an origami city? I've no idea.



Last week had me worse than usual. Everytime I got out of bed was such a colossal achievement that by the time I got to college I was already exhausted. Bad luck with buses seemed to follow me everywhere -I wasn't on time ONCE last week. I had no motivation, no energy - just thoroughly depressed really. I wasn't eating much - no more than 800 calories a day and I more or less kept it up which made me feel quite proud and I exercised more, threw myself into work and avoided looking people in the eye. When I cut on Saturday it was such a relief. It sucks because I'm going to Italy in under a month and I wanted to be relatively scar free when I went, but I haven't been able to keep it up. But since I've been able to take a step back and breathe, and get some perspective. It's as if I knew when was the right time for me. Strange.

With my energy back and alcohol free (it's hell) I embarked on an organize life stat! weekend. My room is now a swathe of carpet, my books are in the right place and I have assorted another plastic bag of magazines I plan to read when I get the chance. I've also organized open days in Manchester and Sussex - a London gal out of water, for sure. So thats a blog post coming near you, folks.

Being organized meant finding the most fascinating things, like old articles I've written, university letters, notes written during my time in the National Portrait Gallery, photos where I'm slim *sigh*. You can't help thinking of the future when you see those. Actually it reminds me of Postsecret from last week where this girl wrote in about cutting and hiding her scars. She said she wanted to scream at her family "I'm not myself and I don't know how to be", which I thought was disturbingly perfect. I mean, I'm sure everyone gets into that situation once in a while, and isn't it fucking scary? Isn't it terrifying, the thought that you may never know yourself, or be yourself for the rest of your life - and never feel comfortable or happy in your own skin? Or even that you were yourself once but you threw it away for some reason and you can't turn back because life is never like that. It just isn't...

What else? Well, I've started writing erotica *blushes*. I was in a writey mood and my mind hit on this idea of this art freak becoming obsessed with this young beautiful fuck-up and having lots of sexual adventures from the view of this rich, luxurious 30 something. So I started writing it and it's all right. It's not stupid or sleazy or implausible and frankly, I like it. It's called "Beauty" and if there's demand for it I'll post it on Blogger but you have to ask first - if anyone still reads this, that is.

And I found this graveyard not far from my house. It's so beautiful. I was having one of my other-worldly, crazy depressed moments and I walked through the graveyard. The priest for the church is more church-obsessed than God-mad which is disheartening. It is a gorgeous building - build around the Tudors (1600s) and some of the gravestones still had engravings from the 1763. Some stones were really poignant. Like, this one had a man die in 1933 in his 30s and the wife is buried with him, who dies at the age of 92 in 1998. I mean, its amazing, strange, beautiful that someone could wait 60 years to join their loved one in heaven. It made me wonder if she ever dared to fall for someone else. If makes me wonder if I could love so fatalistically. I don't know. It feels good to blog again. I've missed it and I'm glad I'm back.