I'm at home, alone. The heating was off before and my fingers are freezing. I can't type well...I'm supposed to be doing my politics essay, but I'll have some time off, methinks.
Feeling horribly depressed. And cold.
I got drunk last night-not by a lot, but I felt sleepy and silly. I took the knife from the kitchen cabinet - the sharp jagged one, with the black plastic handle. It's inexplicably shiny, and I was excited. This knife, you see, I almost cut with four years ago. I hated using it for cooking since, but last night I felt as if I had to finish what I'd started. It was mine. I hid it in the waistband of my knickers, which dug a little into my thigh as I walked upstairs, but it did not cut. In my room, I was choosing my music. I had kissed Dad goodnight and his music was on, my bro was in his room not bothering me. I chose Lene Marlin eventually and got listening. I even wrote a little prelude in my paper diary, I was that pretentious and excited last night.
Then it got to the last song. I was crying, shaking and oh god, so nervous. I thought there would be blood everywhere. I hoped I would gape. I thought the pain would take me somewhere new, so when it came to the doctor's appointment, there'd be a real problem to fix - they'd spend all their time mopping me up, no questions asked. So then I got out my wrists, and dashed them. Nothing. Not a pop up of blood, just white scratch marks, stinging and a feeling of defeatism. I tried again - kept cutting the same place again and again for a verse of Lene's voice. No blood. Not a drop. The thirst I had acquired was choking me so I used SG instead. This morning, I managed to make my skin softer using Baby johnson cream and sliced a bit of my thigh. Then I sterilised it and I've been wanting to cut all day. Should I post this? Lidded eyes and all, I feel so stupid. And unfocussed. My fingers are still freezing.
EDIT: 2nd December
I think I'm gonna have to go onto drugs if all I want to do is curl up and bleed to death. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill myself (although my brain is getting used to the idea) but in my mind I'm just not living anymore and no one seems to care because people just aren't there when I call them, and I'm hardly eating and my eyes just focus and I just want to cry all the time. 'S not good.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Monday, November 29, 2004
Simile
I'm drunk. I'm such a lightweight. Two shots of baileys and two shots of whisky and I'm tumbling onto the keyboard. My limbs are wayy too heavy and I may fall..asleep any...mome..nt. Yah. Went out last night to cinema-The Incredibles. Funny funny film. I cannae complain. The TV's gone, like weird. Far out. I'm a little depressed. Sent Alice an email tellingher I'm seeing a doctor, and soon a psychiatrist and she hasn't emailed back yet. We don';t tend to talk about these things. Everyone at GYUK is so happy for us (I feel, like popular) but there's so many crappy things: she's in Stratford, which is hard enough as it is without me moving to Surrey, (next county down, s#not that far way), shes closeted and goes to an allgirld catholic school-'s'no good. True. Wassup?
I'm going to bed now and soon if I get a 25 hour day through lucj I'll write you a proper entry. Oh, and disgruntled moose is one of my best mates, got me through a hunk and half of depressive shit, and I'd write that drunk or soberry.
In all madness,
Betty xXX
I'm going to bed now and soon if I get a 25 hour day through lucj I'll write you a proper entry. Oh, and disgruntled moose is one of my best mates, got me through a hunk and half of depressive shit, and I'd write that drunk or soberry.
In all madness,
Betty xXX
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Codswallop
= Such a stupid British word heehee =
Anyway, the coolest compliment has been paid to me: a fan (? A cool australian gal anyways) thought my blog were pages out of a book. That rules...either my life is that interesting or/and up to a point my writing is that good, and that is only a compliment, so cheers #Megan# - get a blog! Its free and your life sounds cool. So there.
Anyway, back to previous weird post...well, yeah I didn't eat till 9pm when I had a bowl of malted wheats and I felt so gross I just wanted to throw it all back up. It wasn't too hard really - I was out of the door and at Oxfam there's nothing to eat anyway, and you're so cold because the door's open and so you just drink loads of ribeana and everything is just fine. Then I ran out of the shop into Dad's car to go househunting with my aunties and we went round this mini Palace of Minos (lots of little rooms you can't do anything with, not particularly a maze) in Staines, and just looking round Surrey until we went to Feltham. Now, if you don't know this place, no worries - its famous for an infamous young offenders institution: therefore crime. But this is all from one council estate which is being knocked for a shopping centre.......
Anyway, the coolest compliment has been paid to me: a fan (? A cool australian gal anyways) thought my blog were pages out of a book. That rules...either my life is that interesting or/and up to a point my writing is that good, and that is only a compliment, so cheers #Megan# - get a blog! Its free and your life sounds cool. So there.
Anyway, back to previous weird post...well, yeah I didn't eat till 9pm when I had a bowl of malted wheats and I felt so gross I just wanted to throw it all back up. It wasn't too hard really - I was out of the door and at Oxfam there's nothing to eat anyway, and you're so cold because the door's open and so you just drink loads of ribeana and everything is just fine. Then I ran out of the shop into Dad's car to go househunting with my aunties and we went round this mini Palace of Minos (lots of little rooms you can't do anything with, not particularly a maze) in Staines, and just looking round Surrey until we went to Feltham. Now, if you don't know this place, no worries - its famous for an infamous young offenders institution: therefore crime. But this is all from one council estate which is being knocked for a shopping centre.......
Saturday, November 27, 2004
I'm a little worried
I'm having my second glass of water. I'm not eating my cornflakes. In fact, I'm refusing to eat anything. I have to choose btw house hunting or Manchester planning and I'm going to disappoint somebody. Therefore I can't eat. Won't eat. Almost as if I don't deserve to eat-aargh. This is my thought process and I'm sticking to it. Might as well starve for a day-whats the worst that can happen? There's plenty of fat to dissappear miraculously.
Yours in madness,
Betty --
Yours in madness,
Betty --
Thursday, November 25, 2004
My people
You have a Broken Heart. You have experienced many
sad things in your life. This fact causes you
to shy away from the rest of the world. If only
someone would understand your pain!
Is this anything like me????
What kind of heart do you have?
brought to you by
Take the What High SchoolStereotype Are You? quiz.
Daylight and Cloudy, Yellow Moons
I really had the greatest day today. And yesterday. The day before that was pretty good too. But today was the best...
Woke up perfectly on time. I had cut, and bled and it was all over my upper arm-I got cleaned up and got over it quickly-I just needed to take the 'pressure' off me, I was just going mad with this happiness thing. But I'll say more about that later. Anyway, cool breakfast, met with my breakfast buddies and talked about weird but great sandwich fillings ie: chocolate and marmalade/peanut butter and bannana. Then I got on the train to Hammersmith just as it was pulling into the station in perfect timing and got to college ten minutes early-early enough to talk about the virtues of weetabix with various classmates.
My first of two lessons was double Classics and I hadn't done my homework for two weeks (ok, three) in a row but luckily Liz wasn't in and we had a Swedish substitute for the first half, then one of my classmates-Kit (cool austrailian dude who had the nervous breakdown last year) took over. We played hangman (titfuck and bazooka were the words) with the really nervous Swedish teacher popping in now and again. Hilarious. He then showed us his bong (to smoke weed with! Oh, you and your dirty mind...) and his 'happy box' and was giving out ginger chocolate and discussing the theories of the meaning of life (he does philosophy) I had to go to politics.
Then there was this impromptu trip to visit the ducks (our college, in Twickenham, is right by the Thames) with Richard, and some others. They alll turned out to be from my creative writing club! You see, after you perform fake laughing on the carpet an sing together for a laugh, a bond is made. Which was evident. There were 10 of us: three ellies, jack, richard, me, andy, alexis, rowena and dominic-we all got on had a laugh collecting provisions (within I was able to convince Alexis about the genius of belgian chocolate flapjacks and have him buy me one. I'm such a vixen.) So laden with german/greek biscuits, cheap bread and farle (? its irish potato bread. One of the weirdest things I've tasted) and went to the thames-we had like a two hour break so it was fine. There were swans and geese and ducks and we almost got surrounded cos they loved the greek praline twizzler things we were throwing at them. Once we had run out, we ate some ginger biscuits and watched hobos rowing with those woody rower contraptions in a metal boat. It looked like something you'd see in 1940s Mississipi or a scenery thing in A View From A Bridge by Arthur Miller. Classic. And this woman was handing feeding the swans, and this lonely looking asian man emptied out five loaves worth of stale bread and we were surrounded by pigeons and seagulls. Maybe he just wanted to rule the world. Maybe we just hated us having such a laugh and wanted to have the ginger crunch. We had to leave...
Taking our time about Twickenham town, we talked and laughed about all sorts of silly things. We named ourselves the alternative group. And I wondered about yesterday, when I was so up but so down on it, and decided not to rain on my own parade for once. It's Richard's 17th b'day on Saturday, and he was feeling down because he didn't get any presents, or do anything last year. I had a good idea about how he felt, and I bought him this pad of plain paper because he's always doodling medieval characters or the ancient greek he's taught himself during Politics. It bought it from Wilkos (woot!) and put three sheets on the top cause it looked so cheap, and I put on it Richard C's little book of somethings, a doodle of his pipe he doesn't smoke with (ashmatic), and then a list of great things about Britain, because we went out to lunch and met up with this muslim couple and he ordered bacon and eggs...they left, of course and Rich felt crap afterwards, insulting his britishness. I couldn't stand for that, and made a list that included the invention of the compass, Sir Ian Mckellen and libraries (like me, his favourite smell is old books. They're dead sexy). And made some pages for him to fill out (fave music/people/books etc). There were six of us left now by Twickenham station, because it was nearly 2pm and I finished at midday (I *love* Thursdays). He was so happy and so...god. He gave me a hug, and he doesn't hug anybody. He even said it was the best present anybody had ever given him, ever. He was so cheered, and I was just so surprised because I didn't think this day could get better and it only took me half a hour to make last night, and now I gotta do something fabulous for christmas. He even took down my birthday on his phone, just to make sure he doesn't forget it! I felt lame cos I couldn't do anything for him on the day (I wonder if he has anything planned?), but after half a hour of deliberations and scrumptious stallings, I went for home. Read a chapter of Fingersmith by Sarah Waters and got home to a an empty quiet home, where I had to write this diary entry...
Feeling quite content. If I didn't cut last night, maybe this day wouldn't be so clearly brilliant. Maybe I'd be wearing shadowy glasses and I'd forget to bring Richards present and I'd pick apart every little thing I wore. Hated me pink wool top...You see, I'm quite a cynical character when it comes to things concerning me, myself and my mind. I cannot comprehend it. Happiness?! I don't deserve it, you see. Wish I knew why. But then, if I did, I would have to forgive myself and I would have a 'perfect' life. I can't:
Woke up perfectly on time. I had cut, and bled and it was all over my upper arm-I got cleaned up and got over it quickly-I just needed to take the 'pressure' off me, I was just going mad with this happiness thing. But I'll say more about that later. Anyway, cool breakfast, met with my breakfast buddies and talked about weird but great sandwich fillings ie: chocolate and marmalade/peanut butter and bannana. Then I got on the train to Hammersmith just as it was pulling into the station in perfect timing and got to college ten minutes early-early enough to talk about the virtues of weetabix with various classmates.
My first of two lessons was double Classics and I hadn't done my homework for two weeks (ok, three) in a row but luckily Liz wasn't in and we had a Swedish substitute for the first half, then one of my classmates-Kit (cool austrailian dude who had the nervous breakdown last year) took over. We played hangman (titfuck and bazooka were the words) with the really nervous Swedish teacher popping in now and again. Hilarious. He then showed us his bong (to smoke weed with! Oh, you and your dirty mind...) and his 'happy box' and was giving out ginger chocolate and discussing the theories of the meaning of life (he does philosophy) I had to go to politics.
Then there was this impromptu trip to visit the ducks (our college, in Twickenham, is right by the Thames) with Richard, and some others. They alll turned out to be from my creative writing club! You see, after you perform fake laughing on the carpet an sing together for a laugh, a bond is made. Which was evident. There were 10 of us: three ellies, jack, richard, me, andy, alexis, rowena and dominic-we all got on had a laugh collecting provisions (within I was able to convince Alexis about the genius of belgian chocolate flapjacks and have him buy me one. I'm such a vixen.) So laden with german/greek biscuits, cheap bread and farle (? its irish potato bread. One of the weirdest things I've tasted) and went to the thames-we had like a two hour break so it was fine. There were swans and geese and ducks and we almost got surrounded cos they loved the greek praline twizzler things we were throwing at them. Once we had run out, we ate some ginger biscuits and watched hobos rowing with those woody rower contraptions in a metal boat. It looked like something you'd see in 1940s Mississipi or a scenery thing in A View From A Bridge by Arthur Miller. Classic. And this woman was handing feeding the swans, and this lonely looking asian man emptied out five loaves worth of stale bread and we were surrounded by pigeons and seagulls. Maybe he just wanted to rule the world. Maybe we just hated us having such a laugh and wanted to have the ginger crunch. We had to leave...
Taking our time about Twickenham town, we talked and laughed about all sorts of silly things. We named ourselves the alternative group. And I wondered about yesterday, when I was so up but so down on it, and decided not to rain on my own parade for once. It's Richard's 17th b'day on Saturday, and he was feeling down because he didn't get any presents, or do anything last year. I had a good idea about how he felt, and I bought him this pad of plain paper because he's always doodling medieval characters or the ancient greek he's taught himself during Politics. It bought it from Wilkos (woot!) and put three sheets on the top cause it looked so cheap, and I put on it Richard C's little book of somethings, a doodle of his pipe he doesn't smoke with (ashmatic), and then a list of great things about Britain, because we went out to lunch and met up with this muslim couple and he ordered bacon and eggs...they left, of course and Rich felt crap afterwards, insulting his britishness. I couldn't stand for that, and made a list that included the invention of the compass, Sir Ian Mckellen and libraries (like me, his favourite smell is old books. They're dead sexy). And made some pages for him to fill out (fave music/people/books etc). There were six of us left now by Twickenham station, because it was nearly 2pm and I finished at midday (I *love* Thursdays). He was so happy and so...god. He gave me a hug, and he doesn't hug anybody. He even said it was the best present anybody had ever given him, ever. He was so cheered, and I was just so surprised because I didn't think this day could get better and it only took me half a hour to make last night, and now I gotta do something fabulous for christmas. He even took down my birthday on his phone, just to make sure he doesn't forget it! I felt lame cos I couldn't do anything for him on the day (I wonder if he has anything planned?), but after half a hour of deliberations and scrumptious stallings, I went for home. Read a chapter of Fingersmith by Sarah Waters and got home to a an empty quiet home, where I had to write this diary entry...
Feeling quite content. If I didn't cut last night, maybe this day wouldn't be so clearly brilliant. Maybe I'd be wearing shadowy glasses and I'd forget to bring Richards present and I'd pick apart every little thing I wore. Hated me pink wool top...You see, I'm quite a cynical character when it comes to things concerning me, myself and my mind. I cannot comprehend it. Happiness?! I don't deserve it, you see. Wish I knew why. But then, if I did, I would have to forgive myself and I would have a 'perfect' life. I can't:
- Have a girlfriend
- A job (as a carer for grandad. A few hours a week...)
- Be going to Manchester in two weeks...
- Have gone down two dress sizes in three months
- Have great friends
- Have good grades
- Writing some good stuff that matters, that is real and presents itself truly.
- Have Alice want me!
- I can't, I can't, I can't feel happy. Ever. I don't allow it.
I'm scared of the daylight...but I know what I feel is implausible. I know I'm being unfair on myself, and I know that Alice likes me. I felt it, somewhere and I held onto it for three months (since I accepted that I wanted her). So, hell yes, I'm scared of the daylight, the sun, happiness, my possible truth, but there's a clingy girl inside of me who knows how to love and is confident in her loving. She is tugging me insistently to hope. I won't brush her off, just yet.
Gosh- and when I was walking to the bus stop, there was a gorgeous sunset, it was pink and gold and smothering, everlasting. And...I got a buy one get one free (coffee and hot choc) offer from Starbucks - perfect because I'm seeing Alice on Sunday, and she loves coffee, whilst I love hot chocolate. And you can understand now why I'm indignant?
If there was a song that could complete me now...
Coldplay - Daylight
To my surprise, and my delight
I saw sunrise, I saw sunlight
I am nothing in the dark
And the clouds burst to show daylight
Ooh and the sun will shine
Yeah on this heart of mine
Ooh and I realise
Who cannot live without
Ooh come apart without
On a hill top, on a sky-rise
Like a first born child
On a full day, and a full flight
Defeat darkness, breaking daylight
Ooh and the sun will shine
Yeah on this heart of mine
Ooh and I realise
Who cannot live without
Ooh come apart withoutDaylight
Slowly breaking through the daylight (x22 to fade)
Friday, November 19, 2004
Diary Entry
You know the feeling when you've written a work of fiction and you realise later it was really about you? Did you ever type it up then give it to a friend you've known honestly for only two months? I did. I wrote it on the night of Weds 15th November. Richard (the 2 month friend) was with me at creative writing club and wrote this really moving story, which displayed writing brilliance and it was so personal, so brilliant. And it inspired me. And I was depressed too and looking for a way to explain how I felt after I found I couldn't look into mirrors without hurting myself. I tried it in the reflection on the train. Didn't work. I ended up crying instead. At least I didn't slap myself, but I was it was public unconsciousness.Anyway, here's the 'short story'. The physical actions aren't all true but the feelings are.
Let Go
Let Go
I knew something was wrong because I was listening to Avril Lavigne. I hadn’t taken her seriously for years. Then again, I also knew I was blowing off Richard for Ashton, who I was caring less and less for. Why else would I feel so angry, and undeterred within it?
Time and time again, I just pissed them off, pissing me off. I dunno-maybe I really am losing it. Maybe I am really going nuts. Maybe its time to be really honest with myself-I mean no puns, no metaphors, no fancy imagery about oil paintings and the theatre: who am I? Where do I belong?
I looked once again at the broken mirror, its cracks punctuated with my blood, and I grimaced. Smile? Make it worthwhile. I never meant to go that far. I never meant to let go at all, I just wanted to be perfect and I’m starting to realise it may never happen. Ha! I stare as hard as I can. Icky spots, crusty lips and rotting teeth. I try to look deeper. Maybe there’s something real in there-tap, tap. Anybody home? Try again…
Oh God.
Despair disgust, disgust despair, disgust despair, disgust despair –
Ow! I didn’t have to hit myself, did I? Hmm? Try again. Repress yourself. Forget the spots. Just remember that you’re perfect, yeah?
Oh God. Disgust despair! I can’t take it! I can’t hack it! I can’t fake it! How can I look when I’d rather fight myself than look in a mirror?
What’s so horrid to see? I’m not a reflection; I’m just me, myself-absolutely fucking useless. I’m still listening to Lavigne, aren’t I? I must be feeling…really…crap.
Well, the mirror is cleaned up and I’m picking up the pieces. The damn mirror only broke because I was trying to see. Maybe if I saw what everyone else did, I’d call myself beautiful, believe it and all my problems could-just-evapourate. Maybe someone who understands could stop and look at me right now. Yes. And he’d have this well of tears in his eyes and he’d be all sincere and tell me I’m lovely. It’s so hard to be sincere when you’re trying to be lovely. And he’d look all appraisingly at me despite me being all clumsy in my heels and my ill-chosen clothes in a desperate attempt to be all ‘studenty’; and he’d tell me to shut up, and that I’m beautiful, crazy for not knowing so.
Crazy/beautiful. Why does that sound so denied and so true?
The mirror is gone. I don’t have to try and see anymore. I just need to check my hair from time to time and mutter something or other about fixing it on the train, which never happens. It just doesn’t. Man, I wish I was beautiful.
And, maybe if I smiled more I would be able to trust; I could talk to people and look them in the eye when I’m singing and be the girl with the halo everyone loves so much. Now, I know I’m rambling, but before this ends, maybe someone could tell me the truth. Am I beautiful? Non? Sigh.
I can get over this. It’s a spontaneous epiphany-you breathe out and suddenly you’re feeling a whole lot better. You can tie up the plastic bag with the broken mirror. Cry a little. Warble a bit. Then go to bed and live your life as if this honest, dark night was all a dream.
Time and time again, I just pissed them off, pissing me off. I dunno-maybe I really am losing it. Maybe I am really going nuts. Maybe its time to be really honest with myself-I mean no puns, no metaphors, no fancy imagery about oil paintings and the theatre: who am I? Where do I belong?
I looked once again at the broken mirror, its cracks punctuated with my blood, and I grimaced. Smile? Make it worthwhile. I never meant to go that far. I never meant to let go at all, I just wanted to be perfect and I’m starting to realise it may never happen. Ha! I stare as hard as I can. Icky spots, crusty lips and rotting teeth. I try to look deeper. Maybe there’s something real in there-tap, tap. Anybody home? Try again…
Oh God.
Despair disgust, disgust despair, disgust despair, disgust despair –
Ow! I didn’t have to hit myself, did I? Hmm? Try again. Repress yourself. Forget the spots. Just remember that you’re perfect, yeah?
Oh God. Disgust despair! I can’t take it! I can’t hack it! I can’t fake it! How can I look when I’d rather fight myself than look in a mirror?
What’s so horrid to see? I’m not a reflection; I’m just me, myself-absolutely fucking useless. I’m still listening to Lavigne, aren’t I? I must be feeling…really…crap.
Well, the mirror is cleaned up and I’m picking up the pieces. The damn mirror only broke because I was trying to see. Maybe if I saw what everyone else did, I’d call myself beautiful, believe it and all my problems could-just-evapourate. Maybe someone who understands could stop and look at me right now. Yes. And he’d have this well of tears in his eyes and he’d be all sincere and tell me I’m lovely. It’s so hard to be sincere when you’re trying to be lovely. And he’d look all appraisingly at me despite me being all clumsy in my heels and my ill-chosen clothes in a desperate attempt to be all ‘studenty’; and he’d tell me to shut up, and that I’m beautiful, crazy for not knowing so.
Crazy/beautiful. Why does that sound so denied and so true?
The mirror is gone. I don’t have to try and see anymore. I just need to check my hair from time to time and mutter something or other about fixing it on the train, which never happens. It just doesn’t. Man, I wish I was beautiful.
And, maybe if I smiled more I would be able to trust; I could talk to people and look them in the eye when I’m singing and be the girl with the halo everyone loves so much. Now, I know I’m rambling, but before this ends, maybe someone could tell me the truth. Am I beautiful? Non? Sigh.
I can get over this. It’s a spontaneous epiphany-you breathe out and suddenly you’re feeling a whole lot better. You can tie up the plastic bag with the broken mirror. Cry a little. Warble a bit. Then go to bed and live your life as if this honest, dark night was all a dream.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Shifting
I need to tell you about my training day...
Well, as you might know I'm a member of Childrens Express. This is a charity which a sort of learning through journalism sort of thing. It makes its money from members writing articles about young people which are published in newspapers/internet/TV (spec. Sky News). Some other members become trainers and they use their newly acquired skills to teach other kids about journalism, which I did last week. Was mucho crazy mad. Mainly because it was only my second training, I was leading it and it for a bunch of 11 year olds from Brent who were setting up their own website for the council. So, everyday after college I'd make the long journey from Twickenham to Kings cross which took an hour and a half, prepared and rehearsed with my team who had to leave early cos they were younger than me, and I'd stay down there till 7, home by 8:30, do some homework and literally collapse, hopefully onto the bed. My whole life used to be in my bedroom, now its simply the cutting room. And the sleeping place, of course.
Saturday came and I wasn't feeling too nervous, apart from my travel fare matters. I'm supposed to pay adult fare which isn't fair cos I'm under 18 and I can buy weekly fares at child rates, but not daily rates. I didn't get caught and I got there nice and gorgeously early, as did the rest of my team (K+Gh+Jo). We set up, and at our last rehearsal when they came. It all went really well, the pizza was nice and I got all my cues right, because I doing a seminar on basic writing for the web, which they took in well. I know all about what you should do on layout etc and that tabloids aim their writing at three year olds; but I still don't know how make links on the margin bit! Oh woe is me...oh and I treated my triumph with a hot chocolate from Nero with extra whipped cream and extra extra chocolate. I'm a lady!
Oh! And I'm a size 16!!!!!!!!! You know, when I'm really depressed, the idea with me nearly at the national average size....SIZE 16 !!!!!!! I haven't even been dieting. I just eat two apples a day, because of my cravings, lots of water. I've been living a lot as well. Just not bothered to eat. Although, I must say I cannot shake my cravings for the giant chocolate cookies from Tesco-they're so oaty...
As you can tell, I'm quite cheered today. I gave Richard a weird crappy short short story with I'll publish soon, which means I really like him. Or starting to trust him in a strange roundabout way. A lot of the time, when I'm being personal (such as during creative writing where I sang Halo by Texas) I can't look him in the eye because his opinion is starting to matter to me. It's easy, too easy for your mind to slip over facts, such as I who has known Richard for two months. It feels so much more...timeless than that. College feels timeless. I've written my first review for the College mag(For Scissor Sisters-will post! Whoo, I have lots to post now...).
Oh, god more stuff. Due to suspiciously superstitious circumstances (ie: walking under signposts) my gorgeous trainers which I only bought four months ago fell apart. Got nice cheap purple/pink replacement. More stationery, new diary-my other one disappeared and I'm too flighty about it to really worry. I have a crush on this tomboyish (yet straight) red headed girl, and I literally can't keep my hands off her-I've no control over them now. My classics class are starting to notice but thankfully, she hasn't. Anyway there's a little essay I've put off for nearly two hours...
Don't you miss long blog posts?
Well, as you might know I'm a member of Childrens Express. This is a charity which a sort of learning through journalism sort of thing. It makes its money from members writing articles about young people which are published in newspapers/internet/TV (spec. Sky News). Some other members become trainers and they use their newly acquired skills to teach other kids about journalism, which I did last week. Was mucho crazy mad. Mainly because it was only my second training, I was leading it and it for a bunch of 11 year olds from Brent who were setting up their own website for the council. So, everyday after college I'd make the long journey from Twickenham to Kings cross which took an hour and a half, prepared and rehearsed with my team who had to leave early cos they were younger than me, and I'd stay down there till 7, home by 8:30, do some homework and literally collapse, hopefully onto the bed. My whole life used to be in my bedroom, now its simply the cutting room. And the sleeping place, of course.
Saturday came and I wasn't feeling too nervous, apart from my travel fare matters. I'm supposed to pay adult fare which isn't fair cos I'm under 18 and I can buy weekly fares at child rates, but not daily rates. I didn't get caught and I got there nice and gorgeously early, as did the rest of my team (K+Gh+Jo). We set up, and at our last rehearsal when they came. It all went really well, the pizza was nice and I got all my cues right, because I doing a seminar on basic writing for the web, which they took in well. I know all about what you should do on layout etc and that tabloids aim their writing at three year olds; but I still don't know how make links on the margin bit! Oh woe is me...oh and I treated my triumph with a hot chocolate from Nero with extra whipped cream and extra extra chocolate. I'm a lady!
Oh! And I'm a size 16!!!!!!!!! You know, when I'm really depressed, the idea with me nearly at the national average size....SIZE 16 !!!!!!! I haven't even been dieting. I just eat two apples a day, because of my cravings, lots of water. I've been living a lot as well. Just not bothered to eat. Although, I must say I cannot shake my cravings for the giant chocolate cookies from Tesco-they're so oaty...
As you can tell, I'm quite cheered today. I gave Richard a weird crappy short short story with I'll publish soon, which means I really like him. Or starting to trust him in a strange roundabout way. A lot of the time, when I'm being personal (such as during creative writing where I sang Halo by Texas) I can't look him in the eye because his opinion is starting to matter to me. It's easy, too easy for your mind to slip over facts, such as I who has known Richard for two months. It feels so much more...timeless than that. College feels timeless. I've written my first review for the College mag(For Scissor Sisters-will post! Whoo, I have lots to post now...).
Oh, god more stuff. Due to suspiciously superstitious circumstances (ie: walking under signposts) my gorgeous trainers which I only bought four months ago fell apart. Got nice cheap purple/pink replacement. More stationery, new diary-my other one disappeared and I'm too flighty about it to really worry. I have a crush on this tomboyish (yet straight) red headed girl, and I literally can't keep my hands off her-I've no control over them now. My classics class are starting to notice but thankfully, she hasn't. Anyway there's a little essay I've put off for nearly two hours...
Don't you miss long blog posts?
Friday, November 12, 2004
Ooh? Crap!
Main words in my vocab at the moment...
I'll keep this short:
I'm making good friends with Richard and Clare. He actually texted me on weds to check that I got home alright from Children's Express (Kings Cross), and he said why my petri dish crap of dialogue was good. I really want to hug him but he might freak out!
The Training (which I will tell you alll about tomorrow) which is taking over my life. This is the first time I've been on the net properly since last week.
And...I saw my cocksucking (ahem) arse of a doctor and he recommended psychotherapy. After telling him I don't want drugs, he says my mind is too addled to be all objective (in his doctor speak way). But...after 12 cuts (?!!!!!!!) in one week and the gradual losing of my mind, that I see my depression lasting forever and I can't stop thinking about death, is this the best way?! I'm starting the Oxford application process in March and I need to be perfect (yes, perfect)
Now, I must go. Qi beckons. Should I take the drugs or non?
I'll keep this short:
I'm making good friends with Richard and Clare. He actually texted me on weds to check that I got home alright from Children's Express (Kings Cross), and he said why my petri dish crap of dialogue was good. I really want to hug him but he might freak out!
The Training (which I will tell you alll about tomorrow) which is taking over my life. This is the first time I've been on the net properly since last week.
And...I saw my cocksucking (ahem) arse of a doctor and he recommended psychotherapy. After telling him I don't want drugs, he says my mind is too addled to be all objective (in his doctor speak way). But...after 12 cuts (?!!!!!!!) in one week and the gradual losing of my mind, that I see my depression lasting forever and I can't stop thinking about death, is this the best way?! I'm starting the Oxford application process in March and I need to be perfect (yes, perfect)
Now, I must go. Qi beckons. Should I take the drugs or non?
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Relax? Eat?
Firstly:
The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Take the Dante's" Inferno Test
Secondly, I am extremely tired, and extremely stressed and I have too much to do!
Remember Nanowrimo? Well, I've written around 1,500 (outta 50,000! Will I even get to 10K by the end of the month???) words in three days becasue I have no time to do it. I have an essay to do for my most critical teacher for tomorrow, my friend is in a crisis and I'm really worried about her, I miss my best friend Ria, Bush won again and my entire college is depressed despite I'm the only person who has bothered to look into the specifics and my typing is now extremely fast. I've lost my Iliad book again and I'm working and working. I've joined..I've joined...*counts on fingers*...four writing alliances/club thingies. For Children's Express I have to teach these eleven year olds about researching and doing journalism on the internet, which I really don't know lots about so I have to find out everything about Brent for eleven year olds, and there's nothing else there except a dodgy girl guides, a crap museum, Wembely Stadium and a cemetery.
In the midst I'm depressed but I've only cut once this week because I'm either too tired (about 5 hours sleep per night), or too concentrated, or stressed. I usually love stress because its how I work, I mean my fingers are flying on the keyboard and its almost perfect like me ha!
So at the library waiting for a computer (we're trying to sell the house again and Dad turned off the internet so I'd work, whoops. Now its back on. Yay!), I made a list. Apologise to two different people for blowing them off (my counsellor and my journalist friend dude), homework, books to read, make time for Sunflower seed (her nickname) and other things. Then I realised I was really hungry, that I was about to keel over from tiredness and I might sucker-punch the next person to bump me in the corridor. So "Relax?" "Eat?" came as a humourable aftermath.
I think I got all stressed from trying to enrol in the college gym (free). I should never have bothered, they only let in 3 people at a time andanyway rude people shove right 0of you and you know they're rude bastards so ndon't bother chat back. Yesterday, I finished college at 4pm and went straight to Islington (which took 75 mins), left there at 7pm and got home at 8:45pm ate my chips and then I was up till 10:30pm cleaning the fridge, which by the way, is massive. Hsd fours sleep. I think I'm doing something wrong here. Look at my hell rating-7th Level! You only get this stressed in London. (Hmm, full-on proof that residents in London have an infinitely higher chance of ending up0 in hell...)
Now, I'm going to write this essay, be it crap but well structured, and get on with well, everything else. I can't believe I was so low and despondent at the last post, that was only 6 days ago...everything has changed, believe me-I've actually got people depending on me doing things right, like I'm supposed to anyways...
The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
| Level | Score |
|---|---|
| Purgatory (Repenting Believers) | Very Low |
| Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers) | Moderate |
| Level 2 (Lustful) | Low |
| Level 3 (Gluttonous) | Moderate |
| Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious) | Low |
| Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy) | High |
| Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics) | Very High |
| Level 7 (Violent) | Extreme |
| Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers) | Very High |
| Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous) | Moderate |
Take the Dante's" Inferno Test
Secondly, I am extremely tired, and extremely stressed and I have too much to do!
Remember Nanowrimo? Well, I've written around 1,500 (outta 50,000! Will I even get to 10K by the end of the month???) words in three days becasue I have no time to do it. I have an essay to do for my most critical teacher for tomorrow, my friend is in a crisis and I'm really worried about her, I miss my best friend Ria, Bush won again and my entire college is depressed despite I'm the only person who has bothered to look into the specifics and my typing is now extremely fast. I've lost my Iliad book again and I'm working and working. I've joined..I've joined...*counts on fingers*...four writing alliances/club thingies. For Children's Express I have to teach these eleven year olds about researching and doing journalism on the internet, which I really don't know lots about so I have to find out everything about Brent for eleven year olds, and there's nothing else there except a dodgy girl guides, a crap museum, Wembely Stadium and a cemetery.
In the midst I'm depressed but I've only cut once this week because I'm either too tired (about 5 hours sleep per night), or too concentrated, or stressed. I usually love stress because its how I work, I mean my fingers are flying on the keyboard and its almost perfect like me ha!
So at the library waiting for a computer (we're trying to sell the house again and Dad turned off the internet so I'd work, whoops. Now its back on. Yay!), I made a list. Apologise to two different people for blowing them off (my counsellor and my journalist friend dude), homework, books to read, make time for Sunflower seed (her nickname) and other things. Then I realised I was really hungry, that I was about to keel over from tiredness and I might sucker-punch the next person to bump me in the corridor. So "Relax?" "Eat?" came as a humourable aftermath.
I think I got all stressed from trying to enrol in the college gym (free). I should never have bothered, they only let in 3 people at a time andanyway rude people shove right 0of you and you know they're rude bastards so ndon't bother chat back. Yesterday, I finished college at 4pm and went straight to Islington (which took 75 mins), left there at 7pm and got home at 8:45pm ate my chips and then I was up till 10:30pm cleaning the fridge, which by the way, is massive. Hsd fours sleep. I think I'm doing something wrong here. Look at my hell rating-7th Level! You only get this stressed in London. (Hmm, full-on proof that residents in London have an infinitely higher chance of ending up0 in hell...)
Now, I'm going to write this essay, be it crap but well structured, and get on with well, everything else. I can't believe I was so low and despondent at the last post, that was only 6 days ago...everything has changed, believe me-I've actually got people depending on me doing things right, like I'm supposed to anyways...
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