Daisies are my favourite flowers

My oh my I had a great post I was going to write.
I was going to talk about using the train late at night, the rivulets of Christmas, and Uzi. But of course I get a thumping cold. I feel dread. And I've got to do my hair in two days (blue extensions! electric blue :) And I can barely move and if I laugh too much I feel like I will cough up my spinal cord and I'm drinking to get myself to sleep. But no one needs 6 shots of tequila to get to sleep, right? Hell, anything except paracetemol is entering my system. Okay, so happy thoughts...I've won an I-pod nano! Just for using the library. Isn't it wonderful to be rewarded for loving books (especially the 20 history books waiting patiently to be studied. Strange thing is, I'm looking forward for the moment I'm ok to really read these books. It's empowering being a geek.) I'm still waiting for my Oxbridge rejection letter. It's over a day late coming and it's making me nervous, even though I prefer the course at Sussex, but I would still love to get into Oxford, just for that option. I hope you like the flowers!

Christmas Cheer and Genuine Madness

It's been 30 days since I've last cut.

Oh my god.

....Please, let me just dwell on that for a bit, but not for too long. I don't want to get sad. Yes, my last cut was on 16th November, 2005. I remember not feeling it at all and I was all drugged up and I almost went to sleep, if it wasn't for Ria, knowing that she'd be devastated in the morning. And I remember staring at the ambulance men with wide eyes, as a zombie with messy hair in her rugby shirt and pyjamas and barely able to walk. I only brought along my mobile and my keys cos I thought I'd only be there for a few hours and not three days. I remember the doctor saying to her attending: "Yes, isn't it amazing how secrets can be kept from you for so long? Astonishing." As if I was some new type of fungus they discovered in the fridge, astonishing all the same, but lacking any listening functions. And I remember lying straight to my family's faces, leading them down different directions and then throwing up bright pinkish vomit. My mouth and spit tasted of paracetemol so I wasn't surprised about the drip. My Dad was on holiday on the caribbean. I began to read Life of Pi and I don't think I'll ever finish it. I remember being told again and again that I had been saved from a slow and painful death and feeling quite wistful. I remember the literal hours and hours of questioning, making me relive every single second, every feeling returning to me, but I had nothing to hand. I couldn't cry because I was on suicide watch and if I cried then I would be taken away, sectioned under the mental health act. Maybe. But I was always aware of it.

I had no cause to cry when Mum came down. I just needed a parent who would sneak in food and tell me jokes and be parentally patronizing in their own dysfunctional dotty way. I lied straight to her face as well. I even twisted up lies with other lies. I was losing my mind, albeit very slowly. When I left the hospital I was "assuming the position": Big duvet, on the sofa with petit au chocolat and hot milky drinks that would later mske me ill. Aunties couldn't come down, my brother was home late and I didn't call anyone. Or were my friends engaged? I couldn't remember. I was too fed up, depressed, ill, exhausted (despite three days in a hospital bed), resignated. I didn't expect to last long and I felt as if I had killed off all my ideas. I cried a lot, too tired to cut myself open. I was still worried about Oxbridge and my two essays and Dad was coming home tomorrow and I told Rich what happened and he didn't mind and what's-going-to-happen-to-me-was-the-prophecy-true. No deep intake of breath there. I was drowning. I waited to lie to Dad and get on with the end of my life.

Yet, I ended up telling him. I can't explain why. My mind wasn't as fragile. I had slept 11 hours and it was a very normal Sunday morning. Still can't explain why. I was just thoroughly tired of lying about simply every feeling and action and aspect of my life, and I was tired of every dust bunny of my life and I guess lying collapsed first. Now he knows too much, thanks to my psychiatrist wondering tongue - she mentioned eating disorders and voices in my head. It was painful to see his face change. It's hard to explain...see, think of a loved one. They find out something strange and dreadful and are in a moment genuinely surprised and they simply had never thought of it before. And then the reality sinks in: your daughter hears voices and has an eating disorder.

So, now my moods swing wildly from giddy, to happy, to poignant, to level headed and funny and normal, to painful misery, to suicidal thoughts I bat right out of the field, to numbness I try to kill instantly because it's icy fog but it leaves of its own accord. For now. Then I start falling in love again, with guys I'm not actually attracted to. It took me a really short amount of time to figure it out with Rich, and maybe admitting it will ease the process to a gentle climb without any conflicting feelings solidifying into a crush. And my post was supposed to be about that, and his first love dumping him and how I might love him and he love me and us being so love-avoidant and cynical we can't even hug properly. Oh, and then there's the situation where I may never touch medicine again, considering the smell makes me bring up food immediately. It's no way to live. Ack, what the hell as this got to do with Christmas? Well, I heard that most suicides happen during the Christmas/New Year period, so I wish anyone thinking about such things that you simply have to keep on keeping on. I can't say anymore; that's it. And for god's sake talk to someone. Oh- and I might be diagnosed with dissociative disorder. It makes a lot of sense, the whole losing self and soul thing. My next post will be happier, I promise you. It was just that it's three in the morning it seemed like a good time to talk about my attempted suicide.

Sneaking German Beer From the Fridge

(www.larry-bolch.com)
I want to stop. It can't be healthy. But with every gulp I feel my normal life coming back to me, and I feel like a person again. A person who can think, and sleep and won't cut. Passing this two week barrier is so very hard. Boxing Underwater? I'm doing a pole vault on the carpet of the Indian ocean, and I'm being booed by everyone. I'm having a major hit of depression which a lot like despair, three essays, my best friend's in trouble, and a fat day all rolled into one emotion, kinda like poisoned silk someone had draped over you. You feel like theres spiders crawling under your skin. Actually, there's these conjured spiders everywhere, coming out of nowhere. I have to have arachnophobia... Then I'm quitting cutting and drinking at the same time. I haven't cut since the OD but now everything else, including my sanity is suffering for it and I'm just wondering as I drink my one sweet bottle of beer, despairing between a gay christmas party or a filming thingy, trying to think of excuses for either whether this is all worth it, and if whatever resolve I have left will carry me through and leave me intact and eloquent. I almost wish I believe in God. Almost.

I don't know what to do. I have to go to college tomorrow, and I have english coursework and it's so close from being finished. But I can't move. I'm scared that if I let myself cry I'll just wail and scream until I lose consciousness. If I go to bed, I might cut. I didn't even make it three weeks before I went crazy. Is there no end to this?

I can't speak.

I Am Home

I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to tell you before I left, but I've just been through the world famous and ever mysterious Oxbridge Interviewing Process. I've also gotten slightly drunk, been dancing around this prestigious campus (the only black woman there, I tell you) in my pink polka pyjamas because its just strange, chatted to some ducks and danced with some strange men, but thats all for later because I have to wake up later in the morning. :)


Ooh - I've crossed the two week no cutting barrier!
Doesn't mean that I don't want to do it, because I do - but I've taken in some sort of well-worn desire to just not do it. I'm reading two very conflicting books - Kafka On The Shore (nothing much to do with the writer, by Haruki Murakami) which every whim and sin is fulfilled and acted upon, and then there's Stephen Fry's autobiography where he's acting upon his childhood desires at this point but is full of such self loathing, bloody cleverness, detachment and lies that he seems just like me and I have so much hope that I may as interesting and engaging at 50 as Mr Fry is. He's the closest thing I've got to an idol so far, so cheerio Mr S. Fry.

And tomorrow I'm going Christmas shopping with Ria - at last, I haven't seen her in over two months - and I'll be keeping my readers - lurkers and commenters alike, for sure. Is there anything you really really desire right now? Everlasting love? Everlasting sex? A hot pink I-pod? Money, wisdom, magic is no object I'm feeling very generous today.

So spill.

The Practice of Living

Life can be ridiculous, but not this one. Today, I was referred to the college's youth worker person, an extremely frenetic event. I had to tell her what happened all over again. She assumed a lot of things. Like, that I meant to kill myself (I still have no idea.) and mentioned my weight. She basically talked and talked for an hour about how tough life is, somehow folding in suggestions for how I could join a gym to feel better about myself. Never looking into my eyes (which freaks me out anyway). She blurted out "Isn't swimming good for, for, all over your body?" "Yeah, it's true but I can't." "Why?" "Because of my arms. I cu-" "-Of course, no, your weight shouldn't be a problem." I gave up then and just let her complete her Inspirational Speech and re-organize her masses of paper. She was nice and her words dug little worms that wriggled under my skin, if that makes sense.

I had a drink last night, but it was in very social circumstances. It was after my evening at my gay youth club and this youth parliament thingy I gatecrashed into. I had some Smirnoff Ice thing whilst they talked about their sexual escapades (weekly shagging in offices during lunchtimes, handjobs whilst you've got flu, sex in the religious department men's toilets), among other things. It sucks, it's not cool to be a virgin anymore. In fact, it's manky and mortifying. I am, the only virgin left on this planet. Or, at the very least in West London. I'm 17, I've only had one girlfriend and little experience. One of my dear friends has lost hers to a guy (who is nice, by the way - just a total strangler when it comes to impressing his mates.) who had begged for 6 weeks and lasted 20 seconds - some strange kind of irony pressing upon us there...she told me she wished I was there to hold her hand because it hurt so much, the poor thing.

I guess it's because I don't get to go out as much. And when psychiatrists and social workers are telling you to go out more, you know you've got a problem. I just have no goddamn time. To tell you the truth I'm starting to feel violent against people, just because I'm too afraid to tell them to shut the fuck up. Like the college counsellor lady kneeling on the ground with literally a thousand sheets of paper, trying to organize them all. I just wanted to kick them all out and rip them up, tip over her desk and smash in her computer and just scream: "Will just take a breath and let me speak? I might not say anything, but then I might not be able to speak, but that's all you need to know! I'm tired of drifting! I'm tired of being indecisive! I'm tired of the fact that I can't think for myself anymore without being shot down for it! I'm tired of being lonely! I want someone good for me! And that's it, that's it. So you've listened. I'll help clean up your bloody pit of an office, I am awfully sorry. Oh, and by the way I'm a recovering bulumic, I have a cutting self harm thingy, I literally don't give a shit about my own wellbeing and I have an alcohol problem...What? What are you looking at?"

So, alright, okay I'm not feeling too great. I've been like this for years, sometimes I forget. I guess this is one of the moments where it all comes rushing back to me. I just feel so stupid. My practice interview didn't go beautifully. At my best I was eloquent and intelligent. However I spoke too much and too quickly, asked too many questions, was too vague in parts (I agree. I called Gordon Brown's job the 'guy that handles all of the money', and I said thingy!) However, I was engaging, interesting and enthusiastic all of the way through, which helps enormously. Now I have to start shopping for the real thing.

And I must mention that the 1st December was World Aids Day. I was supposed to be going to an event in Vauxhall, but Dad I would out too late on a school night, so blah. I do know that the biggest group of people with HIV is the 16-24's, and this needs to be addressed. It turns out that 1st December marks 50 years since the late, great Rosa Parks made her stand against racism on the bus, and it's now also the day that the South African judiciary rules that gay marriage must be made legal. It's a couple of reasons to be optimistic. And don't forget Christmas! I have a feeling something great is going to happen, to wipe away all of the tears from this wretched, rollercoaster year. I can't help it, the optimism is there.

I haven't cut for over two weeks now. I'm going to explode. Not yet, I don't feel like I'm going out of my skin with panic...yet but I am starting to see things again.

Best Demonstrators of How I'm Feeling (Coldplay, Talk)

Oh brother I can't, I can't get through
I've been trying hard to reach you, cause I don't know what to do
Oh brother I can't believe it's true
I'm so scared about the future and I wanna talk to you
Oh I wanna talk to you

You can take a picture of something you see
In the future where will I be?
You can climb a ladder up to the sun
Or write a song nobody has sung
Or do something that's never been done

Are you lost or incomplete?
Do you feel like a puzzle, you can't find your missing piece?
Tell me how do you feel?
Well I feel like they're talking in a language I don't speak
And they're talking it to me

So you take a picture of something you see
In the future where will I be?
You can climb a ladder up to the sun
Or a write a song nobody has sung
Or do something that's never been done
Do something that's never been done

So you don't know were you're going, and you wanna talk
And you feel like you're going where you've been before
You tell anyone who'll listen but you feel ignored
Nothing's really making any sense at all
Let's talk, let's ta-a-alk
Let's talk, let's ta-a-alk

What A Strange Day: I Can't Help To Think It Means Something

Why do things keep going right for me? I've got my Oxford university interview on the 7th (of December - two weeks away!!! Where did November go? I barely had time for socks), counselling is going ok, I had a big cry last night and didn't talk to anyone, but that was because I was cold and wet. There was this massive hailstorm that whipped my face and legs as I stood pathetically at my front door thinking about ways I could break down the door because I had chosen this day to forget my keys and no one was at home. So I took a bus to the library and read for a couple of hours until Dad could get me.

I'm still in a decent mood. Why? I told Dad the truth. I stopped lying. When he came back from his (horrible: Grandad became a little more senile because of it and Grandma ended up in hospital) Carribbean cruise. He just had his fatherly inkling: he sat me down in my red fleece dressing gown, and told that there was no one who could love me more than him and that I really could tell him. So I told about the overdose. I told him about the psychiatrists, and the social workers and all the lies I told. I told I was feeling depressed, and I started to cry and we stopped talking then, cause I don't like to talk about it. It's been 9 days, I'm just glad I'm home in my bed and I didn't die through morbid stubborness. I'm finding it terribly difficult to return to reality though. It's like I'm suspended in thick mid-air, waiting for roses to fall and trying to write short stories about the nitty-gritty realism of the blacked-out ghetto, feeling utterly in the middle and meddingly confused, as if this was all to be someone else's fault. He doesn't know I cut, or that I have eating problems, or that it wasn't a complete moment of madness, but a...god knows, but he's asking questions.

My teachers are being lovely - my homework is basically very lax now due to the overdose and that I can ride off my perfectionisms from last year that gave me AAAB in my AS's. I'm finding it hard to relax and concentrate. I just don't know how to manufacture such a thing. And everyone's asking me out to places. I'm going to the theatre for the first time with Rich and Alastair and his girlfriend so I'm excited about that, and then the day after I'm going to National Portrait Gallery for Self portrait research (Don't I sound educated?!) and having my first protest - Action Against Torture down at Downing Street 1:30-2:30 --don't miss it! I mean, how big a deal is it to actually have survived a suicide attempt? Should I feel I've gone through onto this greener plateau where everything where it really hasnt, my tongue has loosened.

I have to say Rich is amazing. He doesn't know I blog because he only knows I had an overdose and went mad when I was 12, which is actually quite a bit...anyway, he's been really supportive, good to talk to. He and Alastair bought me a jar of Quality Street which was what I needed and I don't need anymore chocolate for the next few days. And he's been supportive and not awkward and sweet and just...I didn't know I had such a great friend under my nose. It's his birthday today and I want to get him something amazing for his 18th, but I haven't a clue. Maybe a book? Some plays? I haven't had a chance to write him anything...or I don't know. I'll have to figure it out for myself!

Today is strange because I quit Classical Civilisation, I've sworn off drinking and feel good about it, today I got the interview with Oxford (I'm shaking in my boots, even now) and there's this irrevecoble (sp?) proof that you can drink yourself to death, with the fine example of George Best, R.I.P. I don't want to end like him, pathetic and on a drip after all the luck the world could possibly give you. To ignore your desperate friends and family, to obey an affliction that just keeps lying to you, deluding you, as it poisons your skin and poisons your mind. It can most certainly happen to the best of us, and the most loved. So constant vigilance is your shield. Use it.

For now, I'm just hoping I have a good weekend. And so should you lot, outthere.

x

Monologue

Okay, this is more or less what happened to me on my first night in the hospital. I've written it in monologue form cos that's always worked for me. And it's copyright, too! in case you're wondering.

(Enter scene: In a children’s hospital with purple walls and nurses rushing around after children. Parents pace round the ward with babies in their arms. Opposite the nurses’ station is a private room with a 17 year old attached to her drip.)

Harriet: I don’t like hospitals much, and I try to avoid them as much as I can. When I think of hospitals, squeaky white shoes and that vomit smell is all I can think of. But I guess I can’t avoid it for now, especially with what I’ve done.

I’ve been so silly, see. I’m very tired too – that’s my excuse for everything. I’m tired, that’s why I wasn’t listening – I’m tired, that’s why I’m skipping class to hang with my friends – I’m tired, that’s why I drank too much. I’m too tired to think right now, but that’s all I can do. The TV is some dreadful 50’s throwback and can’t even manage Coronation Street. Not that I watch Coronation Street mind – in fact I can’t stand the stupid show. But I’m craving for some normality. And a hug. Although I’m not going to tell that to anyone. I’ll let them figure it out. (Scratches arms through top?)

(Pause, Harriet looks out of the window.): It’s quite nice, isn’t it? When I visited my friend her room wasn’t as nice as this, although she did get to watch Bollywood films all day. And I’ve got my own bathroom, with an actual bath and a working shower. This was a great source of excitement for my family, you can guess. They must have been near twenty minutes talking about the decor of the room, the view from my window, the friendly nurses and my life-support (the digital radio) before they asked what actually happened. I told them that I’ve been having a lot of stomach pains later and that I didn’t think they were anything serious until I started vomiting blood last night. I told them I made my own way to the hospital (I don’t know why), I then told them I was wearing pyjama trousers because they cut up my other trousers for some reason – yeah, a panic-blind lie. My lies kinda spun out of control and all I was waiting for someone to do was to take my lies and come to a conclusion of their own. (Pause, plays nervously with her hands, camera moves in closer to Harriet’s face) My brother, aunt, two cousins and my brother’s girlfriend had all come to me to just...I just wanted them to leave them alone. I might had even told them the truth, if it got rid of that caring glare plastered on me as if I had some kind of duty to be honest when it just wasn’t expected of me anymore.

At this point nausea overtook me and I vomited for the third time in 18 hours. It was horribly embarrassing at first, with the care glare turning into a care cheer – go on, let it all out, Harriet, you can do it, and so on. My aunty was moving my head around to get my hair into a scrunchie and I was horribly reminded of only a few hours earlier when I had again vomited violently in down in the observation ward in front of this old couple who wouldn’t stop looking as if my discomfort was some assurance to them, but I was too weak to scowl, and just rolled over and cried instead (rolls eyes). But the nurses got rid of everybody apart from Aunty Layla, who started only one of the first of the score of inspirational speeches I was to listen to over the next few days. She kept scaring me by telling me that something was wrong and that our talk was confidential.

“You must always know that you can rely on me, Harriet. Whatever you have been going through you cannot go through alone…”

And suddenly everything in my mind goes blurry. My vision doesn’t change much. In fact it sharpens, and her skin starts to shine. Her lips get redder and the sound is turned down very slowly until I feel like I either have to scream to stop this happening or maybe this would finally be the end. Then she stops speaking as everyone returns to the room. They have to leave, and I’m grateful until my brother gives me a hug. This must have been, like, our third hug in all those years of domestic piss. I felt guilty for lying to them all as I watched the small crowd drift away and I was left alone again, just as I had always wanted it to be.

(End scene? Long pause anyway. The nurses scatter back and forth, the speed of the picture slowing and speeding up. Background music? Coldplay Trouble or Aqualung Strange and Beautiful. Harriet watches all of this, being very still. We return to her as the nurse checks her temperature and silently leaves the room.)

Harriet: Did you hear her nerve? “Oh, isn’t it interesting?” She said. I thought she was talking about something about books. I told the doctor I like them and it’s all they talk about to me now. I asked what she meant, and she said “Ain’t it interesting about the secrets we can keep from the people we live next to our whole lives? Makes you wonder, eh? And you’re such a good student, and you’re so polite and articulate and well-spoken, and you’ve obviously got a lot of people who care about you. Feel better, pet. You have so much to live for.”

I’m so pissed off. How dare she? How dare look into the mass of crazyness and confusion inside this shell and decide for her what it’s all supposedly about? Just deciding everything is going to be alright, just like that. Why does everyone keep calling me articulate? Why can’t everyone see I’m going to die? I can feel it. Its right round the corner. I’m so full of myself: there’s this voice choking, spluttering, inside of me. I know what it is, that frog in my throat, trying to pause that hideous, wondrous inevitable. It’ll finally bubble up to the surface to be reckoned with in my state of nauseous numbness: I’m going to die soon. I’m not afraid of death. What’s left to save me now? And I will burst out laughing and blow a hole in my head and that will be the life of Harriet Jones. (And then, and only then will I be able to rest, and sleep properly and put myself first. That’ll be interesting.) (Harriet then turns off the radio, and goes to sleep, turning her back away from the camera. The camera zooms out, the last twenty? Or so seconds of Aqualung’s Strange and Beautiful play out as we zoom out back into the busyness of the children’s ward.)

Post 201: In Case You've Been Wondering

I've taken another overdose. Well, on Tuesday night/Weds morning. I took 18 paracetemol tablets and washed it down with alcohol along with other medicines.

I...I have been in hospital since then, on a drip, lying to my family more than ever, but being more open than before if you get my meaning. Now that I'm home, I think I'm on suicide watch on the moment, considering that the amount I took was said to be a fatal amount and I have done damage to my liver, but it's recuperating. And I'm resting trying to not to work too hard and I'm trying so hard to see what has changed in my life. I know that for one thing I'm not so afraid of death anymore. And I know that I'm going to die soon, much sooner than I thought if I carry on this way. I don't think my feelings have caught up with me yet, I'm so tired and weak and everything is so surreal. My brother actually hugged me, for one thing. And me and Mum bonded. Ay, I have so much to tell you, I'll have to break it up into three parts, give me something to look forward to until Dad comes home and I return to college to the wrath from my teachers.

And god, despite everything that's been happening I'm still worrying about my two essays. God, has anything changed at all? Am I going to make it to university? I don't know, I don't know. I should have talked to someone to talk me out of the ... attempt? Who knows, I'm going to rest some more. I broke a promise and I'm sorry.

Missing You

Hehe 200th Post! *Dances*

I've had a busy manic weekend - my cousin was stabbed, I saw the Remembrance Day fireworks, I've started a new story, commuted with a werewolf, and my Dad is on a cruise in the carribbean. But it all sounds so rudimentary. I miss Ria too much.

I haven't seen her for three weeks now and it feels like forever. I just want to hug her, mess up her hair, see her smile. I haven't missed anyone like this for a while, and it's distracting. But I guess it's a testimony to my shaky humanity that I can feel such love for a person. Most times I speak to her, I'm always thinking of the future - when we will be living somewhere new and we'll get sick of seeing each other all the time.It's the only time that I look forward to real life beyond university years. She's just lovely. If I lost her I'd be stuck somewhere incomphrehensibly unhospitable. (sorry to get so mushy) And the last time I saw her was in hospital, and she was all weak and scabby. Now, she's on to her second boyfriend, who's wary of the big bad lesbian taking Ria from her. I'm going to tease him mercifully whenever I meet him. He sounds like a wicked sense of humour.

And about werewolves, did you hear that there's a war plaguing the world? The war between witches, demons, werewolves and vampires? No?! Well, apparentely you should. This is what my friend has told me on Wednesday. She then went on to say her husband, who's also a demon, was killed the night before but herself and her witch friends brought him back to life. But he's lost most of his memory and they're awfully tired. I've been worried about her for a while, but I'm pretty sure that she has now, officially, lost her mind. I think it's all real in her head, but she talks like there's actual people involved. I'm going to her house on Wednesday and I don't know what to do. She's been a good friend so far, so I can't just abandon her.

My Dad has been gone for two days, and I've been drunk both days. I dunno why. I am in a crying mood, but getting drunk just makes the world so....dreamy. Safe in my alcohol fuelled cocoon. I'm still wondering how I'm going to survive but... OMG I have to tell you guys something -

The ball has started to roll! I have gotten two university offers!! One from Sussex (my top choice!) and from Sheffield!!! They're both in the top twenty universities in the country!!!!

And after the elation and the smiles and my as-yet celebrations, I'll be thinking to myself : -

Ack...what the fuck has the world come to?

My 199th Post

Firstly, have you heard about this? A technology school? No books?! *Heart palpitates wildly*

I'm on page 68. of Murakami's new book, Kafka on the Shore. This book makes me very happy as its fabulous, and funny and I totally relate to the weird characters and that unknown disjointed, disconnected quality the lead characters have. I love it.

If I carry on this way, it won't be better if I stay - So Long and Goodnight, So Long and Goodnight (My Chemical Romance)

I am in too good a mood. I have just watched this adaption of Much Ado and I am full of love songs and poetry and gaiety that just won't quit - "Yours, my dear, is the true face"...

It's been a rough day. I've been such a good mood but no one seems to want to humour me, or be interested in just having some fun. Everyone is poorly and in a bad mood and I'm just happy, loud and annoying Betty. It just won't do. Anyhow, if I don't get some control on my feelings when I do come down from this high (and it won't be long) I'll be so low and despairing (when, quelle surprise, everyone is back in a good mood. I'm totally out of step.) that I might not make it through the year. My moods are just too extreme and the environment doesn't demand for it: I need to be even mannered if I'm going to get through this. So I'll be moderating my emotions, sharply, for now on, I'm afraid. I haven't cut much recently but I'll need to soon and I'm just being...practical, anticipating when I'll next be completely incapitated with depression.

Otherwise, I am full of love songs and poetry and romance. I'm in the perfect mood to be swung off my feet and pampered and loved. My mood? Iris, by the Goo Goo Dolls:

And I’d give up forever to touch you
’cause I know that you feel me somehow
You’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be
And I don’t want to go home right now
And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
’cause sooner or later it’s over
I just don’t want to miss you tonight

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

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
Yeah 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
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
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 just want you to know who I am
I just want you to know who I am
I just want you to know who I am

My poem? Sonnet 116 By Shakespeare:


Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

I just want romance and love and to make out with that gorgeous girl. I've been writing more poems, although they aren't essentially lovely. I'm just beginning to feel that I've lost that loveliness inside of me. It used to lie there, dormant, in my heart and its been cleared out so I can love more freely, love better. But I would love to have that ability, that humane part of me. But before I sign off, there is one more poem I want you to read. It's a bit strange, and has a certain meter to it. If I could recite it on the internet I would but this will have to do.

Untitled

Gold never decays.
You put me down and frowned upon
My smile as I lay.
I want you to own me.

You kissed my eyelids shut –
You chide, dare your pride
To ride high without –
I don’t actually care, but you’ll try.
I said before;
I want you to own me.
Let’s drown in romance,
Ridiculous sentiments. Ease.

Gold can run thin in the soul.
You don’t sparkle, you glide
And leave me lying here besides.
I could detest you.
If I remembered how to breathe.

You let strange men take me away
In red velvet blackness.
I am still waiting
To see you again.

Gold band on my finger
Protests again through the procession
Yet you remain.
Am I stained?
Soon I won’t be seeing you again.

Gold band on my finger,
Such loneliness is such a tempting
Trigger.
I don’t know what to say to you.
But I’m going down now, somehow.

What I have refused to see is
A fatal flaw in the breakdown of love,
That the mask frozen to pieces,
The man who said he’d always love me is a liar.
And I perish as the gold grows bolder,
An evergreen cliché.

- Okay, there it is. It was inspired by a John Donne (love) poem I had to overanalyse in class, and I started to think about the "romantic properties" of gold. Then I thought to throw in the macabre, inspired by the Helena video by My Chemical Romance. It's a nice mixture. Please tell me what you think!














(This is Helena...)

Strange Sensations

Heylo, I started this post on Friday evening, but I couldn't be arsed to finish it, but guess what? Something weird did happen on Halloween.

I managed to get to sleep through music bribery (I listened to most of Beth Orton's album to calm my brain down with the prospect of seven pieces of homework and two essays for my Oxbridge application, due on the 10th. Then, on Monday morning, after rolling my way onto the bus and into college, I recieved the news that my gigantic, scary, monsterish Oxbridge Special History Exam has been set for Wednesday.

Tomorrow.

Morning. Eek!

I stared at my apologetic looking politics teacher who gave me the news, ready to scream "WHY didn't you tell me earlier so I could pretend I tried to study over half term?!" and it turns out he only just found out today, yet all my other Oxbridge classmates knew...grr. I wondered why this had to happen, now, this week, when I'm feeling so stressed and unflexible and foggy. I did walk by a white cat in a bush, which is frankly a bit weird. I've never seen strange acting white fluffy cats sitting still next to train tracks. That would explain it, right? The test is basically all about the nature of history, rather than its content. It's basically some stressy sort of I.Q test, and you can't revise for it....thats why it's so scary. It's happening at 9 am tomorrow morning, so wish me luck?

Anyway, continuing my other post...

On Friday it was my friend's 18th birthday, and as he was a very intelligent, sophisticated, fun kinda guy it was going to be that kinda day. Me and Rich met up with our birthday buddy (BB) and his girlfriend, Anna. First we went to the trendy chinese restaurant and had lots of chillies and starters, of which BB paid for most of it. Then, he directed us to this magical candy shop. It was this tiny place near Chinatown and sold candy from all over the world, with the exception of gobstoppers. I think we spent around £25 pounds on sweets and chocolate, including cinnamon gum, halloween sweeties and jellybeans of every flavour. Including candyfloss, toffee, chocolate pudding and garlic. I thought this was too weird to miss, so I got some of almost everything, including the garlic because I quite like garlic. It's good for my blood and I use it almost everytime I cook. I tasted lots of things I never had before, including the gum, Hershey's chocolate cookie bar, a twinkie (those things were weird, but Americans sure know how to make sweets!) and Mountain Dew, which I really liked, and is one of the things young Britons are now searching for when they go to America.

So after that first shop we went through Chinatown and down to Piccadilly to this really expensive chocolate and had some tea-infused chocolate, and this nutty chocolate ball thing that actually made my knees tremble, it was soo orgasmic! The last stop of the day was at the National Film Theatre for the London Film festival to see this short film set. It wasn't bad, although sometimes it got a bit bollocky. I was eating my jellybabies in the dark and couldn't see which flavours I had put in my mouth, and at one point in one of the films, a sex scene, I tasted the full blown taste of garlic and chocolate pudding in my mouth, jellybean form. My tongue stiffened and my mouth did that strange gagging sound you do without moving your lips. It was very funny. It didn't taste that bad in reality. It was just that one second I was tasting chocolate and general sweetness, and then this overpowering garlic thing came over me. It was really weird.

I did talk to Ria about talking to her ex boyfriend, and she's kinda okay with it, as long as of course, I don't get too friendly...

So yeah, that was a great day. I had a laugh all day from noon to 6 in the evening, but now I've got this scary exam that I don't want to fail. So I won't. Basically, if I fail this my Oxford hopes die here, and it's given me so much stress and hassle I want to keep it going for as long as my brain puts out. So tonight, I'm relaxing my brain, and enjoying stimulating reads to squeeze thy creative juices. Night night for now.

Happy Halloween!!

I hope everyone has a scare-tastic Halloween, since I'm not doing anything. Nothing! No trick or treating, or giving sweets to trick or treators (apparently no one opens doors round here) I was supposed to go to a gay halloween party bash in East London but in the end I couldn't be arsed.

Right now I'm listening to Kate Bush's King of the Mountain, which I think is a good mystic morning to kick off your Halloween morning. It's not as if any mysticism will following me round. I still have seven pieces of homework. It's not as if I didn't try, I just couldn't do it, bah. Right now I would love some genuine weirdness in my life to confuse things in the fun sense, but we'll see, eh?

In the meantime...

If I Was a Tea Cosy...

I've just had a very good day - I'm stuffed full with twinkies, mountain dew, Hershey cookies and cream and jelly beans of every flavour (and I mean every flavour) I love celebrating birthdays, especially when he's the "No-matter-I'll-pay-for-everything-and-I-mean-it!" The most Gentlemanly guy I've ever known - I mean, he is the perfect man... 18 years old, knows the address of every chocolate shop in London , knows posh food, good films and has a cracking sense of humour (obviously...)

I've been eating crap all day and I feel for it, snapping off the bulumia stick for a day. At home, round the corner there's been a car crash by the church and a person has died, but I didn't see anything, so I can't say anything. Me and Dad treated ourselves to Brandy Snaps, ice cream and honey for desert, and I have a stray triple chocolate cookie nearby, hmmmmmmm. Dad is watching the newly discovered Audi channel on digital TV, if only to find if it really is just an advertising channel, cos I've never seen those before. He's been watching it for an hour, so I have to go and retrieve him and finish this post later. And I will! For the meantime, ask yourself this:

1. What's your opinion on garlic? Especially mixing garlic and chocolate together?
2. Have you heard of an Ipod cosy?
3. How morally incompetent is it to talk to your best friend's ex-boyfriend (who you really enjoyed talking to) when she told you not to? (sorry ria)

Absenteeism

I've been reading over my blog the last few days forgetting that its mine and it's been since I've updated it, since I do have things to talk about. There's a cute Welsh girl involved, some childish romance games between friends of mine and general mindfuckery and book speculation. Maybe it's because I have too much homework. I'd finish off this post but its 1.21 in the morning and the cute welsh girl is going to mention my name on national radio tomorrow morning. Being unawake is not an option. Will finish!

Adjourned, 1.22 am 22 nd October (why is it nearly the 11th hour of 2005?)

I could cry. I've just spent the best part of two hours conducting this, and I lost it because I clicked on spell check!!!! I'm never going to get this post done. That is evil!

I met a cute welsh girl on South West trains. We got attracted to each other because we both had notebooks, but using them differently. Cute Welsh Girl was sketching the faces of football fans on the trains while I took down the addresses of newspapers (it was a book I borrowed for this review I never wrote) in the hope of getting her attention.

It did, but we didn't talk for another ten minutes until we saw this guy on the platform at Clapham in these black netting fabric shirt, black leather trousers in a long black ponytail, black brogues and this giant black duffel bag. I joked he was on a goth pilgrimage (cos he really, really was_ and we got talking. She really cool and interesting in her own cute sweet way. Cute Welsh Girl has blonde hair and glasses, and is in her first year at University after getting three A's at A level. At the moment she is homeless, after living in Wales all her life as her parents sold the family home, bought a Pirates of the Caribbean stylee boat and are sailing all over the world. Her personality is very bright and chatty, funny, almost normal but too quirky and intelligent to be so. She likes books. That's all I need. As we kept talking she told me she had never been to London before, this was her first time on the tube, and she was going to Piccadilly circus. I really felt for her, so I took a detour and directed her to Piccadilly, telling her what I know as a Londoner, born and raised. It turns out we both love the National Portrait Gallery, so I might fix a date for her soon. She also works for student radio, and actually did mention me as her "London Guide". We've only sent each other a couple of emails but I really like her. Unfortunately, I have this creepy feeling she might be straight, which would be so annoying because I like her a lot. I don't know what to do next, I'm crap at relationships...and I'm going to have to think of something soon. Anyone get any ideas?

And god, the rest: crazy friends, books, painting the house. Thats what I've been doing all weekend. Me and Dad dressed up and we've been painting the living room a "zesty" yellow with "warm terracotta". It looks bright and really homely. Dad wants to put stencils up and I must stop him. I'm also covered in paint and feel quite dykey and rugged. I love painting walls. I love it when it stir the paint and it's all thick and gloopy. I love just messing around getting paint under your fingernails and then just lying on the sofa with the Independent on Sunday and a biscuit to admire your handiwork. There's also some skill to it like... to get the edges of the brush, you gotta wiggle it a little to make sure it's gets everywhere. We've only done half of it so far, so I'll be painting while Dad's at work. I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Damn blogger!

Today I had a Dance Attack

I've had a long, but lucky-full Friday: the disastrous solid traffic that has been making me late for the last three weeks and bringing me to my knees suddenly disappeared today. I was so shocked I almost jumped off the bus! But I didn't, I was too busy reading "Affinity" by Sarah Waters which oh-my-god!! is so much than when I started to read it two years ago - it was like porridge. Now it's sweet spicy melons and Crunchy nut cornflakes, it's so good, I don't know how that happened. We had a miserable S.R for History - we think by making them reminisce about the country triggered a major midlife crisis and he hates us for it and is therefore setting up a monster essay. Oh, thank you, so very much.

Anyway, I got home to find the house empty, and promptly had two bowls of cereal - I'm telling you, I needed it! And then I turned on the TV. Lots of dance music - Call on Me (soft core dance music porn), and then Gay Bar. Even though we've been moved for three months we still don't have curtains in the front room, but I couldn't help myself. So...! If you happened to walk down my street and found a overweight black girls in messed up braids shimmying and shaking her butt like no tomorrow and singing to GayBar!! I love that song. After that it was "You get what you give" by this the New Radicals who have no style now but were soo coool back then, and then there was Texas, and Paul Weller ie: Sex God. i danced and danced. I'm still dancing now. Then I thought of celebrities I'm smitten with. Hmm.

Sharleen Spiteri. I've been in love with her for a few years now. I mean, black, sleek, straight shiny hair. Gorgeous smooth skin, kissable pink lips...yes. And a great voice and songs to boot (Halo is one of my most favourite songs ever.) I've looking up pictures of Sharleen Spiteri because I love her and then I remembered her Elvis video. It sped me on the way to being a lesbian, thats for sure. I couldn't remember how hot it actually was until....

I can't stop staring at this picture! Super sexy! Too sexy! This reminds of the joys of lesbianism every day - you're attracted to women! I see her smile, her subtle curves, the hair, the eyes the clothes. To look so much like Elvis, but knowing that there's a woman underneath just...God! I love Sharleen Spiteri.

SoSo Tired

Yawn....


As may have guessed, I'm not sleeping very well. Over the summer I found it impossible to drift off before 2 am. Now I'm pushing 3 am, and waking at half 6. This has to stop! I can't relax. I've tried half-remembered yoga practices, a dizzying range of music, copious amounts of water, calling Samaritans and actually talking about my feelings, which I can't pull out of the hat when I'm trying to speak to people I know. Last night, I'm afraid I cut - I actually had a close call on wrist - for a second I thought I went too deep. I don't want to cut again, but I feel as if I'm being punished for not doing it - the bad sleep, the bad luck. Today I was actually on time for the first time since I've started college this year, I could sleep well and I was very on form, very witty. I missed it, but I wish I didn't have to cut to get there. So tonight I've had three units of Brandy (I hate the stuff, it's foul.) and since I've finished my fourth Murakami, A Wild Sheep Chase (not his best but full of inspiration and ideas. And, it's very very very funny.) I'm going to start my third Sarah Waters book, Affinity. It's not a thriller so I could just put it down when I feel tired. It's like 11pm now, so I'd better go and get my sleep on. Sorry for the Ghetto-ics. Later.

Quick Confessions

Decided to try out this meme from DM. It's all about confessions.

[] I am bisexual.

[x] I am homosexual.

[] I've run away from home.
I’ve planned it lots. Looked out for cheap coach trips, written letters. One time, when I was 7 I found a big box, packed some books in it and labelled the box for Hollywood, but I didn’t get anywhere.

[x] I listen to political music.Is Kanye West political?

[] I collect(ed) comic books.

[x] I shut others out when I'm sad.

[x] Open up to others easily.
Depends on what it’s about…

[x] Keeping a secret from the world.
Too many secrets. It may take years to release them all

[x] I watch the news.

[] I own over 5 rap CDs.

[] I own an iPod.
Can’t stand the things. Too damn technological.

[] I own something from Hot Topic.
Wha’???

[x] I love Disney movies.

I hate Bambi - all freaky eyes, it’s sooo dull. I love Shrek, Jungle Book and Toy Story though.

[x] I am a sucker for eyes.

[] I don't kill bugs.

I have managed to kill every spider I’ve come across. They just don’t survive in my prescence.

[X] I curse regularly.

[] I have "x"s in my screen name.

[x] I've slipped out a "lol" in a real conversation.
Yes. I do hang thy head in shame. But she didn’t notice!

[] I like Spam.

[x] I bake well.
I’m good with biscuits.

[x] I would wear pajamas to school.

How great would it be to literally jump out of bed, brush my teeth, grab my bag and run onto the bus without any judgement.

[] I own something from Abercrombie.

[] I have a job.
Believe me, I’m trying.

[] I love Martha Stewart.

[] I am in love with someone.
I wish I knew!

[] I am guilty of tYpInG lIkE tHiS.
It could happen, once you force it out.

[x] I am self conscious.

[x] I like to laugh.

[] I smoke a pack a day.

[] I loved Go Ask Alice.

[x] I have cough drops when I'm not sick.
I love Lemon Lockets!

[x] I can't swallow pills.
But I really don’t like it.

[x] I have many scars.
I’m a self harmer, so….arms, chest, stomach and thighs.

[x] I've been out of this country.

[] I believe in ghosts.
If I believed in ghosts I figure I really would lose my mind!

[x] I can't sleep if there is a spider in the room.
That’s why every two weeks I fill my bedroom with insecticide. They-Must-Die!!!

[x] I am really ticklish.

[x] I love chocolate.

[] I bite my nails.

[] I am comfortable with being me.

[x] I play computer games/video games when I'm bored.
Only windows pinball. I don’t really care for computer games.

[x] Gotten lost in the city.

[x] Saw a shooting star.
I might have been imagining it. I hope I wasn’t.

[] I had a serious Surgery.

Depends. Does having your tonsils ripped out qualify as serious surgery?

[] Gone out in public in your pyjamas.

[] I have kissed a stranger.

[x] Hugged a stranger.

[] Been in a fist fight with the same sex.

[] Been arrested.

[] Laughed and had your drink come out of your nose.

[x] Pushed all the buttons on an elevator.

[] Made out in an elevator.

[] Swore at your parents.

[x] Kicked a guy where it hurts.

[] Been skydiving.

[] Been bungee jumping.

[] Broken a bone.

[x] Played spin the bottle.

[] Gotten stitches.

[] Drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour.

[x] Bit someone.

[] Been to Niagara Falls.

[x] Gotten the chicken pox.
Three times! You’d think its not possible but it is!

[x] Crashed into a car.

[] Been to Japan.

[x] Ridden in a taxi.

[] Been fired.

[x] Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back.
Doesn’t everyone?

[x] Stole something from your job

[] Gone on a blind date.

[x] Had a crush on a teacher/coach.
This blonde careers advisors at my college. She’s beautiful, and has a super-sexy voice. I forget to like, speak or breathe properly when she’s around. I think its funny.

[] Celebrated Mardi Gras in New Orleans.Does Miami count?

[x] Been to Europe.
I live in Europe!

[] Slept with a co-worker

[] Been married.

[] Gotten divorced.

[x] Saw someone dying.
I remember seeing this guy before and after he jumped in front of a car. His brains were all over the motorway. No one else in the car except me seemed to see it.

[] Driven over 400 miles in one day.
Yeah, Alton towers and back…around 400-450? That was one of the best days I’ve ever had as a father/daughter thing.

[] Been to Canada.

[x] Been on a plane.

[x] Seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

[x] Thrown up in a bar.

[x] Eaten Sushi.

[] Been snowboarding.

[x] Been skiing.

[x] Been ice skating.

[x] Met someone in person from the internet.

[] Been to a motocross show.

[x] Going to or have gone to college.

[] Done hard drugs.

[x] Taken painkillers.

The Last Coupla Days

Eunurggh.

Yes, that is my feeling. I have a recurring headache on the left side of my skull that brings water to my eyes, an abscess on my right thigh, the heating refuses to work so I had two shots of whisky instead. So before I hibernate I'll tell you about the last couple of days.

On Thursday I was so unbelievably tired. You know when you finally go to sleep and it feels as if you were asleep for a second and you feel, frankly, cheated. Once again I had no timefor breakfast as I've had for the last two weeks and I yawned my way 20 minutes late into my 9am classics class. I recieved the class with eyes like dinner plates, and slumping over Sophocles. By the end of the first period I was dead on my feet, and felt compelled to go for desperate measures. Coffee.

I, Betty Browne, had never had coffee before. Seriously. Never. I sipped it one time and spat it out immediately. How do people fall in love with the stuff, its like drinking steaming monkey piss. So when you see how desperate, how weak, how yawnified, how tired I was coffee was the only answer, made palatable with a Mars bar - ah the gorgeousness of chocolate - it fixes everything. But not tiredness. I could, like, speak by now and I could do the work but the body really wasn't willing, but I plodded on, as you do.

In the end I just filled my stomach with chips and that seemed to do the trick. I had to travel for nearly three hours up to Harrow to see my bestest friend Ria who is poorly with abscess attack. But they've been taken out (in surgery!). It was strange going into the hospital as I've been dodging them for over 18 months. Also I was born in the same hospital but it appeared the outside was sensationalized by my birth they've forgotten to clean the outside since then - it was black upon black with dirt, and the windows were covered in green stuff. At least Ria had the view of the top of a tree. She's ok - she just listens to the radio, or using the TV with more channels at the hospital than at home. I would love to have a few days of purposeful rest, as long as I can wear long sleeved scrubs, of course. Actually I haven't cut for about two weeks. Its not I'm feeling satisfied, I just don't feel it.

Anyway, I left the hospital and ran for the bus, did a knee slide on dirty linoleum to catch a bus on which there was a massive fight. I'm not having too much success with buses lately. They're never on time, and its full of arseholes and nutters. Take today, this guy smoking a spliff on the bus asks for it to stop just ahead of the stop. The driver, an African man, ignores him. The man with a fat spliff (I was getting high just sitting there!) starts shouting and everyone gets tense.

Then this lady, she must have been over 80 years old and shouted something incoherent. The man who is making me high leans down and looks at her kindly: "What is it, darlin'?"
She gives him an evil look. I begin to laugh. "I said SHUT IT! You are a RUDE young man." Ah, that was jokes. A gangja tiff. The guy followed me to the next busstop afterwards, trying to justify being racist ("Come on, man you're a fucking African, you get me?") as he had had "five" Jamaican "birds" and the man was being a dick. He couldn't understand why the bus driver told him, to "fuck off". I told that "Maybe," because you were smoking a fat spliff on a bus. He says but "Yeah, don't all of you smoke?" And I said yeah, twice, when I was 15, but it fucks up my throat and its way overrated. But Jesus, is that what they'd expect? Black people can be just as anal retentive as the next Daily Mail reader - I've met a few. Makes me think about race relations and race paranoia - reasons, affects and aftershocks. But my lightbulb has just cut out and I don't know where the bulbs are. Not that I could actually the damned thing - I'm just too damned short. So, fuck it, I'm hibernating!

There's a crack in everything; thats how the light gets in - Leonard Cohen

I need to change my life. And I don't mean a haircut - I will never cut my hair, for one thing. I mean becoming a new person. Someone different to the person you were and fast cementing into. A weak, frantic, paranoid, cold, detached, alone no matter what the hell she does person. If you are what you are, fine. But when a strong voice is screaming at you that this isn't right, it ain't. When you feel that you have to move, but you fee so tired. Like the old you has been violently attacked by her Salesmen and her legs and arms is broken in several places. I can't move. And now I'm not making sense so there's nothing you can do.

I just want to start all over again. Just build myself up all over again. I have to.

But I haven't lost anything. It is really, the fundamental motive of starting all over again. It's not like a hurricane came and destroyed every material thing I loved and owned. I haven't lost anybody, I haven't completely ruined my chances. I haven't got anything I can start all over from. My identity, my self is a mask thats just been built up and up. Incapable of offending anyone, completely charming and sociable and quick witted, flirty, cool, calm and collected. I built her up because I just wanted to be left alone. I realised very early no man is an island, being a child and all. Being left alone meant being detached. But detached people and hermits are never actually left alone. I learnt that from all kinds of hollywoofd films. All the while I just lied to people, making them think I was doing all kinds of things - boring or overly extraordinary, but they were lies all the same. Then I finally understood than instead of avoiding things you have to get lost in them and fight your way out, leaving a bomb inside. Add a more than lethal dose of self hatred, paranoia and too much thinking time and you got me.

You see my title? There's no crack in my facade. Still after all this time, after all this pressure I'm fucking up, dying, rotting inside, behind the mask. But the mask just gets prettier, bigger. I could be going to Oxford next year - the first of my family, leaving everyone behind once again. It's a little tradition every time I have a fresh start. But thats not what I'm looking for because thats not who I want to be. A person who keeps shedding her skin to feel young and save herself from the past but ends up perfecting herself to death. Or something, I lost my train of thought.

But thats the reason for everything. Wanting to be independent, hating love, hating myself, telling lies, building a mask until the real me fell away and its all I have left: I was trying to feel real. Trying to find out what reality is because I can never find it. It's lost to me. I never had it.

********************************

You know whats one of my favourite childhood memories? Well, I can't remember it myself (like practically all my childhood. It's like another person. It's scary.) Dad told me that whenever I wanted McDonalds and he couldn't afford it (because Dad was on his own and we had no money), he'd make his own burger and put it in an old McDonalds box just to trick me. I love my Dad for that. He never wanted to disappoint his little girl, even when I didn't care. I dunno why I'm blogging, I just wanted to share stuff with you. I'm tiring of complaining. And even when the heating is off or I can't buy new clothes, because money (is always) tight, he's generous. I love him. And he doesn't know about my fuck ups. He just sees all my successes, every single one of them in a smiling, intelligently, appallingly un-ladylike 17 year old girl (and for the peeps who say thats the best year of your life - who are you kidding?!). He must think I'm perfect.

Time to get fixed. How? Any ideas people?

Successful F*ck Up

Today's the day. Right now I'm absolutely knackered. I've slept about twenty hours in the last four days because I just can't get to sleep and I've been on the bus for three hours to get my GCSE certificates. At half five I have to get off to Leicester square for an exhibition thing, with celebrities (apparently. I'm not holding my breath!) Unfortunately I'll be going alone, cos both of my friends have cancelled on me so my esteem is not exactly on a all-time high. I still have to go. Hey, maybe I'll meet someone there.

Ooh, news. I have a crush! There's this gorgeous black punk girl with dreads, a stripey scarf and drainpipe jeans who's on my bus every morning. She has a beautiful smile, hazel eyes. She's goes to my college but she walks too fast for me to catch up. Sounds ridiculous but she does. We've been making eyes at other but I don't know where I stand yet.

On Wednesday I was feeling so dangerously low I had to bunk off college. I felt as if no one wanted to talk to me but I had nowhere to go. I decided to for 6 stops and get off the bus. I ended up on this Green bit. There were lots of chestnut trees and Victorian period houses. Right by the busstop a black mercedes hearse was loading up a coffin, the family watching. They looked very somber, and there were SUVs everywhere. It was very old fashioned: they had the funeral man in a black tailcoat and a top hat walk down the road as the hearse rolls to the church, which was strange as there were on each corner here. I stood and nodded at them as the hearse rolled away. In my oatmeal coloured woolly mammoth hoody I found a church garden. I sat on the bench and promptly started crying. It was just a way to relieve the pressure: as simple as a peaceful, private place to cry. I felt as if I could sense of things again and build a real identity for myself (how the hell do you do THAT?)

Afterwards I walked onto the green, surrounded by buses and collected falling conkers from the chestnut trees. I love conkers. When you find a good one, they're really smooth and chocolate brown with wood grooves. Conkers always remind me of mum, I'm not sure why. Maybe because she loves nature and walks and that, but we've never collected conkers together, but when I collect conkers I feel closer to my mum, and I feel like a kid again. I also start collecting conkers when I feel sad and desperate and insomniac.

After that, things have been easier: I've finally got my certificates from high school, and I saw some of my friends who I haven't spoken to for over 18 months. I've been reading Murakami a lot, so thats always good. And today, entering the Oxbridge rat race, we were shown a previous History aptitude test (we have to do a special test. (Yay!) and it doesn't look too bad. Actually, it looks kinda fun! Its more about the nature of history and general questions about how important the individual is, or about revolutions. It'll be interesting to read up on all that. Apparently its designed to make you panic, but it's not that bad, really. But now I gotta go and get changed and tidy the house a little and be charming, and then write a bloody review and try to push it! I'm nuts!

But....its time for change. The person who I am is fake, its not me. I'm naturally happy. I'm restricted by my fakeness and it needs to go. I've been pretending for so long, I want to stop. So, its time to time start over again. I'm still Betty - I love the name and its too much hassle. But its time to stop noting down everything I do wrong and time to start Unfurling (taken from a brilliant ex-blog) and Be...

So, say hello to the Successful F*ck Up!

This Desirable Feeling

Ria is now home from hospital, and sounds weak on the phone, but she's going back to college tomorrow. I have this strange feeling in my body, like the bursting out of the skin from sheer boredom. I want something, hot, sweet and crunchy. Crispy duck pancake. That I want to fly to New York, live like a caffiene ridden writer and buy all of Gior's fashionhouse clothes. That sort of feeling.

Yesterday I had one my memorable journeys into London. The South-West train to Waterloo wasn't too incidental, though I laugh at loud reading my fourth Murakami book, The Great Sheep Chase. It's hil-ar-rious. You must surely buy it. Yeah, so when I got to the Northern Line section, I was just by the platform when a policeman came and started to evacuate the platform. Something about a "suspect package". I grabbed a peek and saw an arab man shouting and raving at a few policeman. I can't help it, I felt a little anxious, but then I also was annoyed because I was going to be late for a thing again. When I got out of King's Cross and waited at the bus stop, I could see the legs of this homeless guy protruding from a doorstop, which didn't twitch, and I started to worry if he was dead or something. He proved his liveliness by getting up, pulling down his trousers, and peeing right in front of me. Oh Lordy, all I could was turn around, it was so embarrassing. Then at the meeting of CE one of the adult members, Sharon was leaving to become a high school teacher, and refused to change her mind so we held a surprise party for her and gave her THREE bouquets of gorgeous flowers.

In the evening me and Dad went to our old neighbours for a dinner party. Sort of. They're a really sweet couple: Ed, who's Portuguese but not speaking to his mother at the moment, and Sophie who's French, but has lived in Pakistan, Egypt and somewhere else in Africa. She also makes the best lasagne in the world. It had mushrooms and olives which I usually hate, but they were absolutely perfect. Then we had cake and ice cream and I couldn't move. Did I mention that they have the cutest, most perfect baby in the world? Her name's Natasha, she's 4 and a half months old and she's so content, with this gorgeous smile, and she's almost big enough to actually walk in her walker. She loves to gurgle and her hair sticks up at the back, so Sophie calls her Tintin. She hardly ever cries, or has a tantrum and is really friendly. She's in love with my Dad, they have long conversations about transport (Natasha's dad is a bus driver.) But oh, would it shame me if I said I've never held a baby before? I get too nervous, in case I hold them wrong, or they start crying, or I drop them and ruin their lives before they get a chance! Natasha is all gorgeous, all the same. All in all a lovely evening.

Today was another idyllic Sunday. It should have been all bitter and cold, but from inside the car with warming on, its a perfect summer day. The sunshine rays were strong, the sky a booming blue. Two boys were setting up cricket stumps under an oak tree. It was that perfect. And now, here I am, wishing I was baby, or having lots of hot loving on my black leather sofa as Led Zepplin plays. This is my 187th post. How far have I come? How much have I changed? I shall deliberate.

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need

(Rolling Stones, You Can't Always Get What You Want)

Name Change Soon!

So strange, this watching the six o clock news, knowing that in six hours over in America there are normal people sitting in their shacks, or their houses, or their flats with their pets, with their loved ones, or on their own watching their old houses or stuck in the middle of the madness - waiting, just waiting. I hope everyone in in Texas and the people of Hurricane Rita will be ok.

It's been a terrible year for weather. We've had tsunamis in SE Asia, tornados in Birmingham, three Hurricanes in America and the WestIndies and floods and heatwaves just about everywhere else. A global problem that had been perpetuated globally and that we have to fix or my generation and my baby cousin's generation has little chance of survival, or plain happy times. My generation is already fated to live fast, die young. Maybe even a revolution. That'll be cool.

Good thing that we its so much easier now to reach out beyond walls and touch someone in New Zealand. I love it. Ok, ok, my life has been boring. My supposed journalist mentor has dropped out but I can still go on to get an internship at Sky which has a base in Isleworth. Ha! How random. So yes, boring life. And...I will changing my diary name to Successful F*ck Up at around 28th of September. Time for a change, long gone.

To stop myself feeling guilty for not cooking all week I decided to make chicken and home made chips for my Dad and bro. It soon became beefburger and chicken steaks with year-old frozen curry because it turned out there was hardly any food in the house! Then the grill exploded again and my brother took it upon himself to watch me cook and note down everything I did wrong. Grr. But now its all fixed and I'm stuffed, but I don't like being watched doing exercise and I'm sore all over. It's been a fat week. On Weds, at double history we had cake and tea day and I had three slices of homemade american style cheesecake and chocolate brownies. I've only had breakfast once this week too. I'm going to be so fat!

Also, I offer my best mate soulmate, Ria, proverbial grapes as she's in hospital at the mo, the poor thing. Get Well Soon!

Sunday

Don't you just love them?

I am now watching another Sunday movie, in this case, Legally Blonde. Everytime I watch that film I always end up feeling good about myself. She's a clever bimbo who will succeed but will also refuse to change in to fit in.

Yesterday I went on a study skills day with this asian lady. It didn't start off well. For one thing I was slightly hungover (as I am more often than not these days :S ) and twenty minutes before I was due to leave the house Dad went all draconian on me and we had a big fight, made me cry because I've been feeling bad lately, but I didn't give him the satisfaction, but I still got into the day half an hour late. It was really boring and wouldn't stop talking about her traumatic life: her alcoholic abusive Dad killed himself when she was 18, had a child when she was 21 when her manic-depressive mum died and then got divorced. But then become some sort of life coach to the stars, that sort of story. Even so, really boring. All I got was depressed. And she was telling us to be motivated etc, which was to stupid to us GG students. As a whole we're bloody clever, moreishly motivated high achieving, wide thinking perfectionists. And to be told to stop being lazy was self-defeating really and told us nothing new in general. Whats not helping me study is current mental state for the last five years, my inconsiderate family and not having a desk to study on. My persistent bad luck ain't helping either - since I moved I've hardly recieved any letters so getting library cards is my worst nightmare right now. And I really want to study China. I've only read a couple of books but Mao is so interesting. But I'm still not well versed on the actual story. Never mind.

Today I've had a perfect sunday. I woke up at half 11, listened to Oasis and Aretha and Led Zepplin, then had a healthy breakfast, and made my way to town where Tesco ruled supreme to get my Observer Music Monthly where I chatted to the person serving, and I realised that just doesn't happen in Wembley. I also got a kingsize Galaxy, got the bus really quickly and I've reading the same magazine all afternoon. It was great. Dad was polishing his car, Norah Jones' voice doodled lazily in the background, and I was with my magazine, without any homework. It was the like the American Dream.

And it carried on that way, with me and Dad making dinner. We do that sometimes when we're getting on and we've had a good Sunday. I spiced up the turkey (it's my job; I know which spices work) then I cooked it covered in foil for a while, then cooked it blind for half an hour with two lashings of honey of top on the spicy mix. It was crunchy. It was beautiful. I still couldn't help but feel the 50's style denial riding through dinner. But it might have been because I just had an extra large whisky/coke. I really gotta stop drinking. But then I watched Legally Blonde. I'm still not feeling much but I got laughing last night. Since Patty br4oke up with Ria I've been taking care of her like a best friend should. But of course I've been falling and not being very articulate about it. My natural instinct to put on a front for almost any situation leads to miscommunication, rendering counselling pointless.

I have suicidal, real suicidal days once in a while. Have you ever had them? They cripple you. You know that with the perfect opportunity you'll die with a sense of ease in your heart. And yet for some reason, even when you have lost all the will to live like I did, you just refuse to sink down to the razor. But then bouncing back is uncomfortable, difficult. I should make a manual for this kind of thing.

Well....

• Baths are brilliant. Or showers. As long as they're hot and wet and you use sunflower shower gel (maybe thats just me)
• If you're a normal woman who just can't be arsed normally, paint your nails. Bright beautiful colours on your person draws back out that vitality in you like salt.
• Dance! I cannot press this enough. When I feel the movement is for cutting, I try to press for happy movement songs (Libertines, Aretha, Baz Luhrmann, Texas) or singing to sigh away your horrid feelings.
• Make your room tidy. This leaves space for you to sit on the floor. If I have a really intense crying session, and end up sliding to the floor, I stay there for hours. And I manage to think some things through and from the bottom I'm just able to get up again.
• DO NOT DRINK. You won't get anywhere. It's only good fo if your girl/boyfriend dumped you, and only after midday.
• Read through friends' appraisals, like 10 things I love about you. Ria did one for me, and whenever I read I feel so loved I just stop feeling down.

I feel really intoxicated right now. I really wanted to continue my stuff and now it'll go away. Why do I drink? I'm in this state of mind where I don't care and I don't feel the urgency to overachieve. I'm sadder but calmer. It makes me feel as if my problems don't mean anything. Most nights, when I'm drinking because I need to drink not because I'm depressed, it helps me sleep without another three + scars on my arm.

So as you can see, bouncing back is hard with so many unsavoury vices. But it is possible with hearts you never knew could exalt so far. I know now that I have to take control of the vices/demons. But I don't know how. I really don't know how. Oh, and I've just seen two army helicopters touch ground, but I am right by an army base. I'm not used to it yet so I think its the coolest thing! Makes you wonder what they've been up to, since its like 11:30 pm over here right now. In fact one's even taking off...now. Who are they spying on???

Oh, I heard a clock ticking by the bus stop. It was really loud and the sound wouldn't leave my mind. Its my first auitory hallucination for ages. There's nothing I can do about it, so it doesn't blip in any way shape or form. And...I still can't feel anything, but thats what cutting is for, so I'm holding out for a miracle before I have to start again. Also to get away from as far as my suicidal feelings as possible.

Passion-less

I've seem to have lost the will to live.

I do not feel any more love for life, and neither does She.

I think I'm nearing the end. There's a panic in my heart that feels like I'm finally getting close to my ending. I'm so sad. On the phone I can't say a thing, to your face they'll be a big fat smile and all alone, disconnected on the Net I will cry and cry and have people ignore me because I'm worthless that way.

I have nothing to do. Idleness leads to thinking.Thinking leads to sorrow. This is usually where the love for life kicks in. The beauty of Autumn, five hour phone conservations. Cuddling. Mum's homemade flapjacks of which I haven't had for 11 years. I don't just seem to feel anything anymore. There's nothing there. And I'm a failure for this.

So, without my Will I play pinball on my laptop for hours, and continue collecting paracetemol. I buy new tools. For once, I am completely sober. Music doesn't move me as it once did. Why wash? I'll only have to do it again sooner or later.

Loneliness leads to despair. Despair, unheeded and unadulterated, leads to loss. I am a lost cause. To tell you the truth, it doesn't help that it's like 5 degrees Centigrade and there's no heating in the house. I'm typing to keep my fingers warm. My toes are a lost cause. I feel very poor and feel guilty for being the unemployed bum I am. Now I'm just being self-indulgent. But I don't feel anything. I'm just crying, and I have neither the strength or the Will to try to gain the botherness to stop them.

Empty shell. Is that dust?

The Stars Are Never that Pretty

I'm watching a Beautiful Mind. You know, Schizophrenia, genius. I couldn't help myself. There's this bit where Russell Crowe is seducing with his "inzane" math skills and he draws an umbrella in the stars. But the stars he had at his disposal were from 300 years ago. Stars of a bygone era...

When I'm looking into the sky and at the dust, sometimes I'm looking into way back. Into crinolines and Suffragettes and jousting and old, old blood. Most of the time they're just the pretty bright squares of light they've always been, and sometimes I think I've been too naive and they're in fact atoms that are coming to take me away. I feel so many tingles on my body - on my arms, mainly, like I've just drunk a really beautiful glass of wine. I wish they would just go away! I end up scratching all over myself like a nutter, but maybe its just because I'm a cutter. I have been drinking a little, and I can't write fiction stuff well when I'm inebriated. The tingling won't stop. I think I want to cut tonight. It's only been two weeks, less probably but it feels like forever is laughing at me. I'll probably never get better, there's no point fighting the cutting anymore. And since my eating problems pretty much intwined with the cutting, there's no point attacking that either. But I've got lots of other stuff to do. No time for a gap year - yet. No time to really help myself - yet. To teel you the truth, that reality I've lost my grip on. If I do have schizophrenia (and even if I don't have schizophrenia, I know I'm some kind of crazy.) then its not this archetypal strange beings I can see. I hear everything. I see wisps of things. Black shapes, I mean. Falling things. Once, I almost got sucked into a hole in the sky. This can run and run, what's my point?

I guess, I'm saying I'm not normal even in the most un-normal of things, and therefore nothing in inexplicable to me. I guess this can make me kinda gullible. It makes me sound philosophical too. All there is left now is to get a little more drunk.

Ahh, argh! First day at college.

I was too complacent. After all, my first lesson was at 11am and I was of course much nearer now. Already I'm back to my bad eating ways. Case in point: I had grapes for breakfast. I just couldn't be bothered to grab a bowl, let alone pour things and use a spoon. Preposterous. So yeah, I left the house and I knew I was already before I missed the two buses and burst into my English class, 20 minutes late and sweaty.

It turned out that I was the only person in my class to get the Golden "A", so that perked me up. We got straight into our lessons, but it should a hoot because it's all to do with writing skills. If I don't get an A in that, I'll eat myself. Somehow, I'll figure it out. But we got homework in our first lesson and face it, thats just really unfair. Then again, its a fair revenge. Some of them have forgotten how to write. They just look at their pens and put on this confused face and I think "WHY WHY WHY are these my fellow English students?"

So then, I played gooseberry with my friend Clare and Ickarus (the beautiful couple) - it was ok, I shared her cheese baguette and had a substandard cornetto. History was a drag. Turns out I'm supposed to be reading boring old farts about the Chinese Cultural revolution - does anyone know anything! about it? I'd really appreciate it.

Today was my poetry workshop and it was pretty cool. I got compared to John Donne and now I have to read him to instill his "elegant diction" or something. Now Ria is on my bed, lying on her back and moaning. Not in the good way though! She's a big moaner, but only because she's in a lot of pain. She just had a hole in her shin, poor thing. I'll write more in the morning.

These Things DO Come in Threes

It's the last day before college, A2s, and a lot of bloody hard work. Before I drift off into my last night of happy oblivion (hell, when I have had that before?), I want to tell you about my day. It was more or less a happy day.

Firstly, I was getting better at beating my anxiety. As you may know, sometimes I have problems with re-connecting, or just joining the outside world. I would just get a tightness in my chest and the twisting in my gut and I knew I'd be a complete wreck so I just stayed in my room. I also couldn't sleep and it was only making my anxiousness worse. But I had a good friend talk to me, and help me in his own, simpl way that helped me make sense of my flailing mind. I stuck my head outside the window and sniffed the cold air, then I wrote about it to him. And I could feeling the pulling melting away. I didn't feel like I would be lost anytime soon with someone talking some sense and some kindness into me. Even better, he shared with me our safe place. It's one secret I'm not telling anyone. Why? Cos it actually works, its actually safe - dodging past the mine of my mainly impenetreble cynicsm.

So, after I got a good night's sleep, I felt so much ... better. I can't explain it. I could move, I could dance, I could write, I could not give a fuck and not have the sky fall on me. So I started watering the plants. I love doing this in the morning after breakfast because a) You get to drown lots of spiders b) You appreciate the better-than-technicolour science of light - watching giant white droplets of water against the light and making your own rainbow c) The plants seemed happy, healthy. They went a deeper green you tend to only see at nighttime. d) It's water and I love water, being a waterbaby. It's a - thats how I was born sort of thing.

So yeah, and then I'd watch tennis, or the ASHES (W00T!) - I am into cricket. Always was. Its the Geek Chic game. I know what a maiden is (an over - which is 6 balls - that don't hit a wicket; getting the batter out)

And then, whatever else was supposed to happen. Yesterday I went to a black tie reception which I can't tell you much about because it would give me away (not that I'm famous). And today, I had a Good Day.

A Good Day, by which I was never bored, I was moving all day, I got two letters, I was cooking and the phone kept ringing.

The first good news I got was that my seminar on Study Skills was being pushed to next week, meaning I could go to my poetry workshop, finally get my work scrutinised by a real poet and also get to see Ria who I haven't seen for nearly a month, in one fell swoop. Then, I got a call telling me my application for a journalist mentorship was successful! It means I get to work with a lovely Observer journalist for a whole year who will help me with my writing and help me get published, and just to have someone for support (journalism and career related) for the next year, so thats going to be really special. I had already written it off. Dad was always telling me I was serious enough about my journalism because I've only had like 4 publications and I'm 17, but this will shut him and maybe even I'll get into the Observer (music monthly).

The third good news was that I got invited to this exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery. I'm going to call them tomorrow and beg for a second one so I can bring my friend along. Her mum won't allow her to sleep over, so it'll be pretty cool. And I also got my cycling map from tfl.gov.uk and it's decent. Despite my absolutely appalling absymbal take on British geography, I just can't feel lost with this map. And I chatted to Nik and Ria and Charlotte, and hell, all is well. I'm going to hold to this bright point of sanity for as long as I can.

We've all been spoiled...because we're not paying enough DAMN attention!

New Orleans, a beautiful city, left to waste.

People left to die in the world's richest nation.

People dying of hunger next to the world's fattest country. (Texas)

The public, restrained by TV-surfing and that solid expectation that everything will always be alright.

People stealing fridges when they got no home! A Shoot to Kill Policy! Has everyone - everyone! lost their minds?

And then Iraq. It still strikes me numb that the mere mention of a suicide bomber can leave 700 people dead - more than they ever kill usually. They must have died laughing. They must have found it uplifting and hilarious, having that sort of power.

I've got loads more to say, but I want to introduce you to someone first - one of my favourite fanfic writers (and best),and and an army officer, giving a thorough piece of her mind. She wants this spread, and I want to help her. I am 17 after all, in London with no job and no chance of really saving lives. But I can help with some justice, if you'll help me.

Michelle, the army lady, sums up the whole situation - the world's situation, but mainly America right now: If you're not pissed off, you're not paying attention. Okay, so she chock-full of emotion but I want to show just the depth of anger here.

Well said.

Re-Enrollment

Today had turned out better than I expected. It was just supposed to be a re-enrollment at college and later on a "celebration dinner" with my LGB (lesbian, gay, bisexual) group. It was a hot sticky day and the bus was twenty minutes late yet I still managed to get there on time. As I was waiting (with my current book, Middlesex by Eugenides - for serious readers only) a guy passed me on his bicycle with a fully grown, live python worn round his neck. I think it touched me! All I could do was stare at him open-mouthed as he cruised past me down the road.

Anyway, re-enrollment was long, and I felt guiltily good about my results as students in front and behind me were talking about their E's while I had my 3 A's and my B. Re enrolling is basically re-confirming your place in college and finally registering what you're going to do - all very important when these will be your big subjects! Everything ended up going easily, I saw some of my brother's friends from his job which was random and I also recieved some good news. I'm going to do four full A levels, which I've heard is kinda like torture, but I can't bring myself to drop Classical Civilisation as it's going to be really interesting this year. The enrolling dude told me that if I wanted to I wouldn't have to work too hard. I could come to the class and follow-through, or something. Just to basically listen in. As long as my three A's in History, Politics and English I could get a U and wouldn't do anything to my Uni chances. I wasn't expecting it at all so I love it! I've always wanted to just sit in a class I enjoy without all that pressure.

Anyway, I bumped into my friend Andrew, who despite I still barely know has been one of my oldest steady friends. He's just spent this amazing summer working in Nice with this guy who paid for his dance lessons, riding jet skis to serve the rich, sharing a villa for 77 Euros a week. He said he would do it like a year ago and he actually did it, just raising my spirits like that, and he's dong Twilight photography this year. Sounds daunting but he's already done the work and he's going to ace it easily. He was so sad last year and now he's getting this beautiful new start.

I felt like re-starting too. Me and the LGB group went to Pizza Express and just socialised. I was talking to Girl Who Reminds Me of Ex and I felt I could easily just lean in and kiss her. Especially with chocolate in her mouth (we shared a chocolate sundae), but this is a very lesbian thing - you end up fancying all of your friends, but they don't fancy you that much. Or maybe thats me. Anyway, I felt I got something back all through the evening, and as we all parted and I kissed her - aimed for her cheeks but she got all surprised and I got her lips. Reminds me just having someone I can just kiss and not feel guilty about. But nothing's going to happen. She's just turned 15 and she has a girlfriend, and is in the closet and I don't want to go through that again, really.

Also, this guy there started talking about how innocent I looked. I couldn't protest much: I was wearing my dreamy turquoise top, with black lace "gloves" (there's just tights I just cut holes in - honestly! Next time I'll say I got them from Camden for a fiver) and my favourite skirt of all time: my yellow, airy long gypsy skirt with flowers and green stripes and I haven't seen anyone else wear it either, so it feels like mine mine mine. I don't think I'm innocent at all. He said there was something of the Religious in me (dear god!), but've had that said about me, that I'm strangely calming, that something sort of...oh, spiritual comes out of me, but I don't experience that at all! I wish I could, cos I could really do with it. Hell, I got him to call me Miss Jesus so the day hasn't gone to waste, hehe.

Afterwards, I pledged to see Matt again on Friday, I've got a picnic tomorrow, then a family thing on Saturday and I'm finally seeing Charlie and the Chocolate factory on Monday. College starts Friday. Oh, and I told one of my college friends about my cutting problem. She then promptly told me that she just couldn't see it in me and is going to do some spells for me to relieve depression. I am truly touched.

So, less pressure (so far), extra socialising (when I went to college I hadn't even gone out with my friends for three months. I just couldn't do it.), supportive friends (at last) and no matter how things will go, I'm destined for university somehow (I'm dying to start up my own business - you know that!). I really feel I can move on, maybe even change a little. Just to prepare myself for a new start next year, perhaps.