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