NOW....
Does anyone remember: Seems like everyone has got a plan,
Its kinda like Nashville, with a tan
Shawn Mullins, Lullaby
Memories...that haunted me a little. I wish I was happier...I called Ria cos things aren't feeling 'right'. I can't explain it. It's like the world has thrown itself into a disco and no one has noticed, like a friend who's anorexic and crying out for help but no one can see her, literally. Something's not right. This, my friends is where mental illness kicks in. I'm getting very very paranoid. Jumpy, like a spider. I itch everywhere. Nowhere is sacred. I keep thinking people are attacking me. I believe that the people at my college hate me, so I keep meeting new people and hanging with them instead. I keep losing my mind to drink, but I haven't cut yet...I've been really trembly and weak, as if I'm recovering from flu - can't switch on things, I'm forgetting combinations to doors that I've known for almost a year, I'm forgetting all of the processes that make up a basic week, due to my new weaknesses. In short, I'm failing to do some of my basic actions. I am not functioning. But I feel too weak to cut, if you understand me. I'm aware of the pain. Smashing plates seems like a good plan at the moment.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Protection
Um, I built myself up, fell apart, calmed down. Now I'm a bit stressed again. It all started with the Staunton Lick, probably the happiest thing I've heard all week. It's one of those summer- guitars-and-you're-messing-about-on-the-beach-and-you've-found-the-love-of-your-life sort of summer jangly guitars. Perfect advert music....
At bed, I was watching these documentary: Sex: the Annabel Chong story. And the bitch was cutting herself on the camera. I swear to god it was one of the most triggering things I've ever seen, because for one thing, before that bit on the film I had never seen any marks on her skin, also she telling the camera her reasons and it sounded like any other cutter including myself, but she was doing this on camera. Ultimately horrifying...and I couldn't sleep, and I felt the itch "just a little cut..." I realised that I hadn't for like a week, which is the longest I've gone without for a while cos everything has been so shitty, and called the Samaritans. They're the best sleeping pill you can ask for...cos not only do you talk out your issues with no real conviction, and they provide their own practical viewpointm they have these gorgeous husky voices that lull you to sleep so easily. I think they get trained to do the voice during their training process. Did you know they visited prisons? Thats what Pete told me on the line. I changed my name to Annabel, and I talked myself out till 2:18 am and hung up, and fell asleep. I slept for 6 glorious hours, and when I woke at 8 this morning I felt a lot calmer, and more sure within myself that although I'm in a shitty place where the help I'm recieving does nothing, there's stuff to do and a life to live. And then I put on fucking Protection by Massive Attack, crying crying. Then I put on Ray of Light by Madonna, and I'm a lot better now...jesus the amount of times her music saved my butt, hehe.
Politics was cancelled, so I'm getting ready to go college at 11 am rather than 9. It's a good way to start the week, and I'm anxious to end it so I can see Alice on Saturday-we've got lots to hug about now that we're friends again.
At bed, I was watching these documentary: Sex: the Annabel Chong story. And the bitch was cutting herself on the camera. I swear to god it was one of the most triggering things I've ever seen, because for one thing, before that bit on the film I had never seen any marks on her skin, also she telling the camera her reasons and it sounded like any other cutter including myself, but she was doing this on camera. Ultimately horrifying...and I couldn't sleep, and I felt the itch "just a little cut..." I realised that I hadn't for like a week, which is the longest I've gone without for a while cos everything has been so shitty, and called the Samaritans. They're the best sleeping pill you can ask for...cos not only do you talk out your issues with no real conviction, and they provide their own practical viewpointm they have these gorgeous husky voices that lull you to sleep so easily. I think they get trained to do the voice during their training process. Did you know they visited prisons? Thats what Pete told me on the line. I changed my name to Annabel, and I talked myself out till 2:18 am and hung up, and fell asleep. I slept for 6 glorious hours, and when I woke at 8 this morning I felt a lot calmer, and more sure within myself that although I'm in a shitty place where the help I'm recieving does nothing, there's stuff to do and a life to live. And then I put on fucking Protection by Massive Attack, crying crying. Then I put on Ray of Light by Madonna, and I'm a lot better now...jesus the amount of times her music saved my butt, hehe.
Politics was cancelled, so I'm getting ready to go college at 11 am rather than 9. It's a good way to start the week, and I'm anxious to end it so I can see Alice on Saturday-we've got lots to hug about now that we're friends again.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Freewriting
I thought I'd make it easy on myself, and I wrote the whole blog piece on the piccadilly line - I've got a steady hand...lol. I'm feeling ok! I might get flashes of erm, bad things, ahem, but they're push-away-able for now.
Before the day is lost to meaning, I shall state it quite simply: everything went according to plan.
Woke up early, got dressed, looked OK! The RYL site wasn;t connecting but I had printed out the directions anyway. Before I went off to Old Street, i had two hours at Oxfam which went by pretty quickly. My partner Carole had found some diamonds - diamonds! in the mud. She's a hit and run victim so she walks funny and has to watch the ground all the time, so she found the diamonds. They're dazzling, but I told her to drop them in water to see if they float or not. Hopefully, they'll be worth thousands cos she deserves it. The two hours went busily but quietly, selling watches, speakers, vinyl, vintage Donald Duck comic books and knocked the window presentation in the process. It took all my beginner yoga whiles to put everything back. I also found an album by this band called Tenderfoot who I heard on Xfm like three years ago when I met Nik and I'd been pining for them since, so of course I reserved them, it had to be done. Even better news is that I'm finally seeing Alice next week!! You have no idea how much I miss her. It's like butterflies are having a food fight in your stomach. I miss her so much it pains.
Now, getting to Old Street was tricky. From Ealing Broadway to Ealing Common on the district line, then the piccadilly to Kings Cross, and the northern line to Old Street. 8 bloody exits! But I got there ok. It was quite scary really, at that point. Strange, with the massive beautiful eye hospital, the famous gherkin in the background. It was as if the London Eye and the Tate Modern building was plopped next to the Chicken House on Ealing Road. The eye hospital dominated and all of the laundrettes and cornershops just trailed behind. I think thats what made the air fresher, the streets cleaner. Sky so blue Bob Marley must miss it. The architecture there was gorgeous, though, and I found it eventually, but I was five minutes early, so I sat on the cement stoop, waiting. After all, I was in a strange place, waiting for strange people to talk about strange, taboo things. Those were five arduous, doubtful, lonely, disturbing minutes, and everyone came. We went into the building and I had hot chocolate, two sugars, a piss and I loved the office. It was the kind of place you could live in.
So we began to talk and I had too much pizza (I felt aware of my unsuitably baggy jeans.) We talked about ideas for the programme - crazy excuses for scars which included squirrel fighting and bread armbands in the proximity of seagulls. It was hilarious, and just crazy. And we talked about cycles of calmness and cutting, what healing scars feel like, 'triggering' things - which is anything, even the Tweenies if you hate it enough. Is it a sad world where people find the Tweenies so hateful they are triggered into cutting?
Psychiatrists, ideas for mini clips - reconstructions of RYL meets, 'seagulls and squirrels', doing It. We watched bits of Harley's interview and we howled with real laughter, laughing with honesty. Knowing that we all hurt/used to hurt ourselves, that we hate ourselves, made us all very nervous. But it was funny to be able to laugh about it. It was nice to be surrounded by long sleeves. I loved it. We also talked about parents and friends and 'coming out' on National television which I just can't do - it's just not fair on my family. We talked about Harley lots, and the old ruinyourlife of which I know nothing...
Nicola (the director) is 31, prefers intimate filmmaking and is shy, quiet and friendly. There were these two other 15 year old girls, one of whom had the one of the nicest smiles I had ever seen. She reminded me of Ella from CE and I wanted...I wanted...to keep talking. Cos Ella is so cool and so quintessentially Ella, and I wanted to keep laughing and sharing pizza all day. One guy was there. He studies politics at LSE - london school of economics (!!) and he's a treasurer for his constituency in the labour party. There was this lass called Irene who was just confident and sassy, I hope I recover to be like her. I think what got us all was talk about attention cutters, because you can never really tell. Are they just punks who inherit all the sterotypes to be all 'alternative' or are they crying out for help? It's such a thin line, and we all started tugging on our scars and scratching our arms/thighs. I left at five and I've been home for a bit now...
A Good Day. Best laid plans held firm, and there's a true smile mastered on my face.
Before the day is lost to meaning, I shall state it quite simply: everything went according to plan.
Woke up early, got dressed, looked OK! The RYL site wasn;t connecting but I had printed out the directions anyway. Before I went off to Old Street, i had two hours at Oxfam which went by pretty quickly. My partner Carole had found some diamonds - diamonds! in the mud. She's a hit and run victim so she walks funny and has to watch the ground all the time, so she found the diamonds. They're dazzling, but I told her to drop them in water to see if they float or not. Hopefully, they'll be worth thousands cos she deserves it. The two hours went busily but quietly, selling watches, speakers, vinyl, vintage Donald Duck comic books and knocked the window presentation in the process. It took all my beginner yoga whiles to put everything back. I also found an album by this band called Tenderfoot who I heard on Xfm like three years ago when I met Nik and I'd been pining for them since, so of course I reserved them, it had to be done. Even better news is that I'm finally seeing Alice next week!! You have no idea how much I miss her. It's like butterflies are having a food fight in your stomach. I miss her so much it pains.
Now, getting to Old Street was tricky. From Ealing Broadway to Ealing Common on the district line, then the piccadilly to Kings Cross, and the northern line to Old Street. 8 bloody exits! But I got there ok. It was quite scary really, at that point. Strange, with the massive beautiful eye hospital, the famous gherkin in the background. It was as if the London Eye and the Tate Modern building was plopped next to the Chicken House on Ealing Road. The eye hospital dominated and all of the laundrettes and cornershops just trailed behind. I think thats what made the air fresher, the streets cleaner. Sky so blue Bob Marley must miss it. The architecture there was gorgeous, though, and I found it eventually, but I was five minutes early, so I sat on the cement stoop, waiting. After all, I was in a strange place, waiting for strange people to talk about strange, taboo things. Those were five arduous, doubtful, lonely, disturbing minutes, and everyone came. We went into the building and I had hot chocolate, two sugars, a piss and I loved the office. It was the kind of place you could live in.
So we began to talk and I had too much pizza (I felt aware of my unsuitably baggy jeans.) We talked about ideas for the programme - crazy excuses for scars which included squirrel fighting and bread armbands in the proximity of seagulls. It was hilarious, and just crazy. And we talked about cycles of calmness and cutting, what healing scars feel like, 'triggering' things - which is anything, even the Tweenies if you hate it enough. Is it a sad world where people find the Tweenies so hateful they are triggered into cutting?
Psychiatrists, ideas for mini clips - reconstructions of RYL meets, 'seagulls and squirrels', doing It. We watched bits of Harley's interview and we howled with real laughter, laughing with honesty. Knowing that we all hurt/used to hurt ourselves, that we hate ourselves, made us all very nervous. But it was funny to be able to laugh about it. It was nice to be surrounded by long sleeves. I loved it. We also talked about parents and friends and 'coming out' on National television which I just can't do - it's just not fair on my family. We talked about Harley lots, and the old ruinyourlife of which I know nothing...
Nicola (the director) is 31, prefers intimate filmmaking and is shy, quiet and friendly. There were these two other 15 year old girls, one of whom had the one of the nicest smiles I had ever seen. She reminded me of Ella from CE and I wanted...I wanted...to keep talking. Cos Ella is so cool and so quintessentially Ella, and I wanted to keep laughing and sharing pizza all day. One guy was there. He studies politics at LSE - london school of economics (!!) and he's a treasurer for his constituency in the labour party. There was this lass called Irene who was just confident and sassy, I hope I recover to be like her. I think what got us all was talk about attention cutters, because you can never really tell. Are they just punks who inherit all the sterotypes to be all 'alternative' or are they crying out for help? It's such a thin line, and we all started tugging on our scars and scratching our arms/thighs. I left at five and I've been home for a bit now...
A Good Day. Best laid plans held firm, and there's a true smile mastered on my face.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
The Languid Language
I really should be working, lol. Ah, fuck it.Today was a preparation of sorts. I've got an essay for wednesday, a doctor's appointment to make preparation for moving. Right now I'm reading slash. I think that is what was missing from my life. It's better than poetry.
I actually started to read slash when I started cutting last february. It kept me distracted, finding this new universe and all, this new brand of writing that entertained and moved me while my mind was falling apart, piece by piece.
The doctor's appointment is about the fact that I haven't had a period since December. I'm surprised, or shocked, or scared. I'm used to never having periods, and never having a decent from them. And there's been the whole massive stress thing - with AS levels kicking in, being betrayed, being dumped, being misunderstood, depressed and terribly lonely. I probably won't get another period for the rest of my life, the way this year is going! Thats all for now, this is a modified post which no one is going to read. Onwards, upwards.
I actually started to read slash when I started cutting last february. It kept me distracted, finding this new universe and all, this new brand of writing that entertained and moved me while my mind was falling apart, piece by piece.
The doctor's appointment is about the fact that I haven't had a period since December. I'm surprised, or shocked, or scared. I'm used to never having periods, and never having a decent from them. And there's been the whole massive stress thing - with AS levels kicking in, being betrayed, being dumped, being misunderstood, depressed and terribly lonely. I probably won't get another period for the rest of my life, the way this year is going! Thats all for now, this is a modified post which no one is going to read. Onwards, upwards.
I was going to post -
I swear. Politics homework - I've just written the amount you write for your coursework not a bloody piece of homework (2000 words), so I don't have time to talk about moving house, my favourite house or put up a micro story I've just written, but I will tell everyone to listen to Coldplay's Trouble. Someone on Celebrity Fame Academy was demolishing it and I had to save it from my minds eye. It's beautiful. Uplifting too, depending on how you look at it.
Maybe next time.
Maybe next time.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Get out
This is a quickie. Um, why did I come here?
I came to tell that I've decided something - I can start crossing off the list. I'm not going to have any counselling at all. It's not working because my heart isn't open, and my heart isn't in it. I know, and have known right from the beginning, that to get better, I need to tell my Dad. But I'm simply not ready. Nowhere near it. So I don't want people telling me that the truth will set me free. The truth can orchestrate your cages. Truth bleeds, retreats, and turns your pages.
I'm on my own, for now. I don't know how I will end up, but I know I'm falling. It's just all in slow motion. I'm a snowflake, watching the snow around me, and I'm waiting to hit the ground. For I know myself, and I'll do it when I'm ready, and I refuse to otherwise.
Until then, I will write, and aspire. I will perspire and cut and do whatever it takes to work through my stubborness, insolent fears. I will look after my friends, and gain a social life. I will never stop talking. I will to try laugh of my own accord and trust people without losing my sword - I'm very defensive these days, you know. I will try.
So how's it hanging?
I came to tell that I've decided something - I can start crossing off the list. I'm not going to have any counselling at all. It's not working because my heart isn't open, and my heart isn't in it. I know, and have known right from the beginning, that to get better, I need to tell my Dad. But I'm simply not ready. Nowhere near it. So I don't want people telling me that the truth will set me free. The truth can orchestrate your cages. Truth bleeds, retreats, and turns your pages.
I'm on my own, for now. I don't know how I will end up, but I know I'm falling. It's just all in slow motion. I'm a snowflake, watching the snow around me, and I'm waiting to hit the ground. For I know myself, and I'll do it when I'm ready, and I refuse to otherwise.
Until then, I will write, and aspire. I will perspire and cut and do whatever it takes to work through my stubborness, insolent fears. I will look after my friends, and gain a social life. I will never stop talking. I will to try laugh of my own accord and trust people without losing my sword - I'm very defensive these days, you know. I will try.
So how's it hanging?
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Writing to Reach You
What's been going on? People keep asking me that, and peering at me closely, as if I've upped and left to Uraguay a few weeks and I'm trying to act as if everything is normal. Well, firstly, I've dropped my counselling sessions. It wasn't going anywhere, but I was thinking of the best metaphors - depression debt, which links to my Salesmen and other ones. But metaphor is good for guile: what did I care? How was she helping? I felt I was just reporting things. It didn't feel as if I was actually getting anywhere. So...I'm on my own. I'm a bit down right now cos I've had a good day and I can't feel my fingers, and I'm really tired. It's been one of those get up and go days, but its also been a day of discovery, and not really learning much at all.
Today was the conference in the University of London on the Iliad. I wanted to go and get away from college life, which is increasingly lonely (so many acquaintances and nope, no real friends.). And as the day approached I was more and more grateful. I hadn't had a proper breakfast this week - I haven't been going to bed early enough and sleeping in instead. And I was up till midnight working on my classics and up at five to carry it on. I then handed in both things on Tuesday afternoon, writing a total of 6,000 words. I needed today. Things started off well. I fell asleep watching TV and I was late looking for my Haruki Murakami (Norwegian Wood) - amazon link. So, without lunch, sanity or organisation I stumbled into the station's snadwich sop. And was amazed. You could get a bacon sandwich - brown sauce and all - for £1.40 - a world away from £2.10 for an egg mayonaise sandwich. So I ordered a crispy bacon/cheese/tomato ketchup sandwich for £1.90, much to the cute lady's reply.
I went to Senator's house, near Russel Square (opposite the backend of British Museum), a little late but I didn't miss much. We started with this lecturer from Durham Uni and she was really cool - all pronounciated (clear/concise - I'm sure pro... is a word)...I was there to be with acquaintance who were so close to being friends, but they don't even know I'm gay - they talk about Johnny Depp and Jude Law all the time. And I've got a crush on Nana, the gorgeous size 14 Tim Wheeler lover. And we all went out shopping afterwards. I really liked it, forsaking non-urgent Childrens Express duties and hanging with Nana, Amy and Adela. Things felt worthwhile, but I still felt down. Right now, I feel really shit, because I've just had an exhausting week, my brother has had his usual 18 hour week of lectures, and then calls me lazy for not taking the bins out. I am ready to cry. I'd rather drink, or binge, or throw up (I've being doing the last two this week. When do people become bulumic?). But being chronically unhappy, I just have to, you know, stiff upper lip and all that bullshit. Cut. I'll smile in the morning.
Oh, I'm crying. I'm just so tired - the coursework, and there's my english coming up, and that has to be really strong because I know my classics was shit and I need to make it up. I need to get my A's. I have to do my politics for Monday. I need to be perfect dammit! The college, the universe, asks for nothing less. I need a drink.
Whats the problem?
As in Stereophonic's brilliant new single, Dakota: "Thinking is due."
Things to decide:
Today was the conference in the University of London on the Iliad. I wanted to go and get away from college life, which is increasingly lonely (so many acquaintances and nope, no real friends.). And as the day approached I was more and more grateful. I hadn't had a proper breakfast this week - I haven't been going to bed early enough and sleeping in instead. And I was up till midnight working on my classics and up at five to carry it on. I then handed in both things on Tuesday afternoon, writing a total of 6,000 words. I needed today. Things started off well. I fell asleep watching TV and I was late looking for my Haruki Murakami (Norwegian Wood) - amazon link. So, without lunch, sanity or organisation I stumbled into the station's snadwich sop. And was amazed. You could get a bacon sandwich - brown sauce and all - for £1.40 - a world away from £2.10 for an egg mayonaise sandwich. So I ordered a crispy bacon/cheese/tomato ketchup sandwich for £1.90, much to the cute lady's reply.
I went to Senator's house, near Russel Square (opposite the backend of British Museum), a little late but I didn't miss much. We started with this lecturer from Durham Uni and she was really cool - all pronounciated (clear/concise - I'm sure pro... is a word)...I was there to be with acquaintance who were so close to being friends, but they don't even know I'm gay - they talk about Johnny Depp and Jude Law all the time. And I've got a crush on Nana, the gorgeous size 14 Tim Wheeler lover. And we all went out shopping afterwards. I really liked it, forsaking non-urgent Childrens Express duties and hanging with Nana, Amy and Adela. Things felt worthwhile, but I still felt down. Right now, I feel really shit, because I've just had an exhausting week, my brother has had his usual 18 hour week of lectures, and then calls me lazy for not taking the bins out. I am ready to cry. I'd rather drink, or binge, or throw up (I've being doing the last two this week. When do people become bulumic?). But being chronically unhappy, I just have to, you know, stiff upper lip and all that bullshit. Cut. I'll smile in the morning.
Oh, I'm crying. I'm just so tired - the coursework, and there's my english coming up, and that has to be really strong because I know my classics was shit and I need to make it up. I need to get my A's. I have to do my politics for Monday. I need to be perfect dammit! The college, the universe, asks for nothing less. I need a drink.
Whats the problem?
As in Stereophonic's brilliant new single, Dakota: "Thinking is due."
Things to decide:
Am I going to let myself slide into bulumia - properly - at last?
*
Do I go to the psychiatrist for counselling?
*
Do I stop drinking?
*
Who do I talk to?
*
How do I get over my poetic writing block?
*
How am I going to earn more money?
*
Where do I get "arm bands" for the summer?
*
How do I trust again?
*
Should I take part in this self harm documentary?
*
Shall I see what all the fuss is about razor-blades?
*
How do I stop crying before my brother comes back down?
*
How do I stop crying?
*
Why am I never pretty when people say I am?
*
Whats wrong with me?
*
Am I ever going to see Alice again?
*
Am I ever going to see Ria again?
*
Will I ever go dancing?
*
When will I ever go out on a date and NOT get dumped/sacked/stood up
*
Which uni do I go to?
*
Am I, ultimately, a failure?
*
Who am I?
Who to reach, how to reach it and why. Do you get me? I'm writing, to reach people, to reach myself, but right now I'm getting nowhere, and I still don't know what to do. I'm sick of drifting...I'm sick of myself and I just want to smash, cut, bleed, sleep, die, crush-be crushed. I don't know. It's not much. And I think, to a degree, everyone thinks this, don't they? Every student, every office worker, every alcoholic, smoker, every charity shop worker, every celebrity, all bloggers, artists, musicians, parents, everyone. Are you as sick as drifting as I am?
Think about it:
Home is where your heart is,
But your heart had to roam,
Drifting over bridges,
Never to return,
Watching bridges burn...
You’re driftwood floating underwater
Breaking into pieces, pieces, pieces.
Just driftwood hollow and of no use,
Waterfalls will find you, bind you, grind you,
(Travis)
Escape. Jump on a bus, or a train, a tram, storm out of the house/college/school/internet cafe. Get out of here, and away until you start to look back, and walk for about another 10 minutes. You'll find something interesting - even if its interesting in its blandness. Every time. Sigh. No more tears.
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