Turn Me Off, Turn Me On, I'm long gone

Q: Where have I been?
A: Hell.

Firstly, I wanted to make my blog cooler for my readers using photos, cos I love photography. I'm actually the type of girl who'd go to a photo gallery and rave about it. But instead I downloaded a super virus. I warn you all: don't use the blogger bot or picasa - one of those contraptions gave me a virus that had made my Dad who is an electric engineer to wipe out windows and reinstall it again, so that sucked. Then, yesterday I saw the psychiatrist at Windmill Lodge. Firstly, I was late for the whole thing, and she was rushing me and all. She asked some questions about families, and I told the truth, that I have truth issues, that I cut/vomiot/overdose/hit etc and she told me that in fact there's nothing wrong with me. And I began to cry. It was just simply humuliating, with her writing notes, making webs.

Her final assessment: I have poor coping issues. I am chronically unhappy with life and myself, and therefore since I am not ill its all my fault, isn't it? I mean god, she managed to make the prospect of no pills like I want a horrible thing. She went on to say that I needed to make changes - granted, but god she wouldn't take into account of anything! Something is wrong with me. No one feels like I do, for so long without being depressed. I tried telling her about my delusional episode in 2000, which tends to happen to severe depressives and she was like "Why are you telling me this?" WELL, I'm trying to get help and by telling her about things I hope to get help. But no, apparentely she's not her to do that. She's not my therapist...fuck her. But of course I couldn't say that because well, I was crying too much. Overwhelmed by cliche. And oh, chronically unhappy. I'd better alter my profile, just in case she reads this.

I thought that if you want to talk about the wrenching in your gut, the knife under your skin, the ache in your spirit, then I thought people would listen. But no, you have to be suicidal, quiet, and sure of exactly what you want. I just don't know anything anymore. I have no fucking idea where to go. I realise now, I've been dicking around in my counselling sessions, using them as inspiration for fiction rather than a turning point. There's no point in me going there, so why, why? I'm going to quit it Tuesday.

Anyways, still crying, and trying really hard to quell this lump in my throat I've never felt before, she shook my hand, lead to the entrance and walked off. She was only doing her job. Maybe she was right about me. What do you think?

Anyways, I felt ashamed, so ashamed for crying. A person has not seen me cry for four years. She said I should feel like a weight has hit me. I do feel like that sometimes, but most of the time, I'm just dead inside, isn't that depression? I'm not suicidal either. I just wish someone would kill me. Nothing left to lose. I was walking down the motorway on the hospital, so tempted to throw myself under a bus. I could imagine being quite quick, at the speed they were going. But I didn't, I couldn't and I had a McDonalds. Warmer, I took a bus home. It's been snowing all week and its beautiful.

When I got home, more crying and I couldn't work. I want to work. But I'm incapable, I'm too stupid, weak underbred for all that. When I called Ria I had to rush because her mum on;y gave her five minutes. I feel guilty for her pain. I'm never there for her, always wrapped up in my own world. More crying, I waited for Charlotte, sweet Chaz to call. Of course she didn't. I cut all night to stop thinking about who I was/am/ever. Carved HATE and KILL. Onto my breasts. My breasts. It's upsetting me now and it will upset for a long time. It's sick. And I squirted baby lotion everywhere buts that was because I had no access to alcohol. If I can't to talk to anyone, if I am simply chronically unhappy (bullshite), how can I fix myself and whats the point of anything if nothing is going to change? I'm going to post this cos mny neck hurts and has since my politics mock (got 67%!! And A!!)

Turn Back Time...using my debut photoblog

Roses are red, V. Day is crap, my life is a mess, but everyone knows that x

Happy Crappy Belated V. Day to EVERYONE

And...a strange congrats to my soulmate Ria for getting engaged at the tender of 16 to Patrick, the dude who worships the ground she pisses on. Ria, you're engaged! I love her, she's crazy and they're not getting married for a few years, thank goodness. But, on a level above the craziness, I am so happy that she has found love.

My Crappy Valentine - THE 100th Post (w00t!)

I should have known. I am not the type of girl who loves and is loved in return. Just another lesson I'm not gonna learn. Being dumped, albeit when you're still friends with the person does that to you.

However, as a lesbian I got asked out onto a date by an unassuming straight guy who's a whizz on a piano, and appreciates my 'intelligence' I thought I'd be polite, and what had I to lose? Since I don't fancy him, and he wouldn't dare fancy me, it could a be lame-out and out V. Date which I could laugh about later. No such thing. I think I was too prepared. I had bought new clothes (not for the occasion), had a shower, looked decent for once, and spent £1 of my credit arranging things, I thought I was set, but I knew - from my incessant tough luck and general giddiness - that things would go wrong. How right was I? I was to meet him at Clapham Junction, platform 5 - a 90 minute journey for me - when an hour into my journey at Richmond, he gave me a call saying he was going to have to cancel. He wouldn't even try and give an excuse, just that "something's come up" - the potion wore off. He liked my dizzy wit in history, my love for jazz music, but really a date? He may have thought I was straight (I don't mention it...) but to fancy me was just...bent. Wrong. I'm just not sexy.

So, after an upset two mintutes at the station (I was going to be early! I had money! It was going so well...gah). I decided, fuck it I'll see Closer instead of Ocean's Twelve. I decided to go via the high street, as it was quicker by bus, but I got seduced by the shops. Richmond high street is one of my favourite high streets. I can't afford most of the things on there, but it's great to browse because all of the shop workers aren't much older than me and don't mind my browsing. Firstly, I bought a bag of Tesco's finest chunky choc-chip cookies, deciding to save them for later (on the 65 bus) then bought my copy of Diva after failing to find an adequate date book thing for all of my functions and my incessant busy-ness.

Went to HMV and pissed off the workers by checking out the listening post, for I am once again head over heels with Feeder, fabby fabby British rock band (if you're new to them, check out songs like Just a Day, Come Back Around, 7 Days in the Sun). Why have they not reached icon status? They are way better than Stereophonics, more interesting than The Manic Street Preachers, chattier than Muse, and on par with Blur. I mean...whats going on? Aargh, I'm trying to find they're site - I typed in feeder.co.uk and I found a fetish feeder site - people who want to get so fat they can't walk, and feedees who get really excited when it happens. Sexy stuff. Okay their real site is www.feederweb.com and it' really pretty. Please check them out. Anyway, my Richmond day: after listening to Feeder I found this guy, it was like Darkness and the Chemical Brothers, in a mad sex orgy, on crap. It was beautiful, mad, perfect. But I couldn't find the guy's CD. Now I have no idea who he is, it's very disheartening. How on earth am I going to find a band with the description of "The Darkness on crack" - there a quite of bands like that in fact, and I know the names of none of them. Bloc Party have also released their new album. The single "Here we Are" is more and more poignant: its kinda my 'I've-been-fucked-around-again-song-...-...-fabbyness(!).' song.

After HMV, I spent nearly an hour in a three storey Waterstone store. Heavenly. I worked my way up, getting all excited at the haphazard piles of books, fresh and waiting to be sniffed, lusted, adored. There are the whores of the marketing world. And the building itself looked gorgeous and old and unseemly. I also found a photography books (one aim in my paper diary is to buy a photobook) with one about beautiful boys by Germaine Greer. I was loving it - (Now PLAYING: The Killers: All These Things I've Done. Perfect.), all of these beautiful boys, a sexually active + saucy cupid. Academic "ab"normal activity.

I was content to spend much of my V. day there, but I wanted to go home. So I'm home. The Killers is playing, I've got two Valentines (from Al and Nik - but Hallmark has decided to stop working on Valentines' Day, for planned engineering works. It's like the tibe, bloody hell.) Been reading about Sarah Waters, and I really should be doing my numerous homeworks which I think I'll be failing, sigh, or doing hair that really needs doing. But it's my crappy Valentine day. Hmph. More cookies. I felt full of only eating two (4 large cookies.) - where has my stomach gone?

I'll leave you with The Killer's: All the Things I Have Done.

When there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more sun
One more sun
If you can hold on
If you can hold on, hold on

I wanna stand up,
I wanna let go
You know, you know - no you don't, you don't
I wanna shine on, in the hearts of men
I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand
Another head aches, another heart breaks
I'm so much older than I can take
And my affection,
well it comes and goes
I need direction to perfection, no no no no

Help me out -
YeahYou know you got to help me out -
YeahOh, don't you put me on the back burner
You know you got to help me out - Yeah

And when there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more sun
These changes ain't changing me
The cold-hearted boy I used to be

Yeah
You know you got to help me out -
Yeah
Oh don't you put me on the back burner
You know you got to help me out -
Yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down -
Yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down -
Yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down

I got soul, but I'm not a soldier
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier

Yeah
You know you got to help me out -
Yeah
Oh don't you put me on the back burner
You know you got to help me out -
Yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down -
Yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down -
Yeah
Oh don't you put me on the back burner
You're gonna bring yourself down -
Yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down

Over and in, last call for sin
While everyone's lost, the battle is won
With all these things that I've done
All these things that I've done
All these things that I've done
If you can hold on
If you can hold on

If I was a totally orgasmic rock chick...

Garage rock! I like you... I like you alot! You
and indie are on the same plane for me! You
bring rock'n'roll down to its dirty roots,
whether being minimalist like The White Stripes
or retro like The Strokes. You keep on doing
what you're doing! Oh...and did I mention I
like you alot? (I sound all down and dirty, don't I?)

What genre of rock are you?
brought to you by

Youre Joan Jett! You're way hot and you're
completely bad ass (damn straight). People have crazy sex
dreams about you and once theyve had you, they
just want more. Its your 'i dont give a damn'
style that drives them crazy...(I'm touched)

Which Revolutionary Icon in Rock Music Are You? (Now with Pics)
brought to you by Quizilla

Saturday the 12th

I went to a young writers group thing in Soho. Dad was almost for it but didn't like the Soho bit, cos he thought I'd overwhelmed by cannibals or prostitutes or paedophiles, of course. If only he knew I knew the place inside out. Soho is pretty hip, and practically the only place in London I feel comfy in, maybe because its full of gay people, and artistes.

Anyway, it was mine and Ria's day. We met up after a bout unorganised messiness and got to Tottenham Court road easily. On the train Ria had to write a poem for later in the group and I wrote about her addiction to sweet medicinal thingies ie: Recreational Soothers. I love that title...

Walked down Oxford Circus which I hardly ever do and I found that Dean's street is the road I saw a miserable Avid Merrion, classic. The place was Soho Young Writer's theatre. The people in there were so lovely, and it would have been weird meeting all of these people who love reading and writing if it wasn't for my other creative writing club in College. The people were lovely, lots of pretty girls and sensitive intelligent boys. After getting acquainted we talked to one person and wrote down our first impersonations of each other and gave them to each other. I was seen as funny, friendly highly likable and laid back. We did writing exercises: building a sensory descriptive scene eventually building all five senses into describing a setting. Then we had to make something horrible and make it beautiful - mine was nails on a blackboard. Aargh, even the thought of it makes shiver, but I managed to make rather sensory. It was a laugh. And suddenly it was over, I bought cookies with Ria and she bought her present for Patrick. Gone, and I miss her more than ever. I think it was from walking around in Greenford, seeing my old school, hearing Ria talk about Wiseman as if everything is normal and I had no idea whats going on there in that mini universe. Was the first time I almost missed in ages. I just miss my old friends, I've lost nearly all of them. It's pretty sad if you say it like that, but I only had three or four real friends there in the first place, so...

It all rather cheerful at my Grandma's house. The week has been hectic for all of us, so we decided to have a pancake party. Dad made his spliffing chicken, Elliott got his hair done by Aunty, my sleeves almost got rolled up and we all watched Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? Main subject of the night was Dad's chicken, which uses a secret recipe unknown to anyone in the world, lol. Also, last week my cousin was trying to kick her little sister, fell over instead and fractured her arm. Only thing was that we didn't believe her at first because she still couldn't let go of her mobile phone. Then, we found out her arm was actually fractured and she needed a sling and everything, v. funny. The chicken pancake avec cashew nuts and veggies was delish. Also, I've found a new recipe: ice cream, lime juice and sugar - uh huh. I also tried flipping my own pancake, but that half failed. I only had three until I felt full. My stomach's shrinking...

Got home around midnight. Fabby day. But I still had things to consider. I recieved a letter which stopped me dead in the morning and I showed Ria on the train. The psychiatrist has tracked me down. In a short, patronising problems, my doctor told him I've been having some 'problems' and wants me to see him on the 24th in "Windmill Lodge" to talk about it. I'm terrified. If I put a foot wrong, if you sees me breaking down, what would he do? It's sounds a like a home. It sounds like group therapy. It doesn't sound like anything I may ever consider. He even asked if I would bring my parents along!! I don't know. I just don't like it...woo, that alcohol has gone straight to my heart. Just some Barcardi Breezer. Yeah, little freaked, little depressed. But I'm going shopping. I have a valentines date (albeit with a guy) and I'll be fine...

Blog Madness

I have to say, following Lioness' post I've taken a look around at all the competitiveness, the slander, the mass of links, and the fact I don't have any but I don't mind, because people email me instead and this blog is different. Its neutral. I don't really talk about current affairs or politics, not really. This blog is my diary, and I love writing in it. Things happen during the day, like a busker celebrating Bob Marley's 60th birthday when I'm sure its last week, and I dream about my next title, any phrases I may think of. I jus enjoy writing, and blogging is an extension of my love of writing, so yes, I'll whatever I damn well want to write.

Ooh link - http://www.rathergood.com/morris_dancers/ - it's just scary how well it works, but it must have taken ages...

Why Do People get all Nutty about BlogWars? (25 marks)

You know what? I have no idea!

• Desperation:

Stardom, fandom, local popularity, internet popularity, mind-numbing, pant-wetting boredom...the list goes on

• General lameness
• Severe lack of GSOH
• With nothing else going on...up there.

And there is my comprehensive list. If only I cared more. But I think I might menton more of current affairs but I don't think nothing much is going on at the moment.

Falling Apart, Slightly.

I didn't sleep in the end, and I cruised round RYL checking out topics, chatting. It's a strange social place. In one place, people are talking and lol-ing like any other forum, and in another thread someone has a noose round their neck, or someone's friends is fretting over them as they had a heart attack because they're so thin. Strange place.

In the end, I got drunk. Not really really drunk - a couple of glasses of Archers - but enough to make me calm and lightheaded and an easier actress when Dad came home. Turns out, I need it from time to time, and I'm ashamed of that. I just couldn't deal with my scratching, and the rising bubbles of anger. 60% of the time I'm at home I want to sleep, and the rest of the time I want to smash things up. Smash glass, the goldfish bowl holding Mr Bob, the display cabinet, plates. Use the debris to cut myself rotten. At least I'm out of the house now, I just eat and sleep and blog here mostly. Homework a static plain thing. But I've gotten so stressed and jumpy I've poisoned myself with apathy. It's come at a crap time: I have my politics MOCK and if I fail I'm kicked off the course, and its my second favourite course. I need to start off my classics courseworks from Mum's pointers, stop listening to Coldplay's Amsterdam. I'm so glad I cut this morning. I'm just paranoid over everything. Typing so fast I have to spell correct every three words. Then stopping still every sentence and a half to whip my round to face the sunset over bamboo and fences and expecting Amargeddon. I'm paranoid. I'm scared of everything. Something is about to get me. I'm a damsel in distress. I'm in so much fuck-upity-ness. I feel as if I've downed

Dust. Remember dust? Here's a link: http://alternate-reality.blogspot.com/2004/06/sky-is-full-of-dust.html#comments. I forget sometimes, that its there, and simple and beautiful. But I'm still scared of everything, including myself, so I can't run away, no matter how much I want to. I don't want to go to college. I want to go to a square 2 x 2 metres, pure white. A comfy bed. Padded walls. I can scream and punch all I want...Spiders are out to take me away.. That's how scared I am. Thats how crazy I feel. Thats why no one can understand. Here's goes publish...