Call me a safe bet. I'm betting I'm not

I really, really don't get you sometimes. It's annoying because really all I want is a bit of peace and not to feel so tightly wound around you. I can't speak for anyone else, but you make me uncomfortable. I'm not entirely sure how you see yourself. When you do things, do you see yourself in a film or a book? Sometimes I think it's kind of like fiction to you. All these things, romantic or otherwise, they aren't real life. They are these twisted things you've read about or watched that you think life should be like. Life isn't a fairytale.

I don't mean to be cruel and burst your bubble, if I did I would be more harsh. I just find it difficult to wrap my head around that someone can live their life thinking that these things are right. It's okay to like something or someone, it's another thing to let them consume you and become you're whole life. When I think of you I see a jigsaw of all these things that you think define you. I don't see one solid person but ideas cobbled together by other people. Sort of like a Frankenstein of fiction. All this stuff that means nothing. Emptiness.

What I really want is for you to find yourself. It's like being around a character in a book or a film then being around a real person. Optimism isn't bad. Delusion is. Maybe this is just me. It's just how I feel. Attaching different things to yourself doesn't make you a person, developing your own persona makes you a person. Right now you're just a parody of what you could be - in my eyes anyway.

My body is an orphanage, we take everyone in

So last night I ended up going to town with my sister and a couple of her friends. Amazingly, none of my friends could make it for one reason or another, so that was a bit of a bummer. Nevertheless it was a good night.

Me and Oz managed to get through nearly a whole bottle of vodka before leaving the house, but didn't even feel tispy. It wasn't till we shared a bottle of wine in Royal London that the booze began to take it's toll. We then went onto a bar where we had these Baileys shots with whipped cream, then we went off to Blast Off.

I've never been to Blast Off before but I thought it was pretty awesome. The music is good, especially when they get some of the more dancey rock on like The Prodigy, that was great fun to dance to. One of the more memorable moments was watching this tall old guy dancing around like a prat next to his friend who was probably about half the size.

In true Charlotte fashion I managed to fall over. Cringe! It wasn't even because I was drunk though. The floor was slippy and my heels were new, so I just went down like a sack of potatoes. Luckily people were more sympathetic than cruel, so I just got up and carried on like nothing had happened. Eventually it was forgotten anyway.

I suppose I have a lot to thank The Killers for last night, too. Me and Hannah were having a dance and she saw someone she knew so I was left to fly solo. I found dancing by myself to be quite fun to be honest. I was so drunk I just got lost in the music really. But this guy came up to me and asked me who I was with, etc. And then he started dancing with me, and you know, it was fun. I girl never kisses and tells. But I did kiss him. :P

He did kind of spoil it by persistently asking me to go home with him. He kept saying: "Can't you just disappear for a few hours?" and I was like, no, not really mate. One, I'm not really that kind of girl, two, you are a complete stranger and three, I have no mobile phone to contact anyone if you turn out to be a psycho! I know. I'm so optimistic about the human race.

All the same it was good. It was fun, although I am paying for it today. It's nearly 11pm and I'm STILL hungover. How is this possible?!

Anyhow, peace out.
xoxox

I met God and he had nothing to say to me

Sometimes, I am afraid of death. It's not a fear of dying in a painful way but a fear of what happens afterwards. Instinctively I feel that although the body is dead, somehow you can still think. I'm terrified of being unable to move or articulate but being acutely aware of the darkness and the loneliness. I think it's because, being alive, you can only comprehend being alive. Even when you're asleep you're brain is still ticking and aware, in the form of dreams. So to think about complete nothingness is like thinking of closing your eyes and never being able to open them ever again, but being totally alone with your own thoughts. Personally, I can literally think of nothing worse than that.

Sometimes, like now, I can look on death as some kind of mythical being. Kind of like when you talk about a TV show and you know it's not real. I can talk about it and think about it but somehow I feel as though I am immune from it. Like death cannot touch me. Maybe that's the residue of childhood egocentricity. The world revolves around me, therefore I can't die or else there would be no world. And in a way, symbiotically, that is true. Without me there is no world for me. And without the world there is no me. It would be quite nice to have a God complex. To live in the knowledge that you were the creator of the universe and so have total control of what happens.

Sadly, it's probably not the case.

Everyone questions heaven and hell. The existence of these two things. I don't know. Maybe everyone will experience both their heaven and hell in the last few electro-impulses through the brain as they die. The brain kind of flicks through the pleasurable things in life (heaven) and then through the unpleasurable things in life (hell), in a split second you experience all the good times and all the crap times. Kind of like the last battle between the id and the superego. The id trying to console itself in death of the pleasures that life has offered, the superego desperately kicking back at the id, trying to keep the balance, showing the unpleasant things, repenting sins. That's the way life progresses, isn't it? Even if you don't want to take a Freudian view it's impossible to deny the roller coaster of life. Sometimes we let ourselves eat the whole tub of ice cream and sometimes we force ourselves to do things that we don't necessarily want to do. Life is full of pleasure and pain.

I've been close to bringing death on myself a few times. Once upon a time I actually would have welcomed the silence of death and the cleanliness of death. I suppose I hated myself and the world I had created for myself. I hated waking up in the morning and being stuck in the same life. But once I'd passed all that angst (for the most part) I began to see the pleasures of life. It was almost like before I'd kept myself so strictly in check, not allowed myself to be happy. But once you cross some imaginary line it's like the floodgates crash open and the thought of death doesn't seem so appealing anymore. Everybody gets lonely and everyone hurts once in a while, it's natural, but if we look ahead at the road of life left, we should embrace every opportunity to turn our fortunes around. Sure, you can't be happy all the time. Life has its ups and downs, but the point is that we shouldn't turn away from the good things in an attempt to punish ourselves because sooner or later death will come for us. And no matter what lies ahead I don't want to look back on my life in that split second and feel more hell than heaven.

Love is a doing word

I've considered talking to my friends about this. They are some of the most brilliant people on the planet. But then I think what's the point, because there's nothing they can do. There's nothing anyone can do.

I've tried to divert my attentions to other people than him, because it hurts to think about him. How can it be that the moment you're not lonely anymore, you can feel at your lonliest? I guess I fell for him. I fell for him so quick I didn't realise it until tonight. I sat there and watched him say every single line along with them. He sang every single song. And the anxious look in his eyes all the while just showed how much he cared. I never thought I could be so lucky but so very unlucky at the same time.

When I first met him I didn't know who he was or what he did. It was only until we had talked more did I find out that we'd been living under each others noses for the past year. All I'd needed to do was take an interest in my cousins academic life and he would have been there, then again why would I have bothered to take that particular interest. When my grandad asked me to go to the play tonight, I jumped at the chance. I knew how much work he'd put into it, how hard he had worked, how passionate he was about his job. I wanted to be there to see his face. Of course, to everyone else I was there for my cousin, to cheer him on.

When I saw him running around in his suit and tie, my heart jumped into my throat. I wanted to get up there and then and be near him. But of course I couldn't be. Why is it that I always fall into 'relationships' that are impossible to work? I seem to attract complications. All I wanted tonight was to go home with him, but that would never be acceptable to anyone.

The play started and he was totally absorbed in it. I could see in his eyes and on his face how proud he was of all of them, even if it was just a tiny production with a bunch of kids. I managed to catch his eye about four times, and even that wasn't enough. But I knew just how much he wanted to enjoy his night and I wanted to enjoy it with him.

I feel so lucky to be with someone as passionate as him, as caring. But then I feel so unlucky to be moving away after such a short time. I loved him tonight. I get shivers when I think of him singing, and the look in his eyes.

Urgh, why does everything have to be so complicated? Why can't I just be with him without all the problems, without all the sneaking around? And even now while I feel this I don't regret any of it. I love how he goes red easily, I love his smile, I love the way he sings and I love the look of concentration he has in his eyes when he's focusing on something, I love spending time with him, kissing him, cuddling him, joking around with him. I love every single thing about him, yet I'm going to have to leave him soon, and it's becoming harder and harder to think about as I get more involved.

Jealousy soothes rejection with a kiss

What happens when you want to get away from yourself?

I’m feeling this right now. I wish I could just float up out of my body and feel peaceful for a while, without feeling at war with myself. The only problem is that the only solution to this particular problem is death. I don’t want to die. I just want to rest, just for a little while.

I feel like all the hope has been sucked out of the world. I feel like I’m suspended in this vacuum and there will be no happy ending, not for me anyway. Yeah, you can spend your time reading and watching the happy endings. Escapism, is what’s is called. But at the end of the day it’s all just an illusion – a cruel one at that. I’m starting to feel like true love doesn’t exist in this world, that we’re only driven by our hopes and ambitions.

Do you think that things will ever change? Do you think that the world will change? I don’t think so. There will always be war and hunger and chaos. Nothing is ever peaceful – only death. What is the point? Why are we here? I guess that’s a question a lot of people have asked and never found an answer to. I’ve considered all the possibilities. God is one of them. That’s whom everyone turns to. God. When something good happens it was down to God. When something bad happens it was down to God, too. I think we’re just trying to pass the buck to disguise just how animalistic we are. People kill other people, people deceive and hurt people to achieve their own means. I’m not pure, or clean. I don’t claim that for a second. No one is. Everyone has their dirty little secrets, even the people up there on the movie screens or on the television. They all know they’ve done something terrible, unforgivable.

Maybe that’s the way forward. Forgiveness. Maybe we should all turn to each other and let each other know that it’s okay. Whatever you have done, or thought, or planned, it’s okay because we’re all filthy at the end of the day. We’re all unclean. I wish someone would forgive me.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I think I’m trying to purge these ugly thoughts from my mind. I think I’m trying to get some hope to shine through. Tomorrow will be another day yet it’s just as repetitive. Still my heart will beat and my lungs drag air through me. Still will cells pick up oxygen and deposit carbon dioxide. Still will I move and breathe and worst of all think. Something I do too much of. Thinking. It’s an overrated concept. What’s the point in thinking, anyway? Einstein is still dead. Stephen Hawking is still paralysed, unable to speak by himself. What does that say? There is no mercy, none at all. No one is spared from hurt and pain. No one. No wonder we turn to drugs, or a poison of our choice. No wonder people write novels and make films and television shows that are out of this world. I think even they, sometimes, try to spread some hope. But the one thing we cannot escape is real life. I’m sick of being hurt. But I don’t want this to be about me. It’s about us all. It’s about pain, something we all have in common.

I'm starting to feel we stayed together out of fear of dying alone

Have you ever read the original Little Mermaid story? In fact, have you ever read any of the real fairytales? The ones before Disney morphed them and gave them happy endings.

Today, I feel like a realised something terrible about the world. I realised that no one ever gets there happy ending. Take Torchwood, for example, because that is the first thing that comes to mind. Things can never be left happy. People die, or do terrible things, or leave other people behind. Now isn't that just a wonderful reflection on life? Never has the door closed and the phrase '...and they lived happily ever after' rang true. I look at my parents, at my mother and her alcoholism and bitterness towards my father, and I know then that no one can ever be truly happy.

Things fuck up, things get ruined. Like a lot of girls I grew up on Disney, but they miss out the worst parts. In the original Little Mermaid, she not only loses her voice but every step she takes is pure agony, and she doesn't even get the guy! He's in love with someone else. The only good and decent thing about it is she does not take the opportunity to kill him to become a mermaid again. She'd rather end her own life. It still sucks for her though, she's still hurt.

I'm not sure why I'm posting this. Mostly because I am angry. Angry at myself for ever believing in happy endings. Angry at the world for not providing them. I feel like it is hopeless. Totally hopeless. And I may sound cynical and morbid, but at this point in time, it's the truth.

Sitting here I can feel all my muscles seizing up, I suppose this is what exercise does to you. If I stretch out my bones crack, shift back into place. I'm trying not to be annoyed or frustrated. I know it's unfair to be angry with you when you do these things and aren't really aware of them. I just wish sometimes you would realise it's not all about you. Sometimes I just want to be the only one who is angry or happy, or whatever. We don't need to compare.

It's an odd feeling not having to think about exams or whatever. It's like being suspended. It's like time has stopped and any minute now it will snap back on to full speed again and I won't be able to keep up again. Maybe that will be when I start university. Maybe I'll be hurled into something headfirst and things will all happen so fast. That's not always a bad thing. It's rather exciting, actually. It's the monotony I can't stand.

When I'm at home I'll change the ring tone on the house phone or the screen. I have to change something to break up the repetitiveness of it all. I like shaking things up a bit.

I'm not overly sure why I wrote this. I suppose I felt like I needed to write something to justify myself. I can't help how I feel, can I?

The end is nigh...

So, I have my last exam today! I guess that means as of 4:00pm I will be free. Free as a bird! It's sad but exciting at the same time. I really cannot wait to go to university, be it Hull or Plymouth. I just want to get away. I will miss my parents, as much as I moan about them, but it will be good to be away from the arguing and the drinking.

Anyhow, the real reason for this post was to share some writing. I've been clearing out my folders on the college network and I found my creative writing folder.

So here goes:

I crave silence.
A sort of clean and weightless silence, like water.
The noise seems heavy. Oppressive. Daunting.
It drags at my fingertips and sleeps in my eyelashes.
The silence between you and me
A wool blanket of fear and discomfort.
Like wading through custard at your daughter’s birthday party.
Laughing.

A kiss
Like something that was lost, found.
I would like to hold it between my hands and
Never let it go. But like smoke it curls up through my fingers, breathing in, nestles in my lungs. A cat in a cage.

xxxxxxxx

Dripping away, sludge-like,
Murderous. A mistake?
Or something more profound.
A circle loaded with promises,
A decision ripped out of my hands.
My body softens, contracts, expels,
Painful only for a day (or two, or three)
Or a lifetime.
Crying. Crying like a –
Baby?
Oh God. Oh God.
The only word I utter is stillborn, a passing,
An exit. My way out.

Sorry.

xxxxx

A tentative touch of your hand brings burning flames
To my cheeks but douses the one in my heart. Ice
in the smoky recesses curls around my trachea.
Choking me. I’m trying to picture you stealing what’s mine
with one ragged intake of breath. It whistles through your teeth
And paints a picture far more apt than the illusion.
Animalistic. Masochistic. Bliss.

Epileptic shivering haunts my hands, reaching for you was never
Easy. Drives me insane to know that she was never in your heart, hung
brutally on your bedpost with a daisy chain of words. Me too.
I never did enjoy the novel you seared into my skin. The ending –
Too tragic and unlucky for liquorice love.

The breath from your lips and the promise from your fingertips
waits for no man.
Unsteady on my wooden feet, submerged in time.
Wade through the salt water that pours from your drowned lungs.
It’s just me and you now, babe. In a dance that doesn’t make much sense
but drives me to this whirlwind finish clutching a thread on your unravelling heart.

I understand that you're my crutch when I'm stressed. When the going gets tough I turn to you, but you're not there anymore. I know this is a little self-pitying but I'm running on four hours of sleep and my hormones are doing a funny little scotch jig.

In the words of Stonesour:

You throw me a bone just to pick me dry.

I can't go on waiting for you to come and sweep me off my feet, it's just not realistic anymore. But I just can't seem to let you go. You gave me something so special but I had no choice but to take it away. It's horrible, awful. All because you wouldn't have been there. You just walked away.

I get scared that when I go to uni you will change your mind. Is scared the right word? Or is it hopeful? I can't say I wouldn't take you up on it, I can't say I'd be strong and say no. Because you have got me, well and truly, especially when I'm vulnerable. I want to be able to say that I could turn around to you and say 'I don't need you.' but I don't think I ever could because you've got me.

The worst thing? You probably won't do that at all and I'll probably be so naive as to wait for you. It's like waiting for Godot with you, I never know where I stand.

Crush, crush, crush

I was thinking today about all the crushes I've had over the years and how funny they've been. From year seven to eleven at The Royal there was always someone I fancied, even though there were slim pickings. Ah, the good times. There was Triangle Head. The guy with the biggest ego ever, Triangle Head thought he was a real ladies man although he really wasn't. He wasn't even good looking! Oh, that was an embarrassing crush.

Then there was TTG, Tom the Goth! I was in year eight and he was in year eleven and I thought he was just sooo mysterious. In reality he was just an ordinary bloke who dressed up like a goth! I have to say though, he was my favourite crush because something actually happened between the two of us. I thought I was so hardcore hanging out with a guy who was a few years older than me. I don't think you could call what we had an actual relationship, more like friends with benefits before I ever knew what that was. Basically it was just kissing and stuff, but still first and second base was like woah!

And then came Xavier. He was head boy and he was so very cute. I liked him in a very nerdy kind of way, although I always just admired him from a distance. It was very nice to see him at front of chapel every morning, in the pews with the choir. I even think I sat next to him a couple of times. Impressive!

Oh, and then there was good old Mr.P, the physics teacher. When I say it like that it makes him sound like a stuffy old man, but oh god, he so wasn't. He was an English gentleman. I don't really know how old he was, but he was in his twenties. He had a cool dress sense. He'd wear bow ties that were pink and stuff. The best thing was when he wore his graduation gown to the special occassions. That is one of the sexiest gowns, ever. I sound a bit like a stalker, and I guess I was a little bit. I was so chuffed when he started taking us for physics. It was like I'd struck gold! I remember me and my friend 'accidentally' dropped a pen off the table so he would bend over and pick it up! Cringe!

There was J, but he was very brief. He was very cute and we used to chat on MSN, but never at school. We danced together at the disco to 'Hey Ya!' by Outkast and when 'Push it' came on we just looked uncomfortable and walked off.

And then there was Study Buddy. Oh dear. No one really knew about him, other than close friends. He was the one I really thought I'd struck gold with. I don't really want to go into him. :/

At college I haven't really had any crushes like that. Maybe it was the close environment which just kind of thrust everyone upon you. You could see someone you liked almost every day whereas at college you probably would only see them a couple times a week, if that. I did have one crush, he didn't really have a nickname. I'll call him D here. He was very cute. I remember first seeing him at the bus stop (he took the same bus as me) and instantly taking a like to him. And then I got to hang out with him a bit, in a very loose sense, in a certain subject and that was cool. He was just a nice guy all round, I guess.

There was another guy. We did Drama together in the first year. I don't want to say too much in case too many people catch on. Let's just say I longed to play Blanche! Haha! I still think he is attractive but there is not much point in even pushing it because we are all going our separate ways soon.

And then we come to R. Oh, R! There was year 8 or 9 when we went out for about two days. I remember how that came about. We were sitting in the canteen at lunch and we dared one of our friends, I think it was Kat, to eat a piece of fruit with spaghetti bolognaise on. She said she would only do it if I asked R out in front of all the guys he was sitting with. So I agreed and she ate the damn fruity bolognaise, so I had to keep up my end of the bargain! I waddled up to the table and asked them. Of course, being boys they all sniggered. I can't remember what he said, but he didn't say yes or no. Later on in IT he kicked me and typed 'yes' into his computer. Turns out we were both doing what we were doing for a dare. This is only why we lasted a couple of days.

Then I remember texting him that time and he asked me to go to the cinema. I asked him what he wanted to see and he said the cheesiest thing - 'Your face.' Ahh! So we went and saw War of the Worlds (such a romantic film!) and he put his arm around me. My heart was pounding so much. So I guess from then on we kind of fell into a relationship although for the whole duration we never kissed! He came to my birthday party (which was in August, before my actual birthday) and we were supposed to be sleeping in the same tent. I remember he fell asleep with his arm around me and it was so heavy! It's like he became a dead weight! I lay there and tried to push his arm off only to have it slide dangerously close to my neck. That is when I thought it was time for me to leave. Our awkwardness and childishness was what broke us up in the end. We were only young and we both weren't very confident, so I figured there probably wouldn't be much difference if we just broke up. My timing wasn't so good. I broke up with him on my birthday, not knowing that he had arranged to come for a meal with me and my sister in the evening! I remember Katie saying 'Seriously, don't break up with him today. Leave it for some other time.' and I just didn't listen.

Who knew that he would end up coming to Kind Ed's with me and we would be best friends? And although he's off to Cambridge and I'm off to Hull, I still hope in the future we will meet up and realise we were meant to be together.

And before that there was Marc. Oh, how I loved Marc. Now that is a bit complicated. Me and my sister live in a place where, when we were growing up, the majority of kids were boys. This meant that we were always hanging out with guys. We befriended this trio, which Marc was a part of. They were a little older than us. I think Marc is in his twenties now. But it was fun to hang out with them all the same. I'd always liked Marc. He was cute, tall, dark, etc. He was a very good looking guy. I was heart broken when him and my sister got together. And that's where I'll leave that, eh?

Oh, at that ends the chronicling of my crushes. I find it fun to think back on those times, where those microcosms seemed like our worlds.

I need something to believe in

Today I have been presented with a choice.
I am overweight. There is no denying this fact. People can always try and console me and say 'oh, no you're not fat. not at all' but I KNOW that I am. I'm not blind and I am not stupid. In the past I have tried to change the wrong way. I have tried to take the quick way and that just doesn't work. Starving myself never worked for the long term. It was dysfunctional and it was the wrong way.

Today I went to my GP about feeling depressed. The first thing she bought up was my weight and whether that could be a factor. Well of course it could! I have some serious self esteem issues, which is never going to help improve my outlook on the world let alone myself. Despite feeling low and sad, I desperately want to live. I know I am not living now, I am just existing. No-one likes a fat girl.

So maybe I have had an ephipany. I think that now is the time to change - before I go off to university and leave this self contained world I have created. Before I have to go out into the world on my own I am going to become someone who can function in it. The reason I feel so good about this now is because I'm not doing it so I will be slim and men will fancy me and I will feel loved. I am doing it because I want to feel happy with myself and my life, not through validation from other people but through validation from myself.

So I guess this is me being optimistic.

I guess so.

This is so messed up

These will be the poems that become famous when I die in obscurity.

Both are untitled at the present time.

1)
Life slows down
but time speeds up and I'm
left
standing
here. I have ground to a halt,
frozen in a time where each tick
tock creates a thin red line on
bare flesh. Stop.

Questions hang limp and flaccid;
What's the point? When it's only
an illusion.
To fight, to live, to breathe, to be -
is just another brush stroke
on a canvas painted with blood.
It merges into one with each tick,
tock goes the blood-flecked clock.

2)
Open the floodgates and pour me out.
Watch as disappointment falls
like rain and I am washed
of all these thoughts
and failings.

A bright red scream left
in my wake, with silence
burrowing in your ears.

It's me, just behind those
newspaper grey eyes,
the print draining down
to leak from my mouth. Teeth
stained with ink and regret.
It's over,
at least
it's over.

I'm writing this half to purge the dream from my head and half because someone suggested it to me and it couldn't hurt to do it.

So last night's dream was a strange one. I only remember bits and bobs but here goes.

Before the main dream I had a series of mini dreams, if you like. They basically involved me waking up to members of my family coming into the house. At first it was my grandad and then it was my aunt and my two cousins. Nothing really happened that I can remember other than in the dream I woke up and heard them coming into the house.

The main dream is much stranger. I'm at this swimming pool, but I'm not swimming. I decide that I want to leave so I'm looking for an exit but all I see is people getting into what seem to be pull down drawers. All I can relate it to is what we put the cashbags in at work. You pull the handle down, slide the bag in and shut it, then pull it down to check that the bag has gone. In the dream there is priest standing next to these drawer things and people are getting in and the priest is shutting the drawer and then opening it and the people are gone. I walk up to one of them and ask the priest if that is the only way out and he says yes. I watch as about four people cram into this thing and he shuts it but as he pulls it back open I can see that they are stuck, and he pushes it again and they go. I say to him that I don't want to get in one of them, that I am scared of getting stuck in it and suffocating. He says that it's the only way out so I run off looking for another exit.

I find an emergency exit and push through it and all these alarms go off. I carry on running but for some reason I am suddenly Sasha from Hollyoaks. In the soap she is involved with this guy called Warren and he is in the dream. We are on the run, but we are kind of like terrorists, and Warren takes this kid and binds him in the sleeping bag type contraption and hangs him above some railways lines. We then decide to run off but I'm back as me again.

We run into this town and it's kind of like an old cobbled high street. As we move up this hill there are these people in contamination suits and they are spraying everyone with this pink liquid. I walk up to one of them and she says to me that there is a herpes epidemic and that what they are spraying is going to cure us. At that point I put my hand up to my mouth and I feel what is like a coldsore on the corner of my mouth.

As these people are spraying us people are trying to leave the town, saying something like people are starting to kill each other or something. I'm running down all of these backstreets and eventually I come to this park that used to be where I lived. The park is in two sections. One is the sections for young kids and the other is the section for older kids. Me, my mum, my dad and my sister are in the section for young kids which has a hut and some baby swings. And my aunt, my uncle, my grandad and my two cousins are in the section for older kids which has a climbing frame and some swings.

It's implied that we have this virus which makes us kill each other and we're supposed to keep to our own sections. When we go to sleep we're afraid that someone might come over from the other side and kill us so we both elect someone to stand guard. My dad is the guard from our side and my grandad is the guard from the other. For some reason, the next day, we have to fight each other but the people on the other side are no longer my family.

The guy I have to fight is kind of like a minotaur. The fight consists of me sitting in the adult swing and swinging while trying to kick out at him and kill him, while he has to try and grab and kill me. So I'm swinging on this swing and kicking out but I can't hit him and he keeps trying to grab me but I swing out of the way. While this is happening I am terrified that I am going to die but kind of resigned to it because either way I'm going to die. After a while of trying to kill each other the minotaur gives up and asks this guy in an Iron Maiden t-shirt to do it for him. I go back to swinging and get a couple of kicks in but he can't get to me. He says something about my swinging technique and how it is superior, so this minotaur guy gets really angry and tells me to kill the guy in the Maiden shirt. So I start kicking him.

Then I wake up to find myself kicking out at this guy trying to kill him.

I'm gonna go and look for some interpretations now and if I find anything significant I will edit this post and put it down.

Rip off my mask and leave the lies to the liars

Not coping. Not coping. Not coping!

Why was the only time I could see a doctor on Thursday! Thursday!
That means I have to go three days feeling like utter shit, wanting to block out the whole world and dying for help.
Today has been truly, truly awful. I had another horrible dream. I don't think they qualify as nightmares at the moment. They are more bizarre and unsettling. I woke up kicking out at things , which is very unlike me. I don't tend to act out my dreams in reality.

I have a psychology exam on Friday. The college called the house today. I presume it is about my recent absences. I'm praying to god they did not call my father because if they did I am in big trouble. The last couple of hours have crawled by. I've sat here chain smoking and contemplating how many Cuprofen it would take to bump me off. I've saved it for a rainy day, though. Mostly because I'm a coward and a failure and I don't deserve the relief of death.

Am currently working my way through a bowl of spaghetti hoops but feeling slightly sick. I wasn't even hungry I just though 'hey charlotte, you haven't eaten, have something see if that makes you feel better.' It didn't.

Urgh. Not looking forward to my mother coming home. I've got some excuse about feeling ill and that being the reason why. Maybe I should tell her the truth. That I think I am clinically depressed and I'm entertaining suicidal thoughts. She'd probably freak out. Best to see what the doctor says me thinks. Thursday couldn't come quick enough.

I need someone to talk to me, to listen to me. But everyone has their own suggestions and ideas and opinions and feelings on the matter. I want someone objective to just listen to me. Again all routes point to a doctor and some kind of therapy. Doesn't help that I'm shit at telling people how I feel to their faces. I wonder if they have online therapists? Maybe life just doesn't work like that and I should get over it. Maybe.

Urgh. This is the only place I can spill my guts and even then I hold back because I don't want people to ask me about things. I'm a bag of contradictions, always have been and always will and what I really, really want right now is to go to sleep but I know that I won't be able to.

Why am I such a failure?

You're up there, took the stairs to the stars all alone.

I know my mind is grinding to a halt when all I do is stare at a blank computer screen for an hour and not realise it. My mother has been talking at me and I miss everything she says. I have to keep saying "What?" and looking blankly at her. I'm trying to stir myself into some kind of action but I just cannot be bothered.

I like letting steam off in this blog. I think it helps that I only know there's one person who reads it all the time and the rest is obscurity. I like to think there are people out there who can relate to me. I like to think that I'm not alone in feeling like this.

I haven't written anything moderately creative in about two months - ever since I started feeling like this, actually. It's like something is blocking every motivation. My novel is sitting there gathering dust. It's disheartening, it's like I'm failing in the one thing that I should be good at.

Urgh! I'm sick of this. This stagnant feeling. I want to move forward, go. But it feels like I'm wading through something sticky, or something is holding me back. I can't sleep, I constantly have a headache. I nearly broke down on the bus on the way back from college, I just had to zone out and stare blankly out of the window. If I had tended to those emotions I would have cried right there.

I'm going to see my GP next week to talk about all of these feelings. I need to feel alive again. I need to feel different to this. It's been two months since I started feeling like this, it really can't go on. I need help.

Shit.

I need help.

Two songs I identify with at the moment, both are by a band called Blue October.

1. Black Orchid
Have you ever been so lonely,
No one there to hold?
Pull me in or disown me, And then climb inside.
My arms are open wide.Have a look inside.

It is not that I am scared to learn,
Why I'm empty inside.
Hold my hand or show some concern,
If I live or die.
My eyes are open wide.
Help me look inside.

I hear the water drip from the faucet.
It's sweetly falling in tune.
I'm gently closing the closet.
I fall to the floor,and crawl to my room.
The thought of ending it soon...
Just let me sleep in my room.

Hear me cry! cry! cry!
I hear a knock at the front door.
Don't come in!
I try to look at you
But I can't stop shaking. Leave me alone.
Just go away.
Mother I'm so scared.
Empty bed and all of the sheets are gone,
They're wrapped around me and you.
All is quiet but the drop of a gun.
I want to belong...to someone...
But maybe life's not for everyone.

This sounds much better in the song, so I recommend you listen.

2. Weight of the world
(I can't be bothered to put all the pauses in so here's a link instead)
http://tiny.cc/zWkuF

Keep on walking, baby.

I don't know if anyone else watched Compulsion on ITV1 last night, but I did and it gave me so weird nightmares.

It was so strange. We were staying at someone's house, I don't know where, but as dreams go that's fairly normal. We were all sleeping on different sofa type beds in this room and I was having a nightmare. Strangely, I knew I was. I couldn't open my eyes but I could hear what was going on around me. This man, I don't know who he was, but he reached over from his bed and put his hand on my arm, presumably trying to wake me up. It worked and I woke and rolled over. For some reason I reached out to him. I don't know why, maybe for comfort from the nightmare. I only really expected him to touch my hand and then we'd both go to sleep but he pulled me onto his sofa. At that point someone came in, they were kind of patrolling. This man held me so I couldn't move or say anything. I don't know what he did to me, I can't remember. But the dream goes on. In the morning I go to work and check the emails and there is one there from the man about what had happened, at this point I'm scared out of my wits. Work then magically transforms into The Royal and as I walk out this door the man is next to me and he asks me if I got the e-mail. I'm terrified and I try to get away from him.

The rest of the dream is spent not being believed by my family over what happened. I try to show them the email but the man has changed it somehow to read something else. So no one believes me, and they are all on his side. This causes me to run away but I can't run very fast. At one point I am in Selfridges at work and there is a bull running round. The guy I work with is trying to hold it back and I climb up onto one of the tables to try and get away from it. Another bit was that we were walking along this path and there were bulls running down and you had to dodge them, and then we took a shortcut somewhere, but I wasn't sure where we were going.

It was weird, and it's left me feeling icky and sad today.

Oh well, that is all.

Stab my back, it's better when I bleed for you.

Well, I haven't posted in a while - I don't think. My head is all over the place at the moment, I barely know who I am. All I do is sleep, go to college, work, sleep, go to college, work. It feels like a never ending cycle. I dread my alarm going off in the morning. I really do wish I had Bernard's Watch and I could stop time. Alas, I cannot.

Surprisingly, I had a good day today. I woke up this morning ready to call in sick. My head was fuzzy, I couldn't think straight. I just wanted to lie back down and fall back into a state of comatose. I wanted to rest my mind for a bit. But I forced myself to get up and just go. I had fun, though. I sold a lot at work, I got on with my colleagues and I didn't feel ill. So, yes, I suppose that was good.

Bah, I'm so tired. I wish I slept. It's just so difficult. It'll take me three hours to doze off and then I have to get up 4 hours later. I also have to start revising. I loathe exams, I loathe it all. So, I guess I'll just wing it and hope I get the grades for uni.

I'm talking shit, so I will end this here.

You'll have to love me when I'm gone

I could write something that's packed with fiction. I could make up my own reality about last night. I could lie my face off to this whole blog. I could submit to the writer in me and tell you that the romance is possible, was possible. I could tell you that the romance happened. I could tell you that we went back to his and fell into each others arms. I could tell you that he told me he loved me and we spent the whole night talking about it.

It didn't happen.

To say it was anti-climactic would be an understatement. Tragically. Pathetically. I thought in one small moment everything was clicking into place - but then, typically, it didn't. The pieces just lay jagged and ringing. We were sat together, his head on mine, just leaning. He picked up his phone and slowly typed 'I love u', which would have been fine if he had left it there.

The whole text?
'I love u dave :)'

Which he promptly sent to his best friend.
Yeah, anti-climactic.

Oh well. Even before that I was avoiding mirrors, photographs, anything that screams the horrible truth. I can only take myself in quick glances. A reflection in a car door as I open it is about as much as I can take. I cannot analyse myself. I constantly feel disgusted.

See, I could have lied my face off. Like I've been doing for the past few months. I coud LOL and LMAO and tell you a bunch of irrelavant things. I could haved faked it.

I hope you appreciate that I didn't.

I've been holding onto the bottom of this rope for far too long. I'm sick of the burn, I'm sick of the constant sliding back down; two steps ahead followed by two back. I entertain horrible fantasies. I would love to bathe in bleach. I would love to invest in razors, salt, ice. Anything that would override the hurt and the hating. I would love to punish myself so I don't feel like this anymore. When you're in pain you kind of feel cleansed. When something is throbbing, gaping, oozing, you don't think about wether there is a piece of work in for the next day or what lesson you have. You think about pressing down on it and intensiftying the pain, you think about buying the bandages and the antiseptic and cleaning yourself up. I fantasise about razor blades and cutting myself to the fat. The problem is that they stay as fantasies. They rot in my head. They ooze out of me. I feel that someone could smell the self pity, the urge to hurt or to ruin things for myself.

Yes. I could go and get help. I could tell someone how vividly I see myself dying. How intricately I have planned my suicide. But what would they do? Hand me the tools with which I could bring about my own demise? Once you open the floodgates everything becomes a weapon of mass destruction. I could glue my throat shut with superglue - in my head I have suffocated like this over and over again. I could leap, headfirst, out of my bedroom window and hope to hit the concrete rather than the grass.

And I could cut. Oh boy, could I cut. I could bleed to death on the bathroom floor quicker than someone could save me.

Oh, these fantasies are always there. When I smile, in my head I am suffocating. When I laugh there is an imaginary noose around my neck. When I sleep I hope that I won't wake up.

Oh, to feel good again. To feel human.

You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed...

I'm quite happy I can now blog on the go. It's nice!

Piece of writing for you all.

I sat on the train and watched the world bleed inky blueness from the windows down.
I wondered if it were possible to feel so closed in with such open spaces around you.
I did.
I wanted to fly on the drift with the sunburnt leaves swirling around my feet and smile into the wind. To inhale the hot white gusts but still feel breathless.
Instead, I sat and watched my reflection mimick my movements on the other side of the glass. In that moment I realised that she too was trapped between the panes, just sat there, staring back.

Six hours on my head still hurts and trains and people's voices sound like waves to me, the tide slowly drifting in.
Announcements echo around a packed carriage and destiny feels so clinincal, so cold.
It feels as though I'll clock in and out. In and out.
Skewered on the hands, rotating on the face, waiting for the alarm to wake me
And start it all again.

You know that I could use somebody

someone like you.

God, I feel so depressed today. You can add ugly, unloved, shit and untalented to that list as well if you want. I'm so damn sick of reverting back to what seems to be my default state of mind. I look around me and I see all the people who have felt like I have and had the same aspirations and half of them have killed themselves.

Maybe this is why I'm alone, maybe my state of mind generally just repulses people. I thought that on Friday night, maybe it's my whole unconfidence. Maybe if I believed I was attractive I would be. Pah! It's somewhat a blow to the confidence when the only guy who speaks to you throughout the whole night is a guy who's asking if your sister is single. I may as well just put it out there; I hate myself and I probably always will. Something has got to give though. I can't keep dreaming about being loved and waking up depressed.

Urgh. I hate crying. I hate it so much. I hate anyone knowing how I feel but I can't hold it in anymore not really. The only thing I've been to men in this world is a submissive plaything, yet it's better than nothing. Those scraps are better than loneliness, better than sadness. But like I said before, I run from love. I'm willing to give everything else to someone, but my heart I'll keep to myself. My heart is the one thing I need to give but keep locked away. If someone gets too close to that I turn and walk away. I ruin it.

I'd give anything right now to be held by someone stronger than me because I'm sick of being strong for myself. I'd like to cry on someone and not be questioned. I'd like to feel loved by someone and not feel uncomfortable. I think if someone loved me I might be able to love myself, And now I'm crying. I wish I could put all the walls down for a bit. The humor, the biggest thing. It's tiring to make fun of yourself to deflect everything. It's shit. I wish I could just turn around and be totally exposed, all the weaknesses out there, all the insecurities, all the sadness.

Goodbye, for now.
xxx

To love and to be loved is to feel the sun from both sides

The title of this entry is a quote by David Viscott. I don't know how many people would have heard of him, I certainly hadn't heard of him until I stumbled upon this quote. If you want to know more about him, Google him. I could sit here and regurgitate the Wikipedia entry but that's not the point.

My focus is the quote and the truth it holds for every single human being on this godforsaken planet. We all know what unrequited love feels like. Having the love radiating from you but never feeling the warmth of that special someones love back. It's painful. We all long to feel the sun from both sides, don't we? We all hope and pray that one day that person we love will turn around project their love onto us.

Why am I writing this? I don't know. Maybe it's because I wear my heart on my sleeve. The line between 'like' and 'love' gets blurred sometimes, and I just can't see the woods for the trees. Maybe it's because of my low self esteem that I will probably carry for the rest of my life. Because to be welcomed into an embrace by someone strong and manly makes me feel good about myself and it's like a drug and I find myself wanting more. The crux of it is that I don't know if I've been in love or not throughout my 18years on this planet. I'm not going to say decisively yes or no because I feel that would be writing off one of the most important aspects of my life.

I fall easily. Maybe too easily. I like to feel wanted but then when I am wanted for real it scares the hell out of me and makes me want to run so very far away. So how do I solve that problem? I don't know. Until I do I'll only be feeling the sun from one side. And I wonder is that such a bad thing? Maybe the real reason I run from someone who wants me is because speculation is better than the truth. Loving someone who doesn't love you back - whilst painful - is safe because if it changes it can only change for the better. Admiring someone silently from afar is fine because you'll never know the horrible truth. In your mind you can make up all types of possibilities and hide from the truth that can really hurt you.

So maybe when it comes down to it I'm not the gritty realist I saw myself as.

You may say I'm a dreamer - but I'm not the only one.

I feel sick and unloved at the moment. Would it be too much to ask for a little comfort off my dear father? If I am sat there in the car, blubbing like a baby over something really insignificant then it's pretty obvious that I just need a shoulder to cry on and someone to talk to. My father is not that man. He is the epitome of emotionally stunted.



I really didn't want to break today but it's getting so close and all the emotions were just bubbling up inside of me. Another factor is that I am tired and a bit fed up, which doesn't really help at all. I'm looking forward to my day off tomorrow even though I'll be caining my history coursework. Argh!



I just wish that all the shit would go away. I know I have the worlds best support system and they know that I am drawing as much strength from them as possible at the moment. I don't feel it's very fair and I feel bad for being such a drain. I am trying to rein it in and to measure my feelings a bit more.



I seem to say this a lot lately but I hate being shown as vulnerable. I don't want to be a vulnerable person. I want to be the rock I was told I was, not some crappy piece of paper that just gets soggy and falls apart. That's the best metaphor I could think of.



Anyhow,


Ciao

xoxo

Love really is blind.

I really shouldn't watch romantic films. They make me want to be held and loved. They put into sharp focus that I'm not. Urgh. But they also make me feel good. They make me hopeful that one day I'll have my sunset ending. What a paradox.

I don't want to be all secretive and stuff on here, so I may as well just use his name. If he reads it, he reads it, I guess. I dreamt of Rohan last night. It wasn't really a romantic, loved up dream. I think it was me dwelling on what he said after badminton, when he said he would come and see Watchmen with me but she would be coming too. It kind of had bearings on that. I don't know, it's a bit hazy now.

Ah, what to do. I'm half on the verge of getting wasted and just saying it to him. I'm so confused about how I feel but always there is the fact that I like him a lot and have always liked him a lot. I don't want to scare him off though. Argh. Complicated. I just want things to fall into place and just work for once. I hate not knowing things. I hate uncertainty. I want things to be black and white and for people to just say what they feel and not care about the consequences. I wish things were different. Hell, I constantly wish things were different and if they were different I'd probably wish they were different, too.

Damn you, Bridget Jones! When I think of Rohan I see just how different he is from the Colin Firth/Tom Hanks guy I picture in my life. But then again I am just a lowly girl, probably not worthy of the handsome English gentleman. (Yes, I know Tom Hanks is American!) Oh well, maybe things will look okay on the other side of tomorrow.

Ciao
xoxo

I don't know what I want

I don't know anymore. Can I go there again? Are we meant to be together, or am I just fooling myself into thinking that we should be? I'm so confused. Did I ever stop loving you? When you got together with her I was jealous, but maybe that was because I wanted to be the only real girl in your life. I don't know. I've always clicked with you, I've always felt comfortable around you. When I am around you I like to hug you and to touch you. It just happens, and if I reach for your hand I'm not always consciously aware that I am doing it.

I wish things were simple.

I wish it were black and white. Yes, I want you. Or no I don't. Simple. Effortless. Instead I have to separate like from love. Friendship from relationship. Head from heart.
I don't know if I'm the only one but I can never seem to tell which want is coming from where. When we spoke about us last year I didn't know if it was real or not. I didn't know what was going on. If you were just fooling me back.
Hm, I would like us to try. But then again, it's all good and well me wanting something but what about you and what you want? I wish I could read people's minds sometimes. Just reach in and know exactly what they are thinking and who they are thinking about. It would decode a lot of stuff. It would make my life so much easier.

In the words of Coldplay, and I don't quote Coldplay often:

If you love me, won't you let me know?

I'll confess that I can be a little selfish

Something I wrote instead of doing my history coursework. Go figure.

He kissed me. If you want to call it a kiss. It was more of a brushing of flesh, ephemeral, quick. It was over so fast. But I will call it a kiss.

I became hungry for him. I wanted to touch him, to hold him, to love him as best I could. I didn’t feel like a human being - more like an animal. If there was a way to meld our bodies together and for me to become one with him I would have done it. But it was over so quickly.

He planted his hands against my shoulders. Softly, but firmly. He uttered one single, breathy, wretched word. No. And at that monosyllabic bullet my world began to crumble. The foundations of me shook in a tremor of pain and suddenly I was holding me up. My soul was holding me up.
I tried to embrace him again, but his hands against my shoulders kept me at arms length. I said please. Please. Like a small child asking for cake. Almost coquettishly. I don’t know why, it just slid out of my mouth, the words like slugs leaving a tangible, messy trail between us. He shook his head to reaffirm what I already knew. He dismissed me like a homeless person begging for money. He took two step away and severed eye contact.

My heart wanted to leap out of my chest. It was pounding against my ribs, a dog against a fence, determined to break through. It seemed reasonable. If I couldn’t have him I would die in front of him. My heart would beat itself out of my chest and lie between us, like an elephant in the room. In my head he wouldn’t catch me as I fell to the floor; he’d just watch me twitch and convulse, my arms stretched out towards him, pleading.

How tragic.

Ciao.
xoxo

Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?

I am a melting pot of emotions. At the present moment I feel fear, elation, anxiety and confusion. There are two events in my life causing this. I have to be a bit ambiguous about one. I have to tread carefully.

The first event is that I may possibly have an interview at Selfridges. This is a good thing. It means that potentially I might get a job, and this means that I will have money of my own to spend on things. Very good. I'm a bit anxious about interviews and things like that but isn't everyone? I don't know. Anyway that is event number one.

Event number two is the source of my confusion and elation. Hmm. My emotions went separate ways when I got the news. On the one hand I was happy, which is just so wrong. On the other hand I was sad, and then on the other million hands I was confused. I guess I don't know what I want or if I want it. Maybe it's just the idealistic side of it, not the real side of it.

I do not know.

Ciao.
xoxo

Who watches the Watchmen?

Not me.

Urgh. I'm sitting here crying like a stupid, spoilt idiot all because I'm going to have to go and see a film all on my own.

I won fucking tickets to see an advanced screening and I can't fucking go - that's what's getting to me the most! I don't want to have to put it off till Saturday. I feel selfish but pfft, fuck it. If I want to go see it, I'll book a ticket and go and see it alone.

I don't know why I'm so emotional. Maybe it's the pain I've been in the last couple of days and the frustration of not being able to sleep or really do anything productive. Hopefully I'll get a good nights rest tonight now the pain has eased off. I might even have an early night.

And now for some truth. Well, at least a version of it.

In my head we are perfect. In my head we are like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, we fit together like we're supposed to. In my head it's perfect. I know I don't want you because you're interesting or funny; I want you because you are there and because I can have you. And is that so wrong? To want something and know you can have it if you just snapped your fingers...or sent a text message.

In real life you are nothing. In real life you're like a reflection in a muddly puddle. I can send it away whenever. I don't want you. I want the idea of you. It comes in waves and when it subsides I realise what a jerk I've been, but at the time I don't care. Would I hate it if I were you?

You aren't enough. I like to pretend that you are the jigsaw piece - but you're not. You're so far from that. I don't want you.

It's not hard to fall when you float like a cannonball.

Urgh. All those times I've held my tongue around you, and for what? I wish I had the guts to just tell you what I thought of you, to try and express the rage and the pain inside of me. You don't fucking hold back. You're selfish, just a fucking selfish prick. One foot wrong and I'm in the shit house, but you, you get away with every fucking thing. We're all embarrassed by you, you know? You're such a stupid fuck.

I try not to let it touch me. I try to make it seem like it's not hurting. It kills me though. But you're too selfish to see that. Everything has to be on your terms, everything has to be about you. Why can't you be more of a mother? Or was it a case of as soon as we got into double figures you gave up all obligations to us?

I can't wait to leave this shithole.

Let me get what I want this time...

I can't fucking do this anymore. I can live with you, like this. You're a fucking pisshead. Urgh. It's twenty past six and you're fucking pissed. I hate you so much. What kind of person starts drinking at 2pm. What kinda person does that?

An alcoholic.

I can't think when you're around because this rage wells up inside me and I can't stop it. I see you and your horrible, ugly face and I want to lash out at you. I want to make you hurt because every sip you take hurts me. You fucker. I can't do this. I just wish, for once, that you would just choose not to drink. I wish that you wouldn't opt for the route that makes you turn into someone else.

I'm fucking hurting and you refuse to see it.

Who Watches The Watchmen?

So, I bought the graphic novel The Watchmen yesterday. I bought it for a fairly reasonable price of £12 from HMV. Well, I think it was reasonable anyway! I have to say I am really enjoying it! I've never really read a proper graphic novel. I've read comics and stuff, which is kind of the same. I am loving it though! It's engaging, it's clever, it's intelligent, it's just bloody fantastic.

I'm trying to savour it by reading it a bit at a time, although I get the feeling that it's one of those novels that you can reread without them getting old at all. So yes, The Watchmen may well become one of my favourite reads.

My favourite character has to be Rorschach. I can't really tell you why, to be honest. He just seems devoid of any real emotions, particularly self pity, but at the same time politically aware. I don't really know how to explain it. I think I would like to be able to walk in his shoes sometimes, to be free of the shackles that come with a conscious. But then again he has one. This is confusing.

Rorschach:



His mask is like the Rorschach test. But Wikipedia can explain him much better than I can.

Dr. Manhattan is pretty cool too.



This is him in the film, which I am pretty darned psyched for by the way!

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

Weirdly, I just found this while tinkering around the stuff I have saved on the college network. It kind of runs out of steam near the end. Please don't laugh at the names! I want to keep it as original as possible, as it's too stale now to go back to. I might have a go at rewriting the whole thing but keeping the idea. Enjoy!



They say not to talk to strangers. But put yourself in my shoes. He was sent to kill me on her orders, what options did I have? What else was there for me to do? The police weren’t an option; she’d know I was still living. She would know he had betrayed her, and I wasn’t prepared to put his life in danger. It was the right thing to do.

It makes it easier to think about, to talk about if I make it so any other option would have ended worse than this one.

I suppose I should start from the beginning, when things were normal. Well, normal for me. We were in love, me and Rae. Of course, she had no idea about that. We kept it to ourselves, it was exciting. “Our little secret.” He would whisper in my ear as he pulled me inconspicuously behind a door or a curtain. We were happy then. It hurts to think we might still be happy if – No. I mustn’t think about it, I refuse to let myself pull open that wound.

I digress. We were happy together. Endless nights would pass with us planning our escape. Talking and hoping that one day we would be free of her hold. That one day our love wouldn’t be a secret.

She was my employer, my landlord and my provider. Not a mother. Never a mother or even a guardian. Just a warped imitation of someone who should care for you. She found me work, made sure everything went smoothly, made sure I wouldn’t get hurt and that my ‘clients’, as she called them, were sane, or at least clean. My real name was Airlyeth but my ‘clients’ called me Snow. Ironic that I should be called something so pure and innocent when I was, in fact, a prostitute, nothing more than a whore. It doesn’t matter how you dress it, how you sugar it to become something higher class and somehow morally right. I sold my body, pure and simple. She was the person who did the selling and the person who saw the money. What I got was a roof over my head, a place to sleep at night and food to eat. I should’ve been grateful. But I snapped. Wouldn’t you? It gnawed away in a fragile place in the back of my mind until I couldn’t do the sordid thing any longer. I remember it happening so vividly. I lay there planning it all. I wasn’t going to do it anymore, I was worth more. All these thoughts swirling none stop. I wasn’t thinking about dooming me and Rae. I just wanted out.

The door opened and I sat up. He was a businessman, they usually were. Grey suit, novelty tie their children brought them for Christmas. I tried not to think about that part. Instinctively I clocked his wedding ring but I didn’t want to think about his wife at home, it revolted me. He must have said a couple of things to me, I don’t remember what. I was sweating even though I was hardly wearing anything. I wanted it over with. He sat next to me and my blood boiled. He was 40, if not older, he had a family; he had a wife, why was he not happy with the things he had? I stopped thinking then. As he forced himself on top of me I forced the knife into his stomach. His eyes bulged as the air left him in a soft whooshing sound and blood started to flow over my hand and onto me. Panicking, I hauled him off me. It was hard to do but I somehow found a reserve of strength inside of me. He rolled onto the floor, a croaking sound coming from somewhere deep inside his throat. I stopped on my way to the door, looking at him. Contempt washed over me; he deserved it I told myself. I still believe this now but the guilt hides in the cracks of my argument. I could have taken anyone’s life and it would have still felt like my own.

This might not explain anything to you. In my head I’m trying to make sense of why and how things turned out like they did. This isn’t for anyone’s benefit but my own. It’s selfish. I’ve come to understand and accept that I am selfish. If I hadn’t have been so consumed in myself I might’ve stayed and me and Rae would still see each other. I can’t believe how wrong things went.

He came to me. He kissed me. I remember him explaining that she had sent him to find me and kill me. He cried. He cried so hard and I wanted to hold him but he wouldn’t let me. He kept shaking his head, asking why I had done it? why I had ruined everything? I got so angry. Why had I done it? I practically screamed in his face. I had done it because I was scared and angry and fed up of having to do what I was doing. Could he not understand that?
Evidently not.

He walked away. He left me standing there all on my own, to salvage something out of the wreckage of my life.

So I wandered through the city. Looking for something to do, someway to maybe change things. That’s when I met Gee. He was 30, long black hair, awful dress sense but an overwhelming charm to him. He wasn’t Rae, no, he would never be Rae. But he was someone to turn to, someone to take care of me. Or so I thought.

Gee took me to live with him, he didn’t care about my past. He said that those sorts of things are better left untouched. I agreed. His flat was dark, damp, and dingy. I didn’t think much of the tin foil or the spoons strewn on the floor. I thought he was just messy. Until I saw him shooting up on the kitchen floor. I wanted to walk out but my legs wouldn’t get into gear. I didn’t want to a part of that. But he grabbed my arm, he was frantic, his eyes wild and sweat running down his forehead. Stay, he whispered, stay please. I shook my head and turned away. Seeing this change come upon him pity rolled over me in waves. I stayed; what a mistake. That night he offered me some of his ‘stuff’, it hurt to think about Rae, to think about what I had lost and he assured me that it would help me forget, that he could see the pain in my eyes and that this would take it all away. I believed him and I nervously held out my arm as he slid the syringe into my skin. I don’t remember much of my first trip, in fact, I only remember words and numbers flashing in front of my head, and of course the face of the man I had killed. Rather than take it away, it amplified it.

Ciao.
xoxo

I wrote a couple of poems in English today. Mostly out of boredom. I was half-asleep. But I will share one anyway.

#1

Heavy air, thick with words
that hang on every eyelid.
Shuffling iambs of pages
of books read, thumbed, scorned.
Tediousness is painted on every
wall and sanctuary seems
a speck in the distance,
when men with white eyebrows
tell you jokes that don't make sense.

This life is mine, and I am my own

I'm trying to be somebody. I'm not trying to be somebody else.

The pain I am feeling at the moment is indiscribable. I never, ever want to paint myself as vulnerable and insecure. I always want to be the girl who can hold her head up high and shake off all the troubles she has just like water.

You know that accidents happen.

I know that it's not my whole life. These brief bouts of pain that hit me when I'm not fully ready won't last for ever. This is just a rough patch, right? I'm paying psychologically for my mothers problems. I can't blame her for it all though, can I? It's not her fault that she's addicted to something that is slowly destroying her. It's not her fault.

I try and console myself with that. I try and say to myself that she is not in the right state of mind to think about who she is hurting. But this isn't true. Not even slightly. When she picks up that bottle of gin when she gets home from work, she is perfectly sober. She must know she is going to hurt us. She must know just how much she changes from my perfect, loving mother into a monster. How could she not see it?

I'm tired of fighting. I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of being her verbal punchbag. As much as I have wonderful friends no one really knows what it is like. No one has that. Their parents don't morph into unrecognisable people. When mum is drunk she is like a stranger.

Urgh. So this is me. If you stripped me away of my fronts you'd see how lost I was. How I don't know what to do most of the time. How I hurt myself to justify it all.

I hate it. Why can't it not affect me? I wish so much that I could just breeze by and not give two hoots whether she lives or dies. I am almost at peace with the fact that my mother will probably die young due to liver failure, or some other equally horrific disease. I know that she is falling apart, and all the times she goes to the doctors or moans about something to do with her health it is the alcohol that is doing it to her. It's knocking years off her life, but she can't see outside her green bottle.

I'm angry. Yes. I am angry at her for being such a selfish bitch. She doesn't want to see how we hurt. We've fucking begged her to change, to get help. But all she does is turn her back on us. I hate her for it. I hate her so much. Never have a felt so much hate. But then accompanying the anger and the hate is guilt, just as prominent.

I'm sick of feeling.

It's been a long time since I felt so sick

One day I will just implode. All of the thoughts and the feelings will pile on top of me and my mind won't be able to take it anymore. My mind will just collapse. Then all I will become is a dribbling, gibbering wreck. I would like to remain as coherent as possible.

I am trying to be a nice person. I am trying to be friends with this guy who seems to never get it that we can't be a couple. It seems to me that he can't see us as friends, only as a romantic pairing. I do not want this.

In other news, I have to get out of Wolverhampton soon. I was so close to buying a one way train ticket and waving the place goodbye. But then I thought that would never be fair on those close to me, so I may aswell wait until it is vaguely acceptable for me to leave when I go to university.

Meh,Meh,Meh!

You don't know a thing about my sins, how the misery begins...

This is really the only 'safe' place I have to rant and vent. I feel like a huge bag of shit lately, and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. Whilst everything is placid at home (for once!), I seem to be losing my grip on myself. I feel like I am just falling and falling and I don't know where I'll land, or how I will find my way out.

For the last couple of days my buzzword seems to be sorry. I seem to be the living embodiment of sorry. I am sorry that I do not reach the standards morally that are set in certain companies. I am sorry that I drink. I am sorry that I smoke. I am sorry that I didn't wear a chastity belt until I was in a loving relationship. I am sorry that I am me.

But it's all I am and all I can be.

Right now my hand is on self destruct. I don't want to sit and ponder the world. Really, I don't. I want to go out and party and have a bunch of fun and drink loads. This is all I want to do. I am sick, fucking sick, of being told 'don't' when I make a decision that I want to make. If I want to buy a bottle of vodka, I will buy it. If I want to smoke a pack of cigarettes in a day, I will fucking smoke them. I can't be fucked to listen to petty criticism that I, quite frankly, do not care about. I don't need to be made to feel guilty, I carry enough around with me.

I just wish, for once, people would get off my back. Because I am fucking breaking and I'm not entirely sure if anyone can see that.

January 2009 seems to be the month my writing comes alive. I feel so much more motivated to write. It is as if I have more vision, which means I can put more imagery into a piece. Emotions aren't literal things. You can't touch an emotion. Show me someone who has stroked anger or moulded love. There has to be ways of putting an emotion into words but it's so difficult. There's never one word that sums up the way you feel.

I guess the emotion I am exploring in this piece is depression. It's something I have been feeling a lot lately. The only motivation I have, really, is to write. I won't over talk this. I'll just let you read.

I wish there were more words. I wish there was a huge thesaurus with a plethora of new words in it that could some up one feeling concisely.

At the moment, my life is like a broken pencil.

Just imagine that for a second. A plain HB pencil lay across a crisp sheet of freshly printed-paper. It would be such a beautiful sight if the lead weren’t separated from the tip, it would be amazing if the graphite hadn’t smudged the page that was so ready – so eager – to be written on.

This is how I see myself; the potential is there. The pencil is ready and waiting to fill it’s purpose and write or draw something amazing. But there is something holding it back, a profound flaw that blocks any kind of creative growth.

It seems such a simple solution, solving the problem. All that needs to be done is for someone to realise the pencil is broken and sharpen it again. When that happens it’s ready to fulfil its purpose, to create something beautiful.

It’s so easy when the problem is a broken pencil.

But what happens when the problem is a broken person? When it’s not the lead, but the core of someone, the essence of them that is broken? How do you fix that?

It’s not as simple as picking up a sharpener and peeling away layers of wood until a new and shiny point reveals itself. You can’t whittle a person down to something new. So, maybe my life isn’t a broken pencil after all. Maybe it’s something more complex. And the question is and always will remain:

How do I fix me?

Ciao
xx