Better to ask forgiveness than permission...

I realise the irony as I lay here, listening to you apologise. The same phrases as before come out of your mouth.
"I didn't mean to"... "it wont happen again"..."I love you"


You're almost in tears. Normally that's my cue to forgive you. To hold you and comfort you...
but the irony is still tugging too hard today. 
I wish I could get angry at you for it, but I can't. I've no energy left to even point out the fact that every time you do it you say it wont happen again, let alone shout, or cry, or tell you to go.


I sigh and roll over. 
Your hand pulls on my shoulder. You need me to forgive you. 
It hurts you so much inside, does it? It hurts you ... wow, just - wow. 
Your selfishness is apparently contagious, because I can't be selfless now. I can't cuddle you and say "It's okay"... 
I know they say that it's better to ask for forgiveness than to ask permission... but by giving you forgiveness I seem to just be giving you permission to do it again. 
You're like a child. 


A child who does wrong and is forgiven never learns.


Some how you remind me of those fathers who abuse their children and then cry and beg their forgiveness... 
it's pitiful.


A grown man shouldn't cry. Not like this. Not for no good reason.


Women cry for no reason. Even that's deplorable in my opinion. 
But for a man to cry over not being forgiven..?
I could understand if it was life changing. Not being forgiven for something big, that they really didn't mean to do - a true accident... that's understandable.
But for you to abuse me, then cry about me not saying it's alright...?


I can see the pain welling up in you, and all I can think is that you deserve it.
Why should you be allowed to live with yourself if I can't live with myself because of you?
Why should you have more right than me to feel whole, and well, and human?


You don't seem to realise how much of me you have ripped away by your constant blows - emotional, physical and mental. You don't seem to care that while you beg my forgiveness I'm still red and bruising from what you've just done.
I used to cry when you did these things to me.
Now I just turn off and hide somewhere deep inside myself. 
That way it doesn't hurt so much.
You seem to think that because I'm not crying I'm okay. 


I'm not.


I'll never be okay.


Not now.


Thank you... you complete ass hole... for destroying me...


The thoughts of pain and disgust swirl around me, but you're still right behind me as I lay turned away from you. Still persistent. Still crying my name, begging now..


"It's okay." I finally say. The tears start to leak from my own eyes now. 
Damn it.


Your arm comes around me and you bury your face in my back in relief. 
You either don't notice, or ignore, the stiffness in me. 
It's exhausting just laying here with you.
It feels like dying... like suffocating...






I guess the hardest part about my 'depression' is explaining it. 
Depression doesn't actually have a real cause. It just pops up. My friend doesn't think it's an excuse for me feeling shit - and to be fair, it isn't... it's just the word to describe the feeling. 
"Depression is not an excuse!" he'll say to me when he's frustrated.
and I agree with him... just like I used to forgive him... because it's what I do.
I put me aside and agree to what ever other people want. 


Okay, so I do agree that it's not an excuse... it's just that I don't think I use it as one. He seems to think I do. 
The thing is, he got over his depression... I just manage to keep my bearable. 
I don't know how to get over it. 


It's not like a mountain you have to climb over. It's not something you can set a goal and slowly work your way towards. It's not something you can map the progression of. 
It's a feeling, and a well of memories. I turn my back on my past, and it just bites me in the bum. It drags me back towards it, clawing me under...


I was feeling rather low the other day, and my flatmate copied out the chorus of P!nk's new song "Fuckin' Perfect" in a note to me.
I was fine till I read that. 
Then I broke down into a flood of tears that wouldn't stop. At all.
The thing is, I tell Li all the time that he's perfect... and I really see him that way. I know I shouldn't... but I do. For someone else to say those words to me - even if it was just a quoted song - hit me over the head like a sledgehammer. 
"Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel like you're nothing, you're fuckin' perfect to me."
My brain screamed back at those words - you're wrong! I AM nothing. 


I spend so much time trying to convince myself that I'm not the best thing in the universe sometimes... yet my gut reaction is always that I'm worthless. Why is that?
How can I think that I'm so great, but if someone says that I'm good I get pushed off my feet and can't understand what they're saying? How come I can't accept that other people might have a good opinion of me?


I got so used to fighting the world, and proving to myself that I had worth without them... it's as if my self worth is supported by their dislike of me. I can somehow stand against people, prove that I'm amazing and good, that I'm worth more than a million of them... but only if they don't see it. The second someone see's me as anything other than useless, rubbish, annoying, disgusting... the moment they recognise something more in me... more than the kids when I was growing up saw... more than a girl to be used under the pretence of love... more than a human punching bag... more than just an annoying hanger on... more than just that weirdo who plays piano... more than an outcast... the second they see me as valuable I fall flat on my face, and can't find my own self worth anywhere.


It's like when Libor said that he looked up to me. 
That still just does not compute. And not just because he's taller than me.
The words knocked the breath out of me when I first read them. 


I don't know how to be accepted. I don't understand what it means to be loved by anyone other than my family. It just doesn't compute. I can't get my head around what people can actually see in me. 


I always say I don't care what people think of me. 
In a way, it isn't true. It's more than no one used to think anything of me - and if they did it wasn't in a good way... so I learnt to not think of them either. 
I see someone look at me and I turn away with an air of "fuck you" because I assume they're looking at me critically, thinking of something horrible to say. 
Call me paranoid, but experience has taught me that in everyone else's opinion I'm a disgusting excuse for a human being, and should be made aware of my own physical unattractiveness as often as possible.


That sounds so melodramatic reading it back... but I'm pretty sure those are words a majority of people have paraphrased through out my life. 
Maybe I just grew up around really horrible people...? 
I don't know. 
But the only time people were nice to me (before University) was if they were setting me up to be the butt of a joke.
It makes you suspicious. 
Hell, if people come on to me on nights out I assume it's as a joke among friends. 
Yeah... you're probably right about the paranoia thing.


Thing is, I really value my friends opinions.
So, this is me, sitting here, slowly trying to readjust my ideas of who I am.
Trying to work out how to keep up the fight against a world that has stopped fighting me.
Trying to make myself believe all the stuff I've always told everyone else.
And trying to work out why people have hurt me so much if I'm what my friends say I am.


How do you convince yourself that you're worth so much when people have always treated you as worthless and usable?


Hmm... I'm sure there's a way.


Enough emo drivel. Time to crack on with the essay of poetical doom.




Blessed Be xxx

Frustration

Again we're fighting. Yes again; and I 

Don't know why we are this time. All I know 

Is it's not fair the way you that you can go

And use my weakness against me. I cry;

But even then I try to hide the pain.

It never works the way it should - you see

Through my disguise. Because you just know me

So well. I love you - still, we fight again.

Yet when I turn to walk away from you,

You look at me with angry pain, and say

"Why must you hurt me once again?" The way

You say it makes me stop. I can't hurt you

Again - though wait? I'm lost. Aren't those my words?

You fling them back at me. My unjust words.

I look over my sonnet and sigh. No love is left in the poor form. Only pain. 

When did that happen?

Probably when love became the immortal suffering that man endures through the belief that it is joy. 

How morbid I sound. My own mind chastises it's thoughts before anyone else can hear them and do the same. 

How melancholy my heart has become. Struck time and time again by words and fists that break down the already weak structure standing where once a beautiful flower bloomed. 

That flower wilted long ago. Was plucked, replanted, plucked again. Regrew, was trampled, laughed at, broken. 

I put a fence around the third. It lasted just long enough to flower into a red tulip. The yellow rose of infantile desire only petals in the wind, it's blood white daffodil had followed along the same lines. Dark green stem folding under the pressure of too much giving. 

The crimson of the tulip was swatted at, then stolen. What was left was an image of it. So perfect that I, for a time, believed it to be my own beauty, growing resplendent in the light of another's warm affection. 

When the image collapsed and I realised the theft, I built a wall of ice and fire. A wall no one could cross without express permission. I stood with my final heart flower inside our tower of crystal, and waited patiently for it to bloom again.
This new heart flower was colder to the touch though, and seemed as crystal or glass to me. No matter how I tended it, it would not change, nor grow further than a pink bud. 

And there it still stands, beside me in a tower of ice and wind and fire. Shaken by its predecessors short lives, fearful of the pain - yet yearning, ever yearning, for the exhilaration and joy of another's company.

At times I've seen that glass heart bloom, a ray from some distant heart caressing its frozen petals and turning them to a velvet softness. Opening them so quickly one would think it were always open.

But those distant hearts only get close enough to steal a petal. And, at the pain, my pink lilly closes itself once again, hardening into ice, or stone, or glass... to this day I cannot tell which it is.

There is a heart that often shines down on that lilly of mine, and, when I'm not looking, proceeds to tickle away those precious petals - yet so unconsciously do they do it that I cannot find the will to force them away. Instead I leave them to their petal play, hoping they will realise on their own that the petals between their fingers, while soft, are not unlimited, and will one day run out.

Perhaps then they will satisfy their self with the texture of the leaves, the length of the stem; and once they have entirely dismantled it, either leave my little lilly to its mournful dismemberment, or, as I secretly hope, replace it with a new flower. 

One would hope for orange snowdrops. Though, in honesty, I would perhaps like a rose again. Blue this time, to show the tears that no longer need be shed, and the ice that need not protect from all others. 

The ice wall they lean over now could be dismantled. We could tend our hearts together. . . .

Flowery language fails to negotiate the complexities of my heart though.

"How do you want me to treat you?" He asks. The frustration is palpable, evident in his face. 

Why can't he understand?

"Like me!" the answer tumbles out before I can check my tongue. 

I'm still boggled by it all though. How can someone who knows me so well not know what I mean when I say that I wanted to be treated like me.
To say that he doesn't know what that means is like saying he doesn't know who I am.

Have I really changed so much, so quickly?
Am I really so inconsistent?

In fairness, I understand where he's coming from. I'm just riding on residual pain and confusion.

Even hours later I'm still trying to worked out what happened and why.

Still puzzling over tiny words, phrases. Words I was too angry or too upset to question at the time.

That word 'How' should have been used more. 

But the only one that would come out was "Sorry."

Being told to go made it somehow impossible though.

In fairness, it wasn't the being told to go, but that painful accusation before hand. The one that made me even more confused than I had been previously. The one that made me angry all over again for a nano-second, then hurt with regret, then sting with shame. 

"Just go"

There was more pain in those words than I'd heard for a long time. But the hint of disgust wasn't unfamiliar at all. 

That hint of repulsion and dislike has been clawing at my insides consistently for what feels like months. Looks and words, that's all they are, but the compulsion behind them is like that of wanting to squish an insect, or wash away a dirty mark. That slight turn of the head that is so reminiscent of smelling something bad and realising it must be endured.

Endurance and disgust should not be part of this. 

Perhaps they aren't.

Still, that's how it feels, how it felt, so it must be what I tell.

I dwell for that moment too long on the slight throbbing pain in my chest. A knife being slowly twisted. 

Though I harden myself against the world, he still can cut to the quick with a glance, a word - or lack there of.

Why?

That is what I cannot understand in all of this.

Why has he still such influence on me?

I suppose that's why I can't let any of this go.

Why I still sit here, my leg and buttocks long numb from harsh pressure, my fingers turning blue with the lack of heat, my mind still recounting those minutes that seem like years - not just hours. 

I can't let go, because I can't understand it.

Understanding is the key for me.
Once I understand I can move on.

The frustration comes in that I know I will never understand.

A door has been closed on the conversation now. Perhaps forever. Such is the way when talking with men. Women, girls, boys, children - they will happily revisit a subject, pick it over again (some until there is nothing but bare bones, and then go over a few more times - just to make sure). But men... no, not they. Perhaps this is a stereotype, and perhaps it's very wrong - but in my experience, a man will say something once, and only once, if it is to do with their emotions.

You get a brief window into the true inner workings of a man, and as if it scares them, as if it admits some weakness, they close it over and will not revisit the site again. Unless pushed.

Never push.

You only push away.

You can't push someone closer to yourself.

Think about the physics. It doesn't work.

So the subject will be laid to rest. This will be it's memorial, it's memoir, it's grave eternal. We will pray that nothing comes from its depths, that what was done is done, and wont lead to worse things if left as is. 

Frustration leads to anger.
Anger leads to the need for outbursts.
Lack of outbursts leads to frustration.

Welcome to my circle. 

For now, enough of sadness and anger. 

Go forth with peace and love, and know that the circle is broken by this one secret:
The core of frustration lies with oneself. Once you accept that you have done wrong, you can let go. A breath is all it takes.

Blessed Be xx

And the word was...

My fingers push on the metal, flicking out the blade in a practised motion. A thumb pushes against the catch and I slide the blade back away. 

Push. This time slower, smoother, letting it slide almost sensuously out. The clean -snick- sound as the catch clicks into place beneath it. The slight glisten as the light catches the edge, making it look lighter, friendlier... shiney, new... the sparkley object of any magpie's desires. My eyes trace the smooth edge from point to it rough, hacking hilt.
I turn it slightly where I lay, looking at the tip. Blunt. Not so blunt that it wont pierce things, but too blunt to be effective. The metal edge by the tip is crinkled from too much use. It really needs sharpening.
My thumb runs along the side of it, caressing the damaged edge all the way to the safety catch.

This time I wrap my hand around the closed knife. My knuckles show white and I close my eyes. 
The belt clip digs into my palm as I hold on too tightly, and there it is again. The urge to open it. The urge to slice through things. The urge...


But no. 


I shakily reach across to my bedside table and put the knife down. The resounding 'No' in my mind is feeble and quiet, but it's enough to make me let go and roll back over. 


I've been in bed now 16hours. Maybe less. The only thing keeping me going is the knowledge that I have to. 
Temptation sits not two feet away from me, but I pull on some deep reserve and hold still till the feelings pass.

That reserve seems depleted lately. Maybe I've been using it too much.
See, I hate them knowing. I hate the pity, the concern... it cuts deeper than any knife. It makes me burn with shame. Not just that, I see the pain it causes some of them, and the impatience it elicits in others... neither of which can I stand. 
So here I lay. Waiting to be able to face another day. 


It's harder when there's nothing to go do. Nowhere I've promised to be. 
Nothing to do with people.
I have plenty to do. More than enough to fill a life time if I'm honest. But I can't make myself want it. Can't make myself want to get up and do anything. Not unless it's for someone else. 


It's like this every time. 
Falling back into the pattern of living for others.
Unable to drag my sorry ass out of bed for anything less than a friend.


It makes me so angry.


You'd think that would help!
Being angry should wipe away the emptiness.
But it doesn't. It makes it worse.
Because I'm now angry at myself, berating myself... it's like beating an already cowering dog... it just makes it worse. It's rather pathetic really.


I turn onto my back and stare up at the ceiling.
Blank, staccato white stares back at me. The light coming through my thin curtains is that of the day now, rather than the street light. The clock on my wall reads 5pm... it's wrong. I glance at my phone, limp and helpless on the pillow next to me, and can't be bothered to unlock it to register the actual time. I've just realised I don't actually care. 


Sighing, my hand curls around a cuddly toy. 
There's three of them in my bed. Some times there's more, but these are the three that I make sure are there with me - not fallen down the back of my head board or left downstairs. Stitch, BonBon and Sugarcube.
Normally I would only cuddle one of them to fall asleep with. Lately I've needed all three of them all night. I've even taken to taking them down with me to cuddle on the sofa in the kitchen. 


The soft fuzz of a donkey kisses my hand, and I draw Sugarcube closer.
I don't have the energy or enthusiasm to hold him tight, but having him pushed gently against my chest helps a little.
Another reminder of the closest person in my life. Li bought me Sugarcube - the newest addition to the family - for my birthday this year. He's small enough to be hidden in two large hands, and I love him. 
My thumb strokes down his back, the urge to read the tag in his ear again wells up a little, but I already know it by heart.
Every time I'd read it aloud to someone they said it was just like Li.
It had been my first thought on reading it too.


"Sugarcube 
...the helpful little donkey... 
...He'll carry you through life when you need him"


I want to walk though. I want to stand on my own two feet and not need anyone or anything... 
I bite my lip, trying not to think the word that loves echoing round my head lately.
"Weak."
It's like a mantra. 


Some little person seems to be squatted in the back of my mind whispering
"You're weak. You're useless. Pathetic. Too weak to get out of bed. Too weak to fight back. Too weak to win. Not good enough..."
Sometimes that voice is so loud it drown out logic and every other thought there is. I really have to confiscate the stupid things megaphone.


The really annoying part is that the warrior princess that used to stand tall in my mind and be my strength seems to be lazed around somewhere, eating chocolate, saying "ah, what's the point? Just give in already. Take the easy route for once. I'm tired of doing everything for you."
(Which, I have to remind myself, is completely paradoxical... how can part of me do everything for myself and this be a problem?)
So I lay and think about nothing.


My to do list keeps running through itself quietly. The "URGENT!!" label next to 'Essay' flickers up and makes me feel even worse. But it's being quiet for now, and I lay in peaceful unease for a little longer. 


Finally I swing myself out of bed though. Toilet. Clothes. Food. Internet.
The prospect of a shower is hindered by the fact that it may cause the kitchen ceiling to collapse... we'll leave that till tomorrow.


It's almost like moving through a dream at times though. 
Time seems to run on without me. 
One second it's 2pm and I'm checking some things in the kitchen.
Next it's 5pm and it's dark in the kitchen. 
I'd think that I'd blacked out, if I couldn't retrace all of my actions. I can, and I can sort of see how they've added up to 3 hours of wasted time... but the perception is still confusing in a way.


In my dazed actions there's been a constant weight. An embarrassment that I keep trying to bury under explanations, justifications, jokes... 
It all revolves around the explicit and my behaviour.
Not only have I been psychopathic lately, smashing things and clawing skin; I've also been ridiculously sexual. To the point of appearing to be either a slut or an underpaid prostitute. 
My mind justifies it as 
a) missing Will 
b) PMT 
c) hiding from my real feelings (like, perhaps, actual love)
d) a way to escape feeling sad
e) a display of confidence and fun...


None of it matters though. None of it justifies acting like a complete ass. 
I think the mask slipped a little on Thursday though. Managed to fix it firmly back in place and only a few people saw the cracks underneath, but still - the worst part is that I hadn't realised how much of a mask it was until that point. 

Welcome to breaking point.


So, the weekend arrives and here I am. Dazedly wandering around a practically empty house after spending a majority of the day in bed. 
A pile of work waiting for me to wake up out of my stupid day-dream/nightmare (daymare?).


I sit down at my desk, poised at the laptop... but I don't even open my work. I open facebook and msn.
Why?
Lonely maybe. I'm not sure.
There are a few things to be flicked through on facebook, and a few people to ignore on msn... why is it I always log on there and never find the person online that I want to talk to?
Fate, I decide, and close a bunch of conversations that aren't going to go anywhere today. Boys, mostly, who have a way of drifting in and out of my life; taking what they can while they're around, and being shoved as far away as possible when I can't take it any more. 


The latest in a long line of hopefuls has started to loose hope. He doesn't even push for more conversation when I brush him off.
I'll feel bad about that later.
Oh well.


I get to talk to my best friend for a while at least. 
In a way it feels good to chat to him. In another I feel like a fool. Like I've been letting him down - like I still am. 
Double edged sword I guess. Admiring and loving someone... it makes you want to be the best you can be for them... and when you fail, it's both a comfort that they still love you, and a stab of shame that you've disappointed them again.
Promising to do the work, to get better, to fix everything - I let him go to bed, knowing that all the best intentions in the world are not going to make tonight any easier. 


I fight the urge to log off and get in bed. My safe haven.
It's looking at me with a rumpled 'come back..?' stare. Unblinking (since my bed has no eyelids) and unshaken. Just there, pleading silently to be snuggled. Wanting to hold me again. 
My bed has become the ultimate metaphor for the man I never have. 
Patient. Loving. Warm. Comfy. Always there...


One day I'll realise that a man like that would drive me totally insane. 
That I would want to kick him for not being impatient with me. That his unwavering love would make me want to push it as far as it could. That he would be too warm, that I like the cold. That him being there for me would start to feel like being crowded and I'd just want him to go away...
But no matter how hard I tell myself those things, my heart still has this little bit of hope hiding in there. That bit of hope that says "With him, though, it'll be different. If you love him, and he loves you, enough... everything will always be perfect. You'll make it perfect."


My heart is a romantic really... 
Probably why it gets hurt so often. 


I found these past few weeks that I can love someone so quickly it hurts. That I give out my heart left right and centre. It's like I don't know how to hold back.
But I can't hate. 
I try; and people make me so angry I would gladly hurt them like mad... 
But I don't hate them. 
There's still this feeling of "once I've beaten you to a bloody pulp... I nurse you back to health and care for you."


I can't full on hate.
It just... it doesn't compute. 
It's like my switch doesn't work. It's stuck on "love".
If I had those tattoos on my knuckles that say LOVE and HATE... mine would both say Love...
Either that or LOVE and LIKE...


Some people are stuck on the Hate setting. 
That makes me feel so sad in a weird way.
It's like... hate just seems to hurt people so much.
Okay, granted - Love hurts too. But in that... that worthwhile way.
Like childbirth. It hurts like hell, but it's worth it to hold that sweet little creature at the end. 
Love hurts like hell, but it's worth it - even if it's only to have a connection with someone; even if it's only for a few moments. 
Because those moments lift you up. They make the world shine in different colours. They make the beating of your heart mean something.


I've been so badly hurt over the years through loving people.
So bad that I might never get over it.
But I wouldn't take it back.
I wouldn't give up loving any of the people I have, or do... 
Because even through the pain, and even through the life changing events, and the abuse, and the rejection... through all of the shit that people and life have thrown at me... there's this goodness shining behind it.
Like a silhouette... the shapes that have been drawn by my past are disturbing at times, and horrible - but the colour of the sunset behind them is brilliant, beautiful, and softens the blow.


My own words from nights before echo back at me to prove me wrong though.
"How can someone say they love you, then you hurt you so much?"


Li had my head cradled against his shoulder, one hand in my hair, the other clinging to my shoulders as I cried. My hands grabbing onto him, holding him so tight my fingers were getting cramp - but unable to let go or loosen my grip.
I felt his breathing become tight and slightly jumpy with emotion

"I don't know... I don't know" He whispered into my hair, rocking me slightly. There were tears in his words, though I couldn't see his face to see if they were in his eyes as well. 
I wondered if he were thinking about Luke, or whether he had been pulled into his own past. 
The thought of him being hurt brought on a new wave of tears. It was only because I knew he wouldn't want me to cry over him, or the past, that I managed to clamp down on them. Swallowing them down, down, down with the pain.


Okay, so maybe it's not all been worth it.


Maybe I'd like to be able to close myself off and not give myself away any more.


Maybe I'd like to be strong and happy.


But lets be realistic here.


I finally click on the little icon reading "Assignment" and load up my work. 
Time to start using that dwindling IQ of mine for something other than obscure speculation. 
I cringe at the memory of my IQ test result this morning. 119... damn, when did I get so stupid?
Time to start thinking again me thinks! (see what I did there? yeah, that's why I need my brain back)


Wish me luck!


May your days be filled with wonder and happiness, 
and if your fortunes take a turn for the worst, may you have the strength and courage to deal with them.




Blessed Be xx

Time

I never seem to have the time to do anything any more.


Not even blog!!


So, I'm going to do this one quickly.


If you've read my last post, you'll know that I was more than a little peeved about a situation with a boy. I know, such a high school drama my life!! However, I figured I'd update you a little on it.


His name is Will, he moves around constantly because his company sends him all over the place to do work. He's basically an adviser/problem solver/sales assistant. Yeah, he gets sent places to sell people shit, or fix something that's gone wrong.
Which is fine, except he's never HERE. So we get our wires crossed far too easily.
Even talking on the phone it's not exactly easy to understand each other - you don't have their facial expression or body language to read from, so it just becomes that little bit "are you joking, are you serious, do you care?" kind of thing. So when he says "I wont be your boyfriend" or something similar, it's hard to tell how to take it. Is this something that he's doing out of duty to his job, out of not loving me, out of trying to push me away, out of jest?? It's all too complicated, and made more so in that his voice barely changes when he's serious and when he's joking.
So... the update that I was on about.
We're maybe, sort of, dating?


Yeah, it's that concrete.


We'll see what happens I suppose. It's all to play for.


Life is so uncertain, and so full of random events and twists and turns. I try not to think too much about the future, because it's the least solid part of life. Right now is always changing, and what has gone changes slightly with perspective... but the future changes swiftly and drastically. It's never going to be solid - that's the only truth about it.




So here I am, worrying that the future is going to take one of its drastic changes for the worst, waiting on a phone call or text from my best friend to find out how well he survived his interview, trying not to think about the cramp in my legs or the drip from the kitchen ceiling, and attempting to get all of my meeting notes typed up before I go off editing footage for the relaunch of DemonTV.co.uk.


I'm probably going to run away now and carry on with real life things. 
Just a handy hint for those people with a timetable though:
Don't book more than you can physically get round to.


I keep joking that I'm going to give up sleep in order to get all of my work done... in reality, I'm more likely to give up my work in order to sleep.


Oh well!


I shall attempt to write something more interesting next time.
Until then, leave here with my love and trust.




Blessed Be xx

Blocked

It's like every time I try to do something, or I accidentally do something lately I just get blocked.
I don't mean as in the on-line term. I mean just physically, emotionally, mentally blocked.

I get feelings for a boy. I get blocked
I try to get with a different boy who I love. I get blocked.
I try to stop feeling stuff for boys. I get total block.

I feel like I've let people into my heart and they've just crushed it.

How can it have come to this??
How can things have gone from so perfect, to so shit, in a single day?

How can someone tell you they love you, and make you believe it... Make you feel like the only person in the entire world... Make you feel like the only person who can make them happy is you, and the only one who can make you happy is them... and then turn around and say they don't want to be with you? Not just don't - NEVER want to be with you. There's an 'ever' in never. As in - don't EVER. As in - not EVER. As in - it was just a bit of fun.

Gee thanks. I'm good enough to play with and keep in the peripherals of your life, but not good enough to be with you through it all.
He is basically saying "I can't trust you" or "I don't want you to be part of this". It all translates to "not good enough" no matter what anyone tries to say otherwise.
It's a kick in the teeth if nothing else.

But you know what hurts more? What is pissing me off beyond all belief, and what is driving me god damn insane??
The fact that I knew, I knew, it'd be like this.
I knew I shouldn't let things get that deep. Knew I shouldn't let him in, and give him that stupid heart of mine. Knew it would only break - as it did - and only hurt too much to bear. Knew I'd have no one to blame but myself when it happened.
I god damn saw it coming, and still walked into it with my arms wide open.

WHY!??

Am I such a glutton for punishment?
Do I want to be hurt or something??

The phrase "What were you thinking?" doesn't even start to describe it!

I mean, I let myself feel so much for him. Feel what I felt years ago and then some. Feel what I felt for the other two great loves in my life, with that little bit extra on top.
I have never been so nervous or reserved in my behaviour before. Maybe next time I'll be reserved in my feelings instead.
Ha- I wish.

The heart break was easy enough to deal with. I've felt my heart break a million times before. I'm used to that.
What I can't deal with is the fact that I walked straight into it.

It's like walking into a lamppost!
Yeah, if you're not paying attention, or you're running really fast and dodge out of one things way and into the lamppost, it's kinda funny - kinda embarrassing - and really painful.
But this is more like seeing the lamppost and going - naaah, that's not really there! Then walking (or running) straight into it. Just as funny, just as painful - but the embarrassment is so much worse. And you kick yourself so hard for not believing your own eyes.

So yeah - that's me. So blonde that I walked (metaphysically) into a lamppost that I saw coming.

...

-.-

I suppose I wouldn't be so angry and upset if it weren't for my hormones being at peek 'INSANITY' time... but you can only blame hormones for so much.
I've been practically psychotic lately.
Smashing glass bottles against the wall only seemed normal-ish because I convinced my flatmates to join in. Safety in numbers when it comes to craziness.

Slamming my not-so-working phone into a wall and killing it however - not so normal-ish.
The speaker(s) had totally stopped working, which annoyed the hell out of me, and in my childish, rage-filled mood, I thought that hitting it "gently" against the wall would fix said speakers.
Note to self, don't slam touch-screen phones into walls. It breaks them. Lots.

Oh well. I was needing a new phone anyway... this way I just have to buy one in the morning, rather than in a few weeks when I've a better idea of what to get.
Could be worse. I could have dropped it in the shower... or soaked it in energy drink... >.>...<.<....>.>...
okay, so I've done those before with this phone... but this is damage beyond my repair level.
I suppose I'd be upset if it weren't for the fact I've been wanting to get rid of this phone now for a while (since it was bought for me by an ex that I'm trying to forget) and it actually worked properly.
I thought I'd been sleeping through alarms and was going crazy for not hearing my text-tone. Nope, just wasn't playing the stupid things.

Oh well.

Angry, non-sense rant over.


Blessed Be xx

Love Letters

For my love,

How long has it been since your name was entwined with mine?
I gave you up so long ago. Stopped believing you were real in any of the ways that matter. Stopped believing the things you said. Stopped letting myself care about you.
I moved on. I forced myself to.
That night I tattooed your initials on my leg with permanent marker, I placed another's beside it. I remember staring at it through my tights each day that week, knowing what I was giving up, and not wanting to. Tracing the lines of that letter, until I had the courage to give my heart to someone else.


But you never gave me up. I gave my heart away time and time again, never finding real happiness; but through it all you were there - calling me, talking to me, being everything you always were. I'd complain, I had to really... I was engaged... I couldn't have a random man call me and end the conversation with
"I love you, bye."


The reason we never stayed together was because we never met up. We never had the money, or the time... plenty of inclination though. It should have been enough. I know it should. I wanted you to be my first.... 

But things don't always turn out that way... do they?....

Then, finally, we meet... and it's like we're 16 again! The past melts away and you're just you, and I'm just me, and nothing seems to have changed. It's so much fun! We have a great time, you even get along with my friends, and there's that humour of yours shining through everything. I totally forget that what you do takes you away from me constantly, or that you aren't going to be able to stay just that little bit longer than planned. That you can't just stay over when ever you want. 

It's like I've found a piece of heaven... and it's been there all along...

Life just seemed to fall into place. You made it all feel right again... 

I spent so much time just looking at you, as if I could drink you in with my eyes. Part of me knew you would have to leave, and started making note of everything about you so I had it all saved up for when you were gone. That smile of yours will keep me feeling warm inside until it fades from my memory. The way it lights up your entire face... the way it feels like it's just for me...

But then... 

     ... leaving early... 

          ... not wanting you to go...

      ... always fearing being left makes it so much harder to watch you leave...

...You were right of course. Time for the real world. And the real world isn't about relaxing with friends, or having breakfast together, or wandering around town, or laughing together... not for you... 

I catch myself thinking about you, and force myself to stop; because I know that your world can't be mine, and mine... mine just isn't real to you. 

I can admit now that I have always loved you. Since you were just my friends long-distance thing... since we were young and innocent(er)... through my years of discovery, and yours... through my relationships and your departures... right up until now... I've loved you.

Seeing you brought every feeling back to the surface that I had buried so many years ago, and now those feelings wont go away again.

I'm trying to pull back together the feelings I had before. The complicated friendships and the almost relationships. The feelings that practically evaporated when you kissed me for the first time. Nothing, and no-one, seems to compare to you any more...

I miss you.

I love you.

I'll live without you. 

I know I'll have to.

My heart has been returned to you again. Keep it safe. I want it back... along with the rest of you.

     Yours eternally...

x x x x x

With joyous hope All things conspired to fill me

For once I'm going to mention the title of this blog and explain why I chose it.


It's a line from Dante's Inferno.
When I started this blog I made the decision that each post's title would be a literary quote. Lately I've not been able to think of any that are interesting, or that work with the idea's floating around in my head. So I figured I'd open a book at random and see what it said.
Dante's Inferno just seemed like a good place to start. I was aiming for the middle, but ended up in Canto 1... just so you know Dante wrote 34 Canto's to "The Inferno"... yeah, I failed.
Then again, the words that jumped out of the page to greet me were:

The hour was the morning's prime, and on his way

Aloft the sun ascended with those stars,

That with him rose when Love divine first moved

Those its fair works: so that with joyous hope

All things conspired to fill me, the gay skin

Of that swift animal, the matin dawn,

And the sweet Season.  ... 

Now, if you know me - or if you've read my blogs before - you'll know that I'm rather cynical and (if we're being honest... which we normally are) rather depressing.

The thing is, lately I just feel like the world is this big fluffy ball of light.

Okay - exaggeration there. But it's as if everything has fallen into perspective. Or fallen into place maybe. 

It's like my head has finally sorted itself out.

I know, I know - took blooming long enough! But better late than never.

I'm not saying that I'm suddenly little miss perfect or anything. Gosh, far from it! But I'm not worried any more. Not about the silly stuff at least.
I mean, I'm kinda worried about my mum (she goes in hospital for major surgery in just under a month), I'm a little worried about my sister - her pregnancies have a tendency to not run exactly smoothly, and I'm worried about Geoff and Di - neither of them are well. Pneumonia and gallstones... not fun!

But other than that, nothing seems like a major threat to the balance of life. 

Maybe it's because I'm listening to such nice music lately.

Maybe it's because I'm at that part on my cycle where my hormones are FINALLY leaving me alone a little. The relief is palpable.

Maybe it's because I'm back in Leicester (YAAAY!!!) and have my own space again.

Or maybe it's just because I've started to actually take responsibility for myself (it's been a while since I did that).

The time apart from my friends has forced me to stand on my own feet. Okay - most of that time apart was spent either talking to them or laid around doing very little (other than reading). Still, there's this sense of having to do it on your own when you're apart from your support structure. 

I mean, I don't cope well at my parents house. They want to do everything for me... but also want me to do everything... it's complicated and can cause a fair bit of friction. 

I'm starting to notice a pattern of up and down.

When I'm up, there's nothing in the world than can bring me down.

When I'm down, nothing can bring me back up.

The only person who can shift me between total high and absolute low is my bestest best friend. He can sink my ship or hand me cloud nine with just a word at times. Strange that. 

I guess he's the only one I've let close enough to my heart in a long time. 

I mean, I've loved other people - I have! But none of them have had my trust or my confidence to that level. I always say I'll never close my heart off - never be cold like that. But there's still a barrier that erected itself around the very core of my being. A barrier that allows me to close people out when I really need to. That allows me to give them up when I need to. 

I suppose it's my unconscious preparation to loose people. After being hurt that much from loosing someone you kind of don't want to hurt that way again. So you close off a little. Build a little wall around your inner-self that will keep you from falling apart too much if someone else disappears from your life. 

Thing is, I think Li got walled up inside there too. 

I mean, by the time I was making that little fortress I was already pushing everyone else away. There was nothing to push away with Li though. I tried to push him away anyway (and have continued to try on and off over the years - which has probably destroyed something of what friendship we had/have) but failed. 

That's the real reason I can't imagine life without him though. Because there's nothing between him and my feelings. Not like with my other friends, where I've saved something of myself from them. Some tiny indescribable part that can be planted again and carry on without them if life steals them away. 

I'm scared that there wouldn't be that little bit left if Li disappeared. That I'd have to start from scratch all over again (which I suppose is doable... but you get what I mean. It's not nice to have to start over with nothing). 

Thing is, I'm not scared of that. Not in any real conscious way. It's just something in the back of brain somewhere filed away under "interesting observations". If I were scared of it I'd have made an escape plan - contingencies. Worked out ways to get over things... blah blah blah... 

But like I say. I trust Li. I don't just trust him with my life, I trust him with my heart. Trust him not to hurt me. I can't say that about anyone else. 

I suppose that's why I don't do well with the dating thing. How do you date when you can't trust anyone with your heart? Well, anyone else. Because you always end up with the distinction. 

It always comes down to "Yes, I love you. Yes, I trust you.... but I trust him more."

Yeah - not met a guy (or girl) who can handle that one. Inferiority complex? Jealousy? Or does it just plain hurt to be told by your girlfriend/boyfriend/partner/potential partner that they trust someone else more than you?

I should probably find out from someone... but I'm worried that it's the latter. I don't really want to have hurt people - ever - so to think that I've hurt them through caring for someone else kinda messes with my emotional scale a little. 

I mean, I'm sure there's a door in the wall somewhere to let someone else in. But the key seems to have been misplaced. 

It'll take someone very special to get through there. A locksmith maybe... (*no C4 allowed!)

But you know what, I don't care. 

I don't care if it takes a million years, or if it never happens. I don't care if the person who picks the lock is Li and he escapes. 

Right now I'm happy. And everything I see just makes me happier. 

If it's something bad, I feel happy that it's not hurting me. If it's good, I feel happy because it reflects my happiness. 
I'm not sure if that even makes sense, but hey! It's all good... I think that's the general sentiment I'm trying to convey anyway ha!


So, these are the final days of my life as a 21year-old student...
I'm going to miss it. 21 has been my most odd, up and down, bonkers year of life. I've had some of the best highs and some pretty severe lows too. Lost and gained friends. Partied as hard as I could...
And through it all, I felt like a sexy, suave - hip, happening chick - so sure of myself, because I was Twenty-One. The age that epitomises youth and freedom, with all the benefits of having no restraints and none of the weight of responsibility. 


Twenty-Two is when I buckle down and do some hard work, and hopefully pull myself up to a first class degree before finishing at this mad place that I've loved so much.
Normally I'd be overwhelmed by the amount of work that needs to be done - but somehow I'm relishing it. 
I guess it's because it's an insane amount of work to have given myself. Helping out so much at DemonTV - learning extra equipment, learning to edit properly, going to all the meetings, volunteering for everything going - and not just that, I'm going out and having a social life - for the first time ever - and a secret project to work on with a couple of friends (shhhhh - it's a secret!!). And the work load I've wrangled for myself is a bit crazy too. Normal people split there timetable evenly between terms one and two - or make them first term heavy so they have the second term freer to do their dissertation in third year. Not me! I decided to do the half year modules all in my second term. I was only doing two last term, and I couldn't find the motivation to attend lectures. It felt pointless to get up and go in for only 4 hours a week. 

With this much work I know I have to stay motivated or it will literally crush me. I don't work well under pressure unless it's rediculous. If I have time to breath with stuff I have a tendancy to loose my drive. With this hectic timetable, that I'm still trying to fit Gym and the secret project into - as well as keep up with my blogs (which now amount to far too many for a normal person to need might I add), and somewhere around April I need to start fitting in job hunting... it would probably help if I'd give up the partying. Not going to happen. 
If I don't get to go dancing twice a month there's no point in being here anymore. I'm not going to be a shut in anymore. I prefere having fun. 
So there.


I have three calendars up now. Two are whiteboards - you know, like a normal write-on wipe-off board, but with a grid on it labled monday to sunday that you can change the dates on every month - and all of them are full. 
One is full of just dates, deadlines and notes for DemonTV - for example, my entry in monday 10th little box is telling me I have to have finished the technical script for the Quiz Show and have it emailed to the Gmail account by midnight, and the weekend before has notes in it like "Querry relaunch party?" or "Query ident". 
 Then the other one is mostly deadlines and birthdays. That's the paper one. It's boxes are the smallest. 

The final one has all of my Course notes on it - like deadlines, the time of my first lecture each day, work that I need to be doing each week/day, scheduled in times for the library, colours dot here and there where I've remembered at the last minute routine things like going to the gym. It also has notes of when I'm supposed to go to my parents, and when I have time to do birthday present shopping... It's literally FULL of little black squiggles that, if you squint, turn into words. 

Oh, and I finished my to-do lists about an hour ago.
One that's a weekly reading list (yeah, my list is so long I need a full whiteboard for each week) one that's things I need to do for DemonTV, then a Dissertation to-do list... oh and a chores/everyday to-do list (that reminds me whose presents I need to buy)


I've really gone big on the lists!
I'm trying to be organised....

Hey !  There's a first time for everything!


I'm one of those people who would end up with a room covered in post-it notes if I didn't have a little more self restraint.
Okay, restraint isn't what keeps me practically post-it free. The whiteboards do.
My friends will tell you I have far too many of them. But hey! I'd have my bedroom decorated as a white board if I could - that way you could write on the walls whenever you needed to remember something - and you could clean it off whenever you wanted to. That, to me, is epic.


I know you can get black-board paint... but I don't want to chalk things on the wall. I want to use a pen and feel it squeek in that soft, wet way that doesn't hurt your ears but feels like you're making a real... slidey... impact on the wall. Also the colours are brighter.


Wow, you can tell I'm really concentrating too much on sorting out my room and making lists... I'm talking about the most inane stuff!!
It started off so deep... and turned into a ball of fluff with ears and a tail...


Then again, I've been such a dumb-blonde lately it's scary.
It's as if someone took my common sense and replaced it with bubbles.
I mean - it's nice to be all bubbly and happy... but there are times where having a little bit of common sense is really really useful.
Like... you know... everyday life.... 
For example: going downstairs to wash your clothes and having the common sense to take the clothes down with you.
Or going down to get said wet washing without a basket, and having the common sense to fetch said basket instead of carrying wet things upstairs and therefor getting the clothes you're wearing wet...
Better still, locking a door and remembering that means you have your keys with you... so you don't get home and think you've locked yourself out of an empty house without your keys...


It's even simple things like remembering that things you heat up get hot and hot things burn.
Or that radiators only get warm if you turn them on...


Yeah, I've not been exactly 'with it'. 
Normally it would bug the hell out of me, but it's too funny. 
Some of the little faux pas's that I've made... just by reading words and phrases wrong, or mispronouncing words and saying something that is just so wrong, on so many levels, by accident. I think that maybe I've lost my mind... though I've been saying that meaning I'm crazy for years, so no one will really notice anyway!


I've been up 20hours now... I'm expecting to get tired soon... which is a pain in the bum, because it'll muck my body clock up if I go to sleep now.
So I think I'm going to stay up and read for a while.

I'm not really sure what happened to this blog post... I kept getting distracted...
Stupid shiney things!


Speaking of shiney things -
I have a shiney new blog! Creative Responsibility
It's another fiction based one, and has a lot of stuff from a fair while ago on it already. Copy&paste ftw!
So yeah, I've been trying to organise that. It's not exactly 100% yet, and there's not that much to read on it as of yet. Just Witch Way Round (up to the first bits of part 5, because it's still in progress) Layne and Kye (which was started years ago and never finished) up to chapter 11, then some little bits of writing like tiny snippets of "Dragon Hunter" as well as the start of "The Mad and the Mindless"...
Well, now you know practically the entire content... feel free to browse it!!

The basic idea is to us that one as my main base of operations.
I still prefere the input methods of blogger.com, and I'm not leaving this blog - no, you can't get rid of me that easily! But I should imagine my fictional blogs will slowly be left alone except for that one.

Oh! There's a links page too that you should probably check out!
The blogs in there are all from blogger, and are all really good to read. I've not put all my friends on there yet (because I was rushing and just picked a handfull to get the ball rolling) but there's also some good music links on there too - youtube ones - that are definitely worth a gander if you get chance.
 
Apart from that, I'm very much out of things to say.
All of my creativeness is kind of being poured into the fictional blogs and my music lately, so sorry these are going a bit down hill.

Though I have just remembered my flatmate is back!
Geraldine came back tonight - so I'm not on my own anymore. Still missing all my friends... but I was kinda enjoying having the house to myself. Oh well! 
It was so funny, because Gee had forgotten her keys - all the way back at her boyfriends. Which is about 2 hours drive away. So I had to let her in (which wasn't a problem)... but the problem came when we realised that she had locked her bedroom door before she left for Christmas.
I offered her and her boyfriend my bed (its a giant double) - god I was glad that I'd cleaned the sheets earlier! It would have been so embarrassing to have a smelly bed and offer it to someone else to lay in - but they wouldn't hear of it. Wouldn't push me out of my own bed.

Thing is, there's a little sofa they could sleep on downstairs in the freezing cold kitchen, or a floor in the back room that they could lay on. 
The choose to camp. 
We had just set it up with the sofa cushions, my pillows and duvet (there's a spare single quilt in the cupboard that I swapped them for) and a random sleeping bag (that I think may have come with the house... I'm not entirely sure), when I decide it would be funny to try my bedroom door key in her lock.
Gee didn't care. She thought I was a bit silly...


... until I called out that her door was unlocked, and they could sleep in there for the night...


Yeah, we have identical locks on our doors. How creepy is that?
Good job we trust each other!!


So we dismantled the make-shift camp and they've been tucked up in bed for a good six hours or so now!
Glad they didn't have to sleep on the floor... but at the same time I'm a little worried that I spoilt the fun of the adventure.
I'm sure I'll find out later today.

Well! I hope you're enjoying the new year.
Congratulations to Jodie on a lovely new nephew!! Glad he and your sister are okay!

Can't wait for the weekend when everyone comes back.
Miss everyone so much.


Blessed Be xx