Continuously discontinuous

There's so much I want to say... but none of it makes sense. None of it will come out.


Sometimes I lay next to you and the words run through my head. Words like 'good enough', 'eternally', and, of course, the dreaded 'love'. 
My jaw clamps tight on them, because my mind shows me your reaction - and it's never good.
Stiff disinterest. Awkward silences. Sadness.
All of the things to be expected from being given a sight into the true thoughts, the true life of what I am. Opening my heart isn't easy, and sometimes I think it might be impossible. 


Biting my tongue is an old habit. It comes from being told too much.
You let people open their pain to you, and it just keeps coming, and coming, and coming till you think you might break from being so filled with it.
The hardest part of bearing another's pain is knowing your own place in it. Often you hold their pain after you've not been there to prevent it from happening.


I'm nineteen, comforting my sister when her already over stretched jumper feels too tight around her throat; hearing her explain to someone else, in more detail this time, having the questions I didn't want answered explained in detail.


I'm just turned 20, and the boy I love pours out his need to die out into my own bleeding heart.


I'm 21 and I stop telling anyone but my closest friends what's wrong with me, or that it hurts. I'm scared of hurting anyone any more, just by sharing my problems.


I'm 22 and the only person I tell my weaknesses to lays next to me, and I see that he's already hurting so much from everyone else's hurts. He never lets it show, but it's there - hiding deep inside, where only a few of us get to see. I'd say only I see it, but I know it's not true. 
He thinks it's not even there, that because he's still okay the pain isn't there - but it doesn't work like that. Just because you bear something doesn't mean it goes away.


So I bite my tongue, and I don't even mean to.


Our friend in France lets his pain over the loss he suffered show, and it shocks me - not because I don't realise it's there, or because I don't expect him to show it - but because I dreamt of my lost brother last night and woke in tears. Even in my dreams now, I know when I see him it isn't real. That kinda hurts.
But I couldn't say anything at the time. Couldn't acknowledge that I understood to some extent the pain he was going through. Partly because I feel like if I do, it's trying to claim his pain as my own - if that makes sense? - and I don't want to.
You have to own your own pain. There's sympathy, which you need... but you also have to feel the personal-ness of your own pain. When it blends into someone else's hurt it gets all tinted, tainted, and you half miss the original. 
Maybe that's just me?


Maybe it's because of the feeling that your own experience is being brushed away when someone say's "Like this one time..." (do not finish that sentence in your head with 'at band camp' - PLEASE! I own a flute!! It's not RIGHT!!!). Sometimes it feels like instead of trying to relate to you, they just want an opening to talk about their own problem.


I never want people to think that about me. I never want to make someone feel that way - like they aren't important. Especially someone I love that much. 
The poem he wrote really was beautiful.
I wish he didn't hurt so much, of feel so alone. I hope he knows that we're here for him - no matter what. I hope it's enough.


My other friend blogged today about people complaining unnecessarily.
Now, anyone who reads my blogs knows: I'm a complainer.
Nothing is too big, or too small, to complain about. 


Nor is it ever too serious or trivial to joke about.


However, the kind of complaining he was describing is the sort that is ungrounded/ unsubstantial. 
I look back on the things I've complained about this week:

• Sexual abuse
• Emotional abuse
• Flatmates leaving a literal mountain of washing up in the sink
• Mental abuse
• Stupid mistakes
• Loosing people
• Unrequited love
• Missing people
• Being unhealthy/unhealthily overweight

I guess the washing up was trivial, and the stupid mistakes were my own fault... as is the overweight/unhealthy thing. 3 out of 9 isn't too bad I guess.
It kinda hits home sometimes that my issues actually are kinda real/serious.
I always figure they're just silly, and that I should be over them all... but then I consider what category they fall under, and it's like "Damn, that's actually messed up."


This blog has been one of the things that helped me realise (and work through) the deeper problems I've had this past... decade... along with my best friend (who is great at kicking me up the ass, or making me think, or being there for me when stuff is just poop). I've gone from thinking that I just fail at life, to thinking that maybe things just haven't been that great, to thinking that I can actually get past all of the stuff that's happened in my life.


Finally being able to say no has been the biggest confirmation of that. Breaking the habits, the circle, the thought patterns. It's given me the boost I needed to be ME again. Me without needing someone else.
This past year I've been able to be me as long as I had someone to hold my hand, to back me up. The year before I only felt like me if I had my best mate with me. Now, finally, I'm starting to be able to stand on my own two feet and say "no, it's okay - I can do it!" rather than "I might be able to do it... but... can you stick around... just in case?" or "I can do it if you stand behind me..."


The worst part is, I never even noticed it. I never noticed that I needed a safety net. Not until it was taken away.
I didn't realise I could do it, work it out, make it on my own; until the person who normally helped me turned their back and made me do it on my own. The shock itself was probably enough to change my life.
I've probably given him a hard time for doing it - because it hurt at the time - but, in all honesty, I should thank him. Falling without a safety net made me grab hold of the tight rope and pull myself back up, rather than crying into the net and then climbing all the way back up to walk it again. I'm not fully stood on it yet, I'm still kinda clinging on upside down. But hell! If I can make it to the other side like this - or even just to the next platform - I'll take living upside down for a while. It's worth it to know that I can do it myself.
Check back in a few years and I might be doing this entire trick upside down on a uni-cycle. Or I might have moved onto the trapeze... you never know. Anything is possible. The sky's the limit - and by the sky, I mean the atmosphere of the outer regions of space somewhere - way beyond the milky way.


Now, if I can just get my assignments done and in on time (ha, that'll be the day), I might actually be able to say that this life is back on track.




The only problem with not being stuck in my head any more is that I can finally see the world; and I'm worried about my friends again. Mostly my boys. They both seem so sad. I know I shouldn't want to fix things, but I really would give anything to make them happy. They're the first guys my age to be intimately close to me while still making me feel respected and (odd as this may sound) safe. I haven't felt that way since I was 14.
So when they feel sad, I want to just make the world a beautiful place for them again - rub the universe clean till it sparkles with happiness. 
(Excuse the odd imagery, I'm getting rather tired - I think it shows)


The hardest part is not being able to see them all the time. 
Well, I get to see Li a lot... but Mat is so far away. I just know that if we were all together neither of them would be so sad. It's so frustrating.
Why can we not always meet nice people who live really really close so that we can see them whenever? Why do the most amazing people have to live a million miles away (exaggeration ftw)? 
I felt this way over summer when my best friend was 4 hours and £96 away. The injustice of being wrenched away from the closest people you have because of funds, or study, or family obligations.... it's just the worst. It feels like if we were more 'grown-up' (read - not students) we'd be able to stay with the people we wanted to be with - rather than leave them to go back to our parents at the end of term. Rather than having to go to work in a different city. Rather than having to study in a different country.
We want to be together... so why can't we just stay together?


It feels like the biggest FAIL of this life. That the only people I make a true connection with - like, a lasting bond you never want to break - has to be stretched constantly thin.


I mean, my other, older best friend back from my home town - is ALWAYS too far away. We can't seem to get to spend time together any more than I can spend time with Mat. Yet, when we get back together, it's like the only thing that's changed is our individual stuff - our us is still there - still intact - just with less information about what's going on. 
I mean, we're not going to be able to say - hey, your eyebrow is weird still from where you burnt it yesterday on that stick that we set fire to - when you haven't seen them. You're not going to be able to discern those day to day changes in them - like a scratch that wasn't there last night... but the ease, the comfort, the wanting to share is still there. It's nice. 


I guess that's how things will be next year with Libor... 
I mean, it's not so bad I guess. We'll always be best friends in that sense. It'll just be hard not seeing him every day, and knowing everything that's going on. Not being the first person he rings when something is either on his mind, or happening. Not the person I invite to every little social outing (from going to the shops to massive organised nights out). Not the person who I make tea for... at his own house. Not the person who dances in my kitchen with me. Not the one who's always there, and always knows everything about me.


But hey ho. Got months left before that happens.
He seems to want to wean us off each other by decreasing our time together, our 'dependence' on each other... but I just want to spend every possible minute with him. Make these last months really count. Take advantage of every second that we're not miles and miles apart. 
I guess it's because I deal better with being thrown in the deep end - especially if I have good memories to hold onto during the splash and subsequent spluttering/dog paddling/ cursing at my bad diving. 
We shall see though.




There's words that I let slip from my mouth often and freely. Words like 'love'. People think it's because I don't value what that means - but it's not that. It's just that I love so freely and quickly and openly. 
But then you get how I feel about the closest friends I have... and words like 'love' just... they aren't enough. It's more than love. It's meta-love... it's macro-love... it's amour... it's adoration... 
There's probably a word for it, a perfect word. A word that encapsulates the overwhelming feeling of nearness and comfort, the willingness to do anything for them... the knowledge that they are the most important people in the world and you'd happily lop off an arm or leg just to make them smile when they're feeling down. The people who you can't say no to. The people who suggest something stupid, and you do it - because you know that, with them, it'll be amazing, and fun, and worth it. They're your comrades in arms, your chuckle buddies, your family, your heart and soul... 
The word love doesn't really mean that enough. Maybe I'm not explaining it right. I don't know. I just know that it feels bigger than the universe - so it must be bigger than love.




I talk about love a lot really.
It's the one thing in my life that guides every action (especially when I'm not lost in the darkness). It's the thing that makes my world turn - gravity wouldn't exist without love. Gravity is just the world wanting to give everything a big hug, and keep it near. We rotate round the sun because it's caught in a continual spin - holding our hands just tight enough to stop us flying away - because it's so happy to see us. 
Love is what makes babies. It's what makes people hold doors open. What makes people become doctors, nurses, policemen, firemen, mothers, fathers, lawyers, businessmen... even if it's only love of money, love of self... it's still love. 
Loving other people is the best kind of love. It's the sort that makes the world a better place. It's what makes a smile worth a million picture (which are each worth a thousand words). 
Love just IS amazing. 
It makes life what it is.


When I say the words "I love you." I often mean it in this universal way - the way that makes you part of my world, part of the great dance of life that means I want to hold your hand and dance with you. 
Sometimes, when I say "I love you" I actually mean "I'm in-love with you" - as in, yours is the hand I want to hold forever in this dance we call life.
But it's up to you to work out which times are which!!


I'm going to go and finish my assignment now. It's the one where I write autobiographies in different styles - so I'll probably copy and paste them into the next blog. I was going to do it for this one, but my fingers kinda rattled out a lot of thoughts before I got round to it.


For now, I miss Veesham lots. I miss Mathieu too. I love that Libor has started doing long goodbyes again (feels like first year again!!). I can't wait to celebrate in green. Life is good - even though it hurts sometimes. 


I hope your life isn't hurting too much right now.
Know that I'm always here if you need me.
I love you.




Blessed Be xx

The tightest embrace

First Year:

Back in the days when we didn't realise that it was okay to leave your washing alone in the laundry room while it was washing or drying, we used to sit on the driers (ahem, I mean, on the plastic chairs provided) and wait for a load of washing to finish first cleaning itself and then drying itself in the gigantic barrels of heat we transferred them into.

You could sit in there alone, with your headphones on, and a book in your hands. Or you could end up sat with another person you'd never met, chatting away about nothing in particular.

First year is amazing like that.

Look. There I am; being a good girl and washing my clothes, reading my book, not listening to music because I don't have an MP3 player yet. My big jumper swamps me, keeping me warm. It's the first few weeks of term, and I'm bored but overcoming that by devouring the novels we're studying. I turn a page and glance across at the timer on my washing. 11 mins.

Enter cute boy: carrying a bag full of laundry.
His hair is dark and curly, his eyes are blue behind rectangular glasses, the hoody he wears looks well loved (read worn in going on worn out) and there's something about him that makes me want to smile. I try not to look at him - people like privacy if they're washing their underwear or 'delicates' - and feel a slight colour creep up my neck and spread across my cheeks.

He sets the washer going and hops up onto the tumble driers. Ready for the long long wait of washing, rinsing, spinning, drying. His height and slim build make me think he'll be clumsy - like all the boys I know back home - but he's not. There's nearly a touch of grace in the way he jumps playfully onto the driers and gets comfy.
I glance up from my book. I'm still being a good girl, sitting in the plastic chair. I smile...


I bump into him a few times - often in the lift or in the laundry room. I'm too shy to ask his name; but we chit-chat, small talk. I go to my room thinking hard about my boyfriend.


After the devastation of November 2009, my boyfriend returns with me to University. I'm not good at being on my own. Still a bit shakey on the inside. He's proposed. I've said yes. My fiance helps me carry the washing down and sits with me for the long hall. Wash, rinse, spin, dry.

The boy with the curly hair is there again. It's getting to be a little joke of ours that we always do our washing together. If it were true, we'd hardly ever wash our clothes in fairness.
My fiance talks with him. We all laugh. We comment on the size of the driers. He sits in and I take a photo - his hood hiding his face out of embarrassment.


I agree to go to the Chinese new year festival with a friend. We're the only English people approaching it. We subtly change course and end up at an open party in the Student Union. I call the fiance and tell him to come.
The cute boy with the curly hair turns up. We finally learn his name, and that he's as bad as me on the Wii. He and I both offer to stay and tidy up - our friends either want to help too or feel obliged to stay. We all go for drinks with one of the organisers. The first night out I've had since my one trip to the pub in freshers week.


I start bumping into him more often. He comes over to mine for the first time and we play with a glow in the dark Frisbee. We start talking lots. We meet up more and more often. We play games. We stay up late all the time just talking. We chase each other up (or down) stairs tickling each other until neither of us can breath from the laughter. I try to help him with his girl problems. I sit behind him in the big chair by his desk and tickle him gently, or play with his hair, or just wrap my arms around him while he types and we talk. He agrees to help with Oxjam. He helps me with my boy problems. I meet his best friend from his course, she's awesome.

In essence, we become best friends, and I love him.

I'm there for him when things go wrong in his love life. I stand shocked in the door way when he turns up with his hair cut off. I argue with him when he upsets his best friend. I stick up for him when people say rude things about him.
He helps me through the hard times with my fiance. He treats me with respect even when I've forgotten what that means. He looks out for me. He makes me laugh when I'm sad. He goes shopping with me. He talks to me all the time.

Second year:

He meets me at my new halls of residence with roses and chocolates. I nearly squish them while hugging him as hard as I can. He helps me unpack, and meets the vast majority of my family. He stands in line with me and the ex-fiance while said ex tries to get housing sorted.
The list of things he does for me, with me, is extensive and insane.
We go to salsa. We get pretty good.

We go for a walk and get drenched. We curl up in towels and play video games. We perform seances and protection spells together. We watch so many films it's crazy. I sit in his room and we do work together. I end up learning his essay off by heart with him.

He's my best friend, he helps me through everything, he's always there: I love him.

Third year:

Life explodes in a ball of friends falling out with each other, and mistakes upon mistakes upon misunderstandings make everything so tense.
We argue. We make up. We nearly fall apart.
He gets frustrated with me. I get upset with him. We argue... then cuddle. We go to everything Demon TV under the sun. We slowly stop going because of the social issues.
We start blogging.
We start being more of a 'we' than a 'him and me' - especially to other people.

This year something's not been right, and it's hard, and I don't like it - but I still love him.


Never let things get in the way of your friendships.
They're some of the most important things in the world.
Love openly and often - try not to get hurt.


Blessed Be xx

The Lover

For one of my modules (Writing the Self - a study of autobiographies) the Assignment includes an 'Experiment'. In other words, we get to write a brief autobiographical peice in the style of one of the authors we've studied.

Now, the autor I was most enamoured by was Marguerite Duras. She writes in a feminist prose style called Écrituré Femininé  (I've probably got the accents in the wrong place... but oh well). Basically, this style is fluid (literally in terms of movement through disconnected thoughts and times, but also in terms of imagery) and supposedly 'feminine'. It's classed as writing 'from the body' (yeah, I've studied feminist criticism... can you tell?)

So, in order to complete this assignment, I thought I would test out her style in my blog. This will probably get copied and pasted into my work, so for once my blog will be productive!

Here goes:

His hand cups my chin and he looks at me with eyes that are clouded by emotion.

"Your face is so lovely." he tells me.

I don't see how he would know. He's never seen my face. 
This face I wear isn't mine - my face is captured in a photo.


I'm four years old, crouching by some pots as I play hide and seek. The smile I give the camera is genuine, cheaky, and completes my face. One finger waves at you, pointing straight up, perpendicular to my face. My eyes sparkle with childish fascination. I'm happy.


I'm eight, and I know that this is the best time of my life. 
My mother looks on me fondly and agrees with me. So proud of her smart daughter.
I spend three years worth of birthday cakes wishing to stay eight forever.
The slowly increasing number of candles mocks me with each attempt.
I don't tell mother incase she thinks her daughter stupid for trying.
I fear getting older, but look forward to being Old. 
I look at myself and try to imagine what that will look like. Old me.
All I can picture is wrinkles and short brown hair.


I'm nine, and the boy who wants to play Mum's and Dads is pinning me down in my tent.
His body rubs against mine, his groing against mine. Our clothes rub.
I don't understand. His logic of mothers and fathers making children is clever I suppose.
Dad gets mad at him for closing the tent. Fears for his daughters dignity.
Though Voyerism is a form of participation...
My lips are swollen after the boys rubbing and kissing.
The swelling never seems to go down.


The feeling evoked wasn't pleasure - nor was it pain. It's curiousity.
I was always curious. You can see it in the photo. It still lingers in these eyes.
Alone, I explore my body - looking for that womans hole they tell me a baby will come out of.
I find a pee hole, and a poop hole. Guess I haven't grown the baby hole yet.
Mother always uses the term 'child bearing age'. That must be what she means.

Later, when I've more than found it, I still can't use it's correct terminology. Boy's have P.P's, girls have Ver-J.J's. The anatomical names - Penis, Vagina - make me blush. The slang terms make me feel ill. 


I don't know when I lost my face. Maybe it was in the tent. Maybe it was in a bed. Maybe not.
Either way, I'm sixteen, and the woman in the mirror is a stranger. 
Certain features linger. The eyes don't sparkle anymore, but they're the same colour and shape. The chin still protrudes like a ball from the end of my jaw. 
The girl stands there, looking for herself and finding only fragments.


My mother always complains that she looks in the mirror and sees her own mother looking back at her. She doesn't look at me through mirrors, and I begin to wonder if I'm adopted.
My sister says she sees mum looking back at her in mirrors. 
I consider that maybe it's age that does it. My sister is 12 years older than me.
The little girl adds another reason to her list of 'Reasons to Never Grow Older' - loosing your face.




Well, it's only supposed to be 250 words... don't know how many that is, but it's a good start.
I think it's possibly too linear for an accurate representation, but oh well.


I'm going to go on with blogging about recent affairs now.


My best friend is giving me the silent treatment. 
I'm not sure I deserve it, but oh well.


Let me explain a couple things:

• The worst punishment I ever recieve from my best friend is the silent treatment. It's the one thing that hurts me the most. It makes me panic inside, and I don't know why. I used to think it was because of the abandonment issues, but now I'm not so sure.

• What I did wasn't so bad in my eyes, because it wasn't hurting anyone. Well, it didn't appear to be at the time - though since last night I've started to think it might have been hurting him...

 So, you can probably see why I feel unjustly reprimanded. 


The thing is, he always says he'll be by my side - no matter what. So when he calls me an idiot and tells me to clean up my own damn mess it hurts a lot. 


But I have cleaned it up.
So why am I still getting the silent treatment?




There's part of me that wants to scream so loud. It's so frustrating. Because I just don't get it. 
Then again, it feels like there's been something he wont tell me now for ages, which has also been driving me insane. Paranoia?




--Rant Over--




I'm still really missing Mathieu. 
The weirdest thing about this is that I class him as a best friend already. Not the sort of best friend who you tell everything to, or that you always go to for help, or that you share every moment of happiness with... but the sort of best friend who you just want to spend all your time with. Who just understands (even through a god damn language barrier!) what you mean when you say things that other people can't seem to grasp.


In a way, he made our friendship circle complete. 


Seeing him sad tares me apart.
Seeing him AND Li sad makes me want to cry.


They miss each other more than Mat and I miss each other. You can just tell. 





---blows dust away and runs in a different direction---




I've been making dificulties for myself lately.
I call it activating self destruct mode.


There's more than one way to hurt yourself. There's two main categories though: Conscious, and subconcious. I'm good at the second one. 


You see - the way that it works is you do things that seem fun - like staying up late on runescape instead of doing your work, or seeing a friend who wants to play dirty games. It's a laugh and a joke... but then the work doesn't get done in time and you don't pass your degree... and your friends game ends up hurting you deep inside where you swear your heart is supposed to be... 
Thing is, you kid yourself that you're not doing something that hurts you.
You say "No, I'm having fun. I'm doing what I want to do. I'm happy."


Sometimes you just need someone to grab you by the shoulders, shake you, and tell you to stop. Sometimes you need a kick up the arse. Sometimes you need someone to tell you off before you can see that you're hurting yourself.


The conscious type isn't as easy to pretend isn't happening. You cut yourself 'by accident' while shaving your ... arm??... You scratch yourself till you bleed, but insist it still itches and carry on through the layers of dermis. You burn yourself on the iron when it falls on your leg... were you even ironing? You can only claim clumsiness so far. Then you have to accept that it's on purpose. 


We all of us go through rough patches. 
I just haven't found any soft ones yet.
Maybe I had them all when I was young.
No wonder I wanted to stay eight.




My dreams are strange, unhappy things lately. A blossom of hope will ploom outwards on occasion - to be squashed by others.
The man of my dreams kisses me, tells me he loves me... I'm so happy...
Then someone else walks by and he wont stand close to me. Wont acknowledge me. Leaves.


I guess that sort of thing is highlighting what I feel all the time around this one guy.
He'll hold my hand. Lean in close. Cuddle intimately. But if anyone walks in he lets go of my hand. Leans away. Lets go of me and moves over slightly.
It's like he's been caught doing something naughty.
You would think I'd confront him about it - but I don't know how. Don't even know if he realises. 
Don't know if he realises that he gets all huffy if I get with other boys.
Thing that's really annoying is that I quite like the guy. Closest I've come to fancying someone in a long time if I'm honest. The mixed messages, and the almost teritorial protectiveness, is kinda confusing.


I just want things to be simple again. Just want to be able to understand what's going on in my own life for once. 
It's seriously like living in a daze as life rushes past me. I try to grasp on to something so I can look at it long enough to get my bearings, but they never stay still. They slip through my hands like water.


****FRUSTRATED**** dot com




Anyway, I'm gonna sign off.
Hope you're having a better week than me! 




Blessed be xx

And thus, my heart departs...

It's always hard saying goodbye.


Now that Mathieu's gone I feel like there's something missing in life. As if a bubble of happiness has floated away on the breeze. Things felt so right with him here.


It doesn't help that my best friend is also missing him like crazy. 
We try to cheer each other up... but... I'm not Mat, so I can't make Li happy; and it all goes poop.


There's some stuff I need to get out that's totally unrelated to our Frenchly departed friend.
But I don't know how to say any of it.


It's this emotion, that just wont be expressed in words. 
There's a rushing river - a waterfall down my throat; but the water fall is frozen in place - hurting as it tries to fall down, down, down; clinging to my insides with icy tendrils.
There's a heat on my skin like hot water; it feels as though it constantly sluices over me - coating my skin with salty heat, then evaporates off leaving me in cold shivers. 
There's a pain in my chest that seems to be a dagger protruding all the way into my heart. The hilt pulses in time with my heartbeat, slowly turning, making me want to cry as the wound grows.
There's a roaring in my ears like a plane landing, or taking off - but it never stops. The sound envelopes me, making my ears ache, my brain buzz, the world slide into a grey fuzz.


My hands clasp my sides as I lay in bed. Arms wrapped firmly around me, knees drawn up tight to my chest, pressing on the other side of my arms, I lay on my side and try not to cry. Deep breaths are gulped up in near sobs as my face burns with shame and hatred.
The giant bed seems to swallow me with its quilt and pillows; I'm drowning in a sea of silk.
I rock slightly to try and comfort the child inside. She's the one that's hurting so much.


His words mingle and fade through my consciousness, his face warps slowly in my minds eye - transforming from one person to another; again and again.
The pain inside my lower parts intensifies as I try to move away from the images now assaulting me, and I convulse slightly. I feel beaten, bruised, demoralised... and nothing I can think of will make that pain go away. It's knocking me sick.


The thing is, what I don't tell anyone, what I can't seem to admit is that the reason I'm here... the reason I'm hurting so bad... is nothing to do with what I say. Isn't to do with not being able to say. It's to do with wanting to want to say yes. It's from wanting to feel something for someone. 
Something other than this pain.
Something deep inside my heart, returning affection, giving freely... feeling so much for someone other than ...


I roll over, ignoring the stab of pain to my abdomen. 
Damn it all to hell


There's nothing I can do for now. Ride it out. Put on a happy face and pretend it's all okay.
Again.
and again...


I can't keep track of my own thoughts.
My mind wanders through clouds, hills, mountains, pages, films, words...


If none of this makes sense... actually, if any of this makes sense ...


The lights are on but nobody's home
The lights are off, but someone's still there - watching, listening...


I blame you, Picachu...


Just existing isn't enough. Yet... existing is hard. Your existence is like a flower that blooms before others with majestic beauty and wonder - but for you, you have to do the growing, the photosynthesising, the budding, the blooming... you even have to pick your leaves, and your petals colours and shapes... there's so much work goes into existing.
Better to be a silly girl with a flower, than a stupid boy with a horse and a stick.
It's called a lance... hello?


So, Plato, what do you think of mitosis?
Your toes are fine dear. 


The world shifts, re-arranges. 
And there you are. There you are in all your resplendent beauty, smiling at me, shining in the light of your own iridescence. Your arms open up to me, and I think you're about to call my name. The word that forms on those immaculate lips isn't my name though, and the one behind me moves forwards to you. Her own beauty matching yours. 
Turning away, I see hands held out to me. 
Dark hands of hopefulness. All offering what I offered you. I can't take there offers any more than you could mine; though I fall into their embrace unconscious, unable to accept life, love, 42...


I look up through the spiral of self-hate, loathing, darkness and wonder how I fell here again. I didn't even feel that slight sensation of weightlessness. Living too long in zero gravity will do that to you.


Nothing feels real. 


I have a dream. They've locked me up, forced drugs into my system, made me think I'm crazy. You're there, looking on with pain in your eyes at what I've become. 
I beg for your help. 
"Save me... please..." They're trying to kill me... they're trying to make me kill myself...
I can't say the rest. You'll think I really am crazy.
There's tears in those blue eyes of yours as you nod your head.
The unspoken "You have to be here - it's what's best for you." stays in those traitorous eyes though. Behind the pain, the sympathy and the longing; it's there. Keeping everything at bay. Keeping you from lifting me up and marching out of here with me. 
Keeping you from fighting your way out with me.
Keeping you from stopping them.
Propriety.
I know this is a dream though. Must be a nightmare.
You wouldn't just sit there in real life. You'd either tell me to get better or else, or you'd save me. My hero. My best friend. My comrade. My partner in crime...
I glance at the notes. 
Long words ending 'icine' are scrawled across it with big numbers next to dosage levels. 
They form an across-stick spelling 'Not Good Enough'


A hand pushes up my thigh, another pushes my limp hands towards an already erect member. My eyes are open, but I can't see. Complete shut down. 
Two hands guide my head down, and I half hope my gag reflex makes an appearance. I don't even feel the end as I half swallow it. 
Part of me wonders at him not thinking I'm dead - brain-dead at least.
Nothing stops him though. Plough on. Plough on...


My mind is a tangle of half finished thoughts, most of them bad. 


I sign up for flirting/sex sites... I don't know why...
Never visit them again...


I read, then stop, the re-read. Still don't get it. Move on. 
Read more. It's just words. Words, words, words...


Gonna stop now.
In a round about way, I've tried to say:-
I do stupid stuff because my head wont work straight right now.
I do stupid stuff to get over him.
It doesn't work.


Anyway...




Blessed be xx

Stirrings on the wind

Letting go is never easy.


What an understatement.


I walked home last night trying to let it all go again. The pain, the anger, the frustration, the fear, the disappointment... I guess it kinda worked. I feel okay now. 
Not great. I wont go that far. But OK. 
It's nice to feel like I can cope again to be fair.


I guess it helped that I'd had hours of comfort and fun with two amazing guys, then came home and found a slice of chocolate birthday cake waiting for me in my bedroom. 
Just seeing that people care can do the trick sometimes.
Actions really do speak so much louder than words.


The only thing is, I'm still trying to work out how to not slip back down again.
I've worked out the clawing my way back out of the black hole part - now I need to work out the not getting sucked in part.
Not as easy as it sounds...


If you think that escaping the gravitational pull of a black hole sounds easy that is...


ANYWAY!!


So, what have I got to tell you?
Oh, my, word! So much!!


First of all - a delayed but very warm welcome to Mathieu!! I can't believe that I've been bloging and haven't said that already!
I mean it though - it's amazing having him here!!
We went on Saturday to collect him from the airport, got there two hours early - literally arrived as he boarded the plane in Paris... Over eager maybe?
We hadn't even slept! Any of us! Me and Li had kinda passed out for half hour on my floor (loooong story) at around 3.30am... then got up at 4am, he went home and got ready, I got a shower and met him at his at gone 5am. 
Oh dear - the worst/best part of this shenanigan was that we went in suits. Li even had a sign saying "Flajolet" and sunglasses... we looked sooo cool/stupid/funny!


I can't believe he came over - I really can't.
I mean - I'm THRILLED that he's here! And I don't want to let him go home - because it's just amazing having yet another incredible friend so close by and being able to spend so much time with him... 
but at the same time - it took some guts to come here!!
Think of it this way - you meet someone online in a different country in order to teach each other your language (or in Mat's case to practice a language he's already studying and fluent in) - you get on and become friends - then get invited to the country, and agree to go on your own to meet said person and their friends...
Daunting much?
I'd not be brave enough to - I'm a chicken though to be fair hahaha


It's a bit like a dream to be fair.
I'm probably going to be a bit like "Did he really come?" next week when he's gone.
At the same time, it feels so... right. Like he's always been here. Meant to be here. 
It's so comfortable having him here. 
I don't want him to leave!!


It's so strange to think he's only been here a few days
Weirder still to think he's leaving like... tomorrow... ='(


There's so much we didn't get to do!!
It doesn't seem fair!!


I'm gonna miss him soooo much!


Tonight we have epic dancing at Kinky though - so... should be a right laugh!
We always have a laugh ^_^


I've been spending my evenings with Li and Mat lately. We just chill out and play on laptops, and laugh, and talk, then end up laid together tickling each other, sitting playing guitar, writing, reading, just being together. It's like a little bubble of heaven. 
I actually think of Mat as another best friend now. 
Is that even possible after such a short time knowing each other??


Li, as always, has been dragging me by the hand through some rough patches. 
It's less dragging, and more marching further ahead then demanding I come catch up. Like when little kids wont walk on, and you kinda stomp up the path then say "Come on!" and jab a finger to the floor by your side. "Now!" 
Bless him. He must be so sick of these stupid lows of mine.
I know I am.


He's not feeling too great himself lately.
By 'feeling' I mean the peripheral feeling that I get about him. I dunno how else to explain it. It's not how someone looks, or smells, or sounds - but it's similar. 
I think it's stress. Essays, work loads, interviews, waiting; then social issues that he gets relied on for; equipment going missing... he takes so much on and deals so well with it all. But lately there's this feeling about him - like he's tired of it all being twice as hard as it should be. 
Maybe that's just my feelings and I'm just thinking that they're his. 
I know that life is feeling ridiculously difficult lately. 
I mean, with deadlines fast approaching, and having to decide what to do next year, and getting ready to leave everyone... it's not the best time of year.


I know my other friends are feeling the strain too.
Kaydie is going slowly insane with the financial pressures that have creeped up this year.
Helen can't work out what to do with her life.
Russell is fighting a battle that he wont let any of us see.


All of us just seem to be getting worn out.
I think we need a break. 


Maybe next weekend we should have a BIG party, or a get away - actually leave Leicester together for a while... 
It would do us all some good.


Nights out are nice - but you always go the same places and see the same things, and you always come back thinking "I should have stayed in and done more work. I shouldn't have spent so much money."


We need an all expenses paid trip to somewhere fun!


Oh well.


This week has been so great in itself. Personally.
It's been my reading week (time to catch up without the threat of falling further behind)
Mathieu's been here
Chocolate!!
And so on...


Coming out the other side of this dark tunnel has helped too.
Maybe now things will get better. Properly better this time.
Not just 'Okay-ish'.
Not just 'It'll do'.
Not just 'For now'.


Better. Properly better. Like - life is GOOD - kind of better.


We'll all find our inspirations and get our work done.
We'll stop spending too much money - and the bursary will make it all ok.
Li will get into Swansea.
Helen will find a direction.
Kaydee will get on top of her bills.
Russell will slay his dragon.
And I'll finish something.




Don't look at me like that. It's gonna happen. All of it.




"With Hope. It should end in hope. [...]
 Hope is what guides me, it is what gets me through the days and especially the nights.
The hope that once you are gone from my sight it will not be for the last time. "


Let us end this with Hope, and try to live our lives with it always.




Blessed Be xx

make love, not war

"Make Love"


Who ever came up with that phrase should eat those words.
Strike that, anyone who ever miss-used those words should be made to shove them up their arse.


Fucking is a much more accurate description of a majority of the sex that occurs these days.
Maybe once it was an expression of love... though I've had my doubts since obese young.
Sex isn't even about reproduction. It's about fulfilling a selfish, primal desire for satisfaction.


So why do we link it to love?


They say that it's the closest you can be to someone; being literally inside them, or having them inside you.
But that's only physical, and love is metaphysical...


So perhaps if we look at the reverse...


We are supposed to love the people that we have intercourse with so that we feel the urge to protect the bearer of our child... though how that explains women loving the men...?
I suppose love is built up on trust, and you have to trust someone before they touch or invade your most sensitive, intimate parts; literally letting them inside you...


So, if the roots of sex are truly in Love, where has that gone?
When did sex become a commodity?
And why?


Did the free market really open our ideals so far? Or did we already view the body as product - ready to be packaged and sold off to the highest bidder.




You may be thinking 'Lauren, what the hell are you going on about? Where is all this coming from?'
So, let me deviate a little and explain where this thought process begins.




Today (well, I suppose since it's early Wednesday morning I should say last night) we watched Requiem for a Dream.
It's odd, interesting, kinda sick... and feeds brilliantly into Naked Lunch - the text I'm currently studying for Film and Literature. It's about drugs, drug addiction, and the things people do for drugs. 


There are four main story lines in the film. That of an abused girl turned drugie, her boyfriend and his best friend who are users and wannabe-dealers (one of them a heavy user, the other more controlled), and the mother of said boyfriend - who gets hooked on 'dieting pills'. Shan't give too much away in case you want to see the film and haven't as of yet (also, if you have seen the film, you don't need a break down of it anyway).


Basically, lots of bad stuff happens to the four of them (individually and together) and part of the film really got to me on a personal level.


Now, if you've read many of my older, rambling posts you'll know that I've been through some bad stuff when it comes to men, relationships, etcetera etcetera...
So, when this girl gets talked into sleeping with people for money/drugs (again, by the connotations and context) I instantly got that gut - OMG - feeling. 


That feeling of totally understanding. Of feeling the indignity, the disgust, and the necessity of it all.


"Can you turn the lights off?" She asks
"You never wanted them off before." The naked man behind her replies, sprawled out on the bed, waiting for her to disrobe. She can't turn and look at him. Her eyes stay focused firmly some point far away, trying not to feel. Trying so hard not to think.
"I know, but... please?" 
What should it matter to him anyway? It's not as if he wants to look. All he wants is to take. To use her body and satisfy his own lust. He doesn't need to see. He knows where everything is. Hasn't he seen enough?
"Okay" He acquiesces, dimming the lights as she begins to remove her top. She still can't look.


Because now she knows what love is. Now she's felt love. 
How do you go back on that?
How do you go back on feeling whole, and worth something?


Needs must.


I guess that's the thing. 
When her boyfriend calls the last time, and begs her to wait for him. To not go and be used just so she can get another fix. To not be nothing... it's the innocence in her voice when she asks
"Can you come today?"


Which need is greater? That of love, or that of drugs?
You never find out.
Not in the film at least.


There's these looks she has during the film, and they remind me of feelings - of times - of places. Times and places I'd rather had never happened, have never been... 


I'm laid in bed next to him, feeling utterly void. It's like being dead inside. 
I've given up. I may as well just give up. I may as well just give him what he wants. 
I've given him my body, my soul has disappeared, my heart is broken in a million pieces... I may as well just give him the rights to this and have done. 
The thought of being his girlfriend again makes some echo of me want to cry.
I text my best friend, telling him I'm giving up, giving in, letting him have me back again.
It's not as if I can feel anyway - it's not as if it matters.
He's asleep, or at least resting. 
I can't lay next to him for some reason right now. I get up and sleep walk to the kitchen where I take the call from my friend, who berates some feeling back into me.
I cry in the kitchen for so long I get scared he'll come find me.
I want to hide... but he's in my bed... in my room... in my house. 
If I could leave him here, I would... but I don't want to come back to him. 
Don't want to go back to being nothing after feeling what love really is.




It's not as if all of my experiences have been bad though.
There's plenty I've convinced myself were wonderful.


"We didn't have sex, Li; we made Love..." - me trying to convince either Li (or myself) that I'm in love with Will


"But it feels so right. It doesn't even hurt..." - me trying to convince one of us that DJ could be the man I loved


"But he loves me..." - possibly my worst excuse for 'loving' someone




I look around, and all I see is this desperate need for satisfaction.
One night stands.
Fuck-buddies.
Friends with benefits.
Open relationships.
Hell, even some relationships are just an excuse for satisfying needs!


So here I am, loosing faith in the world while we sell our selves to the highest bidder (well, not even the highest sometimes). 


That's why I enjoy spending my time with Libor and Mathieu.
Because, with them, there's none of that.
There's no sub clause, no cost, no conditions... 
They never treat me like a commodity, or an unnecessary part.
They're just cuddly, and nice, and wonderful.


Why isn't everyone like that?

Why aren't all boys so considerate? So kind? So HUMAN??


Why aren't girls either??


It's as if the world has turned into this mutant race, where all they do is take from each other. All they do is use other people to satisfy some want, some need, something more than they have. They only consider other people when it's of benefit to themselves.
Hell, I'm part of the mutant race in my own way. A majority of people I only consider when it suits me. That's so bad. I shouldn't be like that.
The thing is, you get treated like that for so long that you start doing it back. 


There are some people in my life that are constantly wanting something from me. The only thing is, they don't want me at all - they barely care. All they want is the thing... even if that thing is time. Even if it's only an ear. 
They ask you how you are, then barely wait for the answer before launching into their request.


I, for one, am probably very rude, in that I don't ask how people are very often (unless I've just been asked, then I feel it's obligatory). I often start a conversation with "Hey, do you mind if..." or some other question. Basically - what ever it is that I want to talk to them about.
I suppose the benefit of that is that when I ask how someone is, I really want to know the answer. Maybe it's more honest in that way? I don't know. Sometimes I feel bad about it, but then I think - if anyone had a major issue with it, they'd tell me, or at least stop being my friend. 


I tend to loose friends more out of loosing touch than by offending them though.
I have a slight tendency to 'drop off the map' as I call it.
Basically, I just stop doing things that require me socialising with anyone but my very closest of friends (i.e. Libor and my flat mates)
That's also pretty bad.


There's so much that I need to stop doing.
Like rambling about myself in blogs.
Or going on about stupid things in public places (yes, this is a public place)


The main one I need to do - the one that will basically stop the others from happening - is that I need to stop feeling like I'll never be good enough. 
Anyone who has ever felt that way will understand what I mean.
It's dibilitating. 
And it hurts. A lot. 


But enough about me, and my silly emotional rubbish. Enough with the ranting and raving and personal histories...


Hopefully you know how amazing you are.
Try never to forget that you really are great.




Blessed Be xx

proving love isn't just blind, it's bloody stupid

I sit quietly next to him, my fingers trailing lazily along the line of his neck.
The heat of his body next to me is like a fire, creeping slowly over my skin, permeating into the lower levels of my body, relaxing each muscle in turn. First my arm, then my leg start to unloosen and unfold beside him. My shoulder and stomach follow, neck and back relaxing into the cushions behind us; finaly the other side of my body joins in and only my head us left awake.
Something in me reminds my brain to stay in this moment, not float away. A dream threatens at the edge of my existence, enticing me in with its soft, bright colours and the promise of wonder.
Odd how when I'm alone sleep is some ominous threat of pain, conflict and intimidation, but when I'm snuggled up like this it seems like a cloud descending to take me away to heaven.

My head begins to droop as his hand strokes down my arm; my cheek sliding down to lay on his shoulder, eyes closing without permission.

Away from the world we float together in a sea of happiness so pure there aren't words to describe it.
Bliss has nothing on this moment.

As we lay together, simply existing with one another, the pains of my life melt away. Our lips meet, and the universe explodes. No one, no thing, no place or time can compare to this - to you.
Finally, finally I understand what this thing called love can really be, mean, feel like. Everything else was just a shadow.

This is what it really means to be truly happy. You... you are all that is, was, could be...

I am nothing, nothing but the echo of your smile.
My voice is a shadow of you lips.
My eyes a blink of your gaze.
My life a beat of your heart.
My world is you.

Waking in your arms should cement the deeam, but instead the illusion is shattered.
My dreams lay broken at your feet, and I claw back at the tears so you can't tell.

I can't stand loving you this much.
It breaks my heart every day, and even more every night.

I guess that proves love isn't just blind it's god damn stupid.

Love sucks.

Oh well.


Blessed be xx

Every day, something new

Well, this is new... blogging on my phone...
This could mean that I post more and more frequently! I'm not sure whether to apologise for that or not.

Lately I've not been feeling too great... but I'm sure most of you can relate to why.
There's this boy (cue groan over cliche issue) and I can't stop thinking about him.
I miss him every minute of the day.
When I talk to him my heart races... but in this gentle, contented way.
When he's around I go all red and stuff...

Sounds great right?
Being all in love and stuff?

I guess sometimes it is...

... but sometimes it's pure torture.

I just want to lay in his arms and feel that comforting safety, hear his steady heart beat, be encircled by his strong arms...
I want to hold his hand, and caress his skin, to feel his lips pressed against mine as if sealing something deep inside ourselves...

But I can't... and it's slowly tearing me apart...

love...

It's such a small word for such a big feeling.

I love you...

eight letters. three words. one life


Oh well. On we must go.


Blessed be xx