I've been dealing with lots of decisions to make over the past few weeks, and some have been concluded in an instant, others are still in the flux of decision now. I have changed my mind about twenty times this week, and luckily the week ends in 3 and a half hours, so I'll wait until the morning to think about it any further.
I have handed in my notice at work, due to leave midway through April, and all seems pretty crystal clear and good job done for that part. But it's the next bit I'm struggling with - the uncertainty of having to find a job, and what job, and where that job might be, and how much money it will make me therefore where I can afford to live... A lot cannot be decided yet, and a lot cannot be known until I throw myself into the metaphorical deep end in April.
So, life is a very uncertain, hazy-looking horizon to me right now, and it's both refreshing and nerve wracking. But if I keep believing in myself, trying my hardest and doing all I can to be what I want to be, life/God/the universe will give me a sign. The sign might be 'give up and go home', or it might be more than that - only I can create my destiny, so I'm going to give it my all.
Sunday 29 January 2012
Thursday 26 January 2012
Knowing your fate must suck some days
First off, I'm ploughing through Smallville at super-speed, should be finishing season 10 before the end of next week! Probably before sunday, at my pace today! It's taken me around a year, with uni, a job, lack of internet and just forgetting to watch it getting in the way, but I'm almost there now - the end is in sight - and it's been quite a journey. It's amazing how much 'life advice' they pack into this show. If you ever have a problem, Smallville has the answer - just finding it in the 200+ episodes may take some time. Oh well, time well spent, I'd say!
Early this morning my brother left for a ten week tour of Afghanistan. He recently was told that he got a job in Holland, so this may be his last tour in the middle east, which is some what of a relief, but not until he makes it home from this one. I always get this feeling, when he's out there, like "shit, what is the last thing I said to him?" - in films, people have amazing memories of their last moments with people, and I always fear that I might lose someone and not remember my last moment with them. I also get this weird feeling, whenever he returns, like "what was I worrying about?", yet the time creeps back around and this tiny panic bomb is ticking. Every time I hear a news update on the radio, I listen a little more closely. Every time my phone rings, and I see it's Mum or Dad, I imagine the worst, and they're calling to pass on the news. But then I answer, and Mum just can't remember how to upload photos onto Ebay. The thing is, he comes home, and doesn't describe the things he's seen to me, so I have no clue. He gets drunk with my sister's best friend's step-mother (get your head around that one) and confesses all his woes to her, but I don't know anything about it, so this ingrained panic and fear for my sibling's life is lost in translation, or lack there of, and it's really quite annoying.
So here's praying he makes it home, one last time. And then he can fuck off to the Netherlands and stop bugging me.
Early this morning my brother left for a ten week tour of Afghanistan. He recently was told that he got a job in Holland, so this may be his last tour in the middle east, which is some what of a relief, but not until he makes it home from this one. I always get this feeling, when he's out there, like "shit, what is the last thing I said to him?" - in films, people have amazing memories of their last moments with people, and I always fear that I might lose someone and not remember my last moment with them. I also get this weird feeling, whenever he returns, like "what was I worrying about?", yet the time creeps back around and this tiny panic bomb is ticking. Every time I hear a news update on the radio, I listen a little more closely. Every time my phone rings, and I see it's Mum or Dad, I imagine the worst, and they're calling to pass on the news. But then I answer, and Mum just can't remember how to upload photos onto Ebay. The thing is, he comes home, and doesn't describe the things he's seen to me, so I have no clue. He gets drunk with my sister's best friend's step-mother (get your head around that one) and confesses all his woes to her, but I don't know anything about it, so this ingrained panic and fear for my sibling's life is lost in translation, or lack there of, and it's really quite annoying.
So here's praying he makes it home, one last time. And then he can fuck off to the Netherlands and stop bugging me.
Wednesday 25 January 2012
I can't stop loving you
Their first album I decorated my room to. It was the summer of 2004, when I was still a young teenager. I hadn't yet found that thing to keep me occupied at the weekend, so I spent almost the whole summer with Louise, swimming in the lake, being kids, loving life. That summer is my last memory of being youthful: I hit 15 with a whack and everything changed very quickly. So that album, as shocking as some of the songs may be, is a lovely reminder of a simpler time.
Second album, Wonderland, was just that. My life was filled with these day dreams of boys that played guitar and I hoped would whisk me away to a fairytale existence, where I wouldn't have to do homework, worry about school, or do anything, in fact. I remember Kristy and I doing art one day at her house, and listening to the album about three times in a row. She probably saved me from failing art by doing that; she also was the happiness that reminded me why I loved the band. Whilst Sam was busy listening to Slip Knot and SOAD, I was trying to live two lives, one of which involved getting smashed on gin and screaming chop suey at people, and the other half was getting giddy with Kristy in classrooms drooling over Danny and Dougie (she Danny, me Dougie - my bassist obsession comes out again). We went to see them in London one night, and I stayed at Kristy's, and went to school in the morning, and went into the city after that and met Beverage, Ewins, Shane and Kier - and I remember walking into Starbucks and seeing them all sat around the big table, and we had changed out of uniform (obviously) and had our chocolate cream frappucinos with whipped cream and chocolate sauce on top (mmm), and I sat on the sofa between Kier and Shane, and Shane took my hand quietly (this was only a couple weeks before he broke up with me), and Kier turned to us and said, genuinely excited, "how was the gig?". I was so shocked that he a) didn't abuse us for liking them, and b) remembered that that's where we'd been the night before - and it felt amazing. It felt like the two lives I was trying to live just slotted together perfectly. Of course, I couldn't ask Sam to listen to McFly with me, and I wasn't about to push Kristy into becoming emo (a fringe was the extent of her 'dark days'), but it was perfect.
Motion in the Ocean, radio:Active and Above the Noise didn't have quite such a profound affect, and they have not had quite such an impact on my life. But a few great songs have come out of them, and I pray that with their recent reality tv show stardom / winning streak, they can write an album that I find myself getting lost in again. I miss that feeling.
On a side note, Maria's bedroom / our 'Office', has a very weird damp smell lingering from behind my desk. I hope that nothing is growing back there...
If you're interested, here's a wee list of my top picks from each album:
Room On the Third Floor:
5 Colours in Her Hair
Room on the Third Floor
Not Alone
Wonderland:
I'll be OK
Ultraviolet
The Ballad of Paul K
Motion in the Ocean:
We are the Young
Sorry's Not Good Enough
Transylvania
Walk in the Sun
radio:ACTIVE
Lies
Do Ya
POV
Above the Noise:
Shine a Light
That's the Truth
Monday 23 January 2012
Great minds think alike
I don't know how comfortable I am writing about this, bit I guess it's been long enough, and I have to face up to it someday. This song is my favourite from the album that makes me think about this moment in my life; I can't help but enjoy the music, yet get weird memories when listening to it, so haven't been able to listen to the whole album through for over five years.
I went through a phase. When I refer to my 'emo' years, I refer mainly just to the time between meeting the boys in the summer of 05 until about a year later, when I toned down the fringe and hanging out in various boy's homes. But the real thing that made me 'emo', more so than a long face-hiding fringe, a music preference and befriending a group of skinny boys in skinny jeans that were highly sexually active, some too much so, some in a bisexual way (and then straight-edge and scene started happening and I fell off the bandwagon and just kind of became myself). The real defining moment for me was one morning, I was walking out of assembly and I saw something that really got to me. I went and sat in the downstairs toilets, the cubicle at the very end, and sat on the floor reflecting on how shit things were. I had messed many things up; I had pissed off my best friend, who was going through a break-up from hell, I had blamed a friend for telling everyone my secret, and she was pissed off, these two friends were finding solace in the one girl I couldn't trust for most of our 'friendship' of six years, and that really wound me up, and I tried to turn to my old friends but they didn't know me anymore, because I thought I'd changed too much and they didn't understand my life anymore.
I sat there for almost an hour feeling pretty pathetic, and very alone, and I just kept thinking 'they're happier without me'. I didn't want to keep upsetting the people I cared about. I didn't want to be this pain and anger and rage anymore. I got a paperclip out of my bag and slowly but surely pulled off a scab my guinea-pig had left on my left forearm: they would lightly scrape a small red line, no longer than an inch, when I tried to move them from run to hutch. I pulled this tiny scabbed area up until it started to bleed again, and I kept digging. It wasn't deep, and it wasn't very big, but it sure as hell stung. And that's why I did it - to cause myself some pain. To feel the shit I was making others feel, and with that ounce of empathy actually become a good friend again, and a normal human being, instead of this over-dramatic whiney little girl who hated it when things happened out of her control. I sat there for so long that Lucy came to find me. She knew, as soon as she walked in, that the lump on the floor of the cubicle was me, and we chatted a bit, and she got me to open the door, and the Mrs McCourt, the teacher whose lesson I was missing (chemistry, who cares), had sent the nurse down to check on me. The nurse realised what I had done, and asked me into her office, to discuss the issues.
Ironically I had already asked the nurse a few weeks previously about self-harming, because I could see Emma's scars and bloody arms and I wanted to help her but didn't know how, and so she explained some of the reasons for self harm, the most common of which is for attention. So when she took me into her office that day, I pretended that I'd done it for attention, and I was just looking for some help because I was lost in a sea of homework and parents being called into school because I'm failing, etc etc. She believed me and turfed me out, saying she would pass this on to Mr Jepson aka Jeppo, as he was the one who would be talking to my parents. He heard, and never resorted to asking my parents in again, so they never found out.
A few days after this, however, the bad-break-up had gotten worse, and the two best friends of mine who had broken up were going through some shit. He told her that he'd kill himself if she left, and she didn't like him anymore, so had to leave, but felt horrific for it, so she when I next saw her she had some bright red words etched into her arm: Hurt me / hate me. We had both been idiots, and we took solace in the fact that we could therefore pull each other out of it. I did have to pull her drunken body out of a road once, but apart from that, we rose steadily back to normality.
It was about six months later, when my parents were having some kind of party in the summer, and Sam and I stood chatting to my aunt, the mother of my favourite cousin, who is friends with the ex that she still felt guilty about. Lisa, my aunt, saw the scar on Sam's arm, and asked her about it. Sam got embarrassed, and told her the brief awkward story, which Lisa had only heard from the boy's perspective. Lisa understood, to a certain extent, but told Sam (and myself, but not quite as strongly), that hurting yourself doesn't solve anything at all. If anything, it just causes others to worry more. I remember the conversation like it was yesterday; standing slightly tipsy on the field, chatting with Lisa, worried that my parents might be able to hear the conversation. Looking back, I'm so glad it was Lisa that spoke to us, and noticed Sam's arm: she's one of the only people I knew at the time that I both respected, looked up to, and felt understood me and my wants and needs, so I actually listened to her, and I still have a very faint scar to prove that I only did it once.
I'm not entirely sure of the point of this entry. They say 'you have to hit rock bottom before you get back up', and in some cases, like for me back then, it's very true. But I think you only have to hit rock bottom once, and know that if you ever get into a rut again, you know how bad it gets, so can help yourself get out before it gets worse. That's why I've never done it since: twice I have been tempted to, and been very close to doing so, but something in my memory, the teenage girl that hated who she had become, resurfaces and sobers my mind, controls my rage, anger and anguish, and lets me find solace some place else, usually drink.
Some parts of my teenage years, I don't recognise myself at all. Other times, I see myself far too clearly, and it scares the hell out of me. I know who I am, and what I am capable of, good and bad. I know my strengths and weaknesses, and I get very scared of the potential damage I could do if that girl gets out again.
I went through a phase. When I refer to my 'emo' years, I refer mainly just to the time between meeting the boys in the summer of 05 until about a year later, when I toned down the fringe and hanging out in various boy's homes. But the real thing that made me 'emo', more so than a long face-hiding fringe, a music preference and befriending a group of skinny boys in skinny jeans that were highly sexually active, some too much so, some in a bisexual way (and then straight-edge and scene started happening and I fell off the bandwagon and just kind of became myself). The real defining moment for me was one morning, I was walking out of assembly and I saw something that really got to me. I went and sat in the downstairs toilets, the cubicle at the very end, and sat on the floor reflecting on how shit things were. I had messed many things up; I had pissed off my best friend, who was going through a break-up from hell, I had blamed a friend for telling everyone my secret, and she was pissed off, these two friends were finding solace in the one girl I couldn't trust for most of our 'friendship' of six years, and that really wound me up, and I tried to turn to my old friends but they didn't know me anymore, because I thought I'd changed too much and they didn't understand my life anymore.
I sat there for almost an hour feeling pretty pathetic, and very alone, and I just kept thinking 'they're happier without me'. I didn't want to keep upsetting the people I cared about. I didn't want to be this pain and anger and rage anymore. I got a paperclip out of my bag and slowly but surely pulled off a scab my guinea-pig had left on my left forearm: they would lightly scrape a small red line, no longer than an inch, when I tried to move them from run to hutch. I pulled this tiny scabbed area up until it started to bleed again, and I kept digging. It wasn't deep, and it wasn't very big, but it sure as hell stung. And that's why I did it - to cause myself some pain. To feel the shit I was making others feel, and with that ounce of empathy actually become a good friend again, and a normal human being, instead of this over-dramatic whiney little girl who hated it when things happened out of her control. I sat there for so long that Lucy came to find me. She knew, as soon as she walked in, that the lump on the floor of the cubicle was me, and we chatted a bit, and she got me to open the door, and the Mrs McCourt, the teacher whose lesson I was missing (chemistry, who cares), had sent the nurse down to check on me. The nurse realised what I had done, and asked me into her office, to discuss the issues.
Ironically I had already asked the nurse a few weeks previously about self-harming, because I could see Emma's scars and bloody arms and I wanted to help her but didn't know how, and so she explained some of the reasons for self harm, the most common of which is for attention. So when she took me into her office that day, I pretended that I'd done it for attention, and I was just looking for some help because I was lost in a sea of homework and parents being called into school because I'm failing, etc etc. She believed me and turfed me out, saying she would pass this on to Mr Jepson aka Jeppo, as he was the one who would be talking to my parents. He heard, and never resorted to asking my parents in again, so they never found out.
A few days after this, however, the bad-break-up had gotten worse, and the two best friends of mine who had broken up were going through some shit. He told her that he'd kill himself if she left, and she didn't like him anymore, so had to leave, but felt horrific for it, so she when I next saw her she had some bright red words etched into her arm: Hurt me / hate me. We had both been idiots, and we took solace in the fact that we could therefore pull each other out of it. I did have to pull her drunken body out of a road once, but apart from that, we rose steadily back to normality.
It was about six months later, when my parents were having some kind of party in the summer, and Sam and I stood chatting to my aunt, the mother of my favourite cousin, who is friends with the ex that she still felt guilty about. Lisa, my aunt, saw the scar on Sam's arm, and asked her about it. Sam got embarrassed, and told her the brief awkward story, which Lisa had only heard from the boy's perspective. Lisa understood, to a certain extent, but told Sam (and myself, but not quite as strongly), that hurting yourself doesn't solve anything at all. If anything, it just causes others to worry more. I remember the conversation like it was yesterday; standing slightly tipsy on the field, chatting with Lisa, worried that my parents might be able to hear the conversation. Looking back, I'm so glad it was Lisa that spoke to us, and noticed Sam's arm: she's one of the only people I knew at the time that I both respected, looked up to, and felt understood me and my wants and needs, so I actually listened to her, and I still have a very faint scar to prove that I only did it once.
I'm not entirely sure of the point of this entry. They say 'you have to hit rock bottom before you get back up', and in some cases, like for me back then, it's very true. But I think you only have to hit rock bottom once, and know that if you ever get into a rut again, you know how bad it gets, so can help yourself get out before it gets worse. That's why I've never done it since: twice I have been tempted to, and been very close to doing so, but something in my memory, the teenage girl that hated who she had become, resurfaces and sobers my mind, controls my rage, anger and anguish, and lets me find solace some place else, usually drink.
Some parts of my teenage years, I don't recognise myself at all. Other times, I see myself far too clearly, and it scares the hell out of me. I know who I am, and what I am capable of, good and bad. I know my strengths and weaknesses, and I get very scared of the potential damage I could do if that girl gets out again.
Sunday 22 January 2012
Life is Life
I've grown up in varying ways in the last year or so. Leaving uni isn't the biggest factor, but it has made me realise a lot about myself. Last night confirmed something for me which I've always known, but never really wanted to admit - I am not a clubber.
I don't know if it's because I grew up drinking at house parties and pubs, or if it's because I went to a girls school and now actively avoid situations in which I find myself tightly surrounded by drunk, semi-naked, self-important girls who would rather stab you in the foot with their ridiculous heel than admit that the world doesn't revolve around them. Either way, I just don't feel comfortable in clubs. I like to be sat in a booth with a glass of wine, or at least something alcoholic that doesn't cost half the earth just to rot my teeth and fuzz my tongue up - and be able to chat with my friends. Dancing is fun, yes, but I can't dance when I feel like everyone in the room wants to either punch or fuck everyone they walk past. It's ridiculous.
Also, getting up at 7.30 every day means that anything past 1a.m. is a massive struggle, and my job doesn't make me want to dance the night away. My job makes me want to lose myself in something, be it a book, TV show, video game or film (but films don't last long, so aren't the best help), and I know that avoiding life isn't a great option, but I know it won't last forever, so I don't really see it as that bad.
I'm just getting by, day by day, trying to be patient, but panicking about it the whole time.
I don't know if it's because I grew up drinking at house parties and pubs, or if it's because I went to a girls school and now actively avoid situations in which I find myself tightly surrounded by drunk, semi-naked, self-important girls who would rather stab you in the foot with their ridiculous heel than admit that the world doesn't revolve around them. Either way, I just don't feel comfortable in clubs. I like to be sat in a booth with a glass of wine, or at least something alcoholic that doesn't cost half the earth just to rot my teeth and fuzz my tongue up - and be able to chat with my friends. Dancing is fun, yes, but I can't dance when I feel like everyone in the room wants to either punch or fuck everyone they walk past. It's ridiculous.
Also, getting up at 7.30 every day means that anything past 1a.m. is a massive struggle, and my job doesn't make me want to dance the night away. My job makes me want to lose myself in something, be it a book, TV show, video game or film (but films don't last long, so aren't the best help), and I know that avoiding life isn't a great option, but I know it won't last forever, so I don't really see it as that bad.
I'm just getting by, day by day, trying to be patient, but panicking about it the whole time.
Monday 16 January 2012
We were the victims of ourselves
Think of something that you want to do. How hard is it to achieve? Think of all those steps you'd take to achieve it, and then think of how else to get there. Bend the rules, because you create your own destiny.
We are only what we make of ourselves. We are not pulled up to achievements, nor are we forced into our failures. Just do exactly what you can, do exactly as you please, and don't listen to the people who try to tell you otherwise.
I've decided that instead of religion or hope or the afterlife, all my hope and belief will be channeled into myself. I need to believe in myself, trust that I am able to achieve exactly what I want in life, and only then will I be happy to take the huge risks that loom on the horizon. I will tell myself this every day, quite like praying, but more self-motivating and justifying.
Tomorrow I will write an essay for the first time in about nine months. How daunting.
We are only what we make of ourselves. We are not pulled up to achievements, nor are we forced into our failures. Just do exactly what you can, do exactly as you please, and don't listen to the people who try to tell you otherwise.
I've decided that instead of religion or hope or the afterlife, all my hope and belief will be channeled into myself. I need to believe in myself, trust that I am able to achieve exactly what I want in life, and only then will I be happy to take the huge risks that loom on the horizon. I will tell myself this every day, quite like praying, but more self-motivating and justifying.
Tomorrow I will write an essay for the first time in about nine months. How daunting.
Wednesday 11 January 2012
I want to shut the door and open up my mind
I'm trapped in a circle that only I can get myself out of, and I know this, I just can't jump out. You know those rides at fairgrounds that spin you round so fast that lifting your head off the deflated and greasy cushion is really hard? Yeah, I'm on one of those. I just hope the man operating it will slow me down soon.
Monday 9 January 2012
Sunday 8 January 2012
Just Another Year
A few nights ago I had a dream in which I was Charlie Simpson's girlfriend. It was pretty amazing; very short, and I won't go into the gory details, but it was very idealistic. I joke with my boyfriend that my goal in life is to be with Charlie, and my boyfriend says "but he smokes, you hate smokers, he's not as perfect as you think" and things along those lines. Of course he's not perfect. I don't really want him to be perfect, because anyone that tries to be perfect has something incredibly weird wrong with them. Zac Efron is the nearest thing to perfect, in my eyes, because I know that he is 'sold' in that way. Perfection is not a communal belief. To me, perfection is happiness, having dreams and goals, and doing everything in your own power to create the world you want to live in, and be the person that you want to be. Gandhi once said "be the change you wish to see in the world", and I hope to live by this notion. If you think the world needs to be more athletic, then try to make it - stop complaining about obesity and try tackle it yourself. I don't know how much power or sway I'm going to have in this world, but I want to use what I've got to make the world a better place, bit by bit, starting with me.
No new year's resolutions this time. I have stopped eating chocolate like a monster, and I'm exercising more, but these are things that I continually fluctuate throughout the year. That's just me, and my addiction to chocolate fighting head to head with my insecurities / hatred of my belly. It's a hard life, but I manage somehow!
So for now, don't bother seeing each year as a new start, see each day as one. Every day can be a miracle if you want it, let it, and hope for it enough.
No new year's resolutions this time. I have stopped eating chocolate like a monster, and I'm exercising more, but these are things that I continually fluctuate throughout the year. That's just me, and my addiction to chocolate fighting head to head with my insecurities / hatred of my belly. It's a hard life, but I manage somehow!
So for now, don't bother seeing each year as a new start, see each day as one. Every day can be a miracle if you want it, let it, and hope for it enough.
Thursday 5 January 2012
Angel or demon, I came from your soul
You know how people say 'I like to see the good in people'? I want to find the devil in everyone. I want to see what someone's dirty little secrets are; I want to witness someone being totally selfish and cruel; most of all, I want to recognise evil when I see it, as it's more healthy to know what to avoid being rather than try be something no one can be.
Everyone has a bit of the devil in them; if you read Paradise Lost without a Christian mindset, a whole new image takes form. The Devil corrupted Eve, and from then on all life, all beings, every inch of Eden and the world below it was tainted with the Devil's lure. God couldn't avoid it, and the Devil found the weakness in God's 'great creation', corrupted it, and then just sat their watching the world burn. He didn't gain anything from it, apart from pissing off God, and having a good jaunt down to the Tree of Knowledge for the afternoon.
All in a day's work. Impressive guy, the Devil.
P.S. I'm not Satanic, or a Satan worshiper or something. It's all in aid of research. Thanatos is going to be the best damn devil you ever did see / read.
Everyone has a bit of the devil in them; if you read Paradise Lost without a Christian mindset, a whole new image takes form. The Devil corrupted Eve, and from then on all life, all beings, every inch of Eden and the world below it was tainted with the Devil's lure. God couldn't avoid it, and the Devil found the weakness in God's 'great creation', corrupted it, and then just sat their watching the world burn. He didn't gain anything from it, apart from pissing off God, and having a good jaunt down to the Tree of Knowledge for the afternoon.
All in a day's work. Impressive guy, the Devil.
P.S. I'm not Satanic, or a Satan worshiper or something. It's all in aid of research. Thanatos is going to be the best damn devil you ever did see / read.
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