New Year's Eve

This is not the beginning of anything. This is a time to plan, to wait while the world lies dormant under frost. Plans rushed into now will go nowhere. But ideas hatched slowly may well bloom with the spring flowers. And I have plenty of ideas.
2009 will be all change. I need it to be. This is a year of sink or swim, get out or get stuck. Extra care is needed this year to nurture the fire of dreams. So easy to let it die. I must seek out good fuels and feed the fire well. Nothing ever thrived on what I feed myself now. I'm not saying that I will clean up and reform my wreckhead ways. Fuck that shit. No, I am reclaiming the balance.

Less junkfood, fags, recreational drugs, timewasting, brainwasting, walking cold streets at night with people who let their dreams die down a long time ago.

More art, writing, wholesome foods, beautiful things, long walks, psychedelics, photography, music, inspiring people, strength.

And, distinct from what I do, I should work on what I am. I realise that I have become weak, bitter, spiteful, lazy, envious, greedy, mean, angry, sullen, dishonest and generally a lowdown woman who ain't no good. I have no idea how one goes about becoming a better person, but I'm sure I'll work something out.

Big plans, here. In 2009 I also finish my course, and will probably start another unit. I will also probably do a TEFL (teaching English as a foreign language) course. And maybe then I will travel abroad somewhere, either this year or the next. Oh, how wavering my commitments, Possibly, maybe, sometime in the future... Scratch that. I will do these things. I can't get into uni until I'm at least 21, as a mature student, so I have a year or two to put to good use.

And now that this has been recorded for posterity and read by other people, I will look a right twat if I don't manage to get at least some of this stuff done.

Warum bin ich?

Wer?

Gibt es alles?

Anger Management

Well, today the tally is:

• Bruised left knuckle (wall punching)
  
• Headphones snapped in half
  
• Bruised right knuckle (brick wall)
  
• Laptop thrown
  
• Sega Megadrive punched
• Guitar Hero controller thrown
• Maoams thrown
• Brother severely insulted and pissed off
• Xmas spirit well and truly finished
  
• Karma severely damaged
  

Back Home

Where things will slowly return to normal. Life will no longer be a never-ending round of wine and chocolate. There will be no relatives to appease, no cats, and plenty of free time and free space. Having not had my own space, or been able to dictate my own actions, for the past four days, it feels good to be autonomous and alone again.
I keep thinking about stuff. About everything. Way too much deep thought. Possibly as a consequence of way too much alcohol.
Oh, and I think I stayed in a haunted room the past two nights. The back attic bedroom of a 16th century inn. Freezing cold, and undeniably creepy, especially after a glass or five of wine. The moving light circle in the morning still defies explanation, and I am not one for ghosts. I think I am the least psychic person ever made, but still I felt something, a residual energy, something lost and confused. As with every new thing I encounter, my first instinct was to figure out whether it was a threat or not. I couldn't work it out. It didn't hurt me, but then, how could a faint trace of energy hurt anything? It was its intentions which bothered me. I couldn't figure them out, couldn't even figure out if it knew wht it was doing, what it wanted.
Then in the drawer of the bedside cabinet, as I was packing to go home this morning, I found a book on the teachings of Buddha. Pretty cool stuff there. I might look into this a bit more. I was going to steal the book, but that would kind of nullify any spiritual enlightnment I might obtain from it. I am not becoming a Buddhist. Subscribing to any specified religion seems a kind of spiritual and intellectual laziness. I shall figure this world out for myself, not swallow the rote learnings of others. Still, I can learn from everything, especially a Buddha.
Now, returning to this earthly plane, I really need to tidy up. I went shopping this afternoon, getting dropped off in Derby when the rest of the family went straight home. I managed to spend way too much money, as usual, on useless crap. Although it is incredibly cool crap. And maybe slightly useful. Ziggy Stardust calender, pink zebra-print skirt, hoodie, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, paintbrush cleaner. Yes, all cool stuff. Shame that it, and everything I got for Xmas, and everything I took with me for the past 4 days, and everything else I own, appears to be either on my bed or on my floor, with just a moderate stack of paper covering my desk.
Well, back to cleaning, drinking, and thinking.
I don't like thinking. That's what the drink is for, a preventative measure against excessive thought. Hopefully it will work...
Now back to

Happy/Crappy

Strange... there is some really, really awesome news, and really good times, but also some
utterly depressing whining. So business as usual really. After waking at seven, eating chocolate, and then a breakfast of pink champagne and smoked salmon (Aunty's Xmas tradition #1), this may be somewhat incoherent. It was a lot of pink champagne.

First, and most pressing news alert can be that I can not breathe. My aunty has a cat. I am allergic to cats. They don't make me sneeze, although that may just be the constant antihistamine pill overdose I've been maintaining. No, cats give me asthma, which invariably develops into a horrible pneumonia type disease. I don't even have asthma, for gods' sake.

Next, and definitely most brilliant news, is that my cousin proposed to his girlfriend on Christmas Eve. As it was also her birthday, they all went out for a meal, and afterwards he popped the question. Definite cause for celebration there.

Now, as today is Christmas, I should say what presents and stuff I got. Lots of acrylic and oil paints, and brushes. Proper art supplies too, a nice step up from the usual stuff I buy from the remaindered book store. Although, of course, an 'investment' present which comes loaded with obligations. All I'm going to hear from my dad for the next few months will be, 'Have you done any painting?' There's no more certain way to destroy any chance I have of making anything worthwhile. I need to train my 'creativity' and 'inspiration' to be slightly less temperamental. And slightly less shy. If anybody takes an interest in what I do, or there is some obligation on me to create, then it fucks off, just to make me look stupid. The excuse of 'artistic temperament can only take you so far.
My other presents were £40 total from various relatives, an irregular pearl and garnet bracelet, and plenty chocolate. Oh, and some fluffy pink fairy lights. That's my room sorted,

We had an awesome Christmas dinner. My aunty didn't serve just a turkey. She served a partridge, in a pheasant, in a chicken, in a turkey. We each had a gift at our place setting. (Aunty's Xmas tradition #2) Most people got one of those alcohol miniatures gift sets. Mine is a little bottle of champagne and truffles. And I am finally allowed to drink more than one glass of wine, without parents breathing down my neck and suggesting that I am about to fall paraletic to the ground after my alloted three units of alcohol. After dinner, my aunty's husband (bear with me, this gets a bit surreal now) came in dressed as Robin (of Batman & Robin), and gave us each another present. (Aunty's Xmas tradition in the making) Him and aunty, his kids, and his wife's son and his new fiance got big shiny boxes, and they had to wait until we had opened our presents until they could open them. My gift was the Firefly box set. I have Firefly!!! Then the mysterious boxes were opened, and inside they got a piece of paper, informing them of their holiday to Florida this Easter. Of course, some shocked overjoyedness all round there. Holidays seem to be the new thing in gift giving. My brother's girlfriend is getting a week in New York for her eighteenth soon. This recession really is starting to bite...

So yes, everybody is happy. Even me. I just have caveats. Like unseemly rage, envy, and dissatisfaction. Spending time with smug rich people whose kids get more presents for one Xmas than I got in a whole year tends to do that. And now of course, they are all talking about Florida and Disneyland, and all the wonderful holidays they've been on, and the incredibly fabulous rich people they know, who have also done hundreds of wonderful things.
I will be spending tonight in an annexe room from my parents' hotel room, to get away from the cats. Sadly, being in hotels with my parents seems to bring out the worst, most childishly offensive parts of my already sullen personality. I hate it.

I have rediscovered my anger. Not the good, rage against injustice, type anger, but the snarl of the terminally bored and disatisfied, raging against nothing and everything in revenge for the person who I've turned into. I actually threatened to 'feckin' smack' my dad yesterday. I get my temper from him. And it's a horrible temper. I don't want to be horrible. Especially not on Christmas.

I've just watched Doctor Who, with a giant Cyberman. It was awesome. But then, we expect no less from the Doctor. Now we're waiting for something else worth watching on TV. I am hiding behind the sofa typing in an unsociable manner. It's that stage of Christmas where nobody can be bothered, the old people are watching Dancing on Strictly Soap Opera X-Factor Ice, and you realise that none of your presents have any immediate entertaainment value. I think I'll go find something to drink, and then watch the new Wallace and Gromit: Loaf and Death. Sounds suitably inoffensive and festive.

Merry Xmas!

Yes, it's been Christmas for 9 whole minutes. Now to sit and wait until I get to open my presents...

Christmas Eve

Oh dear. Everything is ready, the presents are all wrapped. I stayed up late enough for it to be the start of Christmas Eve. It's 1:50am. At 9am I wake up/will be forcibly awoken, and then at noon, we travel.
My aunty's house for Christmas this year. She's been phoning us with regular updates about the preparation for 6 months. For the last 2 months, these have been daily calls. Everything will be perfectly prepared, with only the best, most perfect foods and decorations. Everybody must be on their best behaviour. And this being my aunty, if anything goes wrong, at all, then the whole meticulously planned edifice of Christmas Day will come crashed down, ruining the entire year. So yes. I will try and refrain from smoking and swearing. Even I am starting to be shocked by the filthy gutter language that comes out of my mouth. And indeed, I will try to be sociable. I seem to conveniently have hit a patch of low mood, just in time for the festivities.

I hate Christmas. Apart from the obvious and oft-repeated reasons of tackiness and expense, I have my own unhappy associations with this event. During Christmas dinner, hosted by this same aunty two years ago, we got a phonecall saying that my grandad was ill. This turned out to be the stroke which devastated his life so totally. A year later, he was mute and paralysed in a nursing home. Two weeks after that, he died. You know life has dealt a harsh hand, when you are glad that somebody you love has finally gone.

However, I do know that he would want us all to have a bloody great Christmas.

On Religion:

If it needs to be written down to be understood, then it is a human fabrication.

Emo kids, eat your hearts out

Because I am sat here alone, on the last Friday night before Christmas, listening to Sigur Ros and Jeff Buckley, and crying like the pathetic failure I am.
I slept all day, exhausted and ill, and with no one to blame but myself and the stupid lifestyle I've been living. I'm too tired to go out. I thought about it, but my parents practically killed me for even voicing the idea. Then, at nine, when I'm too tired to do anything, they tell me that they would have let me go if they knew I wanted to so badly. Liars. I've been screaming, punching walls, so angry and frustrated. I know I couldn't even survive the walk into town, let alone any socialising or chemical intake. The aches in my body let me know that I need a break. I don't want a fucking break. If I take a break, then everything stops, and everything falls apart.
Today is Jake's 18th, and a gathering at the Nag's. People are home from uni now, I wanted to see them. I desperately need to see people, the ones I care about, who I've known for ages. No. Not going to happen.
I can't even talk online because the internet keeps breaking. I only need a minute of working connection to upload this blog, but that's all I can get, making conversation impossible. The only person texting me is a man friend, who seems to be either lonely or just bored. I'm going to have to call off our arrangement soon. He seems to be getting too close. Too interested. I can't have that. It makes me weary.
The final straw, as usual, is my parents. My backup plan for tonight was the TV. Masses of really good comedy on. The IT crowd, Frankie Boyle, Dara o'Brien, Eddie Izzard, all sorts of stuff. But no. They have taken over the living room, to write cards, and taken over the TV, by watching a DVD of a TV series from the 80's which they have seen before. They don't even get why I'm upset. I've already had them staring at me the whole night, my dad asking 'What's wrong with your face? Eurgh look at all those spots.' Yes I know I look like a fucking crackhead or something, an ugly mess, even worse than usual, but it isn't fair to comment on it. I can't believe how bad I look. I'm supposed to be seeing a guy tomorrow, but he's going to take one look, and turn round and leave. I'm horrible.
I don't know why I'm so stressed. What a freaking idiot. There is nothing unusual happening right now. I think I've been sober for too long. If this is what sober is like, then fuck it. I'm pouring myself a vodka right now. How can anyone live?

Keeping Count

Most things in life, I do not keep track of. But some statistics I have kept, and they make for bad reading. Numbers have never been my friends. But to sum up a life in figures...

19 years, 117.5lbs, Yes(11+3=14)you are a slut, 177 blog posts, 10 GCSEs, 0 real qualifications, 2 parents, 1 brother, 1 surviving grandparent, 0 regular friends, 98 Facebook friends, 1 best friend, 0 boyfriends, 5 ex-boyfriends, 0 girlfriends, 53.8% pure, 500+ scars, 11 piercings, 1 tattoo, 0 finished novels, 0 published/exhibited works, 5 empty vodka bottles hidden, 2 illegals used regularly, 17p in the bank.

Not encouraging, really. I hate maths.

Scabette's Guide to Xmas Part 2

Now, here is the really important, meaning of Christmas stuff: SHOPPING!

Xmas shopping can be both brilliant fun, and a terrible ordeal. Searching every shop in existance for an elusive suitable gift is possibly the most disheartening experience known to man. Shopping is hard work. My own preferred strategy is massive amounts of stimulant drugs, but coffee, Red Bull and sugar also work well. Now that the shops open late to catch the desperate and time-poor Xmas shoppers, you do not have to wake up early to fit in a full day of shopping. However you still have to make sure you leave enough time. Two hours is not enough to buy considerate gifts for everybody. Unless you are one of those people who just buys everyone a box of chocolates, but then, you don't need this guide.

REMEMBER that there is an evil law working against you at this time of year. During all other months, when you are in any kind of retail environment, you will see a lot of things which you will look at and vaguely think about how they would make a great gift for X person. When you are actually looking for X's present, then nothing with appear remotely suitable, and you will have to search high and low for hours. Learn to accept this. There is nothing you can do to change it. While you are present shopping on a tight budget, you are also guaranteed to see thousands of things which you desperately want. If you have been searching for a nice top, then only now will you find one. Set aside some money for this eventuality. If you follow my budgeting advice, then you may have enough to buy yourself a small treat. However, this may mean sacrificing an intoxicant or two. Your choice.

NEVER leave your shopping to the last minute. Christmas Eve is not a good time to do anything except get drunk and watch stupid Christmas films. Oh, and in our family, we always eat pork on Xmas Eve. It's a good tradition. But no, you idiot, unless you are only released from prison, or an 18 hour workday on the 24th of December, do not hop now. Indeed, try and get your shopping mainly done by about a week before Xmas. Then bask in the freedom of the holidays.

Scabette's Guide to Xmas Part 1

Yes, the Festive Season. A horrible time. Compulsory joy, cheer, and visiting relatives. And yes, it is compulsory. Unless you are a devout believer of a different religion, you have no excuse. The whole of the Western world is celebrating right now. Atheism is no excuse. as any religious content has long since been replaced by plastic trees and confectionary. In many ways, the ancient pagans have won again, as we forget all about that Jebus dude and simply throw a mass party to try and forget how crap Winter is.
Sadly, though, Xmas is not yet just a massive party. It is an obligation, entailing chores, forward planning, deep thought, and of course spending huge amounts of money.

BUDGETING: You will think about how smart it would be, to start putting money aside for Christmas early. You will not do this. Nor will you be sad enough to buy all of the next year's presents in the January sales. Instead, you will reach December, think 'Oh shit, it's nearly Xmas!' and then see how much money you can get hold of. Your festive budget must be divided like so:

Gifts, cost the bare minimum you can get away with. This varies between recipients. Do not cut this too fine, unless you want to cause bitterness and resentment when you give a scented candle to somebody who gave you £20 worth of well-chosen CD. If you make an effort with presentation, then you can get away with rubbisher gifts. However, DO NOT rely on 'hilarious' novelty gifts. These are fine, but you MUST, ALWAYS give a real gift as well. As for which gifts to buy, you know your friends and family. But don't be too worried. Even if you make an epic screw up and give somebdy a really crap present, they won't hate you for it. If you think that they would actually hate you, then just don't get them anything, because they are obviously a bastard.

The Rest of The Money should be used as a survival fund. December is a horrible month, and therefore must be spent in a pub. Drugs, alcohol, chocolate, whatever your comforting poison is, then you should spend a lot of time with it. It might also be wise to spend some money on warm clothes. Although I really hope you don't need me to tell you that Winter is cold, wrap up warm or you'll catch a chill. And where are your mittens?

WARNING: Drink, drugs and compulsive shopping are almost guaranteed to ruin good budget intentions. Keep some money aside, or have a paycheck waiting, so you are not utterly skint by the 20th December. I do wonder, why I am giving out budgeting advice.
DISCLAIMER: If you follow my advice and end up skint, dead, or a social pariah, then it's really not my fault.

That One Thing Which Sticks in Your Head

Something about how I used to be cool. Unique. Something. We were both wasted. But I'm not cool anymore. We've known each other for ages, so I actually pay attention to his opinion. Then the pill-induced paranoia sent this opinion spinnig out through my mind.

I am not good any more. I have become less than I used to be. And considering that I have never been that cool or unique or whatever, then whatever I have degenerated into must really suck.

I know that when I hang round with this particular guy who thinks I am not cool, it's usually with a massed group of random people, so I don't talk too much. But still... I know that something has changed with me, but good change or bad change? Does the opinion of a stoner matter so much to me? We used to reminisce about how cool he used to be.

Yeah, irony.

Parties And Pre-Party Parties

Wake up warm and naked in a strange bed, heart pounding from last night's pills. Ask the age old question: 'Where the fuck are my clothes?'
Realise that most of last night has been forgotten. The remaining memories are fuzzy images of laughing, cool people, smoke and drink and pills. Oh, and toast. We had toast.

The day before, wake up cold on a sofa, in the same house. Next to me is a guy, fast asleep, kneeling on the floor, his face resting on the sofa. We wonder how he sleeps like that.

The preceding night, walk for miles, picking up, sorting out, rounding up the select few for the pre-party. Bottle of whisky, coke, and cans of Stella. Lots of weed. Great people to just chill with, and to cover with star and smiley-face stickers. A beautiful night.

Me Me Me

I am a horrible person. Aside from the fact that I have a blog in which I write exclusively about myself, I am also generally unpleasant to know. I set out to get some insight and self-awareness, to find out who I am, but the answer sucks. I feel like a badly drawn film character, the cliched 'damaged girl'. The easy to fall for, vulnerable, naive, insecure young woman who gradually reveals herself to be more and more damaged, and far less pleasant than she first appeared. I'm not quite up to the boiling bunnies category, but still. I am a health hazard. I should be kept in isolation, and let out only for special occasions.

I am far too demanding. And far too self absorbed. I don't know what I want. I act out, I fuck around, I put on a show. I act dumb but in my head I'm calculating every move. I take too many risks. I want somebody to tell me not to, somebody to hold me away from the edge. But God help the fool that tries. I ignore advice. I am convinced of my own superiority. I bitch and whine about everything. Even things which are 100% my own fault. I deliberately do dumb things, just so I will have something new to cry about. I am terminally bored.

I want attention, validation, adoration. I want to do a porn shoot. I may actually do a porn shoot. And then blog about it in the hope that everyone will be jealous or outraged or something. I like reactions. I already blog obliquely about th stupid things I do, dropping hints and wondering how many people pick up on them. I do not speak plainly or concisely. I use an unecessarily extensive vocabulary. I am a shameless slut. I abuse substances too much to be able to mix in normal society. I have completely given up on mainstream society. I will not do regular mainstream porn. I have screwed up sleep patterns, and spend way too much time asleep. I think I am hardcore but I'm actually a weak little pussy who cries and whines about stupid things and can't even take pain properly.

Why the fuck is this list so long? This was going to be a really short post, but as I wrote each reason, I thought of so many more reasons. I should have made a list, it would be easier to read. If I get even more bored than I already am, then I may repost this as an easy to read, bullet pointed list.

Returning to the reasons why I suck: I think I have several mental illnesses, none of which is backed up by a diagnosis. I am a hypochondriac. I talk to strangers. My mood changes so frequently that it is impossible to know what to do with me. I pay too much attention to my own mood.

I write blog posts about how much I suck as a person, and somehow expect this to help. Actually, I just want everyone to leave me comments saying how awesome I am, and how of course I don't suck. I won't believe them, but hey, you can always try. Feed the ego! Feed it now, before it runs amock and eats the innocent instead...

Nobody actually gives a fuck.

People care. I get that.

But most people who I count as friends would hardly notice if I died. Which is nice.

I don't know why I'm looking to other people to validate my existence. It isn't their job. But who cares? I my as well get wasted, take those pills, make that video, fuck those people. What the hell else is there to do?

Drunken Slut FTW

If an activity is considered bad, morally wrong, and harmful to the participant, then it is almost guaranteed to be fun. Sex, drugs, rock'n'roll, drinking, staying up late, smoking, teasing, kinkiness, girl-on-girl, swearing, porn, vampirism, video games, even chocolate fits into this category.
I can't remember the last day when I was not either drunk or stoned. I have a lot of fun. And yes, I still have a freakish patch of no skin on my hipbone. But still, there is a nagging sense of confusion and dissatisfaction. I could just be being a needy bitch here. It could be that the puritans and God-botherers are right, and happiness can never be found when one engages in supposedly immoral hedonistic activity. Or it could be that abnormal pleasures really do kill the taste for normal ones. Oops, pretentious references to Anais Nin. *kills self* I haven't even read the book, or seen the film, from which that is taken. But hey, it's an awesome quote. And I will buy the book or film soon, honest.
I don't honestly believe that anything I do is particularly immoral, but still, I feel bad...

Really, I'm just looking forward to Friday. A party. The last time I went to a party at this place, it was epic. All the drugs and alcohol you could ask for, chaos, sex, nudity and police raids. This time, there will be pills. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Slightly Aimless

I have no idea what to blog about. There are too many disparate and contradictory themes running through my mind right now. I don't know whether to smile, whimper, or scream.

Smile: Life is good right now. I have all the basic things I need, like food, shelter, and vodka. I also have cool things, and can do cool things like writing and painting. I can even do Guitar Hero on medium now. I have ideas for stories, and a whole lot of sketches I can develop into proper art pieces. I even have a giant map of a world which I've created, which will occupy my mind for a while. I have no need to be bored.

Whimper: The continuing fail of having a burn on my hipbone, where my jeans will always rub against it, so it will take forever to heal. The fact that I will have to unbandage said burn, which is going to hurt, a lot, in the slightly less fun way. Made slightly more fun by the fact that I let someone burn me.

Scream: The parents. Are driving me insane. They are upstanding, hardworking citizens of the corporate greyworld, I am a semi-nocturnal waste of space. Conflict is inevitable, and is always blamed on me. Whenever I try and raise an issue with them, like asking them not to turn off the internet at 11pm because I work after that time, it always ends with me wanting to cry and smash things, and them comfortable in the belief that they are right anyway. My feelings and beliefs are constantly dismissed. Does anyone get how horrible that feels?

Maybe I'll just pour another drink. A million broken thought fragments are impaling my brain and scratching their way through my insides. Nothing is clear anymore. Oh, and a guy added me on Facebook specifically to tell me that it's nearly the end of the world. Seems even so-called shamans are prey to End Times paranoia. Yes, I think that drink is what I need.

Haha

I'm stoned and slightly drunk, sitting surrounded by vodka and weed. How cool?

Ultrafail

Vodka stopped working. This is the worst thing ever.

Good

I have vodka, guitar hero, paper and pencils for drawing and writing, and fairy cakes.

What more could I need?

Paranoia

There is a conspiracy going on. They are trying to steal my sleep. My dad sees that I am still awake at 3am. He then makes a special effort to tell my mother to wake me up as early as possible.

I have had 4 hours sleep. I've not had a proper night of restful sleep for a long time. I'm so tired I want to cry. I would go back to bed, but I can't sleep now. So instead I wander around, cursing humanity and swearing like a navvy. Since when was it acceptable to deny somebody sleep? Don't they use sleep deprivation as a form of endurance torture? Why the fuck is my dad so obsessed with making me wake up in the early morning? Is it intrinsically 'right' to do so? He seems to think that being semi-nocturnal makes me a bad person.

Actually he just straight up thinks I'm a bad person. Fuck it, I am a bad person, but why do people have to go out of their way to piss me off? Do they think it's funny? Do they think it makes them better people through some extensive and flawed chain of logic?

My head fucking hurts. I want some more vodka. Way to become an alcoholic, daft bitch. And my skin is black and falling off a 2 inch scald mark on my hip. I try and ask anyone who I can find at 3am how to fix this, but all I get is bollocks from random people who don't even know me, have never even met me, but still think they can judge me. I didn't even do this to myself.

And what kind of fucking selfish cunt am I anyway? I got told. 'My friend who died of cancer aged 18 would have given anything for the chances you have.' Ergo I must not harm myself in any way. Strangely, this did not have the motivating effect desired. Though luckily I think I've finally got bored of actual self harm. Not that I'm living a pure and healthful life, but I'm not actually attacking myself with knives, which I guess is progress.

I don't regret anything much. But sometimes peoples' reactions make me regret meeting them. People who say, in a portentious voice, 'You're going to have those scars forever.' You think I don't fucking know that? Do you think I'm so fucking stupid that I slashed myself up and expected it not to scar like a bitch?
See, normally I can put up with all this stuff. But right now I'm in a grouchy and just straight-up vindictive mood.
The basic point of this post is that humanity are fucking twats who should all go jump off a freaking cliff and straight into Hell where they belong.

I don't even believe in Hell. Fucktard. Just shut up now.

What kind of twat gets drunk on their own on a Sunday night?

What kind of twat asks for help? What kind of utter fucking idiot says things like that? Who talks to strangers? What kind of loser is awake at 4am? Why would anybody talk about stuff like that to somebody they don't know? And what kind of freak checks up on their friends behind their backs?

Fuck up. Total drunken idiot. You ask for trouble and pain and problems. You deserve it. Stupid whore. Why can't you be different?

Why aren't you a good person?

Be a good person, or you'll pay.

Yeah

I bought Guitar Hero. And today, I started playing. And I finished it on easy. This is a great achievement.
The last time I played it, I failed. Even on easy, I failed bad.

But now, I am better. Maybe one day, in the far future, I will actually be good. Oh dear. I'm turning into a person who plays too many games. Now I shall retreat into a haze of dope smoke, electronic entertainment and takeaway food.

Or maybe not...

Free Sample

Day 1.
I can't remember. I lost Thursday.

Day 2.
Walk miles in the cold. Meet people. Buy an eighth. Smoke. Walk more. Smoke more.

Day 3.
Bitten, beaten, burnt.

"You fuck well. You're an experienced whore, aren't you?'

I traded in my heart to buy my soul back from the Devil. A heart is easy to fake, but without a soul, you are nothing.

Summarised.

I am a vapid and despicable creature. My life is meaningless. And nobody likes me.

I also start too many sentences with 'and', even though it is grammatically incorrect to do so.

More Sex

A couple of days ago, I blogged about my solitary nun-like existence.

Now I seem to have fallen down a very odd nymphomaniac rabbithole. Why does so much weird shit happen to me?

A strange life

Well I got my inspiration and imagination back, so I have ideas to work on again. I also got my magical je ne sais quoi back. And this morning it snowed.
While I was having a shower and getting ready, somebody who shall not be named went through my underwear drawer. I wonder if he stole anything...
I went to Belper, and the bus driver gave me half fare, even though I didn't even pretend to be young enough. And who should be on the bus, but a guy who was in the psych ward with me? I paid in my 'too mental to get a job' money at the bank, so possibly, soon, I will not be skint! Indeed, I will be rich enough to afford some clothes and fun things. Oh, and Christmas presents. I'm not just thinking of myself, honest.
And now, time to carry on drawing my map on a giant piece of paper. Oh, I have such a fun life.

Coincidence Happens to Sluts Too

While I was writing Sex, I got a random MSN message. And who should it be, but my kinky sex buddy from the past? How very convenient...

Sex

I realised that this blog is shockingly low on sex. This may be a reflection of my solitary, nun-like existence, but even when I am getting all sorts of crazy action, it just never appears on here. Blogging about your own sex life is too undeniably sordid. However, if you are attractive and upper class, it can lead to a lucrative book deal, a la Catherine M. and Girl With a One Track Mind. But seeing as I am neither of those things, I may exercise some self-censorship.
Yes, society's attitudes to sex are stupid, hypocritical, etc. etc. I really can not be bothered to go in to those arguments, go read some feminist literature or something if you really want to hear it.
What I am actually thinking about is how sex is essential for life; continuation of all human life, and fulfillment on a personal level, all come down to having a good fuck.
Unfortunately, being humans, we've managed to turn this fact of life into a hugely complex song and dance routine. See, this rather odd post was inspired by my thinking about how to get laid. Yes, I may not blog about sex, but I do think about it way too much sometimes. Seeing as I have decided to stay well away from relationships, then my options are:

1. The slut way. Dress up, go out, dance dirty, and wake up in an unfamiliar bed.
   
2. The find a sex buddy way. Although friends with benefits is never as simple as it seems.
3. The solo way. Because I am better than you.
4. The highly improbable become a high-class call girl and get paid for it like Belle De Jour way.
   

I'm sure I've missed out some other options, mostly because they're rubbish. Now, I want to delete this post to keep my blog sex free. But hey, sex sells, right? Maybe I'll get that book deal after all...

Misanthropy

Human beings are not that nice. Every one is born perfectly selfish. As they grow up, you think that they grow out of it a little; they just learn to hide it. Everything that people do is for their own gain. Giving to charity? Yes, you helped some kittens or orphans or whatever, but what you really do it for is the warm glow of knowing that you, yes you, the most important person in your world, is the one helping the needy. Those orphan kittens should be so greatful for you.
And love? 'I love you' is just a polite way of saying 'Thanks for being what I need'.

Why have I suddenly become a bitter, hateful being? I think an extreme overcompensation for my being so stupid lately. Idealism? Optimism? Why don't I just wear a sign over my head saying 'I am an idiot, please fuck me over, and why not take my money too?' Only the strong can afford to believe. I have believed, and been disillusioned time and time again. So fuck that shit. Stupid soft fuzzy kiddo is building a wall. And a nuclear bunker. And fuck it, I want a castle too. If I want to be survive, I need defences. I need armour. I need to shut the fuck up and become invulnerable and self-centred and self contained. Fuck you, humanity. You suck.

Lost

I feel lost and lacking. I am missing something, waiting for something. Something important, but I don't know what. I'm tired. So tired that I spent Saturday night at home watching crappy films, instead of out in the cold getting wrecked. I'm fed up of the cold. It makes going outside an endurance ordeal. I think I'll hibernate.

I wish somebody would tell me what I'm missing. Why this creeping sense of unease, something hovering on the edge of the psyche, out of sight. I don't even know what I'm on about. Just type, and eventually something will make sense. I hope.

I feel less tangible than usual. Not here. Not real. Maybe that's what I've lost: reality. Or contact with said substance. I wish there were people. I wish I lived in a big house with all my friends and their friends and any other random cool people. Then there would always be someone around, and it would be awesome, and I would not sit like a sad little techgnome, seperated by miles from everybody I might want to see. Why do I have to live all the way over here? And why, in my mind, am I a million miles away from everybody else, in a little dark corner by myself?

And why am I asking stupid questions, which I can't answer, on a blog that nobody reads, and expecting the fairy netmother to appear and give me the meaning of life via an anonymous comment?

Nothin, just chillin'

Had one of those awesome, slightly hungover lazy days where you do absolutely nothing. Just drink orange juice, find some food to regain human feeling, and do whatever you feel like. Also wait for the memories from last night to filter back into the mind. Not many of them have actually come back. I also have a perfectly circular ring of teethmarks and a flourescent purple bruise on my knee. I didn't believe it when I first saw it, but last night, I must have bitten my knee, very hard. Why oh why? Was I angry or something? I do have some angry posts here which I don't remember writing. But really. What kind of weirdo bites their own knee?

Pip: Remember last night?
Pip's Brain: No, me neither
Both: Awesome.

Can't sleep. Spent the last 2 hours having anxiety attacks. I hate even trying to sleep. Its why I stay up all night.
Its also why I shouldn't eat so much. It ruin my state of mind. Fuck it, what state of mind? I need to get out of this house. Living here with these people is driving me over the edge. Or maybe I'm just driving myself over the edge, its so hard to tell. Fuck it. Again. I have no idea what to do.

fail #2

I'm drunk :)

Went to the Vaults. With al the cool people who think I'm a twat.
I have cool punk hair though, and a violent state of mind.


Fuck you.

Fail

I'm stoned. I was happy-ish, with the drugs blurring my thoughts. Now I'm just scared and angry. I'm surrounded by really sharp haircutting scissors and knifes and razorblades. I want to do some serious damage.
But I resist. Because I know that people will pissed off and upset if they find me passed out in a pool of blood.
Why can't other people be so considerate? Instead of flaunting their pain in my face and screaming that there's nothing I can do about it, why can't they try and do something about it? I know that pain hurts. But I also know that you have to fight it, not jump in. And yeah, fighting is hard. Maybe I'm being a bitch, thinking that just because I fight, that other people should too?
I know I can have no say over what they do to their bodies. It's their freedom. It just tears me up so bad, to see people with the freedom of the world ahead of them, and all they do is make cages. Sure, cages are secure. You're inside, and the world stays safely out. But can't you see that there is so much more than this?
I'm almost crying. Because I can't free anybody.

I fucking give up.

Pills

I have a headache. So I should go get some pain pills from the cupboard downstairs. But what if I find too many? I'm not in a mood to be trusted with pills.
So I wonder wht I should do. And end up sitting unable to do anything at all. This is why I have no job, no friends, and no life.

Typewriter

I got a typewriter! Yes, now I feel like a true creative type. Pointless and obsolete machinery for the win!
This day I mostly stayed in bed, hiding under my duvet from the light and the headaches and the horrible world. I also managed to tidy my room. It is as tidy now as it is ever going to be, so I am quite proud of myself. Can you tell I lead a sad and unproductive life?
If I can scrape together some money, then I will be going to the Vaults on Friday. I'm actually not looking forward to it. What the Hell is wrong with me? It sounds like it will be good fun, but just, the effort involved, having to try and find a way to look acceptable, and then the whole issue of spending all my (hypothetical and nonexistant) money on drinks. I think its about time I got drunk though. I've been utterly sober for about a week, and it is a lonely and depressing way to live.
I have also run out of cigarettes. This enforced nicotine withdrawal is not helpful. I keep getting angry. Every other word my parents say to me is to tell me off for swearing. Although admittedly I swear like gutter scum, I don't see why it offends them quite so much. Its not like I'm swearing directly at them, or insulting them in any way. To be honest, whatever I say, my Dad will find something wrong with it. Its so exhausting having to constantly fight to back up even your most basic opinions. It's what therapists call 'invalidating', and apparently is the cause of all my past problems. I'd prefer to put it down to having a sensitive artistic temperament, or even just being a bit of a mental case, but no, apparently there are people to be blamed.

One More

One more scar will make no difference. You're already disfigured. It's been so long. You've done so well. Don't ruin it. It doesn't matter. Just once. Really? Once, and then another once, and another for luck. Fall right back down, do not pass Go, do not collect £200.

Temptation.
Willpower.
Choice.

How fucked up is this world, when every day I have to fight not to hurt?
Surely I deserve a break.

Miserable phase

This is the rubbish bit. The counterweight to the inspiration, the ambition, the beautiful perceptions. This is the late, late night, alone, wanting something to fill the desperate emptiness. Wanting to tear myself apart, to run away. Wanting to break down and cry. Selfish whore. Want, want, want. Think of something better. But the decks of my mind are listing and whatever thoughts I have, they fall down into the cold dark ocean. I hate this.

Pointless Post

What on Earth is wrong with my mood? I go from running about, planning a glittering future, to running about like a retard, to sitting fidgeting and antsy, to miserable, and then back again. Just, what the Hell? Hypomanic dysphoria anybody? There is really something not normal going on here. I don't mind it too much, but it is leaving me so confused.

Awesome Plan

I'm going to get some Doc Martens and paint cool things on them. Then I'm going to travel the world, painting pretty pictures. Before I go, I'll learn how to teach English as a foreign language, so I will be useful wherever I go. And I will take lots of photographs and sketches and diaries. Then I will come back home and go to art school, and they'll let me in on the strength of my portfolio and extensive life experience. And then I will become an artist, and paint peoples' shoes for them, so that wherever they go, they just have to look down at their feet, to be reminded that there are awesome and beautiful and fun things all over the world.

Absense

Is there such a thing as depressing nonsense writing? Nonsense exists as a type of genre, especially when it comes to poetry, but it always seems inextricably linked with comedy. Why is there not nonsense which expresses the absurd, confusing and deeply distressing nature of life? It seems the perfect genre. Existence, like nonsense, often seems meaningless.

I think that I have accidentally made a new genre. The previous post, possibly, was the first ever example of it. Now to think of a name for this style of work. Absense works quite well, I think. Or at least it does for a word geek like myself.

Every lost word, every doubt, every regret, swirls through the synapses of an aching mind. They combine, crystallise, forming an ancient compulsion. Daggers hang poised over bare skin. They wait with bated breath; will you take your punishment?

Gross

I'm ill. The latent illness which was lurking in my body for so long has finally revealed its full strength. Now my throat, ear, head, sinuses and bronchii hurt. I awoke this afternoon, half-delirious with fever, and staggered downstairs to find my brother, Teddy, and an inflatable sex sheep. It was possibly the most disorienting experience of my life. Apparently my brother thought that a novelty sheep was the ideal Christmas present. It was so good, that he had to give it a month early.

Yeuch. I feel so disgusting I just want to curl up in bed and cry. My physical self esteem has randomly disappeared. I'm fat and ugly and hideous and horrible and disgusting and nobody could ever find me attractive. The idea of being naked in front of somebody? I'd run a mile if anybody even suggested it. It was hard to even accept a hug off Teddy. Everyone who I come into contact with, I expect them to turn away, repulsed. I don't get why I've sudenly fallen so far. Three days ago I was dancing around feeling, if not conventionally beautiful, at least pretty cool, appearance-wise. Where did it go? Is it because I possibly gained a couple of pounds? Because nobody is actively, blatantly trying to pull me? It's not like anybody has even suggested that I'm ugly. Indeed, I remember being referred to as a 'hot chick' quite recently. Yes, people use that phrase, without irony. Although they were drunk, so I don't suppose their opinion counts for much.
I need to get my confidence back.

Life Choices

So, I decided I want to be an artist. It's what I love doing. I love writing, too, but I don't think I could cut it trying to make it my career. Not that it is likely that I'll be able to make a living by painting, but it's worth a shot.

Now, though, I'm second guessing myself. How did I make this choice? Basically because art is the only career-type thing I can do without immediately turning into a nervous breakdown. So, did I really choose it, or is it simply what I am falling into, through a process of elimination? Maybe it is fate, but I'm still uncertain as to how fate could work. Something to do with quantum entanglement and the non-linear nature of time, perhaps. But anyway, I have not even started on the journey to my goal, and already I'm fearing failure.

In the words of Neo, 'What if I can't? What if I fail?'

'Then Zion will fall.'

OK, maybe it's not quite that drastic, but still. Worry worry worry. Possibility of rejection, dented ego, broken dreams, wasted life, etc.

But if I do fail, then I want to know that I tried. So I will. Just need a bit more motivation, hope and strength. I'll put them on the shopping list, then.

Friday Night

Another all-nighter. Ended up sleeping for two hours. Adrian was well surprised to find me and Maddy in his house this morning. We came back with his brother, and attempted to watch Iron Man, but we all ended up passing out because it was about 5am. Then we woke up, chatted for a bit, and got stoned again.
Wake and bake is the best cure for mornings after crazy nights. I don't even remember most of Friday. I think the sequence of events was house, outside, other house, pub, street, house called 'The Frottage', other house, final house, town, home. What a blur.

Karma Chameleon

How rocksteady is this? I'm in Belper, waiting for the bus home, cold, hungry and poor, stood in the rain. I spend my last coin on the Playwriting Special Edition of the Big Issue.
I get on the bus, to find, on the seat opposite me, a full, unopened, brand new packet of Malteasers. Sweet, no?

Today's Weird News

First, a man died of the plague. Yes, in this day and age. And what's more, he caught it from a lion.

Then there's the banker who got bored of his job and decided to become a surgeon. He faked all of his qualifications, and still was accepted for a job. He was only found out after he had done 190 operations, because of an anonymous tip-off. His surgery work was so good, nobody suspected a thing. I think it's a sad shame that he got sent to prison.

Finally, the arachnophobe astronaut's worst nightmare. They took two spiders into space, to see how they spin webs without gravity. And now, one of the spiders is not in its tank. They think it is somewhere on the ship, but they don't know where...

The Morning

My parents, realising that I am 'on something', give me plenty of space. I crash to sleep in my clothes at 9.30am, and at 11am I am awokn by my father. 'Wake up, it's time for your therapy apointment.'
I actually wake up, and get dropped off at the North Mill. Going into the Mental Health Services place, I sign in. The woman on reception looks confused. Apparently my appointment is actually tomorrow! Never trust the drugged to understand their own diary records. I go to call for a lift back home, but realise that my phone has died. I have to walk to King Street and use the phone box. On the way I pass Subway and can not resist going inside. Adrian is working, we talk and I order a Meatball Marinara sub. Adrian is proper cool, I had been wanting to see him. I think we made some plans for everyone going out some night, but my memory fails me. I walked up town and made this phone call to my dad. He is happy to give me a lift back, but surprised that my appointment was so short. While I am waiting for his car to turn up I eat my Sub, and it is truly the nicest Subway I have ever eaten in my life. Meatball Marinara, grilled with cheese, and with gherkins and olives, on what bread.
My Dad gets here, and I realise why he is so willing to give me a life. He sends me out of the car to go to Birds' and get him a sausage cob. And I am allowed to get myself something. I buy three chocolate mice; one brown, one white and one pink. I ate them while I was writing this. It took me a long time to write this. It is almost a novel. I think I should novelise it. It would be like the new Catcher in the Rye. Only not as lame as that particular book. People would actually like to read the story of my night out.

Continuation of the Story

After going back to find my phone and my ten, we were leaving. I took this opportunity to throw up at the side of the road. Classy, I know, but the chemicals needed out. Then I felt great, and Maddy, how good is this, gave us a mini Snickers-type bar each. So we met Jake, Titch, Ozzy and Beardy, and then Maddy went home because apparently it was bloody freezing (I was long past being able to feel temperature at this point.) For some reason, Ozzy and Jake decided it was an awesome idea to go to Titch's house. So we did. Titch lives in Ambergate. The pavements on the way were thick with fallen leaves, which we kicked our way through like children. When we got to Titch's house, it was really weird. His place is like a pleasant middle-class, suburban home which has been left to fall into decay. Rubbish was everywhere, it was a mess where I felt at home. It was squalid. Harry the dog kept trying to play, dropping a ball and growling at us as we smoked. Eventually we realised that we should start trekking back home. Beardy stood up, and promptly fell down on the floor. He fainted about two more times before we managed to get walking. He said that house had got to him. Eventually, after some smoke breaks, we ended up back in Belper, and we went our seperate ways. Binning it, the other two went to bed, but I was allowed only two hours sleep after this epic mission.

What I Wrote:

A theoretical utopia based on the idea that constant drug delivery is possible for every human on Earth.
They are given: a euphoric (with dissacociative effects), followed by a psychadelic and lots of weed, throughout their lives., then they will be happy. Because their efficiency is so reduced by this regimen, they are perfectly happy to only be doing the necessary activity to sustain their lives, eg. provide enough food, warmth, etc. that they don't die, and they are then alive in their society, and permanently content with their lot, and wish to better the world. So drugs will save the world, if we can get them to enough people.

Now there's a load of creepy bollocks.

A Report On The Series of Events Which Comprised my Day

At 1pm, on Wednesday 19th November, I was awoken by my friend Grace's sudden appearance in my bedroom. I got out of bed, and we both agreed that my pyjamas were awesome. Zebra print trousers, yeah? So she went downstairs, I got dressed, and got a cup of coffee, and we sat and did crossword puzzles. When we had completed all of the puzzles we could, and I had finished my coffee, I went to clean my teeth and fetch my handbag, and then we walked to Tesco, where Grace bought sirloin steak and Finest* Light Coleslaw and I bought a Finest* Belgian chocolate cake and a bottle of wine. We walked home, taking a nice route which led us on a little track by some pretty stone houses. When we reached home, we washed our hands, and Grace set about cutting the steak in half so we could each have a piece. She decided to cut it in half flatways, making two thin steaks instead of one thick one. Or at least, that was the aim; we actually got one thin steak and one selection of butchered beef slices. So we cooked the steak, nice and rare, and in the process, a large glob of sizzling oil leapt from the frying pan and landed right on the end of my nose! Man, that stung. Eventually, we sat down to our nice meal. It was delicious, and by the time we got to dessert, we were both rather tipsy and playing notes on a wineglass. At this moment, the doorbell rang, and it was the postman with a parcel for me to sign for. Inside this innocuous white parcel, were two bottles of Benylin non-drowsy dry cough medicine. Now I decided that it was a good idea for me to get high. I ran and fetched my half dose of Hawaiian Baby Woodrose seeds. I washed down the seeds with wine and slugs of cough syrup, obscuring their bitter taste with the sumptuous flavour of chocolate cake. Before long I was dancing around to the Beatles' Strawberry Fields Forever. Soon, my mum got home from work and quickly figured that I was 'drunk'. Grace's mum drove up in her minibus and agreed to give me a lift to Belper to go see Alex and Jess. I never actually got to see those two people.
Left in Belper, I went to the shop for cigarettes before heading to King Street. And there, I found Maddy, a shocked girl with her little finger hanging at a right angle to her hand. It was so broken. I offered to go with her to Ripley A&E but she decided against that, so instead we went to Morrisons and I bought her some tape. She taped up her fingers, and later had some fun playing with a reel of surgical tape. Right now we walked up Belper, smoking. We eventually met Ozzy, Jake and Beardy, among other people, and we stood around outside the Memorial Gardens trying to find out who in Belper had any weed. I seemed to be the only person in the group with any credit, so this ringing round of every known dealer was mostly done on my phone. After getting no luck, we drifted up to the Market Place and the Local shop. Outside here, we collected a bigger selection of people: Dan, Collyer, Christian Swann, Ezra, Jonathon, Dukes, Archie, and more people whose names I don't know. We were all looking proper shady, standing around on the Marketplace and trying to sort out some weed. We were there for about two hours before something was tracked down in Derby, and I got into a car with Maddy and other people, and went to Derby. We drove around Derby until we found Normanton. There, we realised that there was no space in the car for the dealer to sit and sort our stuff out. So I moved from the middle seat to the boot. I lay back, smoking a fag which somebody had generously provided, and felt beautifully cozy and relaxed. After a length of time, driving around and general waiting about, the always-delicate 'take the chick out of the car boot' procedure was performed, and I was back in place in the middle of the back seat. So spliff was smoked, and once we got back to Belper and got a scales, amounts were weighed out and distributed amongst the crowds.
We stayed in the car, chatting life and politics. Maddy is incredibly cool, and one of her brothers is awesomely wise. We had some great conversation. Oh, and one of the guys was a proud, out and out racist, so we had some nice political debate there. I've realised that racists are not inherently bad people. They don't hate me personally, and indeed, this guy was a perfect gentleman. He acted with so much honour, of a sort which I thought had died out long ago.
Once we were nicely stoned, we went into Maddy's house and got ice cream. With cream on it. During this time I was texting Beardy, and sorted out that, once we had chilled for a while, then we would meet them at the triangle. This blog entry is becomong like a novel, and as we went into Maddy's room, I demanded a pencil and paper, which were eventually found for me.

Lonesome?

I really don't know if I'm lonely or not. I spend most of my days alone, seeing only my immediate family who I live with. Most people go out to work or education, and interact with many different people each day. I have the internet, speaking to a few people on Facebook and MSN. Forums are an even more tenuous link to society. I do go out sometimes. I spent the weekend away, with people. I am not a total recluse. People come to my house sometimes as well. Tomorrow, Grace is comimg round, and we're going to cook a meal and drink wine.

I don't know if I need more people in my life. I think, sometimes, that I am limiting myself by being so solitary. But on the other hand, I like being self contained. I don't need other people to constantly reassure me of my worth. I am self sufficient. The on;y danger is that this will lead to me becoming selfish. I am already eccentric. I keep strange hours, and dance around the house like a loon. I guess that I can, because nobody is watching. I need my own house, then I can live my own way, and not have to creep around because everybody else is asleep during my favourite time of the day (or night).

I am not sure why I am writing this. Trying to shake a slight sense of ennui which has fallen over me this evening. Or trying to make sense of the world, again. I am trying to make a life for myself. I just have no idea how best to do that. So many options. I think I will take off and travel the world for a year or so when I have finished my course. Somehow I will be able to finance this endeavour. I need to see, to experience life. There is so much world out there.

Politics

Yes, politics. Of the extreme variety. The BNP membership list has been leaked! It has since been removed from the web, but I have a copy saved because it may come in handy some day.

I despise the BNP. They are fascists, hiding behind the facade of a legitimate political party. Not all of their members are fascists, but they are so ignorant that they have joined a party whose leader reads 'Mein Kampf' and says believes that mixed-race relationships are wrong “because most people want their grandchildren to look basically like them”. The BNP deceive people into believing that anti-immigration is the way to 'save Britain', but their white supremacist agenda is so thinly veiled that they may as well stick on their Klan robes and get it over with. I guess that, being a mixed race daughter with one immigrant parent, they get to me. I feel like they are a personal attack against me, my rights and my beliefs.

So, what do I do now? Sit and complain? Join a militant Antifa group? Or write some persuasive letters to some people?
The ignorance of the BNP can not be allowed to continue. But on the other hand, they should not be given too much publicity. They should be seen for the ignorant creeps they really are.

A Beautiful Experience

Tripped out on hawaiian baby woodrose last night. It was truly, life changingly amazing. I held the universe inside my mind as simultaneously my mind expanded to encompass the entire universe. My soul was free, expansive and generous, as I was connected to everything by the energy which runs through all that exists. I became a goddess, while at the same time feeling uniquely human, a small part of the whole, and gazing awestruck at the beauty of the world. Music, art, colours, everyday objects and equperiences, all made my heart soar. We watched Yellow Submarine and ate Haribo, our minds riding a thrilling psychadelic rollercoaster.
It was a primal and shamanic experience. The woodrose seeds make you feel very sick for the first two hours, but you don't mind if you throw up; it's all part of the experience, as the poison is cleansed from your body and the trip continues. This plant does have the potential to make you feel very ill indeed, but it is still worth the experience. After some hours of tripping, I felt very sleepy in a pleasant way. Like you would feel curled up in a cozy bed, even though in reality I was on a hard floor in a thin sleeping bag. It was comfortable to be though, and I fell in to a deep sleep.
I woke up feeling more refreshed than I had in days, and still feeling a few after effects. Listening to music, when I closed my eyes I got interesting little movies in my brain. I seemed to be seeing the world with a greater clarity than ever before. And we may forget it sometimes, but this world really is a beautiful place. I feel much calmer, more centred than before. Inspirations, insights and ideas are flowing around my mind. I also now get the Beatles' music. I am so appreciative of everyone and everything which enabled me to have this experience. Thankyou, universe.

Brain and body are disconnected. Visual input is downgraded. My eyes refuse to co-operate with each other and focus. This post will be filled with typos because it takes way too much effort to look at the computer screen. Floating above and slightly to the side of my body. Speech is meaningless. Vision is distorted, every sense confused. Distance perception? Space and time? What are they?

In Sheffield, Again

Yes, I am back at Kayleigh's. We went to meadowhall. Nothing makes me want to join a radical anti-capitalist collective more than shopping centres. Now I am imbibing the spirit of hardcore punk in a little brown bottle. Shortly I will be journeying to a magical world. Bon voyage...

Mila Jovovich

I was randomly overcome by lust for this woman. She is just so hot. I want.

Miracle!

I woke up at 8am. And I am fully conscious, and even happy. This is despite getting to sleep around 2am. This truly is a supernatural phenomenon.

Self-referential and Self-Perpetuating

Reading through the past on my blog, I get depressed. Then I post a depressed little whine on here. At some time in the future, I will read this, and it will make me feel depressed. Then I will blog a depressed little whine. At some time after that, I will read through my blog archive and become depressed by the amount of depressed whining in it. Then I will blog a depressed little whine. And so continue, ad nauseum, ad apocalypse.

And by the way, I will die alone and unloved.

=(

Disregarding all of my advice on living in the present, tonight I have fallen into dwelling on the past. You can not spend all of your time in the moment; the ability to remember, and to learn from the past, is part of what makes us human.
Memories flow, good and bad. Sadly, it is the bad ones which now float to the surface like scum on a pond. Somehow it is easier to remember the bad times, the tears and pain. I know, somewhere, there is love and laughter and brilliance, but for now, it is forgotten. The bad memories need attention.
Some parts of the past are useful: they are lessons to be learnt. And I have learned. Learned not to pretend to be something I'm not, not to lie for the hell of it, not to wear corduroy trousers. And maybe, if I was wiser, I would have learned a lot more, but I am not wise yet.
Other parts of the past are debatable choices. Some good, some bad. Was I right to leave school? Probably not, according to most people. But would I have survived if I'd stayed? All the 'what ifs' serve no purpose. And anyway, those are the kind of mistakes which can be repaired. You can get education any time.
Worse are the irreperable mistakes, the scars, the pains which stay raw. Reasonless hurts and random disasters, and the times when it really was my fault. The times when there was nothing I could do. Those are the ones which stick their claws in when I'm trying to sleep. Those are the ones which mean certain songs, certain scents, are now off limits unless I'm trying for tears.
Wishing to change the past. It does you no good. Save your wishes for the future.
The past is a realm for time to fade, smoothing jagged edges and softening the scars. Trouble is, old scars have a habit of itching, and when it gets cold, they still sting.

Finishing A Task

I am not the kind of person who often sees things through to the end. Indeed, my life is a trail of half-finisheds and barely-begans.
But today I finished my first assignment, and sent it off, on time. Yes, it took a lot of cigarettes, sugar, and jumping around chewing my fingers, but I got it done.
Now to see what mark I get for it. Even scraping a pass would be good enough for me. Indeed, anything more than that would be an undeserved fluke, considering my work:wasted ratio. Oh yes, I am a student, of sorts. I just have to catch up on about 2 weeks worth of work now before I can really feel like I'm making progress.
That can wait until after the weekend. If I survive, that is...

Night Night

Bed time, try to sleep. Thoughts wander aimlessly in their course towards sleep, soft and formless. Cold. Thoughts crystallise into sharp image-driven desire; slash the veins.
Laugh off the crazy thought. Cold and scared, huddle under the too-thin duvet, waiting in vain for sleep. Too tired to see, too tired to go and find warmth or comfort. Alone, waiting for morning.

Some People

All these people meshed together in conversations and meetings and other entanglements. People thrown together and torn apart in a great chaotic dance. People need people. Alone we are nothing, alone we are scared and weak and hurting. When we are not alone we are still weak, still very very small. But at least we have a chance.

Alone is not just being literally without company. Alone is a state of mind. You can be alone in a crowded room, if you are not connected to where you are. So many people wander through life without connecting to the world around them. They don't notice things. They're too busy thinking about the past or the future or how they feel or what would happen if... or what they would do when... They don't notice life passing them by.

It has worked. Mindfulness. As advocated by therapists, psychics and meditation experts everywhere. I actually can do it. I'm not lost in the white-noise fog of my brain any more. You should try it. I have no advice on how exactly you can achieve this, but you should do it. My therapist will be so incredibly happy with me.

Brain: It Is Fried

Still feeling strange. And I think I'm ill. And I'm sure that the tequila cocktail I'm drinking isn't helping. I just went outside and spent half a cigarette staring at a plant. It's a weird, red leafed shiny plant that just appeared in our garden. I might steal some pieces of it later if it still fascinates me. I'm supposed to be writing assignments right now. Also supposed to be hoovering.
Ow. I just took a break from writing and managed to pour hot wax all over my hand and my room, and somehow I've developed the ability to ignore pain stimuli, so I spent far too long holding a hot oil burner and now my thumb is all red and hurty. Pips should not be allowed to play with fire.

Comment Me!

Comment on this blog, if you read it. I want to see if anybody actually does, and who they are. Don't be all secretive now, II know you're out there...

Sleepy

I woke up and it was getting dark. I missed the day! How very disorienting.

I'm all wobbly today. It's quite fun. I'm also very tired, having got to sleep at about 5.30am.

Tomorrow is work day. I have to finish two weeks worth of work in about 12 hours. It'll be easy. But possibly not fun.

Making plans to go back to Sheffield soon. And certain pharmaceutical raiding parties must be organised and sent out. So much to do, so little time.

In Sheffield

It's bloody great. Kayl has cool friends and everything has been fun. At about 6pm me, her and her friend drank our bottles of DXM, and the rest of the night has been epic fun. Room dancing, 24 hour shop visits, blue alcopops, gay dudes, kebab and chips, and now back in Kayl's room chilling and drinking. DXM rocks. And my friends rock. I'm happy.

Without a purpose or direction...

No more! I have those things now. I am going to get into London College of Art. Not now, possibly not even very soon, but in the mists of the future. Everything is leading to that goal.

And today, I'm going to Sheffield to see my Kayl! Ultra happy smiling for the win all round! We're going to go out and be crazy as usual. I best get on with it and go get ready; the city awaits...

Insomnia (again)

Its half past 3 in the morning. I'm pale white and grey (no mean feat for a half Asian), with purple shadows round my eyes. I'm shaking like a leaf, and whatever I try, I can't get to sleep.
Somebody please come and knock me out. Chloroform, baseball bat, intravenous haloperadol, a brick in a sock; I don't care what you use.Seeing that you've read this blog, I know you really want to shut me up, so now's your chance. One well aimed smack to the back of the head, and then contented silence all round. You know you want to.

I am lacking in something important. Whatever it is that people have, to make them alive and coping; I missed out on that. I'm sorry.

Vodka-fuelled Moping

Just meh.

I know I've screwed up my entire life, irreperably. Health, education, relationships, social life, family, finances. There isn't one single area which I can say I have done well in.

I know I need to do something different. It's just so hard. It hurts. So let's all just drink till we can't feel feelings anymore. And don't stick around for the comedown.

Vodka-fuelled Soul Searching

Well, I'm finishing up the left over vodka, and still feel quite happy, but falling into an introspective mood. This is a time of fruitful philosophising...

Of course, in true Pip fashion, I examine my being by asking other people their opinions of me. Describe me in approximately 3 words or phrases:

intelligent, beautiful and lost
beautiful, troubled, friendly....
kind and weird
small but awesome

Now, what do I think of me? Attention-seeking, stupid, disgusting, introspective. Damn


Anyone else, what do you think of me? Comment me...

Fear and Loathing in... Belper?

It started on a Friday. Parents went away for the weekend. We drank a few beers, chilled at home with Grace. Brother, Teddy, and Alice made varying appearances. Bearing in mind that my memory has since deteriorated, I couldn't tell you the exact sequence of events that led to me eventually drinking a bottle of Benylin Dry Cough mixture. I know that I had a cough. And I know that I knew that dextromethorpan gets you high, and diphenhydramine makes you trip out and go to sleep. I wanted sleep. I think.
I was getting sleepy, and couldn't see properly, I was so stoned on this stuff. I staggered to bed, and slept for 13 hours.
Saturday was party day, and having woken up at 3pm, I was in a bit of a hurry to get things ready. I went to Belper on a mission for weed and vodka. The vodka part was easy enough, but weed involved finding Ozzy, and then accompanying him on a long trek, involving many breaks to 'wrap one up, yo.' It was such exhausting work...

At this time I was already pretty out of it. Dextromethorpan (DXM) is a euphoric dissociative hallucinogenic, and diphenhydramine is a deliriant hallucinogenic and also boosts the effects of alcohol. I wasn't actually hallucinating, I hadn't taken nearly enough for a proper, reality-breaking trip, but I was definitely high.
My body and brain seemed to be disconnected. I was walking, very fast, into town, but felt no pain or tiredness. I looked down at my feet, seeing them walking, and knowing that it was nothing to do with me. I tried to tell them to stop walking, but it didn't work. I was being carried somewhere. This was slightly worrying, but also intriguing. I managed to gain back my autonomy enough to go and buy some cigarettes. Then, I was in a supermarket, eyes aching horribly in the bright lights. My pupils couldn't shrink, they stayed huge, so I wandered around with a wide-eyed 'deer in headlights' expression, trying to focus enough to understand the world. I managed to buy a bottle of vodka, and then went to meet people. We smoked some, walked, smoked some more, and somehow ended up in a house, with the guy who we were buying off, smoking joint after joint, and generally passing time. I realised I had the shakes again, real bad, it was so difficult to even take a spliff when it was passed to me. Then I realised that I was supposed to be having a party. Grace was at home on her own, and she would be pissed off...
However, the warm and cozy house, with endless supplies of weed, random conversation, and a little dog, was too nice to leave. It was pouring with rain, too. However, at some point, we walked, via many other places, up Mill Street, and ended up home. There was, indeed, a party. And a very pissed off Grace. I was 2 hours late for my own party. And, ironically, Ozzy had disappeared somewhere with my weed. Anyway, my room was hotboxed, and everyone was happy. And I got some people stoned through passive smoking, who would never dare to active smoke. So generally, I won. At about 7am I fell asleep. Apparently I twitch a lot.

The parents just came home. My room smells of insence. I have some vodka left. I finally ate some real food. And now I'm so chilled, it's awesome. I just want to give everyone a hug. So, dear reader(s), imagine that you are being hugged by a short, twitchy, vodka-scented girl. Nice, isn't it?

Party

Shopping shopping shopping. Buying things in. Planning. Crate of beer, crate of weird blue alcopops, vodka, wine, some stuff to make punch... this will be funny.

Get over it, you pathetic piece of trash. Nobody ever loved you, nobody ever will.

Guilt

I've ruined so many things. How can I live with myself?

How do I live?

I used to be alive. Then I was too alive. Now I don't know.

I do know that I have to figure this out for myself. Nobody can mend me. I have to rebuild myself now. I just have no tools, and all the pieces are so very jagged and bent and broken.

It would be easier to throw them away, but then there will be no more, and that is even more of a waste than everything else I've done. I need to redeem myself.

I just don't know how. And I'm scared. Absolutely fucking terrified.

Evil Bitch

I want everyone to be miserable.

I want to find *some people* and scream at them until they cry. Then I'll stab them.

I hope you are all unlucky in love. I hope you all get your hearts broken. I hope nothing ever works out for you.

I hope at least once you will reach your own living hell. Then you'll know what it's like. Then you won't be able to look at me like that.

They stare at me

I went to the shop. Bought a packet of sweets, an energy drink, 10 cigarettes. They stare at me. Stare at me as I browse the shelves, stare into my face as I go to the till, ask for 'ten Richmond kingsize, please,' stare as I give my money, as I shove the change back into my wallet.
They don't stare at her. The bulimic. Skinny, bones scraping bones under shapeless black clothes as she grabs three packets of Malteasers. Hair hiding her face as she grasp her stack of foods. Fat, sugar, carbs, topped with a pack of fat-free rice cakes. Obvious. But no. She goes to the self-service checkout after her long minutes spent staring, grabbing, at the confectionary aisle. They don't even stare at the chocolate bars, sweet packets, sticking so obviously out of her coat pockets. Part of her wants to be caught, to be pulled up by some security guard, stopped before she can cram each stolen calorie into her mouth. But no.

Instead they stare at me. Does my face look so alien? Is there something broken, obvious, in my eyes? Is it because I'm pale, breathless from the walk, the walk which passes so many other people, staring, shouting? Why do they look at m like that?

What have I become

/my sweetest friend/everyone I know/goes away/ in the end/ and you can have it all/ my empire of dirt/ I will let you down/ I will make you hurt...

What have I become?

I'm trying to break me. It's 4pm. I haven't slept in 24 hours. I'm drinking beer like water, smoking cigarettes.
I washed my hair for the first time in 4 days today. They phone me to make sure I'm ok. I'm fine. I'm wearing my hat. Ugly. Ugly is safe. It means nobody will want to be near me.

I'm not going to sleep. I can't sleep. I wish I could. But when I try, I end up crying. And that is not acceptable, so I will not sleep. I will drink diet Kick and swallow Pro-Plus until I get heart palpitations. I like to feel my heart jump. Proves it's still there, still beating somewhere inside. I will get piercings. Needles through flesh. I will trip out and drink and drink and smoke and swallow DXM until I can't feel anymore.
Party on Saturday. Maybe if I drink enough I can sleep/pass out without crying. Maybe if I drink enough I'll never wake up again. £100 to spend on alcohol. Beer and vodka and WKD and rum and sweet and sour and burning shots to make everything stop.

They are going to phone me tomorrow morning. And I will say "I'm fine" because I don't know what else to say. And I will sing and dance and laugh, feeling the energy fizz like lightning through me. And then I will fall apart, shatter into jagged shards, and then I will piece myself back together, I will get up, and dance again.

Somebody please give me an answer. Give me a reason. Something. Anything.

The bright side

There may be things wrong with me. Indeed, there may be a long long list of things wrong with me.
But who else can dance around, ecstatic, to Soft Cell at 6:20am?

I am.

Borderline Personality Disorder

I've been doing some research and this seems to be me. I'm fucked. Truly and utterly. All I have to look forward to is a life of pain, moodswings, both inflicting and suffering pain and rejection. Please let this not be true. Let me be just a hypochondriac. Let me be a depressive, a manic depressive, a schizophrenic, but not this. This is the worst thing ever.

Category

Personality Disorders



Etiology

Like most personality disorders, there are many factors that may contribute to the development of symptoms. Because the symptoms are long lasting, the idea that symptoms begin to emerge in childhood or at least adolescence is well accepted. The negative consequences of such symptoms, however, may not show themselves until adulthood.



Symptoms are often present in adolescence and almost always by young adulthood. There may be a history of unstable relationships in the person's life and there is a higher than average likelihood of sexual abuse, family violence, and/or neglect in the person's childhood. This disorder is diagnosed much more frequently in females.



Symptoms

The major symptoms of this disorder revolve around unstable relationships, poor or negative sense of self, inconsistent moods, and significant impulsivity. There is an intense fear of abandonment with this disorder that interferes with many aspects if the individual's life. This fear often acts as a self-fulfilling prophecy as they cling to others, are very needy, feel helpless, and become overly involved and immediately attached. When the fear of abandonment becomes overwhelming, they will often push others out of their life as if trying to avoid getting rejected. The cycle most often continues as the individual will then try everything to get people back in his or her life and once again becomes clingy, needy, and helpless.



The fact that people often do leave someone who exhibits this behavior only proves to support their distorted belief that they are insignificant, worthless, and unloved. At this point in the cycle, the individual may exhibit self-harming behaviors such as suicide attempts, mock suicidal attempts (where the goal is to get rescued and lure others back into the individual's life), cutting or other self-mutilating behavior. There is often intense and sudden anger involved, directed both at self and others, as well a difficulty controlling destructive behaviors



Treatment

Treatment for this disorder is long term in nature since the symptoms have been present for an extended time and interfere with many aspects of the person's life. Insight oriented therapy can be helpful but research is showing an increased support for a cognitive-behavioral approach. In other words, the individual's thoughts and actions are monitored both by the self and therapist and specific behaviors are counted and a plan is made to gradually reduce those thoughts and behaviors that are seen as negative. A combined approach may be best, but either way requires intensive time and effort.



Prognosis

Prognosis is difficult to assess. While the disorder is chronic in nature, gradual improvements with work are definitely seen. While it is difficult for anyone to change major aspects of their personality, the symptoms of this disorder can be reduced in both number and intensity. Long term treatment is almost always required.

Writing

Sit on the hard wooden chair, stare at the cluttered desk and the blank page. Pick up a pencil. Hold it, hovering, above the paper, considering the right word. The perfect word to begin the story. Realise that the pencil is not perfectly sharp. It is adequate, but not optimum. Root through stacks of paper and drawers full of junk for a sharpener. Find it hidden in a jar of odds and ends. Get up, go to the bin, sharpen the pencil to a deadly point.

Return slowly to the chair. Sit down. The paper is still blank. Create something brilliant. You are not good enough. Nothing you write will ever be perfect. Your words are clichés; nothing original or insightful could come from a mind as weak as yours.

Snap the pencil in half and throw the splintered parts across the room. They bounce off the walls leaving graphite grey impact marks. Stand slowly again and stumble to the bed. Lay down your ungainly body, curl up and stare at nothing and think of nothing. Blank and empty. You are nothing.