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.

Ramblings

I think I'm breaking. I thought I was free of this, but oh, no. Get back in your bell jar, bitch, its where you belong. Oh yes, a Sylvia Plath reference, aren't we clever.
No, not at all.
I am so stupid, it isn't even funny any more.
Firework night, outside, bangbangbang. Stare at all the lights and feel nothing. You are dead.
Sleep all day to hide from the guilt that you should be doing something, anything, not just staring into space. Get a job. Be a productive member of society. Stop being a drain on resources. Stop taking and taking and taking like a black hole of desperation.
Spin around in a maelstrom of laughing and screaming and faces looming up out of the darkness to take you away.
Waste time.
Now I am nocturnal, life is easier. I work, when I can, which is rarely. It has taken me three nights to write 100 words. Only rambling pathetic self-indulgent words flow freely. Too freely, spewed out like poison, sickening everybody, lingering in the food chain, destroying the environment. Better out than in, they say. Not for you it isn't. I hurt people just by being alive. I cry at night. I never cry. It isn't my thing. I might scream and rage and attack myself, but I don't cry.

I haven't done anything 'stupid'. Not one cut, not one pill. I don't need any more pain. My stomach hurts contantly. My heart beats funny, aches through my chest. Head aches, lumps in my throat to choke me. Salt burns my eyes, my face. I can't breathe right. I'm not right. Why am I like this?
Whywhywhy?
Because you're pathetic. That's why.

pain

this hurts

nearly 4am, thought i was ok

realised i'm worthless

pain tear me down and wash away all that i am

make me better

Well this explains a lot

Personality Disorder Test Results Paranoid |||||||||| 38% Schizoid |||||||||||| 46% Schizotypal |||||||||||||||||| 78% Antisocial |||||||||||| 42% Borderline |||||||||||||||||||| 86% Histrionic |||||||||||||||| 62% Narcissistic |||||| 26% Avoidant |||||||||||||| 54% Dependent |||||||||||||||| 70% Obsessive-Compulsive |||||| 22%

Take Free Personality Disorder Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid Personality Disorder:	Moderate
Schizoid Personality Disorder:	Low
Schizotypal Personality Disorder:	High
Antisocial Personality Disorder:	Low
Borderline Personality Disorder:	Very High
Histrionic Personality Disorder:	High
Narcissistic Personality Disorder:	Moderate
Avoidant Personality Disorder:	Very High
Dependent Personality Disorder:	High
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:	Low
-- Take the Personality Disorder Test -- -- Personality Disorder Info --

Stupid Girl (written and performed by Garbage)

You pretend you're high
Pretend you're bored
Pretend you're anything
Just to be adored
And what you need
Is what you get

Don't believe in fear
Don't believe in faith
Don't believe in anything
That you can't break

You stupid girl
You stupid girl
All you had you wasted
All you had you wasted

What drives you on
Can drive you mad
A million lies to sell yourself
Is all you ever had

Don't believe in love
Don't believe in hate
Don't belive in anything
That you can't waste

You stupid girl
You stupid girl
Can't believe you fake it
Can't believe you fake it

Don't believe in fear
Don't believe in pain
Don't believe in anyone
That you can't tame

You stupid girl
You stupid girl
All you had you wasted
All you had you wasted
You stupid girl
You stupid girl
Can't believe you fake it
Can't believe you fake it

You stupid girl

Jehovah's Witnesses

Just the people I wanted to see right now. What idiots. They gave me magazines. How ironic.

SUCCESS: how to achieve it

Should you fear HELL?

If my mum was here, she would have paid for their stupid papers. And she's an atheist.
Why would anybody consider that it was socially acceptable to knock on random peoples' doors and try and convince them that they are going to hell?

Stupid Girl

#1 Well, if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as Hell don't deserve me at my best.
#2 I understand, but it still hurts
#3 I told you so
#4 This is why I don't do love
#5 I'm sorry
#6 I wish I was better
#7 Well fuck you then
#8 I'm going to get my nipple pierced now
#9 You've lost your claim on me
#10 I hope we can stay friends
#11 I mean that
#12 You dumped me by text. Twice.
#13 And I still think you are an amazing person
#14 I wish I wasn't so fucking stupid
#15 You would be better off if you'd never met me
#16 I hope you can be happy now
#17 I love you. I would be so much easier if I didn't

Happy Samhain

"Life is a highway, and I'm gonna ride it, and every day's a winding road. My rollercoaster's got the biggest ups and downs, as long as it keeps going, its un-be-lieva-ble." Kimya Dawson

Yes I am alive and I am going to stay alive. I don't need to hide, and I don't need to risk my life to run away. I can live through pain and crying and screaming. I can weather all storms and come out with my self intact.
I will not wash away.
Razorblades and pills only mask the pain with more pain. I will tear away the illusions and stare into its eyes. I will take its strength as my strength because each sensation is a part of living. And each voice, each fear, each agony is a part of me. I will stare into its eyes and see my own eyes staring right back.

I am human, woman, alive.
I will burn through life like a shooting star.
Watch me.