I want...

I want I want I want I want lots of things.

I want to sleep. I want to sleep for a few days. I want another day to do all my work with no distractions or complications. I want April half term. I want to be able to eat without feeling guilty. I want to lose weight. I want to be skinnier. I want to get things done. I want energy. I want a fucking cigarette or three. I want my complexion to be better. I want to feel close with my friends again. I want the weather to be warm and sunny more. I want to go to every english lesson I have now that we're doing Romeo and Juliet. I want to keep positive. I want to do well in school. I want to get at least a B in both of my maths exams in June. I want to do well. I want to go to college, I want to go to uni. I want to go to Give It A Name. I want a piercing. I want to escape Ludlow.

but i want doesn't get. so I'd better get off this and do my work, regardless of how heavy my eyelids feel right now.

laptop died...

I'm tired and I feel like I could sleep for days. I feel drained. I know I couldn't write anything right now if I tried.

I feel so tired in every possible sense. I feel worn out. I feel guilty. It's because of about three things, but I won't go into them. Not... now. Especially as at least one of them is totally irrational and ridiculous. But I struggle to seperate myself from fiction so often that it isn't all that surprising.

Half term in two weeks. I just need to keep this going till then. I'm just.. urgh. bad things keep happening. I'm doing everything I can to fight them off and it's just wearing me down.

I'm not losing it again, I won't, I refuse to. Because the people who deliberately make my life difficult don't deserve the satisfaction. They aren't worth a second of my time. not a heartbeat.

Huh. Stomach kinda hurts. Back kinda hurts. Head kinda... really hurts.

Yeah, my head is weird right now. A strange mixture of giddy and pained and woozy... probably because I haven't eaten properly for a while. Was a bit preoccupied with throwing up yesterday so I didn't eat at all then. I've had a bit today, but eh, food's kinda gross.

I keep getting bored with music. I think it's because I've spent so many hours sitting at my laptop just listening to it all. There's been nothing else I wanted to do.
Having said that, Elastica are rather cool. I like finding my mum's old CD's and sticking them on here to listen to. Also, Justine Frischman is stunning, in a Molko-esque way.

Can't decide if i'd rather miss school again tomorrow [and therefore get to miss double French] or go back tomorrow and see if I can sort things out about business studies, i.e not do business studies any more and do art instead.
But chances are that won't be sorted out in the space of one day, so... yuh.

I dunno what I'm going on about.

It's not the end of the world now, baby.
So come on, dry those tears.

Incident Radiation.

No, this is not a blog about Incident radiation. I don't think it is anyway but as I don't know what incident radiation is, I can't be certain.

I've been reading about stars, the Pleiades to be more specific. Stars are beautiful and surprisingly interesting, in my opinion. I've enjoyed learning about something that I have to look words up to understand properly.

For example, interstellar. I'll confess, I have seen that word before many times but never actually known what it meant. It was in some of the text about the Pleiades that I was reading, so I looked it up. And now I know what it means. I feel... oddly accomplished.

I want to go to the library tomorrow, get a book about stars, and read it on top of the world. On top of the world, by the way, is not a specific place. It's just that way you feel when you've been walking for ages, in whatever mood or state, and suddenly you're there. It's probably windy all around you and probably cold because of it but you don't really care because there's a view. And such a view. A view of the world.


...Or, y'know, clee hill. That's more likely, around here. Ha.
And I don't have a library card any more because I have a crap memory and am crap at self control, so I didn't take some stuff back in time... so they kicked me off. Booooo.

"They can trigger me, but they'll never figure me out."

There are many things in the world which are undesirable to be. One of those things, in my eyes at least, is a cliche. And I'm afraid that I in a way am becoming or have become one of those.

I'm a teenager and while it would be lovely to be one of those kids who always acts happy go lucky and seems to just get on with everyone, I'm not one of those kids. I never have been.

I'm not happy go lucky. I'm not that easygoing. I'm understanding but I'm not always all that accepting. I'm not well behaved but i'm not one of those super cool "i'ma rebel" type kids, either. When I got in trouble as a young kid, it was for either not concentrating and working too slowly, or for being nasty.

Times don't change that much, when you think about it.

(When I say being nasty, I don't mean I bullied little kids for their smarties or anything. I mean I was in some fights and I bit a girls shoulder this one time... and she bled and cried... but yeah, lets not go into that little area...)

But yeah. Cliches and all that stuff. I'm teenage. Yes, I'm a teenager and I'm a girl. So a teenage girl, all in all. We're now very dangerously close to cliche territoiry... and when I tell you that I'm currently feeling somewhat put out thanks to not being invited to a sleepover a friend is having tomorrow night, I've really managed to hit it. Now is the part where I complain I'm fat and I talk about how fit some guy is, yeah?

Nah. I don't do many of those things. I don't wear make up other than eyeliner or make an effort because when I do "make an effort" I look just as shite, if not worse than I did before I started. So my theory is, never make an effort and people see you don't look that good... but they put it down to the fact that you didn't make the effort. If you make an effort and they still see that you look like crap it's a bit more like... ooh. yeah. You always look rubbbish, don't you?
Except I don't think they'd say that.
They'd probably just go get off with one of my attractive friends.

See? I'm so a cliche. I'm the... angsty, nerdy weird teenage girl who nobody understands, man!!111 I probably listen to Simple Plan and My Chemical Romance and watch geeky art films like chocolat.

I haven't got a clue where that came from.
If you listen to Simple Plan, MCR and like watching Chocolat, please don't think I was having a personal dig at you. I wasn't.

My point is... I keep going off topic. That's another bad habit of mine, rambling. Lots of rambling. But I hope that somewhere, through the rambling and the overthinking and the ranting... I'm actually finding something. I'm usually trying to find something. The meaning of something, the message of something, the inspiration of something.

I want to know things. I want to think. I've always liked those times when you can be forgiven for doing nothing but thinking, thinking over little ideas in your head or thinking about other people and other things in your life. You know, like when you're walking somewhere or you're swimming or... I don't know. Times like that.

I don't think anyone will understand what I'm on about. but that's okay, I'm used to nobody understanding me. I'm a tortured goffik soul. Heh.

I don't know what this blog was supposed to be about. Scrolling up...

Oh yes. Cliche.

I'm afraid i'm becoming a) boring and b) a cliche.
I'm afraid of b because I'm a fifteen year old girl who generally has low self esteem, has been physically and verbally abused and bullied, has always felt left out and for the past few weeks has wanted to empty a box of pills down her throat.

Yeah. I must be emo. *cue music*

The only things that i'm thinking are holding me back from emo status currently are... the very very colourful paper and ballooons I decorated my room with, and..uh...I like The Streets? so not emo. He has a song called "stay positive" for chrissake.

I dunno what I'm on about.
I just want my words to mean something and be honest at the same time.
I don't think i can carry it off the way I would like to.

This appears to be the correct point to end the blog out. But I am, in so many ways, incorrect. And anyway, I don't think I'm quite finished. So I shall continue.

I have scratches on my arms which are now fading nicely. I can't decide if this is a good thing or not. I think it probably is, but it doesn't mean I like it.
I want to go to give it a name and slam dunk. Will I get to go to both? Probably, yes, because I am somewhat spoiled. My mum tries to spoil me because she feels guilty for putting me after her horrible boyfriend and two screaming brats so many times, and my dad because he feels bad for missing at least 30% of my whole life while he works for money that I'm sure we don't need all that much.

But hey, what do I know. I'm just a teenager who nobody understands, man.

I've been identifying with a large amount of Pink lyrics lately. Tis interesting.

I'm thinking I might just punch that boy if he says anything to me tomorrow. I'd probably get away with it, right now. Trouble is, he never says a direct insult any more. It's just my name, said in a mockingly enthusiastic way designed to piss me off or make me feel uncomfortable. Well yeah, you know what, you do piss me off. Majorly. But you'll never know me.


Staring at the cracks in the walls
because I'm waiting for it all to come to an end
Still I curl up right under the bed
because it's taking over my head all over again.

Lying awake watchin' the sunlight
How the birds will sing as I count the rings around my eyes
Constantly pushing the world I know aside
I don't even feel the pain.
I don't even want to try.

Is life good to you or is it bad?
I can't tell, I can't tell anymore
Do you even know what you have?
I guess not, oh I guess not.

It's a clear image in your mind and yet nothing is static and everything is falling apart. [/blatantPalanhuikripoff]

Anyway. It's a clear image in your mind and yet nothing is static and everything is falling apart. Nobody realises it, but they're all on the edge of a precipice that they could fall into at any moment.

It's constantly hammered into you, the idea that you go to school and you work and you follow their rules and you do your work and you go home and you do your homework and you sleep and you go to school and you do your work and you go home and you do your homework and you sleep.

Well, you do if you're a good kid. If you don't, you're not one. If you do your homework and you wear neat clean perfect uniform and you follow all their rules you get praised.
If you do the shitty little assignments and tick the boxes and generally allow yourself to be drip-fed all the constant bullshit that these people trot out every day, then you're a good kid, and you can have a sticker.

You're a good kid, with your stickers and your A's and your plain black shoes and your ungraffitied planner.

but you know what?
I think you're really fucking boring.

...

Just realized that I'm sick of waking up in the morning.
If I could wake up in the evening, would that make it feel better?


Weird dreams are still ongoing.
I have to go to school now.
I hope I get hit by a car on the way.

eh

I have that weird, kind of tight feeling in my throat and chest. Not like upset or painful or anything, it's just that feeling when you're tired. Or when i'm tired I get it, anyway. It's to do with the oxygen, I think. Too tired to breathe properly, so not enough oxygen is in my lungs or bloodstream... then I yawn because there isn't enough in my brain and I feel weirdly short of breath and yet not out of breath, because... there's not enough oxygen.

Basically, I'm too tired to breathe properly.
That's what I think it is anyway.

I have homework I should do, homework due in tomorrow, but I'm not. I don't know if I will. I'm too fucking tired from school and trains to do anything but sit on my bed eating pasta and reading and writing tales about rockstars that were never true.
Well. I've been reading some.
I'm too tired to write.
Which is shit.

I planned out like... a whole story in English this morning. I wish I'd had a notebook with me so I could start writing it. But I didn't. Only school books, and somehow I think that writing Stu's description of Jamie and what it's like to be in love with him in the back of my science book might not go over brilliantly. It's just not a good idea on top of everything thats happened lately.

I'm getting confused over where to put apostrophes.
This is never good.

This is pretty much a blog of nothingness, but there you go...

I'm getting lost in the meaning.

She's just walking out on life.

That is something which I overheard my father recently say to my mother. I had done the typical teenage act of storming out, in tears. He and my mother -who are seldom in the same building as each other, unless they have to go to a meeting about their mess of a daughter- began to argue about me; he said that I was walking out on life but my mother argued that my behaviour was not symbolic of what I was actually actually trying to get through, which was improving my life and trying to be strong.

Every single day thousands, no, surely millions of people walk out on life. Hordes of people, many of whom were or had the potential to be amazing writers, cooks, muscians, teachers, plumbers, electricians, waitresses, builders or lawyers. Beautiful people, ugly people, nice people, nasty people, all kinds of people from all walks of life. Many many many people decide or believe they cannot or do not want to live in this world, on this planet any more and that this is it for them. And they, therefore, take action to destroy their physical life forever.

I have a friend who once said to me that he believed people who had depression were "weak." I immediately turned on him angrily and started counteracting his idea, eventually concluding that he was a spoiled rich boy who had never really been through anything in his life.

I may or may not have been right in my argument, though I am still sure that he was wrong in his. My own mother is a character of extraordinairy strength, but she has suffered from depression several times in her life and mine. She tried to kill herself during her early twenties, tried to "walk out on life."
People like my aforementioned friend may have decided to call her weak for her actions and feelings, but I would not, and nor would anyone, I think, with any sense of compassion who knew what she had been through. My mother developed a mental illness after loss of a child. I think it would be fair to say, would it not, that this is rather understandable?

Mental illness and suicide are not something that should be taken lightly and yet these days all of it is. Many many people in our culture are diagnosed and prescribed and pushed and poked and talked about and whispered about and mumbled about and all the while hating everything around them, comparing themselves, wanting to walk out, just to walk out all the time. Not only do people have to feel this way and be treated this way, with this plastic kindness, but it seems like a large amount of it is glamorised, too.

Everyone seems desperate to have a mental illness. How often do we now hear the words, "I have bi-polar disorder" or "I feel like I might have this wrong with me..."
My entire generation is fast becoming a wave of hypochondriacs, with thousands of young adolescents full of false ideas of mental illness and depression.

It is very difficult, of course, to try and dissuade this sort of behaviour and these ideas without making people with actual mental illness and problems feel like they're making a fuss over nothing and don't have the right to speak out and ask for help.

It's more than simply a case of "don't worry, be happy," and yet far less than the idea that plenty of people are pushing forward, this insanity that we all have to have something wrong with our heads or moods. The basic facts, as far as I can see are this: Firstly, those with mental illness need help. They deserve help, and simply clapping them on the back and telling them not to be weak is not a route that heads to them getting better.
Secondly, if you do not actually struggle with mental illness, be very grateful. There are enough things in the world just waiting to kick every one of us down in different ways that we do not by any means need to do it to ourselves. So please, all those people who claim to have undiagnosed severe depression, bi-polar disorder or any other type of mental illness, go for a diagnosis. Because I have a feeling that not every third person I meet actually has such illnesses, so somebody must be lying.

If you are struggling in your life or with yourself, then you can get help. There are people on your side. Of course it isn't as simple or easy as that, and it often reaches a point with such things where the sufferer really does not want help any more, they just desire the peace they imagine will come with giving up. I am not here to order anyone around or tell anyone what to do. I am simply saying that, quite simply if you feel bad and it isn't going away, you can get help. You deserve help. You deserve to live. Many people walk out on this life, but it doesn't have to be you.

So, your daughter's depressed? We'll get her straight on the prozac!
But little do you know, she already takes crack.

Fuck sake.

Urgh. I almost don't believe this. And yet I believe it all too well.

You. are. so. PATHETIC! I fucking... uoijfskjhgksjbgdjbgsl;ehnbaslnbardslknbgl!!

You're a joke! I thought I was pathetic, I thought yeah, I do some stupid childish shit but ohmygod. You take the biscuit.

Correct me if i'm wrong, isn't calling someone on the phone to shout at them pretty fucking childish and immature and pointless?! Especially if it's the mother of your child?

jdfkjhsgklshnglkdfn.kfdnl.knfv;lkdjrs;ejh;jhl;kth I hate you sometimes.

oh yeah, and don't come in MY room when you get here at fucking ten to ten or whatever, and tell me that YOU'RE "very very stressed and upset."
YOU'RE stressed and upset?! fucks sake!
how many times have you wanted to throw yourself in front of a car this week? How many times have people insulted you in the street this week? How many times have you tried to leave scars on your own body this week? How many times have you had a friend start talking to you on the internet and say they "wanted to make sure something bad hadn't happened"?

ureruhgkjdhgdkjfhgdkjfbgkjdfhkfjkfjdh

when you came in and asked me how I was, I said I was okay. Do you honestly think that was the fucking truth?! No! you fucking know better thsn that, you fucking twat! So why did you feel the need for honesty? Honesty will get you nowhere right now. UHwijhrlkhnljh.

you're a fucking joke.