The End

My stomach is doing circles.
My mom is shouting.
I just want it to be 7pm already.
I just need to hang on until 7pm.
Diazepam. Yes.
I just want to recoil under a bed and stay there for a very long time.
I have nothing left. Ashes in my hand.
Here's to you 2010.

Another Day.

I'm hurting.
So, so much.
Everything is just getting on top of me and I want to go and jump off the pier.
My mom. She's said, two words to me today. And I know that she has family and she has guests and she's busy, but that's still just no reason to ignore me.
And. Well. My Aunty Devika. The one that always asks me how I am, wants to make sure that I'm OK. Well. Apparently, she's openly told the family how disgusting my weight is, and what white trailer trash I am with all my tattoos and piercings. I know how much of a whiney teenager I sound when I say this, but I just want to disappear off the face of this Earth. I hope to God that somebody blows up the plane on my way home. I just have nothing.
God i'm crying now

All I can think about;

"And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had"

over. and over. and over.

Sexy British Coco

I can't stop thinking about you.

Finally!

Every night i've been trying to get on here before I go to bed because by the end of the day, I am just full to the brim of emotion. But the silly connection just wouldn't let me load up my blog for whatever reason.
Anyway.
Now i'm here.
Christmas day was very very hard. My mom just wouldn't stop screaming at Kaley and I. We made a big Christmas dinner and had to hurredly eat it because the family arrived and they didn't want to eat with us. So we had to hurry up so that they could entertain. I just wanted to cry. My mom has been horrendus. The party yesterday was okay. I hung out with Kaley's friends and just played the 'cool older sister' and got them drinks and stuff. It was nice to be around people. Mom was crazy again though. The things that come out of her mouth sometimes are just awful. I made a speech in front of everyone. I just told everyone how much I loved her and got everyone to raise their glasses. Very un-me and very awkward, but I did it for her.
And today has been a slow day. Tidying. Lots of talking. I'm missing him so much. Everyday, it's just getting harder. I left some silly mis-spelt facebook status last night that was for him, but I deleted it out of embarrassment this morning.
I don't know what the plan for the rest of the day is. I'm feeling poorly, but the house is so full of people I haven't got a chance of getting any rest! Fallout it is...

Epiphany

After watching my sister and my mother at each others' throats last night, quietly taking a layer of skin off of my wrist with worry; it would be impossible for anybody to ever love me if I end up like my mom. As pathetic as it sounds, I shall begin reading my self help books today. My time over here must be put to good use.

The drugs don't work

The diazepam isn't helping anymore.
I miss him, I love him. I miss him, I love him.
I can't get him out of my head.
Seems this whole distance thing has done nothing but amplify my feeling.
I've walked myself right into a minefield.

Sleep!

I have the longest day ahead.
After work, I have to visit Tamar, visit Tom, and pack.
And then get up at 3:30 to have a shower and get down to Gatwick.
I can't say that i'm not happy for the challenge though. I love feeling rushed off my feet.
But I dreamt of him. A more defined dream. With cuddles and presents and family. I don't want to go back to sleep, because I know i'll go back there. And I'll never want to leave.

Shit Luck

I crashed the Morsa.
Monday Monday Monday...



Oh God I miss you.

Diazepam attack

I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work I don't want to go to work

The final frontier.

I've been curled up in a ball with my duvet over my head for a very long time. Sleep is something which even my chemicals can't provide me with. I dreamt of him. Even though we were somewhere in the future in an electronic self driving car, just being with him. The comfort. And the happiness. And the feeling of love. It haunts me. And I never, ever want to fall in love ever again. I don't ever want to feel this way again. I wish that I could just be like data and have my emotion chip removed from the top of my head. I just don't want to ever love again. It's all I can think about.
And now, I have to suck it up. And go to work. And i'm sorry to everyone who encounters me today, but i'm not gonna even try to do a good job of existing.

Getting out of dodge.

I am tired of this feeling. This immense feeling of panic and churning stomach that I can't shake. I am so sad. I wish all of this sadness would go away. I can't wait 'til Monday. I can't wait. I'm dreading work. Monday. Monday. Monday.

The crazies.

I think that this 'blog' should become a documentation of my emotional journey. I'm thoroughly amused that I decided to write to myself like a madman though! That's a new way of thinking!
I'm really hurting. Really, really hurting. Just, that somebody that I love and care for so much could say those things to me. It's very hard for me to understand.

Footprints in the snow

I know that nobody is going to read this, because nobody has the link anymore since i deleted it off my facebook.
Ha. My finger are so fat they are just mashing two keys at once!

To myself.
I just want to tell you.
How much I love Ben.
And how you two were meant to be.
Fucking obviously.
Really, REALLY, fucking obviously, you were meant to be with him.
I don't need to give you reasons.
Because you are a very, very smart girl. And in your heart of hearts.
You know everything.
Just.
Remember how fucking amazing, and wonderful you are Kim.
Fuck the first relationship.
When that boy told you that he had cancer. Your first instinct was to tell him that you wanted to have your name burned into your wrist.
To show him how much you loved him.
That's what you did.
Because you are amazing.
And never doubt that somebody. One day.
Will treat you like the princess you are.
And for now.
Breathe.
Ben.
Ben will realise, with time, with space, just what you mean to him.
He will.
I promise you.
And I promise you that by then.
It will be happily ever after.
And until then.
Just hold on.
For love.
For love.
For love.

Piece.

Something I'd actually forgotten about. I wrote it a little while ago. It was meant for Ben. Something for him to read if he ever felt like he needed out. I've been reading it over and over today. I'm posting it, because it feels like a waste not to. It represents my love. It represents something that will live with me for the rest of my life. Most of all. It represents my love.

My Nightmare.

Late night had turned into early morning which turned into dusk which had now turned into a full blown late summer’s morning. I had been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours now, all the time feeling nauseous and battling the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
GMTV was on. Although I can’t really recall what the news was that day, I know I was staring intently at the screen, taking nothing in. I was watching the clock in the bottom corner of the screen. I’d decided that I wouldn’t go to your house until 9. After all, I didn’t want to wake your parents up again. And you’d probably be cross when you heard me at the front door. So 9 it was. But I was so restless. I’d gotten dressed. Just pulled on a dress and a hoodie. Hadn’t bothered with deodorant. Or even trying to make myself look nice. You wouldn’t want to see me anyway. It’d be a quick trip. Fag on the way. Your mum shoo-ing me away. Fag on the way home. And back to bed. Job done.
It was about half eight. I’d been sat on the end of my bed for ages now. Scabby shoes on my feet. Fags and phone in pocket – no need for a handbag. “Fuck it!”, I thought. “Might as well just go and get this out of the way”. I was so worried about how your mum was going to make me feel that I grabbed my diazepam and I headed for the door. I locked up. Got into the car and sparked up, after all, nobody was home to see me. And I set off. I could feel my stomach literally eating itself, and my head was so dizzy. There were cars everywhere by the church and the school. Dithery mum’s stalling and manoeuvring in 9 point turns. “Ridiculous”, I thought, trying to use anything as a distraction.
I put on the indicator to turn into Brookside, and as I did, the view ahead became very clear. I could feel the colour draining from my face and my heart pounding through my rib cage. There were two ambulances blocking your driveway. I got out the car, leaving the doors open, threw my cigarette to the floor, and ran to your front door. I couldn’t control my breathing, or stop saying, “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god”. As I approached the front door, I rang the bell, because despite everything, I was still petrified of your parents, and couldn’t muster up the courage to break in. Your mum answered. She was very matter of fact, very stern, and I don’t think at all pleased to see me. She said to me, “Look, there’s no point getting worked up. You won’t help anything.” And she led the way through to the conservatory. I could hear everything before I could see it.
You were lying there. On the conservatory floor. Lifeless. Pale. Tubes down your throat. Three paramedics dressed in their green coveralls being very calm and going about their business, talking medical jargon to one another. They didn’t even notice me. I froze like a statue. Were you dead? Were you alive? Were you okay? I pulled my hands over my mouth to hide the fact that it was completely open, not knowing how to react. I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t speak. I silently wept, watching everything with my eyes wide open. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. Your mum put her arms round me and we stood watching everything together. Your Dad was in the conservatory in the far corner. One of the paramedics came into us and said, “We’ve done what we can. But you must understand that what Ben has done is very, very serious, and we can’t say for certain what the outcome will be”. I was horrified. What the hell did that mean?
I went to the kitchen to get some water and downed three diazepam. I stood in the middle room and two of the paramedics were now walking about getting things ready to move you. Your mum asked me if I’d like to come to the hospital with her, and I nodded. She told me to go and move my car. I stood, thinking about it. Your dad was trying to help the paramedics in the best way he could, and he was walking about. As he went past me, he rubbed my shoulder, and I just looked at him. I could barely see through my cloudy tears. He carried on. I grabbed my keys and ran out to my car. The quicker we got you to hospital, I thought, the quicker they could save you. Bring you back to life.
I reversed my car out of Brookside without any due care and was very promptly beeped at by a car travelling which I nearly hit. “Fuck you!” I cried out, momentarily thinking about how fucking normal their day was and how much of a fucking nightmare this was. I parked, a bit skew whiff, and ran back to your house. Nothing had happened yet. I was getting so restless. But then, I can’t remember how exactly, but they got you outside on a stretcher and loaded you into the back of one of the ambulances. One of the paramedics told your mum, “We’ll follow behind the first ambulance; they’ll be blues and twos”. You pulled away, and we left your house to walk down to the second ambulance behind the lady driver. “I text Sabrina,” I stuttered. “You stupid girl!” Your mum snapped at me, “She’s on holiday!”. “I know,” I replied pathetically, “I just, I didn’t know what else to do.” We got into the ambulance and took up the two awkwardly placed seats and the door closed us in.
There weren’t any windows. We didn’t have a clue where we were, how far away we were from the hospital for the whole trip. I couldn’t speak to your mum. I knew she was angry with me, but I just didn’t know what to say. We sat facing each other, silently. She began to cry to herself, and as much as I wanted to reach across and comfort her, I knew that I had to selfishly contain any strength I had left for myself. I text all of my friends. I didn’t say much. I just asked them, begged them to pray for you. And I started crying too. I managed to text Sabrina telling her that I’d been round to your house and you were fine. I think your mum asked me, “Why you did it?”, and I couldn’t answer. And we sat in silence, thinking, for the whole journey. I wondered if when we got there, I’d find out that you’d slipped away in the ambulance, and there was nothing more they could do.
As we pulled up outside A+E at Kettering, I knew we were there, just because the ambulance had slowed down quite a bit. This is when I started panicking. I’d managed to calm myself a little for those past twenty minutes, just knowing that there was nothing I could do right now on the journey. But as soon as the door slid open on its rollers, it was like a shot of adrenaline straight into my heart. I saw that your ambulance had already arrived. I recognised the paramedic which I had managed to relate to Tom, I suppose to give me some comfort. Somebody led us inside. Round some corridors. Into a room. THE room. We were told to just wait there, and someone would come and tell us when there was more information. The door was closed.
The room was windowless. It had a little kitchenette, with a fridge and sandwiches. There were chairs on either side of the tiny room. And a table at the end with a phone that you could use, and a big box of tissues. I think I commented to your mum about how this was ‘THE’ room. She gave me some gum, which I was so thankful for because my mouth had no saliva left. We talked. I think we were showing each other pictures on our phones. And talking about things in the room. Neither of us dared even mention what was on both of our minds. I think we even managed a giggle. It didn’t seem real. Although, every time I could hear footsteps on their way down the corridor, my heart would stop until I knew they’d passed the door. A few nurses opened the door to come in but as soon as they saw us they were extremely apologetic and disappeared. We found this funny. I think, I’m sure, it was more than half an hour we were sat there. Your mum sent a few texts. I didn’t have the heart to. And then a doctor came in. I have no idea what he said. My head was full of cotton wool. I know I breathed a sigh of relief when he said that you were okay. You were alive. He said they’d administered a whole load of drugs to counteract what you’d taken, but with the amount of temazepam you’d taken, you were just going to have to sleep it off. You were being transferred to the ICU.
So, we moved on again. I think a nurse led us up stairs and lifts and through corridors and then into a little waiting room. This one had windows. Leaflets. A toilet. Nothing more. It was freezing. We were told we’d wait here for about twenty minutes while you were set up, then a doctor would come and explain things in more detail to us, then we’d get to go and see you. Then she disappeared. So, we began talking again. I told your mum that I wasn’t going to go back to Uni this year, because I wanted to see that you were okay first. She said it wasn’t a good idea. My Dad called, and I got so cross because I was trying to talk quietly and he just kept ‘whatting’ me. Your mum told me off for getting angry with him and then I felt terribly guilty. Adam kept calling me. I tried to explain to him through several texts that I just couldn’t talk, but he never got the picture. There was a poster on the wall. How to act around the patient. Things to stimulate them. It just didn’t seem real. Another lady came in and sat with us. I wondered who she was here to see. Your mum gave me a book from her bag to read, one that you had bought her for her birthday. Something about a guy abroad or something? I remember, sitting there, looking at the pages. Reading each word, but not taking anything in. Every word I read was forgotten by the time I got to the next word. I was getting too frustrated. Maybe something had happened to you?
I think we were in that room for about two hours before a nurse came to see us. She explained to us that the doctor on call was very busy today, but we could come and sit with you anyway and he’d talk to us when he had time. She led us out of that room and into the ICU unit. We had to gel our hands. I could hear the beep beep of heart monitors.
And there you were. In the first bed by the door. There was a very small space with two chairs for us next to your bed. I just stood over you. And tears ran from my eyes. It wasn’t happening. It wasn’t real. I was shaking. The nurse who’d led us in who was now checking you over smiled at me and said it was okay to cry. I sat down. Your mum spoke to you so calmly. “Benjamin! Benjamin. Mum’s here. And Kim. You’re still with us darling. You’re still with us”. I sat crying for a very long time. My teeth biting into my trembling bottom lip. I took your hand. Cold, lifeless, canulared hand. You had a huge tube down your throat where you’d been intubated. You were attached to a machine that was breathing for you. You had a tube going into your nose with food dripping into you. You had a catheter. As I put my hand on your chest, I felt a hickman line. You had another canular in the hand on the other side of the bed. Your hands were so, so cold. They were like ice. I cradled the hand close to me in both of my hands. I kept resting my head on the tiny piece of shoulder that I could get to and just crying. It was a while before I had the courage to speak to you. I spoke to you about everything. We took turns to sit next to you and talk to you.
A little later, the German doctor in crocs was ready to speak to us. We went to a private room with a nurse too, who pre-warned us that this doctor spoke very fast, so she’d translate anything we were unsure about afterwards. He came in. Very jolly. Very matter of fact. He told us that there was a good chance that you would be brain damaged if you came round. This broke me. He carried on despite my blubbering. I began to instantly imagine life with you as a ‘retard’. He said something about you being responsive and your retinas not responding to light would be a sign. He left us and the nurse sat with us, trying to comfort us. Your mum spoke to her, and they both tried to convince me to stay in the room to sleep, but I refused. I didn’t want to be away for a second.
As we went back in to see you. The nurses were fussing around you, and we saw you open your eyes. Just a tiny bit, for a split second, but we smiled to one another. Your mum kept assuring you that you were still with us. Sometimes, when I was talking to you, you’d smile, just a tiny, tiny bit, like a baby. You squeezed my hand too as I spoke to you. I was convinced that you knew it was me, and you were trying to tell me that you were still there. Your mum needed some time to gather her thoughts and update people so she disappeared. I sat with you. Talking to you. I even sang to you. Ever so quietly so that nobody thought I was stupid. Through tears, and a very shaky ending, I sang,

‘You are my sunshine. My only sunshine.
You make me happy, when skies are grey.
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.
So please don’t take, my sunshine, away.’
Before I left, I put my ring on your finger, hoping that when you woke up, it would give you some comfort to know that I was there, with you. For the whole 12 hours that I could be.

P.S.

I
LOVE
DENIAL

What an insane night!

I've just got to remember something.
Something that somebody very special to me once said.
You must find humour in everything and anything.
And here's to you Ben:

I loved you. With my all.
And if my all isn't good enough for you then that's not my fault.
I may have fucked up. I may have been horrid to you.
But nothing. NOTHING i've ever done has even come close to what you've done to me tonight.
And that tells me that i'm not such a bad person afterall.
And I hope you remember that forever more.

Here's to the next chapter of my life.
No doubt it will be full of beautiful self destruction.
But hey!
That's me.

Remember your revelation.

I don't deserve this.
I can't wait 'til my Dad goes to work. I'm counting down the minutes. 55 to go! Then i'm going to climb into my car and drive somewhere and chain smoke my cigarettes.
Because. I don't deserve this. Whatever mistake I made, which was a mistake. There was no ill-intent. Whatever mistake I made, somebody who loved me, wouldn't punish me like this. It was only today, driving down my street, looking at all the houses with their beautiful christmas trees adorning the windowframes, that I realised. I'm missing Christmas. It's nearly a week away. And I can't even bring myself to think about it. To wrap. To write. To decorate. And that makes me feel so, incredibly sad.

I am my own parasite

I don't know what else to do. So I'll write.
I actually spelt that 'right' just now. God I'm good.
What am I feeling. What am I feeling.
My palms and my fingertips are so moist.
I suppose what I am feeling is sheer, overwhelming, white knuckled panic.
Now that it is time to write, my mind is suddenly void of thought.
Or is there just too much thought. I don't know.
I feel immense sadness. Mainly for myself I suppose. But I wish that I had the chance to turn this sorrow into apology.
That's all I want.

Ode to Crockwell.

You are as fucking unbalanced as your mother. Shapeshifting to fit any situation. You can lie in your bed of roses, but I know men like you. On top of the world. Always with 'the one'. Until you end up twisted and bitter and lonely. And after pulling stunts like last night in the real world, you'll end up with the fuck beaten out of you that you so desperately deserve. And needless to say, it's been a long time coming, don't you think?
Wanna know why you always said, 'I always thought Chinnick was alright'? Because you are a fucked up CUNT, just like him.
And do you know what the best part of all of this is? I don't have to sit and wonder how my friend is anymore. Because you are not my friend. You are some fuck that I don't have to assosiate myself with anymore! And that feels fantastic.
I send you my pity.

History Repeating.

The question is staring me in the face.
Is it me? Or the people I fall in love with?
There are so many thoughts entering my mind, I can't answer.
Perfectly applied mascara is running down my face.
I notice, I don't try to hide the fact that i'm crying, or wipe my tears anymore.
I love. So much. I would die for it.
And all I want. All I want, is for somebody to love me as much as I love them.
That's all I want.
I just want to be happy.
My life, is an everlasting nightmare.
Any good I get, is immediatley remidied with bad.
So much bad.
I don't know what else to say. How to end this. How to end it all.
Nobody would notice if I slipped away into the night.

The Outback Steakhouse Diaries.

The only two times I have ever been to that place, I was silently contemplating a fresh, significant breakup.
I had work today. But I was awake at 7am. My mind, pacing with anxiety.
As Winter draws closer.
As Christmas Eve, comes nearer.
As Christmas sets in.
As the New Year, begins.
I worry.
I worry, because I am not lucky in love.
I am me.
And it seems to me, that it is written that I must relive heartache, over, and over.
And over.
I will forever carry my heart in my throat, and hold my breath tight.
Because each time, I have known deep down.
But carried on in denial.
And now, I wonder, if I am just in denial.
If I will relive last Christmas, again.
And it plagues my mind over and over and over.
I lost the abilty to trust someone not to cheat on me. But I forgave him.
But now, I think I have lost the ability to trust somebody to love me.

And I am sure that I am destined to be alone.

Quote of the Day.

Psychology.
It's fucking fanstastic to be able to understand the deeper meaning of how and why we behave and do, but you need to be able to draw the line before you start looking too deep and second guessing yourself.

Yeah.
That sounded so much sweeter at 4am this morning.

The telly these days

I'm sad. I know that nobody else would understand because i'm stupid, and my head is stupid. I just read that they're stopping teletext. I know, I know. It just shows me how much time has passed and how it is forgetting those that have left us. The TV in my nan's room that i used to watch chidren's telly on on a saturday. My Dad bought that TV for my Grandad when he first got poorly because it was one of the first tellys with teletext on it, so he could read it whilst he was bed bound. It's gone. Just like him. Everything goes. I'll never come to terms with it. It'll always break my heart.

Make it so

So. Today was another shit day at work.
UNTIL IT BECAME THE DAY THAT I MET PATRICK STEWART!!
Luuuuuvvvvvv

Research

So.
I faced my daemons.
Or rather, my GP.
I sat there. and just stared at him blankly.
I am tired, I am fatigued, I am fed up with this circular trauma.
The symptoms are always the same.
I think I've explained them every which way I possibly can to him.
And I know it's not his fault, but he still gets information wrong.
He looked at me as blankly as I looked at him.
He didn't know what the psychiatrist's plan was. No more than I did.
I said as little as I possibly could. And he handed me half of my medication. With the warning that if I were to 'try anything', he'd 'kill me'.
My point is that I'd have to try something for me to ever be taken seriously, which is such an absurd contradiction because I'd either be locked up or dead if I did that.
Toying with the idea of taking all the pills earlier. Not out of eagerness to die. Just, curiosity as to how seriously I actually would be taken were I to survive.

I am turning myself into a guinea pig of the psychiatric profession. Noting, everything that's happening to me and everything that is said. I want to see how far I can go. How much I can take.

Rest In Peace

I think I should say something about my Uncle Neville.
I mean. I didn't really know him. I have vague memories of him as a child. But just like my Grandad, he is another old man who I will never have the pleasure of 'getting to know'.
Oh how I wish that I had my grandad. So I could sit and bewilder him with my fascination of the war and my resemblance of a grandson, rather than daughter.
I am sad, because it is death. And with death, although I cannot understand it, I know that I won't hear his name uttered again. It will fade away with his memory.
I am sad for my nan. I pray to you Lord, that my nan does not see her life with the same eyes that I do. Her life, is a battle. And as everyone she knows marches over the top, all these people that she has known and loved in her lifetime just fall down beside her, dropping like flies. She is a woman of exceptional courage and strength, for she manages to dust herself up and carry on. I am too stubborn to ever confess this to her, and I know I will regret this for all eternity when the time comes for it to be 'too late', but I love her. God bless her. And God bless you Uncle Neville.

Psychology

I officially throw my towel in.
The past couple years, have been a long and futile effort to try and maintain some control over my mental health.
But at the end of the day. I lose. Because the government say that doctors have only a small quota of patients that they are allowed to diagnose and medicate.
And I'm fucking fed up with trying to make the cut.
So tomorrow. I will tell the doctor exactly what he wants to hear.
I will allow him to take me off of all medication. And I will convert to my 'normal out of control' state.
I suppose it's because I don't scream for attention that I will kill myself 'unless' that I slip under the radar unnoticed.
God help me that I don't become another statistic.

A mere fantasy

If I were standing upon a balcony right now
(which God, I wish I fucking was!)
I would throw my champagne flute's worth of liquor over the side and say FUCK YOU! To happiness.
But instead. In real life. I will just pass out.

Little girls' fairytales

Everyone believes in a kind of magic.
An illusion that you can put all of your faith in.
Love is my magic.
It fills my world with happiness.

My only friend

The combination of things that my retinas have absorbed today, has left me in an emotional whirlpool. I fear, and I love, so passionately. It is on a great magnified scale. My thoughts are writing themselves into poetry. Which would be wonderful if the subject matter was just that, wonderful.
I love him, so much it pains me. And how I long for his suffering to end.
I have lit a candle. And said my words. And I leave the rest to you.

It's not me. It's the E talking.

NO. I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU! STOP MAKING ME FEEL GUILTY! YOU ARE A FREAKIN' BLOG!!

Okay.
I am here to write about the fork in the road which I have faced. A transition in my life that I am fully aware of. A place that I suppose, in my naive mind, I never thought I'd be.
But here we are.
The death of a relationship.
The End.
And with it, dies all the memories, friendship, laughter, hatred and pain.
I hope, and I pray, that the lessons that I learned, will continue to live on through me throughout my life.
I think it really is time to file this chapter, and finally open up a brand new sparkling page.
For the good of everything.
But here I am. Ready. For my future.
The future that could never really start until I had shed the skin of my past.
My future (imminent), I am sure, could be easier. It could be simpler. And it probably could be a bit happier. But I have spent hours dwelling on this. Questioning my answers. Making sure this isn't the same old naive 16 year old speaking.
No.
I am ready. With my shield and my sword and my burning torch (yeah, I've got three arms). I am ready to go full throttle into the next chapter of my life.
My adolescence is finally going to bed for the last time.
I've loved. I've lost.
But what the future holds for me. With Benjamin. My hands itch with anticipation. My eyes sparkle with wonder and curiosity. And my heart.
My heart beats onwards.

Event Horizon

I wonder what I did in a past life.
I am paying for my sins.
I am here, on this barren wasteland. Able bodied. Perfectly functioning.
Trapped. Within that body.
Witnessing everybody I love fall down.
And i'll just carry on.
Alone.
Grieving.
This is such a cruel punishment.

Amoeba

I adorn a frown upon my face.
Whether that makes sense. I do not care.
I am sad.
Chemical imbalances in my body. Lack of synaptic activity.
I fear the tears are about to roll.
And so, I am putting on Blue Planet.
To watch creatures, that have the luxury of not computing human emotion.
And I will not have my sleeping tablet (because I don't have any!).
And I will go to bed.
And that is the story of another insignificant being.

Nostalgia

Dear Diary
I am sooooo in love with this guy. He's called Ben. Tonight, I went over to his house, and we just like, hung out in his room all night. And we talked, and we laughed and we cuddled and we totally kissed (like, with tongues and everything!). It was so cool!

I don't think i've ever felt this passionately and lovingly about anybody else in my entire life. And I don't think I ever will.

THE END

*** fin ***

But in all seriousness.
Life has resumed it's usual tidal flow.
My routine is back in place. Benjamin (I think), although is in pain, is at least a little happier. This is perhaps why the blogging has disintergrated. There is nothing to write about that would enthral you. There is no 'drama'. And as much as I usually love 'drama', i'm quite content in resting in this period of peace for now. All I think about is him. And I love that. I think that this is as good as it gets. Mental ailments taken into consideration.
And so, I will sail.

Hi Again!

Dear Blog.
I haven't forgotten about you.
Far from it. In fact, ridiculously, I've felt guilty for abandoning you.
This isn't your fault.
It's mine.
I've been trying to ignore all my feelings, bottling them up inside my head and pretending they don't exist in a hands over the ears 'la la la la' kinda fashion.
Well, tonight, I exploded. Or imploded. I don't know which.
And boy howdy.
Boy howdy, do I love Benjamin. For being so understanding. For not thinking that I'm a complete and utter psycho. An insane, insecure freak, with far too much baggage. An annoying woman.
I love him so much. It's perplexing. I was expecting him to hate me. But he didn't.
I guess it's because I'm with a genuinely nice guy. Which is something new. Something privileged. And something I'm going to have to learn to live with.
I'll never be worthy of him.
I've applied for a job. A proper job. A real job. With a salary. Doing something that I actually want to do, that I might enjoy. I want to start building a future for Ben and I. There's no point screwing around anymore. This is serious stuff. I think I've actually entered 'life'.
Fingers crossed.

FUCK EVERYTHING

This is what it is like to be at the end of your tether.
I am officially stirring this mother fucking shit. Fuck everything.
God I love you Benjamin.

For when you have time.

Dearest Benjamin,
The past few days, have been the most traumatic of my life. I don't say this to make you feel guilty. I say this because you are my best friend, and I share all of my feelings with you. To see you attached to those machines. Sat in the 'bad news room'. Holding your hand and talking to your lifeless body. Seeing you on the floor of you conservatory. These are images that are going to take a long time to get out of my head.
I owe my soul, and my undying thanks, to whomever answered my prayers and didn't take you away from me. And I promise, that I will live up to my end of the deal, and I will be here for you, always. I will take care of you until the day I die. I promise, that I will not judge, and I will always do my best to understand.
You are my soulmate. You are my best friend. You are my lover. And I hope that one day, you'll be my husband.
Now, I may not be too good at putting your socks on! But I promise you, i'm gonna take care of you. I am not Tara and you are not Tim. We are Kim and Ben. We are a new generation.
You and I against the world.
I love you with all of my heart. Every piece of my soul. Every fibre of my body.
I'm so glad you are safe.
Goodnight, my darling
xxx

My new decision.

I am not being noble.
I am taking a year out of education (ha, any excuse eh?)
I'm taking a year out, to take care of my boy.
He is the most important thing in the world to me. More important than myself. And i'm gonna get him through this. I don't know how right now, but I will.
I love him. And we may end up being poor, and still in Raunds. But as long as my baby is happy, then I don't care.
And to whomever answered my prayers last night. The most humble of thank yous. I owe you my life.

Why am I recording this?

This is the worst day of my life.
I feel like I want to die. My brain, is so emotionally exhausted.
Staring, at the man that I love, attatched to a thousand machines, wires in and out and everywhere. Fast asleep. Not responding to 'life'.
You have to see it, to begin to understand what I feel.
I want to give my life to him. I want to take his place. He must have all of my energy.
I love him so much. Compared to this emotion, those words are empty.
Please God. Please don't take him away from me.
I don't think anybody understands how much that boy means to me.
I pray that I don't get a phonecall in the night. I shan't sleep, that I know. But please, no phonecall.
Just give ME some peace.
Let my boy rest. Let my boy recover.
I promise, that I will do everything that I can to take care of him. I promise.
Amen.
Please, please. I beg of you. With everything I have, everything I am. Please don't take him away from me.

Strange Psychology

This is only something that like minded people can understand.
My head, will not shut up. It is exhausting.
But I slept all day and all night yesterday, deliberately. But this means that there isn't a cat in hell's chance of me being able to nap my troubles away today.
But I found something. An outlet.
I was going to make a 'hospital kit' for Benjamin, for when he has to go in. To find absolutely everything I possibly could to help him deal with every concievable situation whilst he was inside, to help him through.
And now my mind is buzzing. I've already bought so many things ready to go in the box. Downloads are all on the go. And i'm designing it all in my head. I'm going to start painting the box.
I have motivation again.

Untitled

I have read, and re-read my previous two entries.
You know, tonight, I haven't laughed that hard in a very long time. But now, I really feel that same division between 'the outside' and 'the house'.
I have not been myself today. Whatever myself is, I have felt far more down than usual.
You know what. I can feel myself crying. I am just lost for words. Sometimes even the worst nightmare just doesn't compare.

Dave Pelzer. First Draft.

Sarah lay on her bed. Completely still. Quiet as a mouse. It was a glorious Sunday's evening. Sunlight poured through the thin, pink childish curtains that remained drawn. There was always a definite division between the outside and the house. She was supposed to be meeting her friends Tamsyn and Sam that night, but as of yet, hadn't had the courage to leave her room to go and ask her Dad.
The smell of a Sunday's roast dinner had wafted up the stairs and lingered in the air of her bedroom. Her tummy rumbled. 'Shush!' She thought to herself. She couldn't make any noise. It was the school sports day tomorrow. 'Hopefully Dad will have bought extras for my packed lunch.' Sarah began fantacising about the big cheese and onion pastie that she would have as her next meal. Her Dad didn't have the time or the commitment to make her a proper lunch to take to school, so she always got a cheese and onion pastie. Most days, she'd just throw it in the bin at lunchtime. After eating them for so long, she'd grown tired of the same dry pastry and thick chunky filling that left an awful stench on her breath. But tonight, she felt especially hungry. 'A pastie would be delicious!'
Back to reality. Sarah focused her gaze back on the pages of the book she was holding. Malory Towers. Must of been the fifth time she'd read this same book? She loved her books. She would just get herself lost in them in the evening, and go to bed dreaming that she was head girl at a boarding school far away.
Suddenly, the voices from downstairs became audiable. They were on a crescendo. Her voice, then his, then hers. Sarah froze, like a deer in headlights. She tried to slow her breathing but couldn't. She knew what was coming. Cutlery crashed down onto porcelin and suddenly, there were feet ascending the staircase. Stomping. Sarah closed her eyes. Closed them so tight. At the speed of light, she began wondering what she could push against the door so that it wouldn't budge, but then the handle creaked downwards and the door flung open hitting the wall and bouncing back. It was too late.
Sarah didn't say a word. She just looked. Her eyes said everything. She was petrified. She stared at the towering man, and clenched her fist around her book.
"WHY?!" he bellowed.
She didn't respond. She had been here a thousand times before and she didn't know the answer to the question. A year of this had given her quite a thick skin.
"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?" he asked again, raising his voice even more. Sarah still said nothing. She did not cry. She did not blubber. She did nothing, thinking that was the best thing to do. He approached her bed in the corner of the room and gave her one hard smack across the face.
This, was new. In doing this, he had opened the flood gates, and her glassy eyes began to pour out floods of tears. She looked up at him, her eyes asking, 'What are you doing?!'. She felt a sudden flash of pain again as her head jerked ther other way.
"Stop it Daddy, please!" Sarah begged. She didn't know what to do. She was cornered.
"WHY WONT YOU TALK? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?".
"I...don't...know!...I...don't...know!...Nothing...is...wrong." She stuttered through tears.
A whack against her thigh. Sarah yelped out in pain, only to notice another figure standing in the doorway. She had a sort of sadistic smile on her face. And for some stupid reason, she looked to the woman for help. Pleading. Surely even she could see that this wasn't right?
The book was snatched from Sarah's hand making her look back at her father. He forcefully walked over to the window, flung the curtains back, opened one of the windows and threw the book down to the ground.
Thud.
"LET ME SAY THIS NICE AND SLOWLY FOR YOU SO YOU CAN UNDERSTAND. WHY.....WILL.....YOU.....NOT.....TALK?".
Sarah could barely breathe for her crying. She didn't have the answer to the question. What could she do?
Slap. She felt the pain running through the coarse of her body from her leg to her head and she winced, recoiling her bruised leg. BANG. Her yellow clock from her bedside table shattered into pieces as it hit her leg.
She lost all control of her breathing. There was no way out. She closed her eyes and just hoped that if she closed them tightly, then maybe, maybe she'd wake up out of this nightmare.
There was movement in the room. The single silent audience member was on the move. Sarah peeked her eyes open. The woman walked over to the end of Sarah's bed and grabbed a hold of all of her treasured teddies and threw them out the window onto the grass below. It was a massacre.
Sarah had no grip of her thoughts. They were racing at a million miles per hour. She just wanted it to stop. The man smacked her on the knee again to bring her back into reality.
"I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU FIVE MINUTES TO THINK OF AN ANSWER, AND THEN I'M GOING TO COME BACK AND YOU ARE GOING TO TELL ME!"
She stared up at him. Searching his eyes. Where was her Daddy. Oh why hadn't she just had the courage to ask if she could play out, then this would have never happened.
The couple left the room as abruptly as they entered it. The squeak of the door handle. The descent down the stairs.
Sarah fell silent. She didn't want them to hear her wimpering. She nursed her legs the best she could. And she lay there. Waiting.

Rememberence

Finally.
Sadness has given me the courage and the inspiration to write.
I pulled out a memory that was deep embedded in my brain earlier.

Something that when I said it out loud, I was so frivolous, so casual about it.

Because that is my childhood. It is traumatic. But in my world, it's completely normal. And I wish that I could just spill everything out to someone. I do remember. I remember bits. And God knows what I don't remember.

Here come the water works...right on cue...
I'm crying like a child. I wish I didn't have to cry anymore. Sometimes, I think i've cried enough for now.

I am so weak.
I am so fucked up.
And I know, that it's not even my fault.
What my parents did to me. What they have done.
I wish that I had not have been born, for I fear, so much, that I will do to my children what they did to me.

What is the point in my existance. I am a failure at everything.

How could anyone ever love me? This stupid accident. This stupid piece of shit wasn't even supposed to be born but damn those doctors for living up to the hypocratic oath. They probably knew it too. I'm not supposed to be here.
I wish I didn't have these memories. Because no one really understands. How could they? All these things I carry around inside. And because of them, it makes me a bad person.
It's times like these, when I just wish I could sleep forever.

My thoughts

Thoughts-running-at-a-million-miles-an-hour
MARGHHH-LAAAAAA

So much for evolution

I feel most humbled today.
That man, Harry Patch, the last living survivor from the trenches was laid to rest today. I feel as though a whole lot of knowledge and wisdom has been buried with him. I imagine him, as if I knew him. A man from a different era, a proper man. Who didn't question authority and just got on with his life. Who went straight to the battlefield not with the intent of killing innocent men, but just fighting for his country, his freedom. Yes, a real man.
I pity him so much. These past few years, he must of wondered to himself as he saw the media and ventured down the streets, 'what the hell was it all for?'. I mean, look at the state of everybody. Everything. It's rubbish.
I know that he was a firm believer that war is futile. I think that's a direct quote. But who will echo his words now he is gone? The government send man after man after replacement into a battle that plagues the news everyday, yet, has nothing to do with us. And definitely, no conclusion. Just as the armistice was agreed on upon a table, maybe if we just left the middle east alone, then it in turn, would leave us alone, and more blood would not have to be shed mercilessly.
These wars cannot be compared. Although, you must salute the good men of the armed forces today sent to Afghanistan and Iraq to fight for 'freedom'. But, it's not our freedom. The white flag with the withdrawal from Iraq went almost under the radar. But I don't believe these men are fighting for Queen and country, their wives and their children. Mainly because they're not, they're fighting a 'terrorist regime'. The 'enemy' of the first two world wars were not terrorists. They were just like us. They read the same literature as us, drank the same wine, almost shared the same bed time. Not like these middle easterns and their backwards mentality. (That of course, is just my own personal opinion.)
It breaks my heart to think that the memories of one of the greatest wars ever fought is slowly but definitely fading away into dust. It brings me a real sense of my own mortality, as one day (God willing), I'll see the last survivor from the second world war lay in his final resting place.
All those stories, all those lessons. Gone. If we cannot learn from history, then we will be forced to repeat it.
I really wonder what it would be like to put one of those underage drinkers from down the square back in the trenches those ninety odd years ago. Just to prove how pathetic and worthless humanity has become.
But here. I raise my glass to a fine, honorable man, who at least helped me to life. May he finally be at peace, and reunited with all those he lost throughout his life.

Something in the way...

I'm staring directly at my prozac whilst thinking that I am definitely split into two.
I want to go over to Tom's, get drunk, and watch rubbish TV.
But I want to curl up in my bed and recoil into the world of fallout and shut myself away from everything.
Oh crap, must send that email to my mother.

"if the shoe don't fit, then that aint your shoe"

My life isn't interesting.
My life is just an ever evaporating bottle of wine. Labelled Shiraz, but really it's the discount 'House Red' you get from Lidl for under two pounds.
What a joke.

The butt of the joke

Just. Sat here. All dressed up. No where to go. No one to see. Eagerly waiting. Waiting for what? This is what my life is. And what it will probably always be.

A note to remember

Ugh.
The bitter taste of bile lingers in my mouth.

My point is. May it be just a metaphor, or the way I live my life, but I will walk on my own unless I am with my beloved.
And that is who I am.

PARRRTYYY!!!!

I've got a fantastic free house to do whatever the fuck I want in!!!!!!!
There should be some sort of, control I function to accentuate irony and sarcasm...

The unwritten silence

Tonight I reflect on the words I saw once outside the room where my AS level English Literature classes were held at Huxlow school. In bold font, probably arial, printed in black on white paper, and then framed in bright blue sugar paper.

"It only takes three weeks for people to notice a change for the better."

I don't fully understand how they worked out the measurement in time, but the memory of those words has stuck with me all these years. And I suppose I can only shamefully hold my hand up and say that I have been too lazy to try it out for myself.

So we'll call this a social psychological experiment.
I shall be a Yes man. Woman. Whatever. For every negative thought I have, I will instantly think of it's polar opposite.

And let's see what happens.

I've been very anti-social today. Or rather, i've felt it. But I have this need to be in company. And I had nice company. Henry kept me company during the day whilst I awaited Benji's results, and Tamar kept me company this evening whilst we drove about Tesco's (that's to multiple Tesco's, not actually driving inside the shop), looking for rollers. I do love the company of understanding friends who know when I'm having a rough time. And I hope they don't find the silences awkward, because I don't. I love comfortable silence. It's beautiful. The unsaid, unwritten word.

I have work in a few hours. I probably wont be able to sleep, but it's okay. Night time is very peacefull and a time for the mind to ponder and regenerate.

Waitin' on a sign from you

I am in a state of quiet panic.
Waiting for a text.

A quiet plea

I can't pray tonight.
Because if the unthinkable happens, then I will be angry at whoever I asked to grant my wish, and this is not what prayer is about.
But please. The powers that be.
I love him. He doesn't deserve anymore.

The dent in my finger...

Why has she forwarded me her stupid 'hilarious' chain mails?
Maybe she's demoted me to an acquaintance? I mean, that's the sort of thing you email to your acquaintances. They say, 'Hi. I can't be bothered to actually communicate with you, but here's some piece of bollocks with many funny pictures and mis-spelt words of wisdom for you to have a tickle over on your lunch break. You're in my address book'.

The tightened sock around my arm

Seriously 1am?

Are you sitting comfortably? I'm not. I think I'm sitting on a phone. But the stream of thought is too great to stop. Even for a second. I shall sacrifice my own comfort for the sake of the empty blog that no one reads...

Tonight's quandary is love.
You must understand, that this is all coming from someone who is both naive and completely uneducated on the matter of biology. But nonetheless;

LOVE.

What on Earth is it? I mean, it's an emotion, I get that much. But, anger is an emotion. Sadness is an emotion. And these are helped, if not controlled by chemicals in your body. But where does the love chemical come from? There isn't one. So what the hell is this emotion. A person of my age, stereotypically, should be using this time to 'party' and 'meet people' and 'FUCK LOTS OF PEOPLE'. But I am so infatuated with a boy. I LOVE him. I want to MARRY him. I accept him for all of his faults and I still think about him constantly and wonderfully like a princess thinks about her prince longingly all day up in her castle. But why? Who, or what decided it was him? Was it fate? Did cupid literally shoot an arrow into my arse when I first set eyes on him all those years ago? Or is it just this incomprehensible force around us that leads me to these uncontrollable feelings I have for this boy. Personally, I believe it's all three.
But my point is;
If it really is this unprovable, invisible 'energy', then what others are there out there?

Oh I love him so much. Love love love. It's a stupid word that has lost all meaning. How can four letters describe what I am feeling?! Of course it can't!

I could even equate this to the comparison of - what is God? This energy, this unprovable, invisible, incomprehensible energy that cannot be described or explained in three letters.

Chew on that bitches.

Pills pills pills

Swallow down my usual concotion of tablets. With extra painkillers. Painkillers are safe. I am a walking cliche of everything this generation is. Mindless. I eyes are imploding inside of my head right now. Which is good. Gives me something to concentrate on. I keep feeling the need to call 'her'. The further away I get from the situation, the more I feel that it was just a silly little argument. But it wasn't. The things she said to me were so hurtful and unforgiveable.

ENOUGH.

The pain in my head. Hours. My head is in a vice. So much pressure being placed on it.
Still, there's always sushi and banoffee pie and the fact that my bollocking from my manager has been posponed until tomorrow. Yep. Miss impatient has to wait to be bollocked. That's nice.

Man I wish I had my peep show boxset. I could really do with a bit of peep show.

Fuck it. Series two, here I come.

Psychotic Afternoon

I love the idea of mass hysteria. A huge group of people in panic. Group think. Unconscious copycat syndrome.
Real fear only happens in numbers.

EDIT

I had to delete that last post. I don't want to remember what she said to me.

Untitled

I am a child

I dream in fluorescent colours and songs of angels.
I already see who I am, who he will be.
I’ll make many more mistakes before it is our time. Our time.
I know you’re there, I’m coming. Don’t leave without me!

I am a teenager

You must have been looking for me as I were for you.
I’m sure I’ve lived a life with you before.
You are exactly as I dreamed you would.
We love, like the young love.

I am a woman

We are mature, we are many more!
Grown ups, grown up.
We eat, we sleep, we laugh, we share together now, in sync.
Surely, our lives just can’t get any better than this!

I am breathing my last breaths now

My eyes have wrinkled, but they are the eyes from years before.
Do, hold my hand, my darling, do hold it tight.
You have not left my body, nor mine left yours.
Thank you, my sweetheart, for giving me the pleasure of your soul.

I am dust.
And I can’t wait to meet you again, my boyfriend, my husband, my one true love.

- For Him x

Third Thought.

BBC One. Ben Fogle...
...I wont go there...

Second Thought.

So I just flicked over to the news. And how ridiculous is this?! Micheal Jackson is dead and everyone is in floods of tears and being so prim and proper and respectful and 'genuinely' saddened by this terrific loss.
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS WORLD?

I mean, firstly, I think it's fanbaddytastic that the media who frenzied over him holding that baby over the balcony and alledgedly being a pedophile are now on the other side paying the respects and giving him their deepest sympathy.

And number two. Why in God's name is life only celebrated and recognised in death? I could sing the most beautiful song and people would only appreciate it after I was gone and unable to hear their appreciation. Life is a race and every moment, every second should be appreciated. I don't wanna hear a eulogy at my funeral quite frankly because I wont. Shove my body in the ground and that's my carcass finished with. I want to hear everything now, so I can savour it. And this should apply to everyone in the world.

Death is so selfishly sad for those left here to carry on in the race.

SCRUBS!!!!

TONIGHT : Perry just went crazy at a guy with bone cancer who was declining treatment. Fucking programme. I'm gonna switch to Loose Women and learn some real stuff...
God damn television.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Maybe, it's because it's been a year today.
It probably has. Yet I can remember it all as clear as yesterday. But I can't and don't want to remember exactly when.
Maybe it's because Scrubs has mentioned the word LEUKAEMIA three times in three separate episodes today. Three people out of six diagnosed with it. STOP SAYING THAT FUCKING WORD.
I want to murder whoever gave this to such a beautiful child. boy. man.
And because that is impossible. I want to have his leukaemia. Give it to me and let me suffer instead of him because i have nothing in this world to offer and he has the world to give. I have to take it from him like a lit torch. I want to. I give myself up.
I WANT IT. PASS IT ON. I WILL DIE FOR IT.

The morning after

I am awake and sober.
I am also incredibly surprised that i'm not wrapped in my usual blanket of guilt after telling everyone exactly what i thought of them last night. Because I didn't say anything wrong. I didn't name call. I told them each individually why they had hurt me and why I left without saying goodbye.
And what's even weirder, is that i'm looking forward to playing actress at work. As if nothing is wrong. Well, afterall, it's something to do isn't it?
However, one must not be fooled. Knowing myself better than anyone else, I know that right now, I am scowling, because I am jam packed full of emotion, and it will only take the smallest thing to push me into a state of psychotic panic. Afterall, I've just told ALL of my friends to fuck off basically.
Nevermind. Let the day begin. Let it end. 11 hours or so and I can be sat back safely in my bed.

NEW REVELATION

I don't need anybody.
I don't need friends.
Friends, are people who can slip in and out of your life depending on what suits them. Whether they need money. Whether they are bored. Whether they want to fit in with the majority. Whether they're just out to impress someone equally as low as them.
There are few people who will hang around just for you.
Sammy is the only person that I really truly trust after tonight's life lesson.

FUCK EVERYONE.

The Sims music is playing in my head.

Hairy legs.
Greasy, spotty face.
Open, heaving mouth.
Bloated stomach.

Considering the only thing I care about is being beautiful and ready for my Prince Charming, I guess this means I give up.

And on. And on. And on.

I got all this stuff buzzing through my head and it's driving me insane so maybe if i empty it, i'll feel better.

I want to be thin. I need to work out. And I need to stop eating. I want to be thin and beautiful. I want everyone to stare at me and want to be me.
I want medication to sedate my head. I don't want to come off them at any point. I want the perfect medication. I want to erase what is left of my personality.
I want to work hard at uni and be a psychologist. I want to study buddhism and spirituality and conciousness and combine them all somehow in one huge massive interesting finale in a few years time.
I want to be pretty.
I want to get married.
I want to be loved. I don't want to be on my own anymore.
I want to die because all of these things are so daunting and impossible and I can't carry on with mediocre wins. I need something.
I want to have a million books and DVDs and display them in my house.
I don't want to make it past the end of the year.
I just want to be thin.
Must get rid of the new voice inside my head.
I must throw everything out. All of my things.
I want a clean slate.
I want to know the answers to all these questions that I have.
I want the questions to disappear.
Unattainable.
I want to go to sleep. Awake to another pointless day. Then end up back here tomorrow night doing the same old thing feeling the same old way and being able to congratulate myself that I made it through another waste of space day.
I'm wasting too much oxygen on this Earth. Too much space. Too many things I'm wasting. These all need to be passed onto someone more deserving. Too much stuff everywhere. I need to get rid of everything. I need to do something about it all. I hope I will.

My Request.

To whom ever is listening.
And i'm not talking to the nosey blog reader. I'm talking to the person above me, surrounding me, bigger than I. Listen to the morse code of my heart and please grant it's one true desire.
I have but one shred of faith left in this planet and this existance. Not even so much as to beg. Just to ask.
I ask of you. Who. Him. Her.

It's like sending a radio signal into space. Even if it ever is recieved, i'll be long gone.

A second of 'peace'

I love him.
I miss him.

And thankfully. This is all she is thinking about for the time being.

I should be asleep. I need to sleep.

Oh God. How do I even begin to describe what I am feeling? What I have discovered. I am a sandwich. Three molecules, seperate, but together making a 'human'. Vessel, mind, and essence. Those three things are supposed to be melded into one to make said 'human', but mine have drifted apart. I am my essence and I am concious of all of this, but without connection to the other two parts, it is useless. It is like screaming into a vacuum. My body is continously exhausted and run down and desperate to sleep and be at peace, but my mind just wont stop. It wont stop chattering and my essence is stuck, crying. How the hell am I supposed to explain this to a GP, the only person who can make me gel again. Nobody understands. Nobody.

Hmph

Daylight quickly now fading. Lack of enthusiasm just shot by someone who really shouldn't have this much control over me. I am a fucking marionette and everyone around me has got a hold on one of my strings. If I had any free will, i would drive my car into a fucking wall and prey to God this so called daylight is the last I ever see.

Quel Problem?

Problem number one: I am experiencing today, something very profound and new. I am concious, and fully aware that my brain and my body are not releasing enough chemicals to make me into a 'normal', 'happy', 'functional' human being. Thus, I feel the mad urge to break my body into tiny pieces for doing this to me. I am stuck in layers and layers of spider web so desperate to break out and I can't. I worry about what this may lead to.
Problem number two: I dunno. In films and stuff and the things we are brought up on and made to believe, pretty people who are exactly the same end up together in perfect relationships and live happily ever after. I wonder what taboo I am breaking. Whether it's me or my heart. Do I want someone to look after, or does my heart actually desire Benjamin. Well, typing it has in fact answered it in my mind. But I dunno, I just look at couples, and i'm just 'what the fuck!', he could do much better than her, what is she doing with him. Fucking teenage culture. What an age we live in. I want a man who will take me to the dance and want nothing more than a kiss on the cheek after walking me to my doorstep.
I am high on more codiene that i found lying around. Thus, i'm gonna give myself a big dose of SHUTTUP-EY

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

THERE'S FUCKING BUGS IN MY ROOM! BUZZING AGAINST THINGS. INCLUDING CRANEFLY!!!!!!!!

Bliss, continued.

How can something so simple and normal and routine to most people mean so much to me. Last night, and this morning. We awoke at 10:30, just so we could spend some time together before I had to start rush rush rushing to work. I made breakfast and coffee. I made the coffee properly too! And we had a cigarette and then cuddled up and watched peep show. Ahh peep show. How it was my obsession in the down days and how lovely it is to be able to watch it with my lover. This morning was the best morning i've had this year.
I'm so stoked to be in this relationship. I feel so blessed to be a part of this relationship. I don't dare call it a relationship. Because it's not. It's something much bigger. Much more exciting. Much more unfamiliar because it really is that amazing.
I wanted to write some poetry tonight and i'd been planning out starters in my head, but i'm so tired. Plus, another day, is another day that I get to send wonderful messages to my boy. My lover. My boyfriend. My best friend. My soul mate.
Oh God I am so in love. One day I will pop!

=)

My baby is sat here right here next to me.
Bliss :) I want this night to never ever end. And i'm probably gonna stay up as long as I possibly can to forge that

You can't always get what you want.

My mind is empty. Void of thought. Which you thought would have been comforting in some way, but it's not. I'm in a bit of a stupor. Expressionless. Unable to communicate. Trapped inside my own body today. I can't voice myself. Or maybe, there's just nothing in there to voice.

You know what tonight's thought is?

How much of a fucking fuck up I really am and how all I ever do is sabotage and fuck up every single thing in my god damned life. What the hell is the point?
Bear Grylls taken the last of my emergency codiene and it's kicking in.
God dammit I never ever ever ever ever want to fuck things up again and lose that boy.

Today's Thoughts

Today's thoughts my children, are on the subject of faith.
Upon return to my bedroom on New Years Day/the morning after. I switched off my television, I clasped my hands together, and I prayed for the first time in a very long time. I'd previously given up on 'him' when I'd spent a good two weeks begging for Benj to not have Leukaemia. But this was such a horrific thing for him not to listen to, I kinda 'gave up. But no.
Every single night for exactly 112 days, I went through the nightly ritual of saying my prayers. I prayed for his health and his happiness. I prayed for a good day at work. I prayed for the people I saw on biased documentaries on the television. I prayed for my parents. I prayed for Ben's parents. I prayed for Tom. But most importantly, every single night, I asked that Benj and I could be brought back together. I cried, I begged, I pleaded, I bargained, I asked. But the night Benj took his overdose, I stopped. Fuck 'him'. Fuck everything 'he's' done to me and Ben. Fuck it all, it's just a game.
BUT.
Here we are.
And, like. During this same course of time, I never gave up on Benj. Everybody told me to leave it alone, just give up and move on. I fought everyone on this like i'd fought for nothing else in my life. I have remained faithful to my love for him.

So. I wonder. Tonight. Do I thank God? Is this his work? Or is it my own?
I think i'm leading onto the idea of faith vs. fate.

Like that talking cat off the video

"Oooohhhh I love him I love him I love him I love him!"

Here's to you. My beautiful sunchild.

Oh how I adore you. With every inch and fibre and strand of my soul.
Oh how you amaze me, by being the bravest, deepest, sweetest man I know.
Oh how you make me feel, like no one else has ever ever done before.
Oh how I love you my darling, my angel, my sweetheart, my all.

x


Haha. Swear down, I just started typing and that appeared.
My muse.
Oh gosh how i love him. It's completely indescribable what he makes me feel. It must be love.

Blog on, before I bog off

'cus you know me. I do love a quickie every now and again.
Which brings me to my point.
Ibiza.
You know, I was bear grylls up for it when Henry and I originally planned it. But things change. I don't know. Part of the reason I am so adverse to going is that i'm going to miss someone very special, and I don't want him to be worrying about me either. And secondly, I dunno. When Ben and I were sat looking through the brochure earlier, and like, everyone is just out to get their pants off and get STD's. I think when I originally dreamed up the idea, I thought it would be a few mates getting drunk in a different environment, but as it turns out, that's not how it's gonna roll.
Seven days is a long time.
I've ordered two hefty books. As long as I come back well read, with a tan and some cool pictures and the stamp in my passport, I will be happy. And I am coming to terms with the fact that this may be seven days I spend predominantly on my own.
I am rarely happy am I?

Oh Dear

My can of drink was hiding my sleeping tablet and i've just gone fucking crazy. Sheer panic and anxiety and where the fuck are those spare diazza's that I had? I had four left! Empty pill packets of various kinds have been flying everywhere, trying to search desperately for the last sleeping tablet that I have. Oh God, and then I necked four of my last six codiene to make up for it. And then I found my sleeping tablet.
I'm an addict. I've only just realised.

A psychological nightmare

Oh God. Oh God.
Am I awake? Am I here? Am I real?
I can barely open my eyes. I'm so heavily sedated. I'm still 65% under.
Oh God thank you alarm. Thank you.

Quick. Write.

I'm throwing some sort of charity benefit. It starts off at a pub, somewhere. All my family are pitching in. There's bands. Everyone I know is there. Setting up. No, no wait. Before that. There's a party at my nan's house. I'm looking after Ben. He's tired, and we're trying to find somewhere for him to sleep, but all the beds are taken. Someone is having sex in one of them. In one of the corners of the room, there's a bird cage, with two mice in the bottom. The charity thing. Adam walks off and Ben follows him. They wont come back. I'm begging them. And they wont. Ben wont even talk me. I'm phoning. Tom, Tom goes with them. And he wont pick up. And then my Dad. And the woman. The woman she is. She is shouting. Screaming. She's trying to kill me. And so is my Dad. My family wont listen, I don't even think they can see me. I'm begging them. Just give me five minutes to pack a bag and i'll be gone and they'll never have to see me again. I'm begging them. I put Stella, in a handbag. A handbag i'd used the last time this happened with the reminents in. Fags. Sweets. A bottle of water. I have a cage. I put Joshua the hamster in it, and I grab my budgie. And I run. Someone is following me trying to stop me, but I keep screaming, there's no time, there's no time. I can't see, i'm crying, i'm crying. I'm looking at my Dad and begging him not to let me go, not to kill me, to turn on her and come with me but he's just staring at me blankly. I hug him and whisper in his ear, something like, 'i want you to remember every morning that you wake up what you did', and I run out the front door. And i'm runnning.

And I can't remember anymore. Oh God, thank you alarm. Sleep, you used to be my friend.

Morning Has Broken....

As the old girl would say, a coathanger in the mouth.
STFU Comedy Paramount Central, i'm writing.
There, mute.
Butterflies in the tummy.
Self conciousness about breath, kissing, cuddling, squashing.
Doing nothing but talking 'til the early hours of the morning.
I will share no more of my happiness with you, for it is mine! And for the aforementioned reason...

So. I realised something tonight whilst talking to Ben. It's odd, I am so aware that I talk a lot around him. A lot about myself. As if he's some sort of counseller to me. I don't know. I trust him, and I like him to know everything about me, it just spews out of me like one of those things in a canal, but there is always the part of me that's shouting 'JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP KIM! SHUT UP AND STOP BEING A TYPICAL 'ME ME ME' WOMAN!'.

I'm digressing.

But, I was explaining the circumstances (from what I understand of it) of my parents divorce. And I realised whilst saying it out loud just how much I have in common with my Dad. And I really really appreciate that fact and would love to have more of a connection with him. He is a nice man, all my friends say that about him. He is very shy. He has a reasonable sense of humour on him. And when my mom left him, he was literally heartbroken. He had a breakdown and showed all the symptoms that I now demonstrate (cheers genes!).
But yeah. And the whole, him buying me a car thing. He's a good man. A decent man. He does look after me the best he can without his bitch wife complaining. (HAHA, NO CAR FOR YOU, YOU CAN'T DRIVE!). God, if I were to watch Father of the Bride right now I think i'd actually run up to him in tears and hug him.

HOWEVER, I AM GOING TO WATCH HOUSE.

Tonight was wonderful. It really really was. I keep repeating these same old shit adjectives (is that the right one? So long A grade English), but it is true. Perhaps the complexity of this happiness is so mind boggling that I have just turned into that drooling slow guy outta the cartoons that says, 'i'll love him and pet him and take really good care of him'.

Shit. Half Four.
However, it is not morning. It is night. For I have not yet slept. And those are the rules.

Yep. Me again. Just enjoying the sleepers kicking in

I don't know. After re-writing my little profile blurb, I thought i'd share some of my pretty pictures i've taken on my DSLR. Just to show i'm not an emo that sits about slitting wrists and what-not. I wish I had more pictures than these, alas, I don't go anywhere beautiful or exciting or worth photographing at the minute. Enjoy. They're dead amateur. I'd only had the camera a few days or so when these were taken, so gimmie a break.

NOTE TO SELF

Remember, just remember this day

Staggered reflection

I've been thinking a lot today at work. In my few and far between spare moments to actually think. Adam and I really screwed each other up. Not in a nasty way. I know he suffers from this too. We spent virtually every single day together for five years. We were never apart (apart from work and study). We both felt this need to be with one another all the time and in the end, we ended up resenting one another. I appreciate and love the comfortable silence that you find yourself experiencing as a relationship matures. But I don't know. It shouldn't be all the time should it? It's nice to spend time apart, to miss each other and to collect stories so that the next time you see one another, you have things to share and you really appreciate one another's company. When you're married and have jobs and possibly children, that's the time when you sit in front of the telly in each other's arms all the time. That's when the comfortable silence really comes into play. But yes, this neediness. This, constant need to be around one another. We've both taken it along into our next relationships and I can only assume we did this to one another, because afterall, we were children, trying to make a grown up relationship and not having a clue.
You know what, I think i'm ready to try this one out.

PAIN OF WOMB

ARGGGGHHHHHH. IT KILLS!

I'm so spontaneous

Well. I had one more place left that I could apply to on my UCAS form.
It was either going to be for Nottingham, so I could go take Adam up on his offer of living up there with him.
Or to apply to some sort of design course, seeing as just a couple days ago I had the revelation that I wanted to get back into graphics.
But nope. I've just sent it off to Northampton Uni. Nurse training, ending up in probably a mental health speciality. More practical than sat in a classroom reading a massive textbook about Freud and bloody Genie. So yeah. If I get in. I'm going down the nursing route.
I've only told Henry. I don't think i'll tell anyone else, cuz they'll all moan. But yeah. If I get in. This is what i'm gonna go ahead and do.
Nurse Wood. Can you go and take a blood sample from the patient in room 9 please?
*faint*
I'll get over it...

Ha

You know what. I like taking loadsa sleeping tablets and codiene and then just fighting sleep. It's like delaying orgasm. Only the actual event lasts so much longer.
Here's to you sleep. Many happy REM.

EVER FALL IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE EVER FALLEN IN LOVE....

I threw my nice pretty phone on the ground because 'new slang' started to play. I don't like her. She's irrational and angry.
But what does she do? Send a straight up, 'i don't think it's good for us to see each other anymore', and get out there first. Games games games. I HATE GAMES. It's all about who wins. Despite the aftermath of despair and sadness and misery and regret.
Does she 'discuss'? Lay the heart out on the table, wait for him to pull the trigger, but at least she can live on knowing she tried her best.
Tell him to face that it's over. Wait for a while. Wait for him to miss her, even though, me and you both know that probably wont happen.
Or does she carry on this charade? Seeing him, kissing him, laughing with him, having an amazing time with him, just knowing it isn't going anywhere. Well, it either leads to him wanting her, or him leaving her stranded here forever with this broken heart.
HE IS NOT HIM.
I'm just so confused. I'm so confused. All I want is for me and him. Benjamin and Kimmi. I know how happy we make each other. And I know that right now, Benji has other things to think about. I'm just so scared that i'm gonna lose him. I couldn't bare to lose him. I don't know. I really don't know. My friends have all told me in their own way to give up but I can't. I won't.
If I lost like, one more point on my happiness SIM scale, I would butcher my arm so bad right now.
As Tom would say. 'FML'

Dear Diary

Dear diary.
I haven't forgotten about you. I'm just, emotionally exhausted. Any time I have to myself I just like to cuddle up and distract myself with television.
The past week:
Adam's mummy passed away.
Work has fucked me on fag breaks.
I missed counselling for the second time running.
Benji and I have spent a lot of lovely evenings together.
We also had a fight because I was a drunk twat, and i'm feeling awful about that.
I keep buying expensive clothes to help me feel better about things.
I had a tattoo on Wednesday
And another one on Thursday.

I have work early in the morning. So that is my update. I'll go into details later. I'm so stoned.

Puppies

Tonight. Tonight was absolutely wonderful. I'm not going into details. Emptying thoughts into text drains the detail of the memory in your head. I want to bathe in my memories of tonight first.

Fear and Loathing in Southwold

HA.
Hahahahahahahahaha.
You see, last night, or something similar, needs to happen every single night. I mean if that happened, it'd be problem solved, i'd be happy. Distracted as Benjamin would say.
Adam and I set off at around 9:20pm for the coast. Why? Well, why the fuck not. God how I enjoyed getting the hell outta Raunds. This place is a weight attatched to my foot and it's slowly making me sink. And everyone knows I can't swim anyway.

Yeah. It was amazing. We stopped in at his Dad's. Which this morning is what's plaguing my mind. The opinion of an honest man can always go either way. He told me how much weight i'd put on since he'd last seen me. Which is true. But my conundrum is what the hell can I do about it? I have no commitment to anything, and i'm tired of looking at my double chin and my massive stomach and fuck wearing anything other than a large cover-all bin bag when Henry and I go on our holiday.
Uh.

Standing in the ice cold Southwold sea, which was pretty angry actually. It feels like it was all a dream. For those few moments I actually didn't have a care in the world. I'm sure Adam can tell you how I regress into a seven year old child when I get to the seaside. It was so beautiful. The sky was pitch black apart from two brightly lit ships on the horizon. The sky was absolutely filled with bright, twinkling stars. Apart from the stones under my numb feet and the temperature, it was just perfect. Adam smoked a cigar. My cigarette fell into the sea, obviously.

I'm not allowed to mention the fog. The endless country roads. Nearly throwing the phone out of the window...

Two people have never been so happy to see a duel carriageway!

It was just perfect. And being sat here, writing about it, listening to the fat bitch slamming doors and stomping her fat feet around. It just doesn't seem like it happened at all. It seems like I dreamt it all. Still, makes me smile.

Another addiction

The Sims.
Making them. With their perfect clothes and their perfect house with their perfect skills and their perfect families. Making them happy. Forcing them into a routine that they have to follow without question.
And the power to destroy them with something as simple as taking the ladder out of the swimming pool.
Maybe now I understand?

5:30am

I've just spent £90 on two pieces of clothing that I don't need. If I were asleep, this would never of happened.

Just an observation....

A lot of these blogs are foreign.
We must be boring.

The start of the weekend!

Yep. It's now officially the start of the weekend for me. A bum like me. Fifteen minutes ahead. And what does my delicious time away from the fuck machine have in store for me? Well, tonight, the Eastenders omnibus and a shit load of food. And tomorrow....
Sometimes it's not even worth it is it?
I spent my day at work avoiding till work and contact with customers. It's meant that my back hurts (since when does my back hurt from a bit of physical labour anyway?) but it means i'm partially happy.
I spoke to Benjamin, through text. He seems very defensive about the email I sent him, but it's not like I expected him to welcome and accept what I said. But, as I told him, certain things had to be said, and now it's all done, we can just forget about it.

AT TWELVE O'CLOCK, I AM OFFICIALLY BINNING THIS FUCKING WEEK.

Even though, I said that last week at around this time, and everything just got even worse. Oh well.
It's nice to have some communication with him though. Some level of 'normality'. And i'm feeling a little better in myself about the whole situation. I am again the strong one who must do everything I can to keep Ben smiling and keep him going until he is out of the dark phase.

Anyway. I'm going to make sandwiches. And probably call my mother. It has been 8 days after all. Not that i'll be explaining the week's events to her. I'll listen to her whine about her problems. Listen to her talking to other people whilst on the phone to me.

But then it's 'stenders time. Ahh, the little things.

Oh. A customer told me that I should give my life up for Jesus Christ our lord. Best decision I could ever make apparently.

The big green fuck machine

"MORNING!" in some old-fashioned-matron-burst-into-the-room-and-pull-back-the-curtains-burning-your-eyes-in-sunlight kinda way.
What's left of the two minutes of it anyway.

News to tell. News...to...tell.
Little really.
Work was one big fat tiresome fuck. I'm one big anti-person at the minute, and immersing me in a sea of smelly, ungrateful, moody germy bastards is not my idea of 'a good way to deal with your depression'. These people are all so insignificant. With their rudeness and their stupidity and I hate each one more than the last (with the exception of the odd person that smiles and actually engages you first. They're O.K).

I emailed Ben last night. I spent a good hour of work trying to construct the perfect email in my head, but then when it comes to typing it, it always goes to shit doesn't it? Basically, 'You hurt me. You're a dick for trying that. Don't do it again. I love you'. Hmm... Maybe I could have just condensed it into that? But yeah. No reply as of yet, which means I'VE ANGERED HIM! So easy to do, but this time, he needs to hear my side of the story. No more treading on eggshells (God I hate that term). I love the boy very much, but as a psychologist (eh-hem) if you reward negative behaviour then he will only repeat it. If you give the rat an electric shock instead of the biscuit it thinks it's going to get, then maybe it wont try and kill itself again. Let it remain in radio silence until he texts me... You know, I used to be a fan of games. Twister. Monopoly. Operation. Mousetrap....

Seriously.... Only five minutes have passed since I started typing? What the hell is up with that! Do I type really quickly? Or am I just really excited about going to work? Ha. Blates.

My stomach is crying at me. I better feed it. Lets get today over and done with and then i'll treat myself to a nice big bifta when I get home from work. Can you use that word anymore? Bifta? Okay, doobie. A nice big doobie.

A rubbish evening

Man... All I need is love... Compassion. Apology. Grovelling. A cuddle.
I'm valiumed up and ready for bed.
Still, safe, I finally got me a pick up. Now all I need is some damn rizlas!

confused.com

A quick glance of him in a car has set the old noggin' off. God I want to text him. Tell him that I love him and everything is going to be okay. Cuddle him and kiss him. I'm hurting so much. My heart is just in pieces. I just need some time to get my head together. I don't want him to think I'm not here though. I don't know what to do. So for now, i'll sleep.

The Valium Days

Mr Doc gave me my much saught after medication. Not that it's gonna do anything. If it could change time or allow me to tinker with current situations, now, that would be a drug i'm interested in!
Still.
Adding another drug to my concoction that I gobble down each day will keep me on the path of the little socio-path that I am.
I've been sleeping most of the day. Maybe that makes me a coward, but fuck you. I know it's seven thirty, but my head seems very confused as to what the actual time of the day is. Somehow, my body clock has fucked up. Maybe those drugs did what I wanted afterall. Kinda?
This evening looks like a waste of time. Time time time time time time.
Ben sent me an email. I didn't expect it to be as upbeat and positive as it was. But there again, I didn't expect him to try and kill himself after the upbeat text message he sent me on Sunday night... I can't reply to him. I'm experiencing something that is very very foreign to me. I am furious at him. I am furious at him for using the words 'I love you' as some sort of apology for what he did. I am furious that he just discarded whatever feelings I harbour for him and just went ahead anyway. I am furious that he didn't even consider his family, his friends. How we would all feel.
Tuesday was denial. Wednesday was panic. Thursday is anger.
Friday i'm in love! Write about this you Robert Smith fuck.
But no. Right now. I don't know what I would even say. I think for the first time, he needs to leave me alone so I can just get my head around the events. God. Typical. I'm crying. You know when you really loathe someone so bad? I fucking loathe myself real bad.

The calm after the storm

House again. The place where it all begins, and the place where it all ends. My abyss of black as it were. My blind spot.
My head is still this carcus full of fast paced thought. I manage to relax a little in the presence of company, but on my own. Man.
Tommorrow. It is another day. Another day which I am sure will disappoint me. As long as I get my valium, I will be fine.
For now, i'm just going to take copius amounts of tablets, and get some so called rest. I wonder what it would be like to rest. It must be nice.
And to my friends. My friends who put their own needs aside to be with me right now when I really need you, oh how much I love you, and I promise to you that I'll be there when it is your time. Or rather, I hope and wish that you never feel this sadness.
I can't pray. I don't believe in 'him' anymore. Just as much as he doesn't believe in me.

I thought there was supposed to be calm after a storm?

Awake. Again.
I survived the night apparently.
Ridiculous how it's 7:30. What in hell am I supposed to do at seven thirty? My body is quite heavily sedated still. But my head. Oh the head. She's buzzing. Thinking about everything under the sun. I feel like there's a whole hive in there. I wish there was a hive, then I wouldn't actually be able to think. Or function. Mmm... Sweet not being able to function.

The day ahead looks bleak. Either i'm going to get turned away at Tony and Janes. Maybe no one will even be home. But any news I hear isn't going to be good. I mean, of course 'he's not in a coma' is brilliant. But it's not what I think I should have to hear. I'd prefer a 'here's a million pounds!' or 'fancy a holiday?'. But no. The best news I could probably recieve today is being told where he has been sectioned.

My denial has worn off. I knew the bastard wouldn't last forever, but still. I just want to fucking get this day over and done with.

And for now? I think a mini-overdose of codiene would be the dog's bollocks.