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.