Bland, boring, plain

2009-08-07T20:53:00.000-07:00

To everyone I stole from, I'm sorry.

2009-08-07T19:33:00.001-07:00

to fucking everyone seriously. what the hell.. i have been wearing this shit for more than two years. more. my body has been so tight, hunched, breathing painful, seriously, every noise setting a jackhammer off in my chest, wondering wishing that we could turn the light off and park in a dark hole, somewhere down and deep, somewhere away from everything. panic doubled by the fact that not even home is safe. that it brings the most nerve wracking pccurence of all, having to walk past the family stoned.

cannot

must not

world will end

etc

so i wait in the freezing cold, for hours, doing literally nothing but holding myself to try and stop the cold. and not daring to ask the time. what if it hasn't been very long? what if the truth is only 5 minutes? i just couldnt take that. my hearts already going to break from stress, any more will surely kill it. just wait it out a bit more. accept your fate. for 2 hours, reassure yourself that whatever happens happens. not in a relaxing icanletgonow way. in a, keep saying these words to prevent a sudden intake of breath, an explosion inside, an eruption from the eyes and screams and relisations that have been begging to fly out for so long, painfully scratching to get out, from the inside. keep ignoring it. for the love of god

how again? what again? what the heeeeeeell.

2009-08-07T19:16:00.000-07:00

to my landlord that never got the rent on time, i'm sorry.

to centrelink and job networks whose appointments i never showed up at and never called about, i'm sorry.

to the people who came over to my house and were ignored by me because i was too involved in smoking, i'm sorry.

to the people who i met while i was stoned and forget their names the next 5 or 6 times we met because i was stoned then too; i'm sorry.

to my friends who i chose drugs over, i'm so sorry.

to my friends who came to hang out with me and i spent the whole time as-good-as vacant or absent, i'm sorry.

to my family who must have worried and cared for me more than they needed to; i'm sorry.

to jackson, whose own problems have no choice but to be magnified next to mine, i am sorry.

to everyone in the world; friend, family, stanger, family-in-law, friend-of-a-friend, dealer, buyer, straight-edge, too old, too young, animal, mineral and vegetable...

I am so sorry.

And to myself, for the brain I could have had, for the moments I cheated myself out of, to the things i made myself do and endure in the name of a score and all the time i fucking wasted being so fucking wasted;

I am so very sorry.

2007-02-16T10:51:00.000-08:00

Alone again.

Feelings! All quiet but strong. Disappointed in myself for failing again. Relieved to let go of the pressure of expectations. Sad, so sad, to say goodbye. Oh god though, right now, I guess I'm grieving because the sense of loss is so deep that it makes me breathe differently. I wish I could have stayed by his side forever and smiled everyday but I can't! Sometimes I need to run with nothing behind me and he doesn't understand sometimes. It's always or never and that's fine but not for me [now]. I have plans! Plans to create and be, to grow and better, to be alone and be okay and to adore and be adored. I want to do exciting things all by myself! And I can't wait. Really. I'm looking forward to my future. But I took a chance and I fell in love and I just can't follow through this time and and and it hurts.
I am still confused and can't express this through words anymore. I just don't know what to say. Words aren't making sense. I need to cry.

2007-01-18T12:45:00.000-08:00

Well my shoulders are just as skinny, but I feel they're able to carry a bit more now that my mind is no longer fading away. I feel positive about the new year, a little scared, but the memory of hitting rock bottom will remain a constant reminder to persevere with the plan of getting healthy and strong.
My much awaited housewarming was a few days ago. It was fun minus a few domestic dramas and slight overdosing. Have been having big fights with boyfriend lately and nearly decided single life would suit me more until I woke up without his skin on my own and realised it just wouldn't work. We both need to make changes and adapt. I will remain committed to improving my health. It's getting ridiculous. Dangerous. I'm not only dying but killing myself. Refuse.
Don't want drugs to get in the way of creativity anymore. Need to prioritise them both and retain better control. Confident I can.

My brother gave me a plane ticket to Tasmania for a week. Just me and him. I leave on Feb 7th. He wanted a way to say thankyou for my christmas present to him; a ticket to Tool's concert. At the time he almost had to cut it from my clammy grasp, but now a week with him in a beautiful, new place sounds amazing.
Anyway... I'll see Tool at Big Day Out on the 25th. Six days. Oh em gee.

Life has sort of been one big acid trip lately, vague and sometimes unbelievable, but I feel good and right now that's what counts.

2006-12-29T22:48:00.000-08:00

My shoulders are too small for this.

My mind is too weak and tired.

I cannot carry this.

2006-11-16T15:39:00.000-08:00

It is Friday the 17th of November 2006. To Phoebe and I, this means only one thing... PROM NIGHT! The night we've been planning and dreaming of since we first stepped foot in that hideous bitch prison known as High School, the distant event that acted as constant consellation through the agonising pain of the compulsary 5 days of monotonous and torturous routine, the comforting knowledge of what was to come; "It'll all be worth it on prom night!", is finally here. It's nearly 11 am, 7 hours before it starts, and Phoebe and I are already beginning the long and gruelling task of getting ready. An hour after we emerged from Phoebe's dark hermitage into the bright promise of the morning, we are sitting on the concrete ground of her partially renovated bathroom, crystal pipe resting lightly in my hand, razor held firmly in Phoebe's as she slumps over on the edge of the shower, furiously shaving her legs - crucial accessories in the process of transforming from pajama clad bogans to frocked up buxom beauties (of course the buxom part is mostly Phoebe's doing). Next step: Eyebrow plucking and champagne consuming.

To comply with my initial reason for starting this blog, I should give a breif update on my life at the moment.
It seems like all my years of searching and yearning and whingeing have finally paid off; after applying for hundreds of jobs and sitting back crestfallen as the corporate bastards failed to acknowledge my existence, I was just about to give up and had already started planning the rest of my life on the dole; I'd live in 24 hour McDonald's on george st, and spend my entire centrelink benefit on their products, while living a life of freedom and meeting new, interesting and overweight people in the macca's booths. I would never again eat anything except small cheeseburger meals, and every three days I'd make myself a new outfit made of food wrappers and saturated fat. I had accepted that this was going to be my life. But then! Out of the dark hopeless abyss that was my future, a small and local establishment emerged, and I aquired legitimate employment with the IGA in Newtown. I've been working there for a few weeks now, and although it's ergonominically disastrous for my 6 ft self, and the monotony and pressure could very well be the death of me, I quite like it. I got the hang of it quicker than I thought. Which was a very nice feeling. The location is conveniant, the people are tolerable, and the pay beats centrelink hands down. In other news, today is also the day Phoebe, Emma and I hear whether or not our application for a house in Marrickville was approved. Phoebe and I are chanelling all our positive energy into the hope that we get it. It's right near the station, second hand clothing stores, asian groceries and... MCDONALDS! But not JUST Mcdonalds, there is also KFC and Subway all within a 10 metre radius! So even if I lose my job and get kicked out of the house, my backup plan is just across the road. It's perfect. The house is pretty much what I wanted, small but not too small, shabby but not delapidated, quirky but not architectually retarded. My bedroom is actually a laundry! It's brick and tiles and conrete, and has big metal shelves. And a sink! A sink that, much to Emma's dismay, I will piss in. AGAIN AND AGAIN. Another recent feat for me that I've been searching for [admittedly, in all the wrong places] has occured; I've fallen in love. As in. Real, true, mature type that I wanted long before I ever discovered the destructive hard-to-break habit of throwing myself at guys with issues upon personality disorders upon abusive tendancies wrapped up in a fierce inability to commit.
He brings out the best version of me. This isn't like before. This isn't filling a gaping hole, it isn't based on rebellion or conquest or revenge, and it isn't some teenage punk rock fantasy. It's two people on the same path, going the same way, going forward and upwards together. If one of us falls, the other will help. Our eyes met and brought our bodies together, I initially planned on stopping it there. I wasn't looking for anything more than a reason not to sleep alone anymore. But I found so much more and I can't even begin to describe what this means and feels like to me. For as long as this lasts, I am confident it will be positive and beautiful, and that we'll learn more from each other than we had ever imagined. I could rant about his wonder for hours and hours... but this blog is long enough. And my nails need painting.

2006-11-16T09:51:00.000-08:00

She steals me.
I said no and I said no again, but she always wins in the end and we both know that. It didn't take me long to fall desperately in love. And the desperation hasn't weakened. It is love, and it is a true and unchanging love. But there is pathos in the love I feel for her, I will not deny that.

And yet, I've never met a more beautiful woman. I've known a few. Some I sit with and think, my thoughts deep and unfinished, each running straight into the next. Some I run and dance with, I touch for hours and adore the beauty. I talk and moan and happy-sigh, feeling great and appreciating the beauty a woman can bring. Some women creep lazily but intently around, slipping further away from this and now with every moment, drowning surely into then and it doesn't matter because she feels so fucking good. Some women stand behind me, nails digging into my skull as I get angrier and angrier, flicking my disregard down on the rest of the world, sneering with red eyes at the people who before were my friends. When these women leave me and I am left with the heavy memory of their way, nothing seems this dark. I am certain; I will never feel joy again and all memories of the exquisite and seemingly inexplicable elation are lost in that moment, hidden invisable inside empty plastic. There are other women I have known; colourful bright maidens who run hard and intense, loudly so you cannot miss them. These girls paint historys and scenes in front of you with the notes of music, they turn the sounds from your stereo and from your mouth into moving objects you can hold in your hands. They turn distant thoughts into tangible reality, and leave it dancing in front of you, daring you to reach out and take your very thoughts from the air you breathe. All of these women run and crawl in and out of the lives of so many. Countless times, I've found myself falling in love with one of these girls, these parlour-maids, and smiled with comfort; I have discovered a precious lover and she is mine! And then. And then. The others rise and tell their stories, and their stories make you laugh at first, and then they make you cry. And then their stories make you sigh because you feel a little bored with the repitition of knowledge, she is not special and she is not yours. I start to see the imperfections in my women, I feel more and more tired and less and less revolutionised.
I am jaded.

Until one day or night, [I soon find time is irrelevant], we meet. And I know, that I've never met a more beautiful woman. At first I think beauty doesn't matter. But that was before I kissed her. Oh what a kiss this woman has! So smooth and strong, it must be poison. At first I laugh, I cannot believe I am actually doing this, with everything I've heard about her. Her and her type. Nogoodnogoodnogood. And minutes before this I was bending over, cleaning up someone else's vomit and wiping away unrelated tears. These women are strong, not like the girls we played with at high-school because television said so or said no-so. This was different. She was the one they all talked about. Whispers and headlines, rumours and accusations, false information. She was no stranger. I knew why, that regardless of warnings and faint intuition, I kept dancing. I admired her. She was strong and tough, she was sexy and she knew it. This woman, once so new, taught me how to speak to others and look into their eyes like I believed in myself. She taught me not to fall player to quick-judgment and social hype. She taught me to love; myself and bass - to drop my black guitar and facial metal stubborness and open my mind to quick beats and sound effects, and sparatic lyrics that don't come from too deep but seem to hit me deeper than the men who scream, and seemed to hold much brighter memories. This woman, this love of mine, she taught me how to dance. She taught me how to detach from consistant years of following eyes and whispers-loud-enough-to-hear, she taught me how to shed weights of built up shame and fear and doubt, and let myself get lost in the music, to stop existing in the superficial social labyrinth of highschool where I was worse than nothing; I was a fucking freak and I had to learn to subconsciously pre-determine every action I made and word I said in advance so that I ended up with the most unnoticable and/or ambivolent and/or socially acceptable outcome possible. She taught me to abandon that mindset; where anything slightly personal that could in any way make me vulnerable, or be traced back to me being honest and expressive enough to say something spontaneous or relevant, and therefore have enough confidence in myself to say something [ANYTHING] and know it was true, or amusing, or attractive, was criminally insane and basically unnacceptable. She taught me to reach inside my mind and remove this constant running self-sabotage. She taught me to freeze it and throw it against a brick wall, and revel in the smashing sounds it made as it shattered, and walk barefoot on the broken shards because my skin was thicker then. I learnt, from her, to ALLOW MYSELF to move my body in time with the music, to look beautiful and know it, and for the first time, to not give a fuck when I don't. This woman keeps me company when everyone else is dreaming, sheets thrown haphazardly over bodies, mouths singing monotonously with deep nasal snores, she sits with me when I watch then curiously, almost forgetting what it's like to sleep. She is mine, the stories don't reach my ears when I am dancing and creating. My muse and lover, she picks me up, up, up, she pushes me on and on and on and she stays with me always, moving airily around my warm body, from my hands to my mouth, I can almost taste her dancing down my throat and around me. With each kiss, I can almost feel her becoming part of me, going deeper and further inside, until she is running and dancing through my bloodstream. This woman is full bodied and infinate, she is fast and pleasant, this girl. My motivation, my mistress.

-----

Previous many hours just got lost and that writing is what is shown for it. It just happened. Unedited, uncut. It sounds a little bit too obsessed but... it's art. Dig it.

2006-11-16T06:05:00.000-08:00

This is a sort of personal letter to someone, I'm posting it here to have documentation of it. I will update properly with relevant updates about my present life when I feel the time is right. :)

Listening to The doors and dancing with tina. I feel like the ice queen. The ice queen. Why is she called ice when she spreads through my whole body like a warm blanket? Not like heroin. Not like that slow hand pulling and pushing. Like a friendly and beautiful woman, touching me and heating me up. Hot, sexual and sensual. It's not history. It's now. It's two hours from now when you know this feeling of power will not have left you. You know there's no chance of abandonment with this girl, she's not going to laugh at you when your makeup's running, she's not going to kick you out of the room because your expirary date ran out (24 hour time) and she's not going to keep you constantly out of reach, in the dark, hidden behind lies and excuses. Though she may steal from you, colours and weight and sometimes friends, she will give. And she will never leave.

Anyway. I can't stop thinking about you. That wasn't said with the connetations it would usually hold. It just is. It's nothing. Or maybe everything. It's something, it's just fact. I am very strongly attracted to you. In the sense that I am a person, and you are a person and this huge blurry world is covered with people, they're swirling in and out of everywhere and doing everything, and some of them I see. Some of them walk past and I'm still looking at the sky. But I notice you. I feel your presence if you're there. Even if you're not there. Now that I've met you, it's not going to go back. I'm not going to forget you in a hurry. You're a someone in my big [small?] life. It is strange and uncommon, but I feel like I am literally attracted to you like a magnet, like something just draws me to you. The sea and waves of eyes, and mine find yours. I want to touch you. I want to tell you, I want to hear you. I want to sit in silence and let Maynard's voice wash over the two of us, apart but connected by invisable threads of similar passion and feelings and thoughts.

This is a pretty elaborate and somewhat intense way of saying that I like you. I feel like there's a chance at a friendship that could be timeless. And maybe it wont. But the few breif moments we've shared; talking about art, experiencing spirals, our lips meeting softly and the rest of the world falling to stop, or sharing smoke between our mouths... it gives me hope that this could be something to make me smile and reference in years to come.

2006-10-18T09:15:00.000-07:00

marnie says: (1:59:28 AM)
actually i had my sister in mind

marnie says: (1:59:42 AM)
but if you would like to think its about you then go ahead

charlie says: (1:59:47 AM)
Ha

charlie says: (1:59:55 AM)
you're so much like her its scary

marnie says: (2:00:14 AM)
WELL I THINK ITS BEAUTIFUL

charlie says: (2:00:26 AM)
HAHAHAHAHAHA

charlie says: (2:00:32 AM)
go to sleep little girl

charlie says: (2:01:23 AM)
I wish i'd never fallen in love with you

charlie says: (2:01:45 AM)
You've got alot more growing up to do

marnie says: (2:02:27 AM)
of course i do, what do you think im so excited about! my whole lifes in front of me and im not going to be alone! i couldnt ask for more

charlie says: (2:03:19 AM)
To quote you "I'm a very mature, insightful person"

charlie says: (2:03:40 AM)
Like i keep saying, stick to your story

marnie says: (2:04:11 AM)
mature compared to some? doesnt mean im ghandi. anyways. im bored of this now. cya

charlie says: (2:04:32 AM)
ok

charlie says: (2:04:36 AM)
soon as it gets to hard

charlie says: (2:04:37 AM)
just go

Charlie says: (2:04:39 AM)
bye

Charlie says: (2:04:50 AM)
I hope you fucking OD

2006-10-16T07:53:00.000-07:00

This is the worst comedown of my life ever. And even though I'm not definate that it caused it, I'm never having cocaine ever again. Yesterday, I felt miserable and exhausted. Today, I just feel nothing. Things are happening everywhere and I feel nothing. I don't care. Someone could come in and start cutting my skin up and I would merely give them a bored glance. I helped people in a way I thought I should because I felt it was my duty. Like it was my duty to wash up. Not because of the reasons i Normally would. I don't feel like I've been treated particularly well but I'm not going to talk about it. I had a very good weekend where just some bad things happened. So whatever. I'll go to sleep and hope that tomorrow I feel again. Just wanted to document this.

2006-09-28T13:05:00.000-07:00

It's 6 am and Emma and I are watching Titanic. We started her birthday celebrations slightly early and I found myself all tooted up and nowhere to go. What's a girl to do? Something I had been putting off for weeks upon weeks: I decided to cleaned my room. About three hours later, not only is the knee-high layer of general crud gone and the carpet visable, but all my clothes are sorted, folded and put in appropriate drawers. I can actually walk from the door to my bed without the fear of serious injury. It's incredible.

On a less uplifting note, I broke up with Charlie the other night. I gave a million different reasons but I can't really seem to remember any of them or have them make sense in my mind. All I know is that somewhere inside my troubled, layered self, I needed to. We are left gaining some history, a little wisdom and most importantly a very good friend.

Living in wollongong has apparently influenced me more than I had first expected. I now harbour the desire to make sure my next boyfriend is a total bogan. Maybe it's because I've lived in several westie towns, or the fact that I've watched Neighbours nearly every day for the past twelve or so years, or maybe my sense of compassion is having strange effects on me but I find myself growing more and more affectionate towards the everyday inhabitants here. I find myself smiling fondly when passing the methodone clinic, seeing anxious people walking in and relaxed people walking (or stumbling) out. I find myself chuckling warmly at the mullet-clad trackpants-wearing dole patrons in the Centrelink lines, pointing a nicotine stained finger at the girl behind the desk and yelling "YOUSE DOGCUNTS DIDNT PAAAY MEEE!". When I happen to watch Today Tonight and they're featuring yet another story about a middle aged benefit receiver who's "determined to bludge off the government forever" and "shamelessly rorting the system", I find myself throwing a beer can at Naomi Robson's head and yelling "GIVE HIM A BREAK YA MONGRELS". To ensure my desires will not be forgotten or silenced, I created a short personal ad so that should my bogan romeo be out there, he knows I am looking for him.

WANTED: BOGAN
17 year old sheila from the gong seeks young and passionate bogan to share short walks to the bottle-o, small talk in the centrelink line, and meat pies. Must supply own beer and winnie reds. Flanno optional. Must root on first date [at the RSL]. Kingswood preferred, but not essential. MUST HAVE ALL OR MOST OF TEETH.

p.s I would just like to state that my affection towards boganhood does DEFINATELY NOT extend to Centrelink itself. As long as I live, I will hate Centrelink with the firey hatred of a thousand burning suns as they are FASCIST SLAVE DRIVERS FROM PLANET HELL.

2006-09-13T18:13:00.000-07:00

Although this isn't actually me [I know, can you believe it?], this is sort of how I feel. Though compared to me this guy is the epitome of good-health. I'm on my fourth course of antibiotics, as the other three might as well have been tic-tacs or mentos or skittles... arrrgh (I'm still dealing with my candy addiction and it's a hard road to recovery). Apart from the fear of drowning in a pool of my own phlegm every night, I don't really feel much else. I'm more concerned with the fact that I'm so congested I sound like Sid the Sloth. And that my tonsils are so swollen they're somewhat getting in the way of that whole 'I like to breathe a lot' fantasy I've always had. COUGHCOUGH. When will it end?!

In other news, I see Placebo at the Hordern Pavillion in less than a week. Despite the fact I've got the plague, I'm really excited. I've been listening to placebo for a few years, and they're one of those bands that I seem to forget about for a while and be like 'yeah, placebo are pretty cool' and then I put them on and I'm like 'OMFG. PLACEBO ARE FUCKING AWESOME.' They really are a great band.

So I have this boy now. He's pretty and lovely and we're both quite taken with each other. I have a slight suspicion that a girl I love so dearly may come between us and cause some problems. Old habits, blame, guilt... that sort of thing. I don't know. I'll keep my eyes open.

That's about all my weary and weakened hands can handle at the moment, but before I go and enjoy another violent coughing fit, I would like to mention that I miss Sal a lot and hope that he is alright. And also that life would be kind and I see him soon. I have HP news! And I applied for a job in a Futon Shop!

x

2006-08-29T17:58:00.000-07:00

I am feeling kinda crazy right now. Detached from sanity. 11 am and I haven't slept yet. No drugs today. Just insomnia. Strange. It makes the word so slow and surreal. It makes me want to quote American Psycho and pretend I'm Patrick Bateman. Only without the killing. Or maybe not?
i wont be a sycophant for you. i used to want to close my eyes and lie next to you so badly. a girl a girl a girl. not just any other girl but the girl that i met and kissed and loved. you're perfectly lovely and you make me angry. oh well you meant to be a bitch OKAY OKAY. i'm giving up screaming this to boys and men and my mother. have i the right to want to hurt you? i don't have the energy to own anything anymore anyone anytime. i'm giving it away. every word is a stone, a stick, a plastic cup and it's all going in the river. not even from my hands. it just falls and falls. passes from side to the other. they're not mine anymore. you're not mine anymore.

2006-08-07T22:35:00.000-07:00

Two faces. She is my soul mate, my best friend, my everything. She has saved my life countless times. She understands me when no one else can, she listens when I cry, not to judge or even give advice, just to listen and acknowledge how I'm feeling. What I'm thinking. We are opposites, we are the same. We are two halves of a fabulous whole, a jaded super teen queen team, medicated irony whores from suburban hell. Panic/Scarlette/Plath/Phoebe. I love you.

I think I'm moving out. Mum and Emma don't think I'm ready yet. But I don't think I'll really be ready until I just throw myself out there and deal with it. Living at home is just a prolonged excuse to depend heavily on others and avoid growing up. I love them, I love living with them. I don't love the almost impossibility of gaining employment here or how detached from sydney I feel. I don't like how being so unhappy makes me fight constantly with Em and Mem. Even if I got a job here, it would only be for a few months anyway because it has always been the plan for me to move out at the end of the year. A close friend has offered for me to stay at his place in Newtown until I get a job in sydney and find a place I can pay rent. I've applied for a few jobs in the Newtown/city area and will keep doing so until I get one.
I haven't mentioned this to mam yet. I'm not expecting her to support it. I hope it doesn't cause drama's. Rrreh!

Anyway I've got no cigarettes left and I have to do the dishes. Am such a domestic goddess right now. Only not. Emma, where's my lunch?

2006-07-07T13:24:00.000-07:00

The past few days have brought on profound realisations.
For a long time, I have insisted in being in open relationships. I gave various reasons; I wanna have fun, I don't believe in monogomy, I don't want to be tied down... etc.
Almost suddenly, as though a door in my mind that had been locked was thrust open, I realised the real reason.
I didn't believe I was enough for my partners, I thought it almost harsh and unreasonable to expect someone to be content with just me.
It makes sense now, why when my partners would exercise the right I'd given them to freely seek others, I was always so hurt and felt lousy about myself. It was all subconciously, I told a lie to myself that it was me who genuinely wanted to see other people and I believed it. I made so many mistakes and caused so much hurt for myself and others, because I was desperate to believe that lie. I lived it with the thought that one day it would be true, the false idea that I would be happy if I gave myself what i thought was freedom. I now see how it's trapped me.
I really don't understand myself sometimes. One part of me is riddled with such low self esteem that I think I'm a pretty worthless and mediocre person, not deserving of anything I see as good. But another part cries out when people reject and hurt me, wondering why? What's so bad about me?
Depending on my mood, these conflicting aspects of my personality can be dangerous. I could be wondering why people want to hurt me, when suddenly my inner sabotaging voice of self deprication deafens me with all the reasons why people should hate me. And then, a chance, a co-incidence, a random happening of someone saying something hurtful and damaging to my self esteem and it affects me long term, repeating itself in my mind until I believe it's true.
People's mindless words and actions have too big an unhealthy impact on me. I should be able to disregard what my sister calls character assassinations. Especially when they're made by people who don't know me and probably don't even realise what they're saying means anything to me.
High school had an incredibly damaging effect on my overall sense of self. Six months of being humiliated, belittled, beat up and abused has forever impacted my life. It was three years ago, they were all just kids then, and I'm sure they don't even remember who I am now.
So why can't I let it go? Why do I still have dreams that I'm back at that school and wake up feeling sick to my stomach with panic and fear that lingers long after I wake?
Sometimes I look at myself and think, "Fuck! I'm fabulous!", but I seem to forget it all in moments of negativity. I know all this is normal to a degree, but I think it's unhealthy and destroying to the extent I feel it.
Anyway. This is not an emo rant. That fact that I finally realise and accept all this gives me a sense of hope. I can get help with my issues from the past. Whether that help is professional, talking with loved ones, writing about it or simply screaming about it at the top of my lungs, it's never too late.
And I will decide to believe in myself a little more. I purposely get involved with people who are, in a word, dodgy. Fucked up people with fucked up lives who don't care about anything. Because it seems easier for me to settle for people who treat me badly, then to have consistant confidence in myself. I'm so afraid of being shot down, of my confidence being shattered unexpectedly, that I do it myself and make sure I stay down. I subject myself to this and then let myself be destroyed when things fuck up and I get hurt. What do I expect? It's stupid. How can I get angry at others for not respecting me when I clearly don't respect myself? It's like in Final Destination when the guy finds out he's destined to die and he wants to kill himself first, before fate can do it. What's the point? Either way you're going to end up dead, only when you do it yourself you miss out on the good moments of life you've got left, the opportunity to learn from a risk, and the chance that maybe it was wrong, and you were never going to die in the first place.
I don't want to keep repeating my mistakes because it's safe.
I don't want to live with fear in the back of my mind anymore. It will be hard to not fall back into my old habits. But I'll never get anywhere if I keep taking the easy way out. I've got to take the risks and have some faith in life, in chance, in people and in myself. If I do end up getting hurt again then so be it. At least I had the courage to try. And if I fall again, I will not give up and stay down; defeated, I will stand again and give a big up yours to that which pushed me, and move on.
I think I'm at a fairly significant crossroads in my life. Not in the nearly-an-adult-and-ready-to-get-a-job way, but in the way that I'm recognising the things in my life that are truely bad for me. And I don't want them anymore. I don't want to waste my time hanging out with people who know nothing about me, and don't care. Life is too short to just put up with situations that aren't good enough when you have the power the change them.
I think my mum's constant inspirational rants about positivity and believing in myself are finally sinking in.
Well. 'Bout fucking time.

:)

2006-06-18T23:24:00.000-07:00

Untitled

We held hands on the last night on earth.
Our mouths filled with dust,
we kissed in the fields and under trees
screaming like dogs, bleeding dark into the leaves.
It was empty on the edge of town
but we knew everyone floated along the bottom of the river.
So we walked through the waste
where the road curved into the sea
and the shattered seasons lay,
and the bitter smell of burning
was on you like a disease.
In our cancer of passion you said,
"Death is a midnight runner."
The sky had come crashing down
like the news of an intimate suicide.
We picked up the shards and formed them into shapes
of stars that wore like an antique wedding dress.
The echoes of the past broke the hearts of the unborn
as the ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop.
The few insects skittered away in hopes of a better pastime.
I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom and asked
if you would accompany me in a quick fall,
but you made me realize that my ticket wasn't good for two.
I rode alone.
You said, "The cinders are falling like snow."
There is poetry in despair
and we sang with unrivaled beauty,
bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence.
Of blue and grey.
Strange, we ran down desperate streets
and carved our names in the flesh of the city.
The sun was stagnated somewhere beyond the rim of the horizon
and the darkness is a mystery of curves and lines.
Still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward,
and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation
scratched into the earth like a message.

2006-06-10T10:03:00.000-07:00

As per Emma's request, I'm documenting her quote from this evening.

"He's full of crap. You could sit next to a toilet and hear less crap." - Emma

I can't really remember having ever been this bored. I have to wait until a reasonable time before I wake Tricky up, and then I can leave. Until then I'm stuck in this sleepless morning, finding ways to pass the time. An example of which was how I just wrote a poem about Eponine, the tina pipe...:

Eponine

tiny child, lying alone
your body is so small
made of glass, burnt
dirty head. dirty face.
you make me want to breathe
you, and only you.
smoke child.
let me hold you again
so that i may dance tonight.

2006-06-09T13:24:00.000-07:00

Please, just one more wish. That I could always feel this beautiful.

2006-05-29T04:49:00.000-07:00

I start tafe in approximately 4 hours. I can't sleep. Thinking. So tired of this, I'm just not used to not being something to anyone. I used to be. I used to be special. People used to go out of their way to see me. Now it's rare they're even happy when they do. So what's changed? I just stopped being a thinking, feeling, respectable person? They say they'll call, they don't. I'm left alone, it's late and cold and I'm not sure what to do. It doesn't matter, obviously. Guess I'm just feeling sorry for myself; well I am. I don't like being an extra. I don't know how to deal with it. Just keep myself exiled? Stay away from everyone I know? Maybe I can evolve and go live underwater. With the fishes. With no expectations. No room for disappointment or shame. I really do try so hard to be someone people want to be with. It's completely fucking self-breaking, but I do it. Honestly I don't want you all to turn around and start making time for me. I don't want to hear about it. I just want it to be a silent want for you, that I can see in your eyes. Impossible? So try. I am.

2006-05-09T08:55:00.000-07:00

Fragments.

I think I've come to the stage where I'll no longer put up with myself. I'll not accept the way I am, the things I do, and say oh well. That's just the way it is.
It's not normal. No, it's not healthy. I don't want to go from deleriously happy to dangerously low anymore. It seems though, the happier I get, the worse the following low is. It's a mix of emotions; guilt, shame, disappointment...
I just can't deal with it.
Maybe if it was the way it used to be, invisable, ignored, unrecognised. But tonight. The moment I gave in, someone was watching. He noticed, no accusations, but I knew. He knew. It only increased the negativity I directed at myself. Fucking selfish.

I am a liar.
I lie for many reasons. I lie to strangers. To keep up a distance between us. To protect myself. To better myself. Because I'm bored with life; with me. Because the truth of myself isn't worth words. And I lie to those I know, sometimes, to protect them from the ugliness. To keep up my denial. To make them understand. Understand a lie, pointless. But almost addictive. The subliminal thought behind all my lies; I wont get hurt if no one knows me.
Why am I so scared of being hurt? I tell others being hurt is natural, and the only way to learn. But when it's me, I run and hide behind a wall of fabrication. Hypocrite.

Maybe it's time to seek outside help. Maybe, if I understand why I'm so damaged, I can begin to overcome it. I know that I have all the answers inside me. Tiny whispers of them flash into my consciousness. But I withold the entire truth of them, I keep the answers well hidden so deep that I can't hear them, not by myself. Maybe there are two me's. A sadist and a masochist. And the sadist keeps all the answers and needed help from the masochist, witholds vital information, just to watch the suffering. And the masochist knows how to access the information if truely wanted, but just acts the hopeless victim, to feed the addiction to misery.

Maybe I'm just drunk.

In lighter news, I had a lovely night tonight, before I succumbed to the mood that puts the depressive but into manic depressive.
I graduated from tafe, ate so much it made me sick, got nicely drunk, had fun with the pokies (I still hate them!) and was surrounded by the people I love. Apart from infrequent bouts of paranoia that never seem to go away, I felt comfortable.

Just a few splintered fragments of my thoughts.

2006-04-28T14:27:00.000-07:00

Company.

I'm in love with this moment. I've found the ability to be appreciative of the little things that make up right now. Sitting on my sisters bed, looking out the open door to the rain falling over redfern. Being surrounded by my sister's possessions. I've always loved being in her room, wherever she was living. I loved the way her things were scattered around, beautiful things, jewellery and makeup and clothes that fit me. Medication and art works, shoes, mirrors and a lone black feather lying isolated on the floor. There is another by my foot, and I'm so determined to keep things beautiful that I want to put them together, like a tiny pair of wings, and leave them there for a tiny curious girl to find and cherish.

A relationship has ended. I feel so many things for both involved parties, a general sadness that is deepened knowing it was necessary. Comfort is found with the assurance that this is not the end of everything, that contact will continue. Initially, I felt panic. Two of the most important people in my life, and the most in some aspects, were parting. I have an independant relationship with both of them, of course, but there was Emma. There was Josh. And there was Emma and Josh. Reading the informing text message, my habitual desire was to go somewhere dark and isolated, and think about it. Talk to myself about it. This was almost immediately put to rest by the need to see my sister. To listen to the story, to comfort her, to hear and understand and just to give some company.
I understand, as much as I can. And from that understanding comes the hope that they both keep growing and learning, and find everything they need and deserve. Know, I'm always around for the both of you, as a little sister, as an equal, as a friend.

So: walking, talking, tina, cleaning, a good thought-provoking movie with a rediculously large amount of popcorn, phone calls, talking, tina, walking, cigarettes, insight, clarity, discussion, tina, and wild turkey...

One of the better 14 hours that have passed. :-)

-----------------

next day. I can't do this. I will not, must not, allow myself to fall back into my old feelings. I can sense it coming on. I refuse to give in to that darkness again. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how I can say "No, sorry, you're not allowed to feel that. Next." There's too much else going on that I need to be strong and focused for. Too destructive, too mind consuming and tiring. Hate for myself is exhausting.
I refuse.

2006-04-19T22:12:00.000-07:00

Seventeen.

There is a lot to tell. I am full of a few conflicting feelings now so I'll try to focus on them seperately.

I feel like everybody wants something from me and I have nothing left to give. Or rather, that I don't have the energy to give what others need or expect from me.
Expectation is so unattractive. Hope, maybe. Thought, yes. But expect? Who are you to be so sure of what I'll do. Or wont do. Others don't even care, they'll keep taking long after I say no.
I've been hurt. I looked at my bear reflection and saw tired eyes and bruises. My skin has cleared now, yes. They're gone. I'm left with clear skin and cold, internal fear. And self deprication that seems to have strengthened since before. You're stupid, girl. You did this on purpose.
Please shut the fuck up and vacate the premises. I don't have the strength to ignore you.

But, my best friend came to the rescue. I hardly even knew her when I was younger, now I feel like she's my saviour. The one I can trust with anything. She listens, she understands. She gives me a place to be and she lets me be myself. This is rare, and completely necesarry every now and then. She holds me.
My sister.

Which brings me to another event: my birthday.

As usual, I spent the prior night crying in bed. Feeling so helpless, so alone, that I could hardly breathe. Birthdays seem to turn me into a raging emo. But the next day brought a new sort of positivity that was rather foreign to me. Tafe brought gifts and attention. And the persuit of an odd man who is strangely attractive. Then my partners in crime and I spent a very enjoyable night out. I wrote a letter to the world that was really to a person I disguised as the world for only my own benefit. I tried to say goodbye but as usual, I just said see you later.

I can't write properly. I don't know how to speak anymore. I have so much to say inside but there's some barrier keeping it there, and when I try to get it out it camoflauges itself as things I've already said a million times before. so I'm just going to rant without caring.

Tania, I saw you tonight, and nearly constantly I had to resist the urge to kiss you. This made me sad because I know I have no particular attachment to you. Am I premiscuous? I say I don't want feelings. I just want to fuck. And every time I'm left feeling like nothing. It rarely does anything special for me. I still do it. Again and again. I don't think I've ever hated myself as much as I do right now. I remember conversations I've had with people. And I view the scene from outside. And I see my face saying what I've said. And I feel sick. That person is talking to me. Listening to the bullshit thats coming out of my mouth. Watching the mess that is my face. Brushing past my fucking skin. It makes me sick. I make me sick. Sometimes I wish I could be someone else. But would I just feel the same? Would I turn that person into the pathetic, waste that I am now? There is so much inside of me. I could do so much with my life, I know this. I see and feel this. But I don't. I slowly kill myself every day and let the hours go by, wasting another fucking year of my life. Do people change? Can I change? Will it make a difference, or will I just end up hating whoever it is I become. I only feel good about myself when other people help me to do so. I'm always searching and every now and then I think I've found what I'm looking for. Art. God. Women. Her. You. Him. Cynicism. Nihilism. They're all passing phases. What I need to find is me. The me that I can love. That I can let others love.
Where?
I need so much, and I can't give anything.

2006-03-12T18:18:00.000-08:00

Saturday: my first Mardi Gras.

I arrived at my sisters place mid afternoon to find the table covered in drugs. The night looked hopeful yet. And there, the one who seems to have unintentionally and obliviously stolen something from me. I will never cross that line. It’s pleasant and special, and not at all mine.

I became better acquainted with a girl called Tina. I sat outside and smoked, I cleaned up vomit and I cried a little because I thought my sister was unhappy. Then I started to hear what Tina was saying to me and I got excited about the impending night.

About two hours, copious amounts of mascara applications and a G overdose later, we were on our way to Flinders Street where we would watch the parade. New people who were kind and accepting. Then my brother and his girlfriend showed up and made good into great, and rarely I felt no guilt for my happiness.

The parade came and I watched. Pride and colours and different people with the same objective. Half a pill; not much. Music music music, spontaneous dancing in the street with the born-again Nancy Boy. The rest of the pill and then I started feeling just as special as the people who were around me. I evicted my subconscious saboteur and told him to take my low self esteem with him, and I lived confidence. Shame is most unwelcome at the mardi gras.

As is the usual with me, I formed a significant infatuation upon first encounter. I don’t want this to have been a one-night stand but I’m yet to learn the rules. We’re co-dependant, she gave me everything I wanted and/or needed that night and I gave her nothing but use. Being rather off my face, I spoke mostly about myself but I think that might be okay this time. I’m usually silent but she made me feel like my words were not worthless, and it was a beautiful change.

Being unexperienced compared to my companions, I listened to them sleep while I did not. It was peaceful to reflect, and healthy to gather myself and control my abundance of positivity and love for those around me.

Someone commented on my closeness to my sister and I realised I felt proud as I agreed. Proud and grateful. Slurring and obscurity may have hindered my attempt to convey that to her, but I hope she knows just how special she is to my everything.

---------

A week has passed since then. Someone's been playing games with my concept of time, sometimes an hour will feel like a day, and six hours will be ten minutes to me.
I'm being brought down by the petty bitching of those around me, the ugliness of human nature and my own lack of rest. I need to go to sleep in a comfortable environment and have long, pleasant dreams and wake feeling refreshed, instead of half-dead.

I feel slightly betrayed by my somewhat new friend. I think about her constantly and want her all the time, but she leaves me feeling worn out and empty. It shouldn't be like that. Will I ever find a healthy balance? Will I ever be content with enough?

2006-02-20T15:11:00.000-08:00

My gender is betraying me.
Everything that makes me female is rebelling and causing me quite unbearable and frequent pain. I don't know what's wrong, an infection that needs antibiotics maybe. I'm picking them up today and if they don't put a cease to this year long pain then I'll be kinda worried. I don't know how much longer I can pretend to concentrate on things as though it didn't feel like I am being stabbed in the torso with a rusty tetanus covered steak knife.
I'm a little worried that I've left it too long and even if I get rid of the cause, the damage will have been done and I wont be able to have any babies. Not that I want kids or anything. Shut up. I'm still a badass.
Tafe is boring. But I don't hate it. Though these 8:30 classes are proving to be a little testing.
I'm not at all happy at the moment, but have luckily picked up my old habit of disconnecting from my emotions and spending three hours thinking about a peanut m&m rather than my increasing resentment for a couple of surrounding things.
Mirrors, tiles, furniture. How did we manage to break so many things that night? Some were unable to be repaired. But no one will know about that because I'll be quiet and candy is more important than emotions.

2006-01-29T17:52:00.000-08:00

A week. Monumental. Firsts are everything, firsts for everything. I'd be lucky to have got eight hours sleep all week, but I can't remember having ever felt so awake. Alive. Real. Happy. And a week summed up in bottles, tears, blood, boots, and music so loud I couldn't hear myself cry.
You. One of my favourite moments. Feeling the warm back of you against me, sliding my hand over the front of your body and feeling you shiver as my hot breath met your neck. All the while watching Iggy Pop standing just metres away in those tiny jeans, singing and dancing like it was still the 1960's and we were all still on that very same trip.
Our bodies moved in time, knowing the rhythm that was coming from the stage, being the sound and getting completely lost.
and one kiss said it all, surrounded by old-school fans and young punks, all a massive blur of sweat and enthusiasm shut off in the distance, because no one could touch you. No one but me.
And you. New. Unexpected in this sense, but not rejected. Blind and drunk, communicating with a bottle of vodka, until we were wearing nothing but our mutual lust and knee high boots.
It's you I can't stop thinking about, in the most foreign way I've ever known. Not her. Or him. Or them. You. A friend. You, my friend.
I'll meet you again, somewhere between love and a cheap fuck.

2006-01-09T22:32:00.000-08:00

I could just kill a man.

I'm so tired of hating everyone. It's exhausting.

Dear human beings: please stop being total cunt-faces so I don't have to hate you all. Thanks.

The fuckjobs that harrassed Nessa and I have been at it again. Apparently Nessa's entire family deserve the same treatment, just for being related to something as terrible as a lesbian. They fucked up Nessa's eleven year old neice. ELEVEN YEARS OLD. Four guys, picking a fight with 2 girls, one of which is still a child.
It's pathetic. It's so fucking sad for everyone. I don't know who I feel sorrier for. I wouldn't mind killing them all, perhaps ripping limb from bloodied limb, but there's plenty more where that came from. Maybe I'll fulfill my childhood dream of being a serial killer and go on a bastard-killing rampage. Feh, what's the point. You can never win. If we did anything, they'd probably just hate lesbians more. Idiots! I'M PUNCTURING YOUR SPLEEN BECAUSE YOU'RE A TOTAL CUNT, NOT BECAUSE I FUCK GIRLS. Why don't they understand that? It works both ways though. People have been telling me to 'lay off them' because they're aboriginal. As if it somehow makes me racist to want to inflict serious pain on them. I HATE THIS FUCKING WORLD. IT'S SO FUCKED UP!
Okay, I don't like thinking like that. There are still some beautiful things left. I mean, look at Kurt Cobain. Oh wait. He's dead. Okay then, Jeff Buckley. Gah, dead too. Feminism? DEAD! Justice? DEEEEADER THAN DEAD EVER WAS. Fuck the police who told us we should 'expect that sort of thing if we're going to hold hands in public'.
So much for being positive. Okay. Positivity. Music. Tori Amos. Rage against the Machine. Pretty girls with purple hair. Smoking. Vodka. Cheese pizza. Waking up everyday in a puddle of my own drool. Throwing grapes at my friends.
These are the things that make me smile. I will go think about them now.

2006-01-05T05:47:00.000-08:00

...And you held me under the blinding lights, amongst the people we call our own. Our pulses were dancing as our blood rushed faster and faster. We were both covered in sweat, belonging to you and I, and other people who had pushed past us in the bustle of crowded sydney celebration.
The whole city was awake, the streets themselves seemed alive. I saw nothing but you, completely oblivious to the loud drunks running past, half naked and happy.
We found a seat, we sat. You handed me something but my eyes never left yours. I didn't like the taste that lingered on the metal of my lip ring, I didn't like the way I suddenly felt so estranged from my sober friend, and I didn't like the fear that something would go wrong.
I did like the look in your eyes as you pulled my face up to your own, and the feeling of your warm mouth against mine. I liked the way that with our bodies touching, breath exchanged roughly between, I could believe you actually loved me.

Happy New Year, to a dream that is dead.

Christmas was the best yet, I learnt how important my family is to me, and that it's okay to be happy. For so long I've been attached to my angst that I felt almost shameful when happy. Like I shouldn't be smiling, there's so much to cry about. I don't know how but I realised I can be happy, and instead of turning it into a scowl, I can keep smiling and not feel like a traitor to my generation of mistreated melancholy-addicts.

New Years Eve was one of the best nights I've had yet, whoring around the city with my best friend who got her first kiss, which I know she enjoyed no matter how many times the next day she said "He violated me!". Sitting in the gutter in Kings Cross in what was quite possibly the most skanked-up outfit I've ever worn, remembering fondly of being called a gutter-slut frequently through high school.
Crying, nay, sobbing when it reached midnight, in drunken mourning, because Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley weren't there to celebrate the new year with us.
Being picked up by a guy who looked like a hotter version of Zack de la Rocha from Rage Against the Machine. Laughing, kissing, drinking, crying, losing, finding, singing and wondering would I ever sleep again, now I knew what it was to be truely awake.

I'm over being so sick all the time, I'm going to start eating and exercising, I hope it makes a drastic change, because I need one. I broke down the other day, and asked mother advice on the one thing I expected least to -- my girlfriend. She was helpful, and I did what needed to be done. I was feeling pretty bad about life at the time, but we talked and decided to get active, physically and mentally, and I feel better already. I think my relationship with my mother is getting better and stronger, which makes life pretty fucking sweet.
Being single is kinda boring, boys just want sex and I get obsessed. End unfair generalisation.

2005-11-27T19:17:00.000-08:00

As my last blog hinted, I am no longer in a relationship. It was me who ended it this time, with guilt and apprehension that she would react the same way I did when she broke up with me.
A few days ago some friends and I met up with some more friends and hung around in some park, reveling in our teen delinquency. A cask of goon later, and I was making out with six different girls [no, not at the time time]. Feeling quite the stud, I lead my friends down the street on the way to the station, until... A moment of unco-ordination swept over me and I fell down a flight of concrete stairs, and somehow landed on my face. Being the big tough man I am, I stood up and started laughing at my clumsiness.
Then I saw my reflection.
Oh the tears and screaming ensued. Five days on and I'm nothing but a mess of blood, bruises, two hideously giant black eyes and a broken tooth. My whiplash has gone away, but the pain of being an ugly wretched beast is still ever so apparent.
On the bright side, it was kind of timed very well, as a week ago I was in a pit of despair about my aesthetics, coming to the harsh conclusion that I was an ugmo. I sat there planning what sort of plastic surgery I would get, and adding up the cost of finally being beautiful.
Now I've seen how ugly I really could be, and more importantly, how insignificant it all really is.

In other news, I have recently been informed that AFI are no longer playing at Big Day Out, like they lead us to believe. I have the worst luck with my favourite bands! First, Kurt Cobain dies. Now this! When will it stop?
I am hereby on a hunger strike, until AFI learn to keep their promises. Thankyou and goodnight.

2005-11-15T02:10:00.000-08:00

Well an interesting weekend was had by me. I met some friends on saturday and got nicely drunk, and somehow ended up in Newtown cemetery where a guy was yelling obscene things at the priest. He ran off, and came back a few minutes later brandishing two rather large knives, which I can only assume he was intending to stab the poor guy with. His attention got diverted by a girl who lead him away, and all was peaceful again. During all this drama, my friend Betty and I met a guy whose name I have forgotten, and we went and saw a Marilyn Manson look alike play some tunes. One minute I was lying in the gutter drinking, the next I was sitting in the lap of the nameless guy while he quite painfully attacked my neck with his mouth.
I came home and nearly my entire family was there, an enjoyable time obviously ensued, because I heart my family.
Then yesterday I went to the cemetery again to meet Mikhi and Amy, and ended up in a mass of teenage misfits. They were all pleasant except for a select few who are obviously far too obscure and misunderstood and rebellious to get the scowl off their faces long enough to be polite.
I saw the neck boy again, and I told myself I wouldn't kiss him. Then I saw he had a big bottle of beer, and I did what I had to to get it.
Somewhere along this point, my friend vomited and got hauled away in an ambulance, and everyone started crying and freaking out.
I opened my bag to get my phone and numerous empty bottles of spirits fell onto the pavement, just as a police officer walked by. He gave me a skeptical look, which I replied with a sweet smile, and life was pleasant again.
Oh, scattered through out the day were various lengthy make-out sessions with Amy who I have liked for a long time.
It was a good day.
Today brought on a heated domestic with mother and I, her demanding I tell her every detail of my day and how I got those "wretched hickies", and me telling her it was actually none of her business. After she persisted I finally said, "Ok, I met a guy, we saw a band, we made out, he wants to see me again cos he wants to sleep with me, but I'm not going to see him because I am not that kinda girl. *breaks out into the song "not that kinda girl" by Anastasia*" And she cracked it, telling me it wasn't cool to have such little respect for myself as one must have if they "carry on" like that in public. She then proceeded to tell me my life is going nowhere, all I do is sit in my room and be depressed, or go hang out and get drunk.
She asked me what would make me happy, and I said spending time with Mikhi and Amy and all those friends, because I like what we do, and I like who I am with them. She wasn't satisfied with that, but I'd had enough.
Now that the fun has died down, and I'm sober, I realise that I've once again cheated on my girlfriend. Except that this time, I don't want to be forgiven.

2005-11-04T04:38:00.000-08:00

Love has presented itself back into my life, and I can once again call her my own. I have been waiting two and a half years, since the day she broke up with me, for her to come back. A lot of vacant lovers, tears, longing and pain later, she is with me again.
I don't doubt that what I feel for her is true love, regardless of my age. I don't know how I found love at age fourteen, maybe because I fed off my parents and older siblings maturity, maybe because of the negative experiences I've been through, or maybe I'm just a pretentious twat... But two years later, my feelings have never honestly faltered, and I feel in my entirety that I love her.
It scares me to have already found the person I want to grow old and die with, and more so that she loves me back, and we are in a secure relationship. Especially because I went from sudden and total sexual freedom, to being committed to one person. I betrayed that commitment less than a week ago, in a drunken and stoned moment of lust. I jeapordised what I had yearned for for years, for little more than cheap fuck.
However I believe in honesty, and being honest and remorseful earned me forgiveness.
And now there is peace and normality between me and my lover again.
Distance hinders us, as do many levels of frustration and failed technology, but I have total faith that we will make it through this year and find each other at the other end, with scars yes, but scars that we are willing to kiss for each other.

Other news in my life; I am finishing a tafe course, and my next goal is to find employment for myself. Bringing independance, discipline and responsibilty [all which I sorely lack at the moment]. And of course money, it will be a joy to be able to buy things and help out mother for the first time in our poverty stricken lives.
My health is not the best at the moment, my sleeping patterns are erratic and destructive, causing bad moods and lethargy. My eating patterns are worse, which just fucks everything up. I've been fainting and vomiting more, and the other day after a test at tafe there was blood in my vomit, which is never a good sign.
I drink and smoke too much, though I can't help but enjoy the feeling of being a tortured introverted artist that this brings.
Friendships from my past have nearly all disintergrated, but one remains constant and strong, and I miss her dearly. As soon as highschool is finished, we're hoping to live closer and see each other more frequently. I hope so, because I adore Phoebe hugely. She's my platonic life partner, I think everyone should have one.

All this off my chest, I'm going to go to bed finally (Argh, nearly 5 am) and listen to Tori Amos.

2005-09-04T05:37:00.000-07:00

I want a drink.

I'm trying this new thing, where I have an issue, and I deal with it while I'm sober. So far it hasn't worked much luck as I just end up creating more illusions anyway, further deepening my already skewed perception of reality.

Anyway, apart from really wanting a drink I just reminded myself how much I also want a smoke. It's been like 2 days, I have another 3 days, with only 1 smoke! I will try to buy more tomorrow, I hope I don't get asked for ID considering my sister so kindly lost hers, and she was my last hope of having one.

Shit, I can't believe this is what I write about in my journal. My life is fucking bleak.

Well there is a lot of not-so-bleak stuff I could write about but I suppose I'm holding back, which defeats the entire purpose of a journal I guess.

Okay I'll try to be honest but subtle... What's going on in my life? Addictions, abandonment, deceit, future strangulation and a lot of fun and games.

Nearly all those things, if not all, don't particularly have a place in my life. Or rather, what my life should be. Because I guess your life is what you make it, and this is what I've made mine. I'm quite happy with it but even though it's my life, it's hurting others it seems. So why should I care? Like I said, it's my life. But others have their lives, and their lives entwine with mine. Nothing is ever really mine, I guess everything is all shared in the end, even what I consider most personal.

Feeling quite sick of the utter angst that consumes me, the constant war with myself, half of me so desperately wants to do something and the other half is just being a stubborn little bitch, forever feeding me reasons as to why I shouldn't do it. And it's kinda one of those moment where I grit my teeth and scream and just fucking cry out, "why can't I be normal?". And why can't I be like all the other girls I know? Why am I caught in this downward spiral of destruction, bringing down everyone in my path and in end making sure I get hurt twice as much as them, because that's the only way I can justify the damage I've done to them.

And that's all for now.