sixty times before I'd kick the habit."
I was all set. I had my blog post planned out, title and everything. "Back in the game". And the body would simply be a picture. The cleaned up post-shot, not the one taken as blood streamed, unchecked. Startlingly, vibrantly red, forming lines that merged into one another and flowed, something unspeakably, inexplicably beautiful and peaceful in its deliberate, premeditated violence.
I had the area in mind. It would be simple and clean, just one. Or option two; a crazy release, but carefully controlled. But preferably the first option, just one cut, down the back of my leg. Inconspicuous. Excuse - Scraped against a tree.
I don't know what triggered it today. It was worse for that, and to be honest, it holds me in its grip as I write.
The other day, in Biology, I got cravings. But that was understandable, you know? We were doing a practical that involved slicing up liver of some animal. I was the one cutting it up. The scalpel blade and leftover headache from the morning, as well as feelings of dizziness, lead to my high susceptibility to cravings. Holding that blade, imagining it all clearly. I had to leave for a few minutes to clear my head.
Here, there was nothing. No trigger. Today is my mum's birthday and all that caused me to determine is to make dead sure she didn't find out. That wasn't enough to stop me. Haven't I caused her enough pain?
It was a wild tumble of emotions; missing my best friends, fond remembrances of times with them, upset at how much other people's opinions influenced my actions, at how my "brother (who isn't by blood but we count each other as siblings" obviously disapproves of my being with Chris; terrified that Chris will decide to join the army full time within a few weeks, and not next year, and if full time, would be gone for 18 months; and missing everyone I hadn't spent much time with lately. Tired and unable to stand against the turbulence of all this, I just wanted to do it. I half tried to believe "just once", just one more; because the last time wasn't much of a send off, although the depth of the scar would beg to differ. It would be nice to do it properly, end that part of my life well.
It was a lie, I knew that. If I did it "this once", it would be my chance to return to it. And I had been nine months and two days (longer than "pregnant time"). At the time though, it didn't matter much.
The faster we're falling,
We're stopping and stalling.
We're running in circles again...
Cause I'm in too deep, and I'm trying to keep,
Up above in my head, instead of going under."
I'm okay and I can make this, but only if I want. And sometimes I just want to cut.
And,
sometimes it wouldn't feel like giving in. It would feel like satisfaction. Like what I want. "And you might say it's self-indulgent
And you might say it's self-destructive
But, you see, it's more productive
Than if i were to be happy"
It's a lie, I know. It's the need and the addiction clothed in something else, disguised as something better. Not done to stop the other pain, to release. But underneath the reasons are still there, still the same.
I'm clinging to this;
"I am not a pretty picture.
I am not a project or something for you to fix. I am a beautiful mistake, I am a mess, I am tragedy I am fairytales. I am a story, as are you, and with every line across my wrist I was screaming and with every tear that I shed I am praying for me and you and "them" and us. We are not alone we are in this together and I am on my face tonight. And darkness screams behind the door, it is begging, fighting to get in.
THIS IS WAR.
And I will not let it in, I will not sucuumb to your sweetness. I will not be betrayed by the kiss of a blade by the liquid that gives to take and I, I will not swallow those lies that sit on my plate. Brake. Shatter. Collide and fall. Pretty poison. I used to think I should come with a warning lable, I thought I destroyed everything that I touched and now, now I see, now I know it was not me it was the Hole it was the monster that came in and wrecked everything I know...and love...and love and hope would not let me go. And love and hope grew arms to reach me when I was running and wrap me snug in a hug that my heart had longed for oh so long. And love and hope in stars and hearts on my back on my arms and in my heart as mine, for me to give to you and that is what the pain was for. And that was worth it all, and more."
but I'm inclined to let go and jump back into the abyss. And do so gladly. Not falling, screaming, hating myself for this weak lapse. But with delight, like meeting an old friend again after a long time apart.
Bring me to my senses.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
"But, you see, I'd kick the bucket
Thursday, February 5, 2009
"Well, she's not bleeding on the ballroom floor..."
"...just for the attention,
'Cause that's just ridiculous..."
For those of you who don't know, I saw a counsellor a few times after my overdose on painkillers. Maybe four, maybe five. And also for those of you who don't know, I was not trying to kill myself. But, I liked this counsellor. I felt guilty for having to see her, when it cost my parents so much. But they wanted me to get better. And I wanted to get better. And hopefully even fix things amongst our family somewhat. However, most of you will know, as well as I, that seeing a counsellor is not something you do just a couple of times. If you want a quick fix, it's better to go in for drugs, or hypnotherapy, or crazy altering-chemicals-in-your-body type stuff. If you want to see a counsellor and work through problems, it is a long term thing. It takes time, and patience. Four or five visits to a counsellor is just the start.
I'm not crazy and I'm not suicidal; I don't even necessarily have depression, but yes, I have seen a counsellor. And, it wasn't actually a waste of time. It was helpful. Not every counsellor will be helpful to you personally, and different people "click" better with others. But that's all rather irrelevant. I'm just trying to do my bit to beat down the stigma our society associates with counsellors etc. But more on that another time.
Sometimes, I don't feel up to taking that responsibility that seeing a counsellor engenders. It means having to actually take action, to stop relying on others. Because you have to put in effort.
And sometimes, I don't feel like I have that much within me. I don't think I can keep going. It feels too hard and I want to give up. When, like me, you are desperate to know that you are loved, you will sometimes go to shocking lengths to be assured of this. It didn't begin as this, but the ways in which I hurt myself physically ended up serving another cause, when those around me found out, seeing how they were upset told me that they cared. I already knew they cared about me. They expressed it enough. But for me, that wasn't quite enough.
When I say that my friends "found out", I mean, generally, that I would tell them. Or I would drop hints or not quite hide what I had done. I hated myself for it, for making them upset. It was yet another thing to prove I was a terrible person; that I would let them know. More ammunition to use against myself. I didn't want to be attention seeking, but honestly, that is what I was doing, in that aspect of my self harm, at least. I suppose you could say I was slightly manipulative as well. But I didn't have much control over it. Each time I determined that no one would know, and almost each time, I would let at least one person know. Sometimes not for weeks, months even. But I would eventually fold.
I don't suppose I could have hidden the guilt I felt for betraying them, which is what I did every time I self harmed, even if I had truly tried. I let myself give in and tell them because secretly, that was what a large part of me wanted. Even when I didn't realise it.
Anyway, it is this need to be assured of others' love for me that led me to being heavily reliant on them. I needed their reaction to my actions as motivation to stop self harming, I needed them to help distract me when I wanted to self harm but was trying not to. I used my friends as a crutch (no one please think of the other crutch! >.<) and let myself go on feeling sorry for myself. That's the truth.
Sometimes it feels too hopeless, too hard to go on. But I know I am stronger than I think. It is up to me to keep going, not to give in as I did when trying not to tell my friends about my self harm. Because if I had wanted, I could have not told them. And if I had truly wanted, I could have stopped myself from self harming, each time. But I was scared to take responsibility, because that meant that things could be my fault. I hate being wrong. It's not that I feel I am better than others, rather, that I want to please everyone, and if I make a mistake, I am letting others down. It's why I hate team sport so much, because I was always the one who would let everyone down (apart from in soccer, I love that game C:).
In those respects, I was (and still am, in other ways) a little child. I still sometimes want to be the vulnerable one who will be in a position where (hopefully) others will protect her, and she can know by this that they care, and she matters. But I am learning to tell myself just how ridiculous that is, and do some standing up for myself.
There are the times I feel so weak and I want to hand over my problems to someone else and tell them to fix them, but that is not possible, and if I'm honest, I know I can hold out, even if it won't be easy. It is up to me whether I stand firm or break.
With all of this, I sometimes wished I would just be given anti-depressants or something. Not that I'm saying they are the easy way out; sometimes they are necessary. But I'm not keen on drugs and things that alter the body's functions and I knew I could do it otherwise, although it would be harder, longer, and more frustrating. So I was glad to be seeing a counsellor. They do help, but only if you let them, if you take on board what they say and apply it. And I was ready for that. I was ready to move forward, no matter how hard it was. And sort out stuff that I hadn't been able to sort out in my own mind. We all know the saying about not seeing the wood for the trees. A distanced person could lend a valuable perspective and I wanted that.
I had thought about counselling long before, but I couldn't bring myself to ask my parents about it. That would involve first convincing them I had things I needed to work through, and then that it should be done professionally, etc. So I was, in a way, grateful at the chance my overdose gave me. I thought that even this stupid thing I had done could be the very thing that helped me. I had to have follow up counselling. I had to confront things, I couldn't avoid it, and I didn't even have to bring it up personally!
I hadn't seen my counsellor since before Christmas as she was going away on holidays, and said just to make an appointment when she got back, whenever. Well, she's been back for a long time. I wanted to see her again, but Mum didn't bring it up, and I was dead against bringing it up myself. I'm not good at broaching certain (most) remotely sensitive subjects with my parents, particularly my mother, and I really didn't want to do this. She had made it clear she thought I was better. That I only "caused all this trouble during school" and she thought that when school started again, "her and Dad would have to endure the nightmare again". "You've put us through hell... you've caused us so much heartache... you've caused your dad so much stress that with his high cholestrol he could have a heart attack... (or, rather more bluntly) you'll kill your father..." And so it goes. My mother is not the most... er, understanding or tactful soul... Yet, while I am an absolute sucker for guilt trips (I felt guilty for eating or attacking in any other way my friend in some Wii game we were playing at his house, even though it was part of what my character had to do in order to beat him - Super Smashed Bros Brawl, if you were wondering), I refuse to let my mum's work. Of course, some still slip in past my barriers.
I didn't exactly want to explain to my mother that no, not everything was alright, and no, it had a grand total of nothing to do with school vs. holidays, but it was an ongoing thing with many issues and this matter with my friends was only a very small part of it. I made half hearted attempts to counter her nightmare statements by saying "it's not anything to do with school", and her "you seem just fine now that it's the holidays" with "how would you know"s, but I would back out and run for the hills the moment she demanded what exactly I meant.
I finally asked her if she could make a counsellor's appointment, and she was very reluctant. I was a bit stunned as she asked me how many more times I could go see the counsellor. I know it's expensive but there is absolutely no point in going a few times, it is an ongoing process! She doesn't see anything really wrong with me, which also contributes to it, but I know that I need this. I can get by without it, but to truly fix things, it would be of great help. And I love the chance to have someone get to know so much about me; practically everything, and accept it. I've realised that it is something I long for, because it would be a true mark that I am worth it, that I am an okay person; valuable, and all that.
This was over two weeks ago, and I asked her yesterday if she had made an appointment because in the end she said something which sounded like a grudging acquiescence, and she told me that she hadn't.
I don't want to say this, I don't want to feel this; but I'm disappointed and it feels like a betrayal on my mother's part. She should want me to get better. I know it is just because she can't tell anything is wrong, if I was physically sick her and Dad would spend everything they had to help me become well; but this is different and it's not as simple or as obvious as physical illness. Not that I'd say I'm mentally unwell, but still.
Sighh.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Pretty as a Picture
As a little girl (hey I'm a teenager now kay?? i'm like, all grown up and don't need anyone to tell me what to do, i know all ;P I swear, we're not like that all the time!!! It's a largely untrue stereotype, honest to God! lol), I never really cared what I looked like. I wasn't into dressing up, make up and handbags, high heels and pretending to be a princess. I'd dress up my Barbie dolls, but then I'd make some boys (my parents wouldn't buy my sister and I boy dolls haha) so I could act out my stories that I made up for them. I wasn't quite able to ignore the fact that they were still so obviously female, even when I cut their hair short and dressed them in t-shirts and shorts I made out of tissues and sticky tape, or even, haphazardly sewed, or stapled, spare pieces of material (I was creative!). But I wasn't big on caring about looks.
My mum did my hair for me until I was eleven. My parents chose my clothes until I was in year 6, although I was given choices. But it didn't really matter to me.
I don't know when looks became so important to me. In year seven I emerged out of my shyness to make some friends at school, just before leaving to go to high school. What I do remember is how much I hated myself.
We had a year seven reunion today, about three quarters of our year seven class turned up. We were looking at a Powerpoint where, in year seven, we had each made two pages with pictures of ourselves and written a little bit about us and our primary school memories. What struck me about mine was that under "Dislikes", I had written "Me". I was a little bemused by that, seeing how open I had been about it then. I remember telling my friends on a regular basis how I didn't feel they should be friends with me, how I was a "loser", and whatever other words were derogatory at the time. I'd talk about it all the time, I felt I wasn't worth them. I didn't deserve to be cared about. I was twelve.
I think that because I had been so shy and without many friends all these years, that I felt, subconsciously, when I did make friends, that I couldn't deserve them. If I hadn't before, why would I now? I was just a little more visible. And realising that I was desperate to be noticed, accepted.
It was in about year seven that I began considering my weight. I've never really been one to read magazines. Our family didn't even own a TV for the first eight years of my life, because they thought it had too many bad influences, which I'm inclined to agree with, to a point. Sure, with my new found friends, I would look through their glossy new "Girlfriend"s every month, but it seemed pretty stupid, even then. I don't really find pictures of models and celebrities to be something I desire to look like. I am aware of the falsity of those images, the pressure and extreme measures taken to be that thin, etc.
No, where I began to care about my weight came from somewhere much closer than that. My mum. I remember, in year six or seven, one of her comments as I walked into the room where she was sitting, "You look pregnant!" My mum has never been one for tact.
I haven't forgotten this yet, obviously, because no matter how much I tried to ignore this, it attacked me somewhere deep inside. How easily we remember past wounds! I know I remember hurtful words clearly, while forgetting kind mentions. This in part is due to how I would seize upon any negativity from others and twist it, digging the arrow in deeper. My worst enemy has been myself, but with others lending weight to the negative thoughts about myself, I was trying to protect myself by making sure their messages stuck, that I would remember. How is that protection? So that I would not embarrass myself, that I would not delude myself into thinking I was pretty, an acceptable body shape, and possibly even reveal that I thought so, when it wasn't true. I was driving home these "truths" so that this embarrassment could not occur, for if I thought I was better than I was and others saw that, would they not just deride and scorn me? And although I thought I was not deserving of these friends of mine, that did not mean I didn't want them. I did, oh I did! To feel loved, it was wonderful. How selfish of me, to want friends who I would only bring down through our friendship. Yet another thing I must hide deep within, another shameful secret to bury. I didn't want to be selfish.
I don't know about you, but one thing I learned from my peers was that belittling yourself was a good thing. If someone complimented you, you would disagree. "You're so pretty." "No, I'm not,", before listing imperfections which proved why the girl in question could not be pretty. Being smart was something I learned to hide early, no one wants to be a "nerd", not even me, who would read at recess and lunch, while walking home, and through the holidays until she was ten or eleven. Even accepting a compliment, in my mind, has come to seem conceited. Even if what is stated is true. It's ridiculous, I know. But from my subconscious observations of others, this is what I put together.
And also, putting yourself down got you assurances. For, even if you thought badly of yourself, if you were wrong others would tell you so. So, even, as I told myself that these reassurances were just what my friends were saying to be nice (After all, they were nice enough to be friends with me, and who on earth could be so nice that they would befriend someone like me?); a small part of me hoped, and wanted to believe that they meant what they said in all honesty, that they were right.
My mum has told me time and time again how I am putting on weight, how if I keep eating the way I do and not exercising, I will end up unable to walk from how fat I am by the age of 20, how fat I am getting, how much I am "expanding", etc. She is always bugging me to exercise.
Why won't I?
For a start, I have never really been good at sports. This makes for being extremely embarrassing for such a shy girl. The public humiliation of always being picked last for a team, of letting down the team, was something I hated. Standing there unwanted, because I wasn't good enough, isn't that enough to make anyone cringe? People tend to either act like they don't care, and play even worse on purpose, or, like me, avoid being placed in such a situation as much as possible. I knew the only way to get better was through practice, but through practice I'd have to play, and I couldn't do that. I have engaged in sports over my primary school life, swimming, tennis, and soccer. But it was worse because my dad was really good at sport, in particular soccer. I wanted to make him proud of me by being like him, good at soccer. I love watching soccer, and playing it. However, for a long time, I didn't want him to see that I was bad at it, as I knew I would be, and so I wouldn't play soccer with him. In year seven I actually did play soccer for the under 13's or 14's girls for school, and it turned out I was a decent defender. It was fun, our team was good, and we won the majority of our games. Come high school and we didn't really have any teams, and I knew I wasn't good enough to play for a club. I was scared to try out since I was scared to be rejected. However, I did organise for my friends and their parents and my dad and people from my church to play soccer most Saturdays for approximately the next two years. It wasn't as skilled, teams were unevenly numbered and sometimes there were barely any people, but it was fun. That eventually petered out.
Reason Two: My mother and I have had a fairly turbulent relationship for most of my adolescent life, just to break the stereotype haha. We argue about a lot of things, but to me, if I exercised, it would mean that she had won. She would know that she had gotten to me, with everything she said. I would have lost. That would never do. So I would lose weight in my own way, and I would be happy and so would she. But I would not let her win. Her telling me about my weight was not going to get to me. It did. But she would only win if she knew how that affected me. I could not allow that.
Why? Why did it matter if she wanted me to exercise? I could have. It shouldn't have mattered who suggested it, when it was the healthy way to go.
I'm still not sure what the reasoning is behind this "not letting her win" thing that I have.
I know she only means well. She wants me to be healthy, and fit, and not overridden with diseases and weak before my old age. She wants me to have the best in life. But, she is blunt in typical Indian manner, and my easily hurt self has been wounded deeply. I am trying to gain self-worth. I am trying to believe that beauty is from within, and that outer beauty doesn't really matter, that it fades anyway. That true beauty comes from the heart and overflows to the outside. A beautiful soul is the most important thing. I know this. But I still can't abandon my foolish fears.
I want to look nice because I want other people to like me. I'm scared that if I don't look nice no one will want to be around me. I know people aren't that shallow, but I need to be accepted so much. It's somewhat irrational.
The End, for now.
Friday, January 16, 2009
I'm trying to be positive.
I swear. I try so hard.
But I see the pictures of the life you're living without me, and the fun that you're having, without me. And it doesn't matter to you.
And I wish I didn't exist.
You make me feel like I don't.
That I may as well not.
And I want to live.
I want to take hold of life with both hands and live it to the fullest, as fiercely as I can.
But it's hard when you can dismiss me and my attempts to fix things so easily.
When the people who mean the most to me are suddenly absent from my life and I find myself feeling guilty for being able to laugh while this situation stretches on. For being happy even without them. I have the right to be happy without them. But I don't want to let myself.
I always said I couldn't live without you. And when I found out I could, that seemed to me the greatest betrayal I could make. So I set out to prove myself right.
I don't want to live without you, no. I will miss you no matter what. But I want to prove that I will be constantly miserable without you. To who? For what purpose?
Is it really all some kind of pathetic thought that if they see how much I need them they will come back?
I don't know.
I don't know what I'm thinking.
I'm sorry. I know. I've been posting about this several times a week since I began this blog. But it's been in my thoughts every hour of every day for the last five, almost six months. It's not getting much easier for me. They still mean so much to me. And as such, they are something I will continue to write about.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
I wish the force was real. That when we died we became a part of the Living Force, like how in death our bodies become a part of the earth - "dust to dust", and we return to whence we came...
I'd give myself to the Force in a second, if I could help you. I didn't think of this as the Force in its original sense. More, a magical thing, that would float around you and fill you with peace and happiness, and keep you safe.
I'd love to see you happy.
But after all this time, what can I do to make it better? What words can I say which I haven't said before?
When I can't even verbalise my thoughts about how I feel, how can I verbalise those thoughts in relation to you?
I'd tell you I loved you a thousand times over in every day that I saw you if you could let yourself believe it, but what good's that when I'm half deciding to withdraw from almost everyone (you included)?
In two minds
again. Why is it never that simple? Because in a way, I don't need you. Yes. And yet, in another way, I do too.
It would be nice if I could numb myself to emotions, if I could forget how you may feel. If I didn't want to please everyone and make everyone happy. If I could be as selfish that easily. For a couple of moments at a time, it seems easy. But then I remember.
And I'm flooded with guilt. But I want it both ways.
For that matter, I wish there was no life after death. I wish there was no God. I wish I didn't have to sort through this confusion. But in the end, I would have nothing to fight for if this wasn't true. I want the truth.
But I'm a little too lazy sometimes.
It's not that I don't know what I want. I do, in this case. But I want two completely different things.
And it doesn't help that you make it easier for me to want to let you go every time you unknowingly make things worse. We're all different; thus misunderstandings. And although I try to seem strong, I'm far too easily hurt.
I don't need you, and the truth is...
sometimes, and here I mean "nearly constantly", I don't want you either.
I find myself thinking how much I would love to leave you. I could so easily cut the ties with all of you. And to be honest. I would barely look back. You're just another link to this thing that pains me the most, and if I'd been offered my escape earlier, at a plausible time, I would have gone. Hesitated, yes. But things as they are, I would have gone. I'd call, text, write. Smile and wave when bumping into each other. Out of guilt. Occasionally. As long as I felt I had to. I might even have cried when I left. But I'd let you go.
And it's not that I don't love you. But it would be easier, so much easier. Others I'd miss more than others. Some I'd keep in contact with. I can think of four. But the others, I'd be too busy missing them to have much left over for you. I'd have had a perfect new set up to enter. Keep up the social relations I so desire, and not let any friendship but hers develop to anything as close as before. At least not in which I was the confider.
I'm putting up the walls and that's all there is to it. Wanting to move away from all that has the potential for pain. Tearing out one chapter of my life.
I'd do it if I could.
And I can't even say I'm sorry, because I don't know if I am.
Either way, your forgiveness is not necessary.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Purely Materialistic ++ Pain and Forgiveness
I couldn't get near a computer last night and so, I thought I'd blog on paper.... blog, yes ^_^ I decided to scan it in inside of typing it up... enjoy reading my handwriting ;P
I also used an A5 book for this, therefore this is 16 or so of those pages, a little frustrating perhaps, but I know you're up to the challenge ;D
[i fucking love waiting to upload pics and and then copy paste in html for all of them... not. since Windows Live Writer is being gay and stuffing up with uploading so many pics, which i guess is fair enough but aghhh. if i weren't so persistent i'd have given up instead of going to all this trouble. appreciate >.< lol]
Scanner went retarded
I dunno what happens to my mind at night.. /shrugs
Sigh, that took forever...
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
All I need
is you to promise me you'll never leave.
Just convince me.
I need your unconditional love.
I can be anything as long as I'm not without you.
I can be anything as long as I'm not alone
As long as I'm not unloved.
God, yeah. But I have not gone to God yet and I don't know if I can find my way to him anymore, I never have been able to before. And I tried, I really did. But there are things stopping me, always have been. And these obstacles have been accumulating. God is the answer. I know that with such conviction. Regardless of whatever any of you say.
I need you because I need someone. I have my standards for friends and you're high above them, I'll bring you down.
I will test you because I need to be sure. Test you till I break that and then wonder why I feel so empty and hollow when I thought I would feel satisfied, that I was right after all. But find out it's not what I really want.
And I don't even really believe that, what I just said. I don't do that. Okay, I do sometimes. But not...
I need you. Everyone of you. I need you who I don't even know. I need someone to listen, someone to care.
I'm just a selfish person.
But I'm so much more.
I just need you to make me that.
Friday, November 7, 2008
'"Global" is not a nice idea. Global is reality.'
A somewhat cynical look at society, along with more self-analysis, and something like hope... All in all, another long-winded look at several different things all mushed into one, by yours truly ;)
Please, read this. Or at least, parts of it. The latter end of it, before the song lyrics. Which are rather poignant also... But I want to make a point. I truly believe this is more than just Larissa ramble. I may stray from what I'm trying to say but I think it is at least worth considering, this matter of love and its power...
And I'm sorry it's quite so long.
~
I am sick of the way I have been letting the world get to me again. I refuse to let you do this to me. You will not turn me into a person with the characteristics that I despise, as subtly as you influence me. I notice. And I'm not going to stand for it. I am a stronger person than that. And look at that, that I can say that I am a strong person. That's a step. I could never say that before. It wouldn't have been true either. But you know what, I am. In some ways, and some times. I am weak and broken and want to avoid responsibility, I fall down and I get down so easily, I base my life upon other people, I crave assurance that I am loved and needed; I know most of my flaws, I'd think. But I have become a stronger person, over, I don't know how long. I guess it's a process that's been happening slowly in amongst everything that has happened in my life. Sometimes put on hold, sometimes sent into reverse, but still happening.
So what I hate now is how I am buying into that selfishness that our society and mankind promotes and that the majority seem to live by. I tend to get so caught up in my own problems, so tired out by them, that I do not find the energy to put the effort into others' sadness. Reading your blogs, I see your unhappiness, I have been shying away from trying to comfort you, trying to save my strength for myself when I feel weak. Reaching out and expending that energy seems a painful, horribly strenuous task. I have not been showing true love in this way.
I have been so impatient lately, I have been being a bitch. You will have noticed, some of you. I have been harsh with my words lately, then feel guilty and cover it up by laughing, pretending to be joking, when really, I meant to be as cutting as I came across, but then horrified at it in reality. Another flaw of mine - that I do tend to cover up [it's 11.11, make a wish] when I feel bad over doing something wrong, when someone asks me if I knew something, it has become something of an automatic response in some situations to automatically reply with yes, I don't consciously think I need to know everything, but I guess on a subconscious level I have been thinking that I don't like other people knowing more than me, being better than me. I guess, in part, it stems from this Ignite thing. How Catherine and the others stuck with Ignite maths, while I dropped to co-Ignite in year 8... and especially when they accelerated into year 11, and now doing year 12. Their "we never need to do any more maths", I guess subconsciously it makes me feel stupid, I have accelerated in English, yes, but so have they. They are special and smart and I am not. Or at least not as much as them.
I hate when I can't understand something and then another person will say how easy it is. Oft it is not even in response, they won't know I am struggling and will be like, oh this is so easy, give us something harder. And inside, I am ashamed that I am not finding it so easy. Everyone has different strengths. I know that. But I want to be good, at the things I think I should be. Because I hate being not good enough.
Sport. I know the humiliation of always being one of the last picked for a team because of how bad I am. I want to be as good as average, as others, or maybe even better. Because, face it, everyone feels proud of themselves when they can help others with something. Like when I understand a maths concept and can explain it to someone else, especially since I have struggled so much with Maths this year. It's like, I am finally getting something right! I don't think this is a bad thing, it is a factor in motivation.
I don't feel like I need to compare myself to others. But subconsciously I guess I still do. This is all obviously tied back to my needed to feel loved. I need to feel worthy of that. I need to prove to myself that I am equal to other people. So that other people will like me, need me. I need to be needed. I crave attention so badly, and I hate that, I repress it. It comes out in bad ways. Not attention in a loud way, but I do need constant reassurances. I'm not so bad these days, but still.
Hah the topic of perfection is now running through my head. I said I didn't feel the need to be perfect. I guess, I can isolate these voices inside me, ignore them. I know they are ridiculous. I do it well. It doesn't affect me. Although I guess, I have just shown that they do, indeed. But on a subconscious level.
I don't hold it against these other people, that they are better at it than me. I accept that I have my own strengths, and I get past it. I think I do pretty well with it, I don't try to compete with them. That said, I am fairly competitive with little, stupid things. Like getting more plays on an artist than another person who also listens to them, as though I can tell myself I like the band more. It's stupid. But I guess I satisfy that there, which is better than with the more significant things. /shrugs
Aghhhh I am so bad with tangents... /tries to find original point trying to present
Ahkay. So my behaviour lately. Yes. I am ashamed of it. I admit that. So, I apologise. I have been snappy. You will have noticed, the Fall Out Boy thing. I'm not even going to analyse my reasons for that. Tangent. lol. Buuut, just quickly, I'm a little jealous of how Shazz and Catherine have become so close. They do everything together. I swear, I never used to get jealous. Literally, never. This year is when that started. I really dislike it. Jealousy is a horrible, twisted, vengeful thing. It really is. I squash any I may have, but I hate the feeling. I hate having it swirl in my gut, black and sullen, like some foul beast.
Another thing, briefly. I want my friends, I want most of them to have me as their closest friend. Regardless of how close I am to them, I want them to be able to confide in me, to talk to me, about practically everything. Friends confiding in me is another reassurance thing. I realise this is unrealistic to want. Another of my serious flaws. Another that I try to conceal. Forgive me for this also, I beg you. I do not want this from you, not really, I long for it. Another thing I suppress. It shames me. So much. That I need these things. I am so needy. So dependent on others. I keep myself stronger than that, I don't try to get this wish of mine. I keep it under control.
Jealousy. I define jealousy as something that is where you want what another has, or want something you can't have, and wish that you could have it instead of whoever does have it, at practically any cost. And would actually do something to get it. It is selfishness, of course. Of course, I have wanted what another has, everyone does, it is human nature. But never in such a way that I would have it in place of the other person, I would just be like oh I wish I had that thing/opportunity, etc. Eg. Simple Plan concert, when I really liked them. When Catherine and others went, I was so happy for them. I wished I could go, but I didn't begrudge them that, I was excited that they could go and happy for them.
Don't get me wrong, I don't want Catherine and Shazz to not be close, I just want the same thing, for myself. And I wish I was in on their friendship. And I hate hate hate that I don't. I want to get, even if I don't give as much. Ehhh.
Feel privileged LOL. I am being open about things I hate to admit even to myself. Some of these things you would have already known for yourself, but still for me to talk about it like it exists, it is breaking a taboo I have subconsciously set.
Aghhhhh topic.
If you hadn't noticed, the world we live in, is a very selfish one. Look at the business sector. We are taught that we have to be better than others, to get the best pay, to do the best for ourselves. Helping others out doesn't have much of a place in business. This spreads to many other areas of life. We have bought into "myself first". Sure, occasionally, we'll sacrifice our comfort for others, 40 hour famine anyone? But are these things, these ideas, more novelties than anything else? So we can deprive ourselves and raise money and then satisfy our consciences that we have helped people in need, and go on enjoying our creature comforts, not considering these people till the next thing? And of course, it looks good. Helping people, giving up food for 40 hours, doing this and that, getting involved; "oh how considerate you are". We all care what other people think, and this does look good. Perhaps I am being far too cynical here. Of course, we do these things with good intentions. Don't mistake me in that. These things are well and good. But if we really cared, we could do so much more.
I am ashamed to admit, when I was younger, I would donate money that I got, before I had pocket money, the Christmas and birthday money I got, I spent so much of it donating it to various charities, along with my sister. As I have grown older, I now have pocket money, and yet, it has been a long long time since I have just donated money. When a cause comes along, yes. But out of the blue, no. Sometimes I think, I will. But then, oh, those new shoes, that dress, that new album; my materialism brings me to spend my money on that. And then, I have nothing left to donate. I never have any money. I spend it as fast as I get it, faster, even. I want so much. But in the end, what am I spending this money on? Anything worthwhile? I don't even recall what I spend the money on half the time. And all too soon, the items that I buy seem outdated, and I am complaining about not having enough music, or running around the house moaning about how "I have no clothes".
I distance myself from the terrible events we see happening around the world. Oh, the starving children in Africa, the Christians being persecuted in India, "it's so sad, isn't it?" The moment of due sympathy felt, "we're so lucky to live in Australia, we have such fortunate lives, all the more reason to appreciate this life we have", returns to MySpace surveys and comedic YouTube videos, none of which has any purpose or value. Still dissatisfied with our lives, still searching for fulfillment, still not truly appreciative of how lucky we really are. I speak for myself but I have the feeling I am not alone in this...
Advertising purposely addresses the consumer specifically, using key phrases such as "you will love this". Appealing to our selfishness, our desires, our wants for ourselves. Even "make your loved one happy this Christmas", one can see how that will relate to one's own happiness. What of it satisfies? New things are always fun, but the novelty wears off in time, there's always something newer, there's always something else. Are we looking for completion in the wrong places?
Am I being too cynical? It is what I see.
I have given into this way of thinking, and that shames me. That I care more about a pair of new shoes than trying to help out people who are starving to death whom I could help with my money for a mere fraction of the cost of those shoes. Especially when these people don't have to be dying. How easily we could solve world problems if everyone co operated and worked together for the good of each other, not just ourselves and our immediate world around us... Or do you say I am too idealistic? [Maybe a little idealism is better than cynicism, better than seeing the negative aspects in everything. Maybe having that little belief in things being better, maybe that idealism will actually lead to something that is ever so real.]
How did our society turn into something like this? I have numbed my conscience too long, and now this is spreading even to my close friends. It is easy to forget the things that are out of sight, in different countries and places and situations, so far away. But when it gets to the point that I cannot even find it within me to extend sympathy and help to my friends in need, the ones who I can see suffering, that makes me sick to my stomach and so, so ashamed.
I want to care about the things that matter. I don't want to lose sight of the most important thing. People are the most important thing, and love is the most important tool we have. If everyone looked out for each other, can you imagine what things would be like? Of course, this isn't likely, people are selfish and people are broken and people make mistakes. But even a little love, just one person loving as hard as they can, caring for others, that helps heal some of those wounds... Love can do so much. Love can change the world. So can one person. I believe this so completely. "A single raindrop raises the sea". Or something like that. Thanks Dinotopia. Every little action adds to a movement. "Believe your voice can mean something."
Just after the cyclone in Burma and earthquakes in China, Jamie Tworkowski of To Write Love on Her Arms wrote this -
"It's easy to believe that are own problems are the only problems in the world. It feels true at times. Maybe a lot of the time. But the better thing might be to believe that we are one. My friend Chris leads a network of communities serving among the poorest people in the world. His team work to be living solutions in the most broken places on Earth. Our team had the privilege of spending two days with Chris last week - he was here speaking into the work we're doing, and helping us get organized. There was something special in a word that Chris kept using, something important. He calls the people who live in the broken places "friends". He says this because he's been there, and he's looked them in the eyes. He knows their names. But i think he says it also to remember. To say that we're the same....
This blog is being typed inside the borders of the richest country in the world, in an apartment with air conditioning, electricity, and cable television. There is a fresh pizza in the refrigerator, and plenty of water to drink. i am a fool if i forget the others tonight. The Atlantic blocks their voices, but they are certainly out there, as real as the air in my lungs. The many with less. The many in mourning and the many in need. In need of food or clean water or shelter. And maybe they sound the same in this: That they might also be people with broken hearts, people stuck in moments. In need of hope, in need of community. Remember them tonight. And find yourself in the process.
"Global" is not a nice idea. Global is reality. Let's be the generation that realizes this."
For the full blog, click here.
"I'm thinking about other things I heard about today
All this week and tomorrow
And how these hands can create some better things for bettering
but you see for now I got my own things
I can't help it
I got too many issues I own
So I cannot help I'm afraid, yeah
But keep on preaching, preaching and heal the world
Lip service makes us look great
Do you feel
The weight of the world singing sorrow
Or to you is it just not real
Cause you got your own things
Yeah we all have our things I guess
I guess my mind wanders off
from time to time
Sometimes I convince myself
that all is fine in the world
It's not mine
Why should I
have to try
to fix things I didn't create or contrive
Do you feel
The weight of the world singing sorrow
Or to you is it just not real
Cause you got your own things
Yeah we all have so many things
Have the habits
Had you
Has it been for long
Can you feel the souls behind what's going on
Do you feel
The weight of the world singing sorrow
Or to you is it just not real
Cause you got your own things
Yeah we all have our things
Do you feel
The weight of the world singing sorrow
Or to you is it just not real
Cause you got your things
Yeah we all so many things
And I can get past these things..."
[The Rocket Summer]
Thursday, October 23, 2008
"I swear I didn't mean for it to feel like this, like every inch of me is bruised"
You know what, I am glad that this hurts so much. I am glad that I am missing them, and specifically Jake, so much. So much that I physically hurts. Because although I hate it, of course I hate it, I can't stand this, it shows me that I do care about people. I put in effort and care and love to people and they mean something to me. And I am glad that I can do that. No matter how much it can hurt when it goes wrong. Because the memories I have are still there, and they are still so precious. I just thought there would be time to make more of them.
Oh, Jake. I miss you. So much. You have no idea. Actually, you might. But you wouldn't care. I know that. That makes me laugh, it's so typical of you. I could sit here and recount memories and the millions of things that remind me of you. I am astounded at how many things are linked in my mind with you, no matter how obscurely. Sometimes I want to shut it off, this feeling. I hate breaking into tears at the most random moments. Or almost but then not quite. Let's face it, I am something of a drama queen, while I dislike attention, I still want it. When I have it, I tend to shy away from it. And I tend to lie that I don't want this, I ignore it, don't listen to it, but it just manifests itself while I am not looking. I hate it. I don't want to be an attention seeker, that's stupid. It's probably something to do with my over fertile imagination, wanting to bring about things like in books, movies, TV and my own thoughts...
Something to do with not having very many friends when I was younger, since I was so shy. I always needed reassurances from friends when I started making them, in year 7, that they still were my friends. This is probably a more subtle way of getting that reassurance. But I really do hate attention. But then I do like being dramatic. Oh I hate such contradictions.
All I know is I miss Jake, and I miss the friendship we had, I don't want his stupid stupid wristband to be the only thing I have left of him, the wristband and my memories, or "the ghost of what we used to be".
Jake, you're my best friend, please don't let that go so easily... You're never going to read this, and I would die if you did lol. But I love you and miss you so much, please just believe me I do love you, I don't know when you stopped believing that, I don't know when you stopped loving me. But I can't do that, I can't just turn my emotions on or off. I need you. You have no idea.
/tears flooding eyes
hah. God, Jake. I love you so so much. And these memories are driving me insane. I want you back so badly. I want our going for walks at night, sitting in the park and play fighting, the rescue car, the hugs, I miss just being with you, walking to school and back with you, our little stupid jokes, talking to you about everything, standing outside our houses together after school, watching Phoebe, you coming over and us putting together a fairy puzzle, Facepunch and falling asleep while on MSN to you because I was so tired but didn't want to stop talking to you, Star Wars arguments and magic discussions LOL, you meeting Lynley, I miss how close we were, but I would settle for just a distant friendship, I long for you, for your friendship, for what we had, hah Kirsten tonight said we were so cute together, as friends. I am desperate to have you as my best friend, I loved that, calling you my best friend. I loved just everything about you, I still do. But I hate how you can let go so easily...
Jake.
You mean so much to me.
Why am I writing this, he's never going to read it... Lol, it makes me feel better, kindah. Mmm. I dunno.
Sigh.
Night xx
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