Never give a teenager a scalpel.

  Has anyone noticed just how shit things have become? Surely you've thought it, looked back on the days where you didn't need a job, didn't need ID, didn't need anything but a bottle of WKD and your friends and thought 'Jesus, i miss that'. These days it's all UCAS applications, vicious circles, and debt. I am trying not to dwell so much on the past but when your present is making you sick it's hard not to. This week for me has been one of firsts, the first time i've been referred to as a step-daughter, the first time i've not missed a lesson, and the first time i've evaluated my drug addiction. I returned today from london where i had spent the last 30 hours pretending to be a model daughter, for those of you who have never had the displeasure to have to do this, it is made of four main ignominies:
1. Smile constantly
2. Laugh at all jokes, however stale
3. Dance with your father and try not to kick him (deliberately or otherwise)
4. Drink as much free wine as possible. 
Personally i think i did a bang up job of concealing my ruthless and unrelenting rage but i can not be utterly sure as i thought i did pretty well in my drama GCSE as well and that turned out to be very untrue. All i know is i was invited back 'Anytime darling' to what i can now refer to as; My father's house. I spent most of the night pining for Brighton as i was gravely aware of two very long-awaited events going on simultaneously to my dad's "oh by the way i got married" celebration. This is one thing i can admit about myself, i get terrible "fun envy".
  For example, if i have a choice of two parties in one night i will inextricably end up feeling as though i have missed out. If someone in my vicinity is on something and i am merely drunk or sober then i will experience a burning desire to join them until i either give in and call my dealer or i fall asleep. This is what has lead me to believe i am an addict. Not in the way that i get itchy, sell my organs, or cry if i don't receive my fix but by an exclusive inclination to be the highest at any offered occasion. If i were to suddenly find myself in a convent where the residents were never on drugs then i would be content. However if i were to say return to a festival this weekend i guarantee either i wouldn't survive or i would return with at least a minor form of brain damage. I've always been a cheery fucker with a prominent emphasis on the positive, and today i am being no different; I am positive that I will not make it to 18 at this rate. I am positive I need to slow down. And most importantly I am positive that I neither want to nor am capable of doing so. The reason I tell you this internet is that i want you all to know that when you hear from some source or another that my body was found with my brain eroded and my blood 90% toxins you will know that it was no one's fault but my own. In addition to this, mighty following, This is a warning to myself more than anything. But children it is also a warning to you, as my friends you are probably all just as dependent on drugs as I am (and i'm not talking class A's, tobacco, alcohol and marijuana are all classified as drugs too). We must quit whilst we are ahead; and alive. Your teenage years are said to be the best of your life, but mine are passing in a very expensive haze. The older generation say experiment whilst you're young, but what happens if your curiosity turns to dependence? Your rush to reliance? Desire to obsession? I for one will not be quitting drugs, i will still have a roll-up on the way to college, still partake in drinking games, and i will occasionally dapple in the dark art of assorted substances. However I will no longer allow my rapture to get the better of me and will only do each in moderation and never again allow myself to repress my fear of my own expiration. Because this isn't ecstasy, it's leprosy. A long time ago I created a post entitled 'Never drink anything that looks like chemicals, and tastes like cough syrup' in which I spoke about how I knew my limits. Well I think I have reached and exceeded them in every possible way since September. I have twisted and mutated each and every aspect of my mental stability. I have had enough and now I intend to give my immune system a well-deserved nap. Let the torture ensue. 
  I know this blog has been abused recently, i've been using it like some kind of jeremy kyle tribute to put my own mortality under the microscope and in doing so accomplishing nothing but confusion and acrimony. I have also been invariably using this space for my own agoraphobic needs and it is for both of these offences that I am sorry. I am sure next time i hail to click on this prototypical conformity I will be back to my personalities usual concoction of the psychotic and the analytic. Or i'll just tumultuously ramble on until my brain gives up or I am carted away for insanity because that is what the internet is for. Freedom of expression. And as a wise man once said; Don't give a child a gun, unless you want him to use it. 


"No matter what, even if I take my meds and I heal myself I'll still be insane. But that is what I want, to be someone to relate to for anyone who is as alienated, awkward, spastic and passionate as me." - Max Bemis

Never join the army.

It's difficult to concentrate when you have a chorus of white noise surrounding you but i'm going to have to try in a vain attempt to keep my sanity. After yet another unnecessarily exhausting day i am attempting to float away on the forth and gather myself some real sleep. As the natural course of my monotonous life dictates, it is 1.39am on a wednesday night so as per usual i will be thinking about either sex or death. I am currently watching 'Full Metal Jacket' which makes it virtually impossible for me to think about sex right now (at least in any way i'd actually want to) so instead i am whimsically pondering death.
  The other day i was looking through one of my old year-eight note books. You know the kind; My Chemical Romance lyrics shrouding the thing, the odd poorly drawn mess and the name of whichever boy had slightly interested me on that particular day written next to a comically large '4EVER'. The reason i bring this to your attention loyal subjects is because i'd forgotten just how eerily obsessed i used to be with death. When we were younger we didn't really understand the concept of death, which is logical as we didn't really understand the concept of life either. It's hard to accept the hypothesis that 'life is precious' when you are young - mostly due to the fact that anyone who tells you that it is, doesn't appear to be having an exceptionally good time anymore and are probably closer to death then you could ever dream of being. That is the thing isn't it my children, we are so absorbed in living that we can not fathom death. Have you ever just sat down with a cuppa and thought about death? I can see a few hands up; i strongly advise you to seek help. If you haven't; i strongly advise you not to. As a general activity contemplating your eventual and possibly untimely demise isn't much of a mood elevator.
  I personally have many theories on what happens in the after life, most of them are very badly formed and based on the jumped-up ramblings of an assortment of junkies and rock stars. But they all basically go like this:
1. You die.
2. Shit happens.
If you'd like a more detailed account then i suppose you can say i'm following a kind of fucked up hybrid version of the norse and the hindu religion. I believe that there are separate levels (or realms) in the spiritual world beyond our physical world. In Norse religion they believe there are three levels; one for warriors, one for average do-gooders, and one for sinners. My views concorde with these but i believe we each establish our own level based on the lives we lead. This is where the Hindu religion comes into in that i believe we collect a certain type of energy through-out our lives (the matter auras are made of). When we die we release this energy and it will take us to where we will be most content through reincarnation. I also have a second and much more looming theory that absolutely fuck all happens when you die and you're just dead. But we don't talk about that.
  There's also the lovely little question of just exactly how you will exit through the emblematic and not entirely relevant giftshop. I believe that ectoplasmic projections sometimes seep into our dreams to warn us of things to come and the result of this is reacquiring dreams. I have a very frequent dream in which my dad is driving me off a cliff - this is not a good sign. In all honesty i will be perfectly satisfied with death as long as i don't die in some horrifically embarrassing, painfully avoidable or comically stupid situation. If there is an afterlife i don't want to have that 'morning-after' sense of regret for the rest of eternity. I often find myself making discussions based on how much i will be kicking myself later. Generally as a rule i will do something entirely to avoid regretting not on my death bed. Regret is such a touchy subject which i will be fondling profusely next time.
 But for right now fellow sinners i must craw over to Megan and go to bed as it is 2am and all i can think about is how i don't want to die wishing i'd had anal sex. Full Metal Jacket just finished and now i am free to let my obscene mind wonder. Well done me.

'We are put on this Earth to fuck around, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.' - Kurt Vonnegut.

Never avoid the valley

Why hello internet. Hasn't it been a while? Just in case you weren't sure i can assure you that it has, i would like to tell you that i am back. 100% me, i am no longer an exhausted shell of a woman I've been since bestival. I have healed, cleaned my life up. I no longer have the urge to massacre whole villages, and i am back. nanananananananana. I hope you've all been doing better than i have. i hope you're all on top of your college work, i hope you've all got a life plan going and you're not wasting your time chasing skirt. Not that i am... 

  Today i would like to talk about skin. Not the organ, or the things we wrap tobacco in, i mean the metaphorical thing we live in. Like our gender, our race, our appearance. I read an article today about a man who attempted to reassign his own sex by hacking away his penis with a Stanley knife and it got me thinking about acceptance. This man was willing to risk his life so he didn't have to keep living it as himself. Is this something we all struggle with? Is it a chemical imbalance? Or is it just an emotional thing? People say you can be born in the wrong skin, but why is this? The NHS now offer breast augmentations for people who are 'desperately' unhappy with their size, who's to say this wont lead to all kinds of unnecessary surgeries done on the basis of vain fancy? If i walked into a hospital now and said that i was supposed to be born a shoe, would they send me to a psychiatric facility, or would they put me under the knife and start attaching laces to me? Don't get me wrong, i'm not against reassignment or plastic surgery, i just think we should have a better system in order to differentiate between people with a real pathological need to be different and those who simply need a little help with self-acceptance. Obviously I, like the majority of the people, would be totally down with many procedures, a new nose, new boobs, wings? But i think that if these things were available to everyone we'd lose all sense of individuality and end up looking like this http://beyondbeautifulbabe.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/ugly-barbie2.jpg

and who'd wanna shag that aye? 

   I'd also like to bring up that trust thing i keep harping on about. It's a dodgy little subject that one. We can throw it around however we wish, some don't trust anyone, some trust too easily and some like me pick and choose using a very complicated screening process and those people like me, are wrong. You can not trust anyone in this day and age. Some wise man once said 'drunken minds speak sober hearts'. That man was both entirely deluded and incomprehensibly accurate. Sometimes when we've been poisoning ourselves with alcohol we say things we don't mean, we say things that we shouldn't, and whenever this happens we always, always, regret it. I hate that i talk when I've been drinking but it's impossible not to, alcohol dissolves our social filter and everything merges in to one horrible blob of awkward secrets,  embarrassing facts and painful memories. But this does not give someone the right to pass on the information, if anything it should do the opposite. If someone confides in you while they've been drinking please do not take this to mean what they are saying means nothing, it really means the opposite- it means everything. It is something they can only say while not entirely knowing they're saying it: so guard this information with your life. Or you may find you're risking someone else's.

  The next thing i'd like to bring up is something a lot lighter than usual: i'd like to talk about the avengers. I am super totally excited about the new film that is supposed to grace out silver screens some time around next summer, but there was something i noticed today that horrified me. As a ravenous graphic novel fan (anime and manga included) i like my films to be spot on with accuracy, and although they rarely are it's nice when the Hollywood big shots make an effort. So i was absolutely disgusted to find out that they'd cast the guy who played the human torch in the fantastic four, as captain america. what? WHAT? how is that supposed to work, he can't be both? This isn't the parent trap? Get it together marvel. I know this isn't exactly top news but it just really bothered me. I know Chris Evans is beautiful and has a perfectly manly chin, but that doesn't mean he can defy the laws of physics. Is it really that difficult to hire two actors? This has totally destroyed the point of the film, all the heroes in the same time period inexplicably and fighting the same cause. Now i don't even know what they'll do, and no amount of Samuel L. Jackson can fix this. 

  I had that feeling again today. The vast emptiness, mixed in with the sensation of being totally complete. This always tends to happen with a realization of beauty. Today for example, i was sitting on the bridge next to my train station, the sun was about to set and the whole sky was a blood colored haze. I had a coffee and a cigarette and i realized how brilliant everything was when we let it be. Then i got thinking, and came to a very weird conclusion. We are taught throughout our lives that the ends of things are beautiful, the end of a day, the end of life, the end of a rainbow. We are also taught that the beginnings of things are, the beginning of a day, the beginning of a relationship, the beginning of time. This may not seem so unfathomable to you, but the thing that mystifies me is the fact that we never celebrate the middle. No one ever says 'oh i saw the most amazing midday yesterday' or 'there's a light inside the tunnel.' but friends, we should. The middle is worth singing about. The middle is the best bit. The middle of an oreo, the middle of nowhere, the place where Malcolm is. I don't see why we are so eager to skip past the middle, that's where we should be most comfortable. That's the point in which we are past the rocky start and we have everything to look forward to. Where we can take a step back and observe, this is the calm between storms, this is the moment between the rock and the hard place. This is what we live for. Those not busy being born aren't busy dying, they're living. And so are we. 

  And in that spirit i'd like to bid you ado, i can only stand so much of my own inner monologue. And it is the middle of the night - which in my opinion, is the best part. 

Never sweat the distance.

It's so easy to overlook things, to underestimate things. I don't really think we ever anticipate the magnitude of situations until it's too late. People can be so pathetically short sighted. Especially when it comes to the feelings of others. For examples, going years without realizing someone has romantic feelings for you, or telling white lies and waiting for the truth to come out, or agreeing to move to Chichester for your mum without even considering the long term effects. Thanks mum, for completely and utterly fucking me over. Have you ever been so tired you fall asleep in class? Have you ever been so tired you don't know where your dreams end and reality begins? Have you ever been so tired you're afraid to sleep in case you never wake up? I am exhausted. All. The. Time. No matter what time i go to bed, i always wake up feeling as if i've been awake for years. I can't remember what it's like to get into bed and fall asleep. All i know now is the sliding hand of the clock, or the s l o w ebbing sands in the timer waiting for the approaching unconsciousness. But i'll be damned if i even get 2 hours of sleep these days. And my teachers wonder why i fall asleep, why i'm late, why my deadlines aren't met. And my mum wonders why i'm not eating, why i'm never home, why i am so damn mad. Take a look mum, this is what we're living for now. I hope you can see it in my eyes, the blame, i am going to fuck my life up. And there's nothing i can do to stop it, because i am too tired to try. I feel unconnected as if i'm not real, my life in brighton is one half of a life, and my life here is the other half but there is no way to make them meet so i'm just stuck in a kind of limbo between them. I don't care if i go upwards or down, heaven or hell. I just want to move on. I just want to get some sleep.

Never stare at the tracks for too long.

And so once again i am drawn to this pile of shit, this waste of megabytes, this proverbial tumor in the thriving life of my hard drive. God knows why i keep returning to this site, it's like a part of me knows that forever remaining remote eventually causes one to develop the mannerisms of a free-roaming meth addict and no one needs another one of those around really. So i have learnt to healthily manage the psychotic part of my brain and stay relatively alexithymiatic.
  I've been in one of those week long mood-swing moods where everything makes you want to hysterically laugh and cry simultaneously and yet you appear more or less emotionless. The lack of sleep mixed in with the over exposure to sugar and 'happy meds' has made me somewhat of a train wreck. I am constantly torn between the desire to kill myself and everybody else. Luckily these impulses are just milli-seconds long and i'm told they are normal parts of any teenagers daily routine. Needless to say another very prominante problem with the heightened moods and the racing heart beat it i am finding it impossible to concentrate on anything for longer than thirty seconds at the moment. While it is nice to have the wondering eye of a russian businessman it often gets me into a lot of trouble mainly due to the fact i am never listening to anything anyone says which leaves me in a situation where everything has to be repeated, at least four times. Another beautiful little foible in my world as of late is my disability to sleep. The less i sleep, the more sugar i need, the more sugar i consume the more agitated i become and so on. Last night i had at least a 20 minute conversation with my brother when he came into my room to get something, when i woke it was only to discover that he never actually did and i should really stop taking my Eszopiclone altogether. That is something i am really afraid of; my own mind. The lack of sleep is affecting everything i do, i am seeing things and thinking things that terrify me for the main reason that they are not my usual thoughts/visions. Everything inside my head has become a orgy of horror, enough to frighten anyone and i have no idea how to make it stop. I have no free time to catch up on my sleep and i feel as if i am very very slowly drowning, the water is in my lungs now, i wish it would leave.
   I have a topic to touch on today. Fear. Fear is something i have never really understood. I have never been sure whether fear is the feeling which drives us into action, or that which prevents us from taking it. People are constantly dealing with danger, every day we walk around on this rotating death trap we call earth, but what turns a danger into a fear, or better yet - a fear into a phobia. I very recently met someone who can not actually name a single fear they have, they are a completely level-headed person and of course is aware of the world, but when i asked her what her fears were she simply said ' i have none'. I think it's brilliant not to have anything to fear but i also think it is ignorant. The world is a scary place, and speaking as someone who is frequently spooked by her own reflection recently i can easily say the fear is justified. But how does one differentiate between the fear that warns us of the dangers ahead and the fear that guides us into it with caution. I don't think i'll ever know, and so i'll just choose to dive in head first, with no scuba kit. Because each great adventure starts with a step.

Never settle in the country.

I want to be in Russia. It's a very strange and equally unimportant thought but i felt i should break my usual generic blogging habits and start with a statement. I just want to be in Russia. I want my breath to rise is an almost opaque haze, i want to endlessly gaze at the mounds of snow and never have to worry when they'll melt, i want to eat pelimi with my koyla's in the town square and i want to be able to drink vodka and smoke freely with no judgement. However i am in england. England - where the weather doesn't know what to be, and neither do the people. I would be slightly less bitter, but the cardboard box i'm sitting on is causing me discomfort. After much deliberation i have finally arrived in Earnley. If you haven't got the foggiest where that is please do not feel uneducated, it's not even on google maps. To my great disappointment i am not actually disappointed in my new pad/crib/digs/abode/dwelling ect. In fact i've grown rather fond of the place, if you ignore the fleets of spiders and creepy corridors.
  Don't get me wrong, i have a lot to complain about. I just thought i'd start with a positive. I don't know if it's all the clear energy produced by the hundreds of pensioners accepting death or the fact i have a graveyard in my back yard, but things seem pretty deep recently. I no longer care about things, little things i mean, i guess i just always thought that i had to have control over everything. This recent slight (major) change to 'the plan' has showed me just how little we can control, and i am fine with it. Silver linings, and icing on cakes or something equally as fluffy. I think it's all just a manifestation of the fact that i just can't be fucked any more. For example, today, instead of getting the train when i was supposed to i went to macdonalds and had a lovely three hour catch up with a friend and ended up being so late i'd missed the last bus. My nan turned up half an hour later in a horrific mood. I told her to 'chill the fuck out man' so she left me on the side of my road. 6 miles from my house. 3 Marlboro reds and 2 blisters later i rounded the corner and ended up in a church yard. I sat alongside the graves just thinking for at least an hour before i realized i was behind my house. I have come to realize that if you let things be, they'll be what you want them to. Even if it looks a little different.
   I have also noticed that about people lately. Sometimes, as human beings, we judge others. Shocking i know but it is a very common ailment, i frequently find myself doing it. I find that sometimes people disassociate themselves with others simply because of hearsay. I have done it in the past. But sometimes the people you least expect are the ones you connect with the most. Even if you never admit it to others at least accept it yourself, because finding someone who gets you is very rare. Especially if you're as warped and impossible as me. My advice? Do anything you can to keep them. And steal a few hairs while you're at it, just in case i perfect the cloning process.
  I have to get up in four hours. The things i do for you people. Who am i kidding, no one reads this thing. I am going to play dead island, not for any quirky reason. I am going to go play it because i have built up a murderous desire with all this 'spiritual harmony' bullshit i've been spewing and need to take it out on the reborn corpses of australian tourists. I feel a Charles Wittman episode coming on.

Never let a stranger into your home, no matter how official they look.

Well internet. I am currently residing/ hiding in my bath with my laptop because there is a man wandering around my house with a clipboard. I am assuming because he said he had an appointment that he actually is supposed to be here but really in this day and age who knows. Maybe he feeds his libido by pretending to belong to a moving company and surveying people's homes. Or maybe he simply was walking down my road and got a little bored. For whatever reason he's here, he is still here. So to avoid awkward conversation i have barricaded myself in the bath with my duvet and have mentally prepared myself to be here all night.
  Firstly, i would like to start by apologizing for my last blog entry. I know some of you genuinely thought your lives were in danger and i would like to apologize for that, however justified the feeling was. I have somewhat calmed down since then, and although i have not yet reached that happy place where the palm trees are all bountiful with foliage ect, i can almost honestly say 'i am half way there'. So i am finding myself succumbing to my over-bearing parent's wishes and attending a nice catholic college. Worry not children, on my way home today i purchased a nice 4feet of rope and will be hanging myself very shortly with it. If that fails however i will be on a train bright and early tomorrow and heading off to my first day. I like to think i will be able to survive another two years with the good lord by my side but so far he's been a bit of an inattentive leader. In fact i would go as far as to say he's been down right atrocious. I mean, i am in this situation right? If growing up with two very god-fearing parents has taught me anything it is how to blame dear old Allah for all the problems in your life. And on that note i would like to very pretentiously say: Deus dereliquit mei.
  The problems all lie in growing up. As a child the worst fears we have are the monsters in our closets but as we grow older we realize that it isn't the ghosts in our houses that we have to deal with, it's the ones in our pasts. I long for the days when a mutual love of playdoh was enough to build a friendship on. Nowadays one wrong hobby, one borderline racist comment and a relationship can be tarnished for life. Why don't i just carve all my flaws into my skin and leave the scars there for the entire world to see? That solution at least would eliminate small talk altogether. In fact no talk would be necessary, potential members of my life would know right away that i am not a force to be associated with.I am sure that if we were to introduce ourselves by the characteristics people perceive us to have no one would ever interact.

'Hi, i am competitive, pessimistic and narcissistic. And you are?'

 However it is not as easy as defining ourselves how others see us, for example, i give little thought to how the general public see me so i am very shocked when i am outright challenged on a trait of my personality. People say that your best critic is yourself, but i believe that to be false. How can i accurately judge myself when i am completely biased to believing everything i do to be worthless? I do nevertheless know myself well enough to know most of my weaknesses, and strengths. I know that i am a very sociable being and one thing i can not stand is impolite behavior between strangers. So with that i will leave you all to miss me and go and make this questionably enticing man some tea.

I would just like to point out that the man was my dad's lawyer and no, 'he wasn't meant to fucking be here lucy.'