Constructive Destruction

I can't believe I'm going off on holiday on Thursday and this is what I'm leaving you with, I swear you don't deserve to be subjected to this after all you've said. But I need to say it. You know what I'm going to say...I'm sorry.
Love you. x x x

It's all empty,
Hollow spaces declaring allegiance,
To those faithless souls.
Inside me struggles,
Something so lost.
I'm no longer a little girl,
You lost her a long time ago,
I don't know when I let go of the rest,
Perhaps it was never there,
Maybe I'll never come back.
Part of me has already said goodbye,
That little child,
I haven't been introduced to what comes next,
Really it isn't time.
If there ever is the time,
I couldn't say whether I'll be here,
So much uncertainty in my firm tone,
I can't even convince you anymore,
No more pretending.
I don't miss her now she's gone,
What she did wasn't true,
Although it might have been better than right now,
For a little while longer,
Later she would have fallen,
Faster than me right now,
Destruction saved her,
That precious girl I used to be.
I know so much more now than you,
In times past I pushed that aside,
I played the act for you,
When honestly I didn't believe it,
Now I know there is no acting on your part,
I'll drop mine,
Wave goodbye to your little girl,
And if you don't like that word,
Say it again to me,
Because I'm never coming back.
I don't know where I'm going,
I don't know what will happen next,
I know you'll not touch me again,
I know in destroying my childish illusions,
You created me.

I'm not living, only killing time

16th August
Ok so I tried sitting down on my bed with my laptop on my knee watching 'The Day After Tomorrow' purely for some sort of distraction. Just now I don't like to be left alone with my thoughts for too long or bad things start to happen, I start to do bad things - watching crap movies is not one of my better distractions I admit. But I couldn't do it, I switched to the Internet in offline mode to browse through my favourites - looking for some literature I saved offline the other day. I flipped to the 'Blogs' category in my favourites, I came to Staying Straight Edge - Spencer's blog. I hadn't read it for ages, always being too preoccupied when I was online but I sat and I read right up to where I left off and learnt a lot, a hell of a lot. This guy is 30 years old and just rediscovering his happiness, lost a long time ago, and it made me start to think.
Of course when I start to think it has potentially damaging effects so I turned on some music and got up a new wordpad document to write something for my blog, rather than just think and get carried away and do god-knows what. I was thinking about the future, mine in particular. The other night I was talking to a wise someone about getting off Guernsey and away, away from the confines of this tiny place, away from the hurt and the pain. But at the time I was thinking along the lines of you know, two years in the future - going to Uni; Spencer's blog made me think further. Maybe too far. My mind is in overreactive mode just now, it gets paranoid and carried away, yet it can't see 14 years into the future. I was sitting down and thinking 'oh fuck I can't see any future'. You can all dismiss it and say of course I have a future, of course I won't one day give up and throw it all in, but although I will listen to you, I won't hear what you're saying, at very least I won't believe you - not because of lack of trust in you, more lack of trust in myself and disgust at myself.
I don't know how many people I've told and been reassured by but the fact remains that writing this blog, truthfully, is one of the most difficult things I've ever made myself do. I've skiied black runs and abseiled from great heights, I've climed a 40 foot mast and gone on trapeze in 35kt winds - but I wasn't scared. Right now I am scared, I'm scared of what people will think, I'm scared of my thoughts, I'm scared I'm imagining all of this and I'm scared of myself. Telling people that via this post is hard, writing this and actually publishing it on the blog is hard, getting out of bed in the morning is hard, avoiding that full packet of paracetamol is hard, averting my eyes from that corner of my desk is hard. I have a friend who texts me every evening, congratulating me on getting through another day - she's proud of me for doing it, and she listens when I tell her that considering certain factors I think I've failed overall. I'm not saying she's the only one who helps me, and she doesn't understand me - unlike someone else I know who understands me so much it makes me cry sometimes, just it's one of those tiny things I can only hope to hold onto.
It seems so long ago that I sat in my old dining room, shaking, telling someone I wasn't ok. Worse still it doesn't seem to have got any easier, my current thought is that it's getting harder and harder. The only consolation in that is that I can't have hit the bottom yet - because I believe until I hit fucking rock-bottom, I can't come back. *Maybe you'll never come back you idiot* That's the voice in my head, that's what I'm up against.
This post was full of good intentions. It was going to be a relief and insightful and have a meaning, it was going to give you insight into how I feel. I have failed.
I have just been downstairs for dinner, dinner I didn't want. My Mum sits opposite me and watches every mouthful, makes me eat every last bit so I'm left feeling totally sick, it's all I can do not to make myself sick. Surely if you're not hungry you shouldn't have to eat? It's not ungratefulness, it's, well I don't know what it is. I don't know anything. I'm sorry. I have a confession, I've been grappling with it for the past hour and I've finally decided to just write it down, last night/this morning I sat down and wrote notes to my Mum, Dad, You guys and the rest of my friends and family. I wrote notes apologising for who I am, I wrote them to say sorry, to tell people I love them. Hopefully they won't ever be seen because they were that type of note, but at least now I known that I'm covered in all eventualities.
That's it for today. Take Care. x x x (PS Thanks Davey for reminding me of the song which contains the lyric that this post derives it's name from.)

17th August

Last night after I finished writing I went downstairs for some distractions, I didn't get any. Instead I found myself listening to my Mum talk about my GCSE results and her Brother's wedding in which I have an active role, my Dad. Inside of me I wanted to reach over and just make her stop, it all seemed so mundane and pointless compared to how I felt, I wanted to do anything to make her stop talking. Instead I kept nodding in the right places and pretending I was listening. Then I went upstairs totally disgusted at my own thoughts.
I did something so stupid up there that I'm ashamed to write it here, I can't write it. Apparently some things aren't just hard, they're impossible. Immediately after though I phoned a friend and she helped me calm down and gave me advice, we talked for 45 minutes until I apparently started going quiet and the next thing she knew I must have passed out or something. I awoke, late, this morning to about 15 messages urging me to call her as soon as I could. Today I just felt so ill all day, I got to work late which I, naturally, got a bollocking for. Which pissed me off. I'm their most punctual, attentive, fast-working student temp but as soon as I'm half an hour late they fucking yell at me. Bastards.
Sometimes, at home, I find it hard to grasp that there are actually people around me going about their normal lives, I forget that just because my life is crumbling it doesn't mean theirs change, but I don't show it to them - I don't think. I can't do or else I would have got a million comments from Mum by now.
I don't know what else to say today, and I'm worried about making this too long. So I'll leave you with the aforementioned reading for my Uncle's second wedding because it's something I would love to believe someday but I don't see how I can.
Take Care. x x x

Now you will feel no rain for each of you will be shelter for the other,
Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other,
Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other,
Now you are two persons, but there are three lives before you, His life, Her life and your life together.
May beauty surround you, both in your journey ahead and through the years.
May happiness be your companion to the place where the river meets the sun, and
May your days together be good and long upon this earth.

If your parents believe that, still, or you imagine yourself believing that someday then I really fucking envy you, I really do. Sorry.

18th August 12:44pm

Home from work for lunch. Writing this will make me late I expect but somethings can't wait. If I don't type some rubbish I won't make it through the four hours I have left when I get back. I ate a raspberry Alpen bar for lunch, because raspberries are better than strawberries. It was good. Ok you can tell I have nothing to say, so I'll write some more later.
(19th Aug) I forgot to write some more, or I couldn't think of what to say and I'm publishing this today anyway.
x x x

The Saga of Niki

I'm carrying on with the whole honesty thing on this blog, sorry.

I'm in my new bedroom, decorated and furnished solely by myself - I'll show you a picture sometime. I've been here all day, writing and listening to music and well, crying, amongst other things. Right now I am trying to listen to my entire CD collection to decide which albums to keep, I got up to Boyzone's Greatest Hits. Honestly. I own that CD. I'm on track 15 which all you avid fans out there will know is 'You needed me'. This is mine and my father's unofficial song, it just made me cry. Reading how sentimental that sounds is making me feel sick so sorry to anyone reading, but you know about Dad and I, sort of. I have recently had to face up to a lot of facts regarding Mr Le Sauvage, character traits and selfishness relating to him, things I think I'd rather not know - I have enough going on in my head without that. But whatever.

Our unofficial album is Shania Twain's 'Come on Over' and that makes me cry too. The first song I remember listening to on Dad's music system, when I was about four is Tina Turner's 'What's love got to do with it?'. Celine Dion's Titanic song is the one that was playing that evening when all hell broke loose. Kate Winslet's 'What If' is the song that was playing the day Dad left home for the second time in 1999. Ronan Keating's 'Life is a rollercoaster' is the song Dad played on his car stereo the day before he was convicted for drink-driving for the second time. Leann Rimes' 'How do I live?' is the song that was playing in the cornershop the day I walked down to meet Dad after he came out of prison, on the 27th December 1999. The Clash's 'London Calling' is the song that was playing when Dad and I were walking around Gatwick two days after I met Davey, Keir, Conor and Chloe. The Calling's 'Wherever you will go' is what I fell asleep to (with the aid of many sleeping pills) last night.

I got back from Guide Camp yesterday, a week camping in the New Forest with 10 girls aged 10-12 and three other leaders. It wasn't proper camping because we had a cooker thing and toilets and a hut with tables and chairs, and we slept in four man tents. We did swimming and low ropes and climbing and abseiling and kayaking and rafting, I am shattered. I didn't sleep and I forgot my rollmat so I layed on the dry ground for seven nights. The last night was possibly the bit I enjoyed, I layed in the open air in a bivvy bag and watched the shooting stars all night long. I didn't really enjoy being responsible for so many children when I didn't feel responsible or in control of myself and that was what ruined it really. That and a few other things.

I am also looking through old copies of Q magazine and NME whilst I write this and reading all the articles over again, articles on Elliot Smith that didn't catch my eye in 2003, on Kurt Cobain that annoy me, on Joy Division which I have cut the posters out of and on the Manics when they met Fidel Castro in Cuba. The time scale on this post, by the way, is screwed because I have had my internet useage raitoned owing to the 95 quid bill I owe my Mum from last quarter, therefore I'm writing this to put on the net whenever I can next access it. Which I guess if you're reading this, is now. I'm also reading back issues of The Grammalogue - the school magazine which comes out once a year and I have contribted to on numerous occaisions, whilst doing so I have found a poem written by a girl I once knew, I'll put the poem at the end of this post.

The sun is streaming through my window, there are no clouds in the sky, there's a 20kt breeze - it's what I might have called a perfect day had I been sailing today. It's what I might still have called a perfect day even if I were on dry land. It would be a perfect day if my head would let it be.
"Slats of cloud patch up the pink leak in the sky" - beautiful sunsets in the New Forest evenings. "I shall return once more" - to where? All I know is I will. "I'll drown if I stay here" - guaranteed.
That's it for now, take care.

'Tomorrow' - Lara Wood aged 15

Tomorrow's too short when you've lived for today
You made a mistake, now I will not stay.
Tomorrow's too short and you've thrown it away.

You know you never allowed me to have my say.
We grew apart and you pushed me away.
Tomorrow's too short when you've lived for today.

Why don't you care Dad? Why don't you say,
"You make me proud , Lara, everyday."
Tomorrow's too short when you've lived for today.

Now I'm past caring, why should I pay?
You made a mistake, Dad, now I'm drifting away.
Tomorrow's too short when you've lived for today.

Have I let you down Dad? Why don't you say,
'I love you my daughter, more and more everyday.'
Tomorrow's too short and you've thrown it away.

I've drifted too far now, maybe one day
You'll understand Dad, what you've let slip away.
Tomorrow's too short when you've lived for today.
Tomorrow's too short Dad, and you've thrown it away.
x x x

Get the fuck out of our water!

Sorry that was a bit of an abrasive start wasn't it? Ah well I got your attention I guess.
I've arrived home from Cowes Week, and what a week it was! Some snobby sailors and pro sailers and of course drunken sailors, not that you can't be all three of course - and lots more besides.
I was on Exocet Strike, a Beneteau First 40.7 Distinction cruiser racer - a pretty cool boat, in class IRC 3 which was a pretty good handicap too, first day we were 7/40 and second we dropped down to 17/40 which hurt a bit but still we got better and considering we were a light crew of 14, all thrown together from places as far as Germany - it was good, some good results.
The crew consisted of JD - skipper, Paul - mainsheet, Brian - foredeck, Dane - spinnaker guy, Christophe - foredeck, Ruth, Nikki, Sharon, Jackie and Kay - rail, Ken - nav, Jon - spinnaker, Craig - main, and me - spinnaker trim!
I stayed on board the boat which was an experience in itself with 5 other guys! We moored in East Cowes marina which is quite a new one, most of the shoreside action is in West Cowes so you take the water taxi or floating bridge across the Medina after races to register and meet people and stuff.
I met so many different people from boats or the shops in town and other crews, I didn't drink except for one day so I have some funny stories that the rest of the crew swear didn't happen! I got contacts and crew offers from all kinds of sailors all over Britain, given to me when they were drunk but the great thing is they remembered me when they were sober! Everyone seemed to assume I was older than I was and the core crew of JD, Brian, Dane, Paul and Chris used me as their mascot - being the only girl among them. I also was asked to do bizarre things in the bar like order drinks to get them cheaper and order the crew shirts and um lift up my top so that some UKSA students would give us hats - I didn't do the last one, I wasn't that drunk! Although Mount Gay Rum is quite nice at 1am - swiftly followed by some dodgy looking kebabs on the way back to the boat, followed again by watching Ken fall in the marina after 15 pints - his wife wouldn't let him home.
We didn't eat much good food since we tried eating while sailing but then we had to crash tack and the skipper yelled something like 'Throw those fucking sandwiches away and ready about!' So lunch was at about 4pm and dinner at 11pm/12am usually with bacon rolls and lots of caffeine at about 6:30am.
I wanted to write so much but I can't write it all down now, couldnt even if I wasn't too bruised to try, too shattered to try.
Plus now I'm realising that I'm back in Guernsey when I'd rather be with the crew in the Yacht Haven or on the mainland, so I'll leave you with a few words scribbled on the back of the Flybe magazine on the 30min flight home.

Look down there,
At that flat sea,
And the patchwork fields I know off by heart,
The land I need,
The one I hate to leave,
Watching it speed away,
Feeling my cheeks grown wet,
Crossly wipe the tears away,
Wishing I was there.
I know I'll be back one day for good,
Alone in my real home,
The sky grows pink,
The sea so soft I want to jump,
Fall into the blue,
Down where I belong.

*sigh*

x x x