Don't Touch

This morning I write to you frustrated, I am out of my numb and ponderous stage and have now moved to being highly annoyed and ridiculously jumpy.
Why? Well to be honest if I knew anything I'd not be asking that stupid question now would I? I'd be basking in my own glory wearing something suitably divine and looking like heaven. Which I do not.
I am fed up with therapy. It's too much like hard work - there's a reason I blocked all those shitty things out and to be honest talking about them with a middle aged man who's now annoyingly like a friend while he sits there getting angry about things I am not is doing nothing for my temper. I am reducing my medication also because I would rather like to go to University without being under the care of some CAMHS team or another - I would like that particular part of my life to be scrubbed from my UCAS application and just for once I want to see whether I can do it on my own.
Y'see that was the whole point of going to Uni far away; to start again. Who the hell am I kidding? It was to run away. And that's what I'm damn well going to do; I am going to run away without a diary or a prescription or a blade or a tear.
For the summer I am working in a Hotel, a Bank and a Hostel.
I am not able to join the Sail4Cancer team at Cowes because the parentals think I should be working on my long summer; not making use of possibly the last one I'll ever have without debts.
I am spending money like there's no tomorrow and damn it, it's not making it any better.
I am lonely and I'm damn well glad of it.
I'm going sleeve-free and I don't give a damn because the scars won't get any better without sun exposure so everyone else will just have to deal with it; people at the gym have been ignoring it for years. Apart from the old people - they don't like it at all.
This mood, I know, marks the beginning of a manic time. And you know what? Damned if I'm going to stop it.

I am aware of how many times I said damn.

Ah

I've no idea what the hell I'm doing here. I just needed to connect, I think. Spiritbear, who dropped by the last post - which was very kind of him, noted that I pour my heart out here.

This struck me.

I am very honest here, yes. Possibly even too honest.

But this is by no means an account of my life. There are a lot of things I cannot say here, wouldn't say even if I could.

I don't know. Ignore me. Keep sparkling.

The big H

That 'H' of course being hiding, or hidden.

All this week I have been being supported and guided and damnit downright cajoled into being around people at school and in the evenings in the probably correct thought that 'it'll be good for me'. So I did it. I stayed for all my classes, I did all my assignments and I gratefully accepted at least 10 hugs a day to keep me together, literally.

Until Friday. Friday I woke up and couldn't do it. Friday was a day no matter how many hugs I was going to get I couldn't be with people; couldn't be me, couldn't be who I am for them. So I stayed at home all day until I went to my psych appointment, which I have also been avoiding.

We talked, for the first time since we met three years ago in A&E, about my Dad. About his violence and his abuse and his alcoholism and his friends and...things I cann't write down even now. I sat and I spoke to my hands and cried into my skirt for an entire hour. I poured out every bad memory which had been plaguing me at night for weeks. I talked; not about my mood over the past week as I've spent every other session doing, or about whichever medication he thinks would be good for me. I talked. I don't know if it's wise but I asked to stop medication, so I'm now working on that.

I went to Dr H on Friday with a view to get myself withdrawn from his care (ironically he said I wouldn't have been allowed anyway) and came out from what was the first useful therapy ever. It made me sad and it made me cry but it made me stare in the face exactly one of the biggest things I've ever had to come to terms with.

And the ending never comes

I am struggling with some thoughts at the moment, some thoughts and images which I really hoped I would never see again. They are plaguing me and really they're quite difficult to come to terms with, to bear even.

I had such an optimistic week planned; and it fell through each day as my hopes and expectations were dashed; it was a fate I have trained myself to withstand yet this week I cannot decipher exactly what is going on inside my mind. I had lunches with friends but one way or another my daring and somewhat dangerously formed hopes provided no rewards. I let myself get into a position where I was at the mercy of others; and that's not something I like to do. Obviously I accept that I sometimes need help but I have not for a long time put my fate in another's hands. Until this week when I was reminded exactly why such barriers were created.

I wonder what's happening sometimes; I hate to drag age in again but I'm only seventeen - very nearly eighteen; should these thoughts and analysis even be coming from someone who as my mother so expertly put it; "hasn't even lived"? I think I've experienced a few misfortunes in the short amount of life I've had, but perhaps I am merely being melodramatic? I've never claimed that I have it tougher than anyone else, but perhaps I have it better than I think? I know that my entire life story is not told through these pages; some of it is too painful for me to type, let alone to put in public domain - so afraid that I am of rejection. I have found myself talking; via e-mail or MSN about things I wished I could forget, but am slowly realising that I won't. I've received a lot of beautiful words via e-mail from equally beautiful readers - but through reading this page alone my life-story is not apparent. I often wondered about writing it down, but who on earth would read it?

It's times like these when my mind is flooded and I've no idea what day it is that I wish it would just all end; but I am not suicidal - those thoughts come later when I begin to realise that it's just another day and those thoughts in my head are just there, all is calm in my mind when thoughts of taking my life arise. I have cancelled doctors appointments and all sorts this week; for I feel that I'm not worthy of the help I supposedly *need*. Maybe you think this is just the apathetic nonsense of a teenager. I don't know.

Mini-Golf and Monsters

Don't you just love sarky and somewhat pretentious titles which you assume will have nothing to do with the actual content of the post? Well I do.

However that particular title is relevant; it is the brief description of my saviour.

You can't have failed to notice that I've been drowning in my own self-pity for a fair while now; I write to you today with my spirits somewhat lifted.

On Thursday my best friend in the entire world and her boyfriend got me round to their house and we watched 'Monster House' - which believe it or not I found funny. They taught me how to cook and her boyfriend who's in a similar state to me talked to me, at length, about how we could help each other. At the end of the evening/early morning I hugged both of them and drove home ever so slightly more cheerful.

The next day however I decided they were humouring me and didn't really like me; I hid in bed until 2pm. Then they called me and invited me to play Mini Golf, which I accepted. It was the best afternoon I've had in a very long time. The game was amazing and we had a real laugh - it was hot and I rolled my sleeves up and we were all comfortable with it.

No-one ever say that girl-friends are just there for shopping

My demons have a date with me

So; it's not been brilliant around here recently. I'll not go into all the details - mainly because I'm in a messed-up kind of way and only writing this to save myself from impending insanity.

It seems that years of winging it and doing pretty well without trying have come to an end; I got my report card yesterday and for the first time in my life I was sorry that my parents were getting a copy of it. I knew how those kids felt when they hid it in their bags and intercepted the post for years. Finally I'm seeing what the school have been telling me for years; I can't cope. I can't just turn up - that's not enough. By the time I get there I'm exhausted from just making it out of bed and into the car, intellectual thought is not high in my mind and this is not a great time for that to be the case.

I've tried to carry on these past few weeks - do whatever it took to survive, usually that gets me through the other side but now? Now I don't know what else to do. I've tried to write and to run and to draw and to scribble and to shout. I took the pills, I didn't take the pills. Neither made any difference. I cut, I didn't cut - I couldn't feel fuck-all anyway.

I let myself get the shit beaten out of; just because it's easier. Less fuss. I let myself. Nothing to do with him at all. So now I'm in bed; under strict orders not to move unless I want myself in an even worse state - which to be honest is looking attractive just now.

It's Easter holidays though, so at least I can reasonably stay in bed all day without being interrogated...

Just a quick thing though I want to say thank you to my best friend Saff; she called me last night and spent hours listening to me cry and trying to sort me out. She's invaluable and I love her.

Anger

The very first time I was sat in front of my GP regarding my *lack* of apparent mental health he told me that he saw a very angry young girl. This, perplexed me somewhat, I'd never thought of myself as angry before - and up until this past month or so I've never understood what he meant.
Last session with Dr H he noted how angry I appeared to him; as though my demeanour was forced because it was hiding anger. This, of course, was my cue to throw a fit. Luckily he didn't bring out the straightjacket...

Just recently I've begun to understand anger; I am usually stuck in periods of self-loathing - anger directed purely at myself. But now I find myself in a new world of anger. I can feel it rising up inside me; it takes so much strength not to shout and scream and just throw things. What scares me the most is the urge I've had to be violent; this is not good. I am not my father, I know; I would never act on these urges. But what if one day I did? Maybe that's what it's like to be my dad - anger that he just can't surpress. Even if I'm not being attacked or aggrivated by anyone I just find myself in angry tears willing pain upon myself and anyone who ever hurt me.

I am angry and it scares me. I've felt things very strongly in the past but predominantly sadness or ecstasy - this anger is like a whole new form of energy. It drives me to speed along the coast not paying attention; it drives me to go to the gym even though I'm not physically up to it (I passed out on the treadmill today; luckily no more harm was done to my poor ribs apart from further pain!), the anger drives me to do things I know are not rational but I can't stop myself from doing them. I HAVE to drive fast. I HAVE to exercise. I HAVE to write an essay.

I'm sorry for glossing over the car crash; I have a lot of shit in my head about it.

'Abuse Culture'

I've stolen that phrase from somewhere; I'm sorry I can't remember where.

Before I start I better point out that I'm sort of low and pretty fucking angry so be prepared to take my rambling with a pinch of salt.

SO I was looking through the book review listing table thing in the paper this morning and what are about 50% of the books about? Abuse; surviving abuse, childhood abuse, domestic abuse... Are you noticing a trend? I know that people like to feel loved and wanted; maybe we even want sympathy - you know how many times I've come on here pretty much broken and needed picking up. But why the sudden increase in the publication of people's survival stories?

Does it really make the survivors feel any better? Do they gain anything from it? I understand, of course, that therapeutic techniques such as talking and writing are invaluable to discover how we feel about our past (and present) trauma; but publication?

I guess I was just wondering. Feeling alone and angry. Needed to write.

Respond how you will, if you will.

Baby it hurts so bad

Evnin

I'm in Leeds.

I was in a car crash on the M1. I survived. Obviously.

But it hurts. It hurts so much.

*deep breath*

That hurts too...

Right now I can put my hand on my heart and swear I wish I weren't here.

Things have gotten bad.

17; that's all I am.

I've been through fuck knows what but has it made me stronger? No. Hell no.

I am a wreck.

I don't want to be this.

Forget you're broken and you might get fixed...

Last night whilst talking to the oracle who is Spencer at work, I had a sort of epiphany, if you could call it that. I was rambling on about something to do with the French assistant who left us each a bit of life advice; mine was as follows "You're irreparably broken, Nikita, but if you forget you're broken maybe you can be fixed" - or something along those lines. Me in my childish naivety didn't get it at first; well it is a little contradictory... But perhaps she meant that the past will always be with me, but I don't have to be with the past. It will always be in the past; I need to learn to keep it there, because right now I'm living that past everyday I wake up - and it hurts, a lot.

When I go to University (or should I say if) I will make a start at getting better; I cannot do it here where I so frequently 'walk into doors' or into four or five other people who've already hurt me when I walk down the High Street. I need to learn to be brave and go to groups; I need harsher therapy because as much as I love sitting talking to Dr H every week it's not getting me anywhere except to make sure I at least talk once a week, and deprive the health system of Kleenex.

So I send this to you, my loving void, as a fucked young lady; that is my truth. Who would I be if I weren't? Pointless question; I am me and whilst I am hurting so deeply right now, perhaps one day I can live with it.

Perdre

The french verb 'to lose'.

Well it's Thursday and I'm in that dark quagmire once more; this is getting tedious, I know.
I am 17 years and nine months old, today; roughly.

It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah...

I thought I was done with all this; didn't I promise you guys that I was? Didn't I say I would never let myself get this far down again? Truth be told I should be used to this; should be well-rehearsed in the art of hiding away, should know when to stop reaching out to people so they wish they had their phones off... But I don't. I never did do very well on my own...

When I'm happy it's almost as though I seek reassurance that I really am happy; when I'm sad I seek solace in someone else's kind words or embrace. I fear I may be co-dependent...infact I'm pretty sure of it.

The song which gives this post its name has been on a loop in my car; turned up so loud the poor thing vibrates and when I start to cry in queues of traffic women look down their noses, men leer and children grin on; unaware as yet of what it is to be depressed.
Many people have been telling me for many a year that depression is an illness; I simply see it (in myself only) as a weakness; as something I should get over.

Before this turns into yet another self-pitying rant, I shall leave. X

Je ne suis pas sur

Quite by accident I haven’t written in a while, a while by my standards anyway; I thought I’d give you all a rest from the junk sprouted so regularly…

Last weekend I did a mini indoor triathlon; it was only a few km and involved rowing rather than swimming but for some obscure reason it meant something to me. I’ve had a gym membership since I was twelve and at one point just before I was thirteen I was going everyday and neglecting to eat much. Classic teenage scenario. Anyway once that was rather forcefully put a stop to I didn’t go again until I was about fifteen and only every now and again. These past two weeks I’ve been going everyday in my free period, I’ve been eating just one meal a day and eating cereals and drinking water in between. I went this morning only to find I’d forgotten my trainers so I went home thinking it didn’t matter if I didn’t go; I sat down and got a drink. I got up and went back to the gym. I had to go; I felt too guilty if I didn’t. Just like the other day when I ate chocolate…but we won’t go into that.

I haven’t cut since I’ve been going to the gym and it would appear to the more fastidious readers that I’ve replaced one obsession with another; which I freely recognise. My question is which is worse? Is one more detrimental than the other? Millions of people go to the gym everyday because they want to keep in shape, or get fit; I don’t think that there’s anything wrong with that. Am I right? Some people might argue that anything which exercises control over us is something to be wary of; as with anything which forces us to do things we may not want to. Surely going to the gym everyday and eating healthily is advantageous over taking a blade to ones arm.

On a less surprising note; I have no English ability whatsoever to speak of. Since everybody was far too kind to tell me that my poems were shite and my prose laughable I suppose the grade E on my poetry/drama English re-sit might just serve as confirmation of my fears. Reassure all the Universities that I shan’t be massacring their literature programs as previously planned.

This afternoon I have been to lunch with my father; I graciously ate a tuna sandwich while he polished off the biggest lunch I have ever seen, complete with a dessert and three pints of lager – even though he was driving. I’m not going on another drink-driving rant, I promise. On leaving the bar we went out to the car park and first my car; it was too dirty, not parked straight enough and messy…apparently. Then he saw it. The Scratch. Some bastard either at work or college took a chunk of paint out of my Fifi and he saw it; needless to say I was given my due disapproval from His Lordship for not ‘taking care of it’ before he skulked off and I went to get checked out. I did receive an apology text and a voicemail saying if I called my insurance he’d get the guys at work to take a look at it.

Still it was a large enough blow to penetrate the damn black fog tugging at my heels and enough for me to shirk all invitations for the weekend to write this in bed. I shall, of course, go to work and the gym; this gives me more motivation to push my body further, because I am stubborn and always out to prove myself; you’d think after seventeen and a half years of him not noticing I’d take the hint.

So now it’s the evening and I’m just here thinking, about the E in English, the C in French, the three Bs I need… Plus the insurance for the car which will go up if I make a claim, to add insult to the already serious injury of £700 for a teenage driver. Plus I’m hurting through my own fault and others. Plus I feel sick from a mistake I made earlier (I’m ok). Plus it’s that time of the month. So don’t annoy me, ok?

x

Notice

Someone who used to love me pointed out the other day that this blog has only one subject on which all the posts are written. This is true. I have tried many times to write what I think people want to read but you know what? Sod it.

It's my blog and I never say this stuff out loud. It's my therapy. I don't mind if no-one reads it, but I love it when people do.

Sorry, who?

I sat in my bedroom last night and decided to do my psych homework, which also tied in with Lou's suggestion of getting a bit creative. I spread out my huge throw thing on the floor and then laid down on it with packs of pens and crayons and a big white drawing pad. What was I trying to do? Identity. I was trying to discover what exactly it is that makes me what I see as this despicable creature placing these words before you. I went for the red pen and started to write and write; all of the phrases starting with 'I' and all of them representing how I feel about myself. Then I wrote my name in a black pen all over the page. It was a bit of a frenzied mess but it felt like therapy, I sat up and looked at it and cried, a lot.

Dr H suggested that a lot of my 'issues' lie in my perception of myself (no shit...it took him 12 years to study for that?!) so putting them all down on paper visually seemed like a good plan. I've stuck an equally large piece of white paper on my bedroom door so that anyone who comes to it can write or draw something that they think represents me, in a week I'll compare my drawing to theirs. See if anyone writes 'I hate you' like the vitriolic little bitch I abandoned at 11 would.

I was also discussing with the old oracle the concept of physical self harm; by that I mean hurting oneself instantly - not through the use of long-term 'fucking-up'. I myself maintain that self-harmers are not intrinsically insane, or mentally unstable as he would have me believe. I believe that the only common theme we have is self-hate, a deep-rooted and crushingly angry deploration for ourselves which leads us to believe that hurting ourselves is deserved and something 'we just have to do'. I also believe that there are differing degrees of self harm; I have talked to a friend of my sister's who is 13 years old and has been scratching herself for about three years now. I meet with her once a week and we talk; kind of like a mentoring scheme. I can see the stark differences between her and myself. This girl is not trying to grow up too quickly, this girl has no trauma, this girl is pressured by what it is to be living. She's lost and self harm to her is an expression of the frustration she feels, but it is a frustration which, she tells me, diminishes day by day as she makes choices and grows in herself. I firmly believe that if I were to visit her after I've finished University she would no longer feel the need to harm herself; I think that the idea of the health system hospitalising her and putting her on medication is sick. Then again you never can tell; often self harm blooms and becomes something which will never leave the victim and (I'm not denying it) often it is a symptom of mental illness; I just don't think that society itself should be so quick to say "Ugh self-inflicted injury! Freak! Lock them away..."

There have been times when I've been a danger to myself; right now I'm the only true enemy I have. There are going to be times in the future when I'll be sitting somewhere wondering where the fuck it went so wrong, so young. But I wouldn't exchange my mind for one which doesn't need to tear itself apart; not today, anyway.

Tonight

This morning, I was on top of the world and the world could do me no wrong. I got out of bed even though I didn't want to and I peered into the world with a sense of relief; this is something I can do. I can get up and go and do things; I'm not ill and not insane. I was lying; to myself, to everyone I could possibly hope to care. I feel so painfully reckless that right now, were I not at work, I think I could viably cut myself until there was nothing left to cut; I could extinguish myself, my soul.
Recently I have been told/diagnosed with a, condition; an end to all my wonderings. I have been granted an explanation and hope rather than the uncertainty and prozac I've been man-handled into for years. But does it help me? No, rather it makes me feel even more than ever than I am fundamentally flawed; I am told that how I appear to others is not my true self, what then is my true self? Have I a self?
If you are reading this it is probable at some point that I will have hurt you, or pushed you away, or made you wonder what kind of monster I am. I am sorry. I have realised that I have pushed away the friends I used to hold closest; I go to college and go to class, then I scuttle away again to hide. I know when I'm brushed off by a friend that it is because I am no longer the kind of company one wishes to keep.
Tonight I feel not only foolish for writing this and placing myself in such a painfully public domain but also for even trying to convince myself that in a big old world such as ours I could be desirable; it sounds to you all like I am a drunk madwoman but I promise you not a drop of alcohol has passed my lips. I know now that people befriend me, or are befriended by me, and then wish at some point in our relationship that they hadn't. They will avoid me, they'll be convinced I'm nothing but an attention-seeking fake. And maybe I am; I've been told now definitively that I am not, but for some reason it doesn't wash with me.
So tonight I am stuck. Without company I will surely go home to my room and cut myself. With company I'll be evasive, I'll hide myself because revealing would be too costly. Tonight it feels so explicitly painful to be living, and so foolish for saying so.

For Dana...

When I’m sailing I feel as though I am alive; sailing is the one part of my world where it seems none of my life has seeped in. When perched precariously on the edge of a boat, any boat, I feel that I could do anything; when I fall in it feels thrilling. If I’m ill, I sail just as though I were well; sailing is the thing that makes my heart ache when I stare into the distance from my bench above the harbour. I would leave tomorrow – or even today – if I was offered the chance to just sail away without any care. I think of a life without the sea and it’s bleak. I like to play music, I like to hold my friends close to me, I like to write and I like to drive; but I love, I love to sail. A writer knows they’ve found their passion when they cannot write about it but only stare into its shadow and dream.

I think my favourite place, is Paris. When I was a child my favourite film was ‘The Aristocats’ because, well I don’t really know. I wore out two copies of that tape, and then my sister was born and she ate the third copy – well chewed it and poured Heinz baby juice all over it. To a child, the portrayal in that film of Paris was just magical; the watercolour streets and American actors with French accents and when I first visited Paris every street looked as though Marie and Toulouse might have run through it whilst escaping the evil English butler, Edgar. I don’t own a copy anymore, they stopped making tapes of it and I’ve never gotten around to finding a DVD; plus I’m afraid that watching it now would ruin the unquestioned memories of a five year old romantic.

Music is like sailing, but for my ears. I always have music playing; when I get home I walk around the house and turn all the radios and stereos on, I don’t even park my car without putting on a CD and turning it up very loud. I don’t know if I have a specific piece which has touched me though; I have favourites of course but I’m hesitant to pinpoint a specific highlight. I could easily put together an ‘essential’ collection but as my mood changes from moment to moment, so do my musical needs.

I have so many dreams, for after university – really university is just borrowed time that I’ll use to dream some more. I want to work on a lifeboat and go out to sea; I want to be a part of that orange hope powering towards sailors in distress. I want to be an interpreter or translator in Paris and spend days in a café poring over beautiful French. I want to be a lifeguard in Cornwall and spend the summer guarding the beach. I want to be a park ranger in New Zealand. I want to sail around the world. I want to visit every country in the world. I know they’re only dreams and they’ll probably never happen but what’s a person without dreams?

Forever

Forever. I love that word, and at the same time I detest it; forever is how long people claim they will love you for, forever is how long you have to live with your past. It’s really just for and ever stuck together; conjugated to make a lovers word, a mourner’s word and a liar’s word. ‘I love you yesterday, today and tomorrow; I love you forever’; how many people have heard that and have believed it? It’s kept people going through their lives which bring them nothing but shit which they try to pass off as sacrifice for the ones they love; try to call it soul-making. Forever starts tomorrow but no-one knows when it began or when it will end, we have no reason to believe it will ever end and everyone’s forever began on a different day. Forever is like a promise which won’t necessarily be kept; it’s the type of promise which provokes the beast of cynicism who thrives at weddings and at engagements. If you have a bad memory; like the day someone you loved died, it feels like something inside of you has died when really something inside of you is being born; it is the ghost of forever that will haunt you from now on. Perhaps you have a trait, an addictive personality; that will be with you forever; forever will peer over an alcoholic’s shoulder as they order a glass of fruit juice, forever will taunt the drug addict as they walk past a forbidden alley. I have things that I will be forever, things that I will remember forever, and ghosts that I will try to erase from the grey shadow of my soul, forever. But forever isn’t something you can succeed at; you will stop being loved in quite the same way, your memories will never be forgotten, your lies will always be there in the mind of the person you cut down. Forever. Forever. Forever. Forever. It’s an eternal promise and an eternal curse; it’s inescapable and elusive at the same time. I will live with what I have done to people, forever; and they will live with what they have done to me. I will wish my past away, forever, and whatever I do tomorrow will be done not with this in mind, but with a will to make forever a better place in my mind; a place which is dark but with shining stars, rather than a place which is dark and absolute. Not everything is forever, of course; or else where would the lover and the liar be? I will have scars, and make scars, forever; just like you, but I won’t want them to get lost in the quagmire of forever – some days I’ll want them to be there forever, as a reminder, but some days I’ll curse the forever and curse my skin and my heart and my mind. I will love the sea forever, I will be afraid of the dark forever; I will love not only calm seas and I will be afraid not only of the darkness in my mind but the darkness all around, and the darkness in rough seas.

On that note...which was definitely an E Minor chord

Meaning that if the last post were to have its very own chordI suspect it would be E Minor; favoured by violinists the world over...

Anyway someone's, thankfully, put down the violin and it's time for a bit of sax I think. A bit of reflection; a bit of Jazz. Not too upbeat, but not down in the gallows either.

In these times of blog identity crisis I would be thankful of any ideas/thoughts/suggestions/roses thrown in my direction.

aloha

Not forgetting...

This is just a quick revelation to chuck out there. It seems that this blog has fallen into a sort of inescapable pit; by that I mean that my life is no longer being documented whilst my mental health, or lack of it, seems to have taken precidence. It struck me, therefore, that I should stop being such a self-centered 'ikkle gurl' and perhaps focus on some more open topics that mean more to some of you. So I call a rest to documenting depression and self harm, because they are only part of me; not ME alone, and because someone once told me to never write what I know... Although he was drunk...and an Irish sailor...

J'ai besoin d'une etoile

I need to write. I haven't written any fiction at all this year. I know it's only January but that's a long time. Judging by the appalling grammar in the previous lines I'm guessing I've forgotten how to, too. I get paid tomorrow - I've been broke all week. I kept paying for stuff and taking money out, I never realised none was going in... Work had 'forgotten' to pay me for three weeks. Bastards. That's about £550 - and I need it! I owe money to everyone...for Ribena and chocolate and cigarettes. I guess now would be a good time to give all of those things up but damnit I don't want to. If I have to take meds every morning I'm sure as hell gonna make the rest of the day better and right now those three things are doing it. And the gym. And rowing. But not for the past two weeks because I'm a lazy sod using depression as an excuse. So prepare for reports of a coronary when I go back to training next week.

There are so many thoughts running through my head but I can't quite conjugate them into coherent sentences; I want to say so much but at this rate I'll still be saying the same when I'm 25. Incidentally I'm fed up of being 17. I don't feel 17 at all. According to the law I can't drink or smoke and I've only been legal a year... If only they knew...

I need another change I think; different hair again and different clothes. Maybe I just need to be a different person. A different Nikita Elizabeth. I tried to go a bit more quirky but to be frank my hoody is far too comfy and if you male population think that's lazy - damn straight it is. I suppose there's a limit to how many times I can change. Either way I'm running low on clothes - I'm not a high street kind of person. In fact I'm not a shopping person. I hate it. My mother thinks I've failed as a girl; she probably thinks I'm a lesbian too. She worked tirelessly to make me more elegant - I'm just not made to be elegant! Maybe I don't want my hair straightened or heels on my shoes. Sometimes, like today, I wear a skirt and heels and jewellery other than my staple bracelet and shell on a necklace; I wear a lower cut top. I like to be able to choose. I like that yesterday I wore trousers and a hoodie with Vans and today I'm wearing a black lacy skirt and green top. I like that I've no idea what I'll wear tomorrow until I roll out of bed 10 minutes before I leave. I like that if my life has taught me nothing else so far it's taught me not to give a fuck what other people think. If I did then who knows...I might still be crazy lady.

blank and black

The past two weeks have been tough. So tough I found myself writing to my psychiatrist and him phoning me to check I was actually still alive - I haven't been to an appointment in a while. Somehow depression has found me; this is not a few bad days or an emo cutting-crazed fortnight; this is depression. This is laying on my bed for hours not conscious of anything around me. This is bursting into tears anywhere, anytime, anyplace. This is methodical self harm. This is niki not going to college regularly, and not being there when she does. This is despair.

When I am really depressed I will not text, will not call - will not make any voluntary contact with the outside world. When I am depressed I conceed that I still need that medication and I take it desperately needing it to work. When I am depressed even obsessive compulsive whatdoyoucallit pales into the background. When I am depressed there is nothing on my mind; it is full and it is painful but I cannot see what it is. When I am depressed I am neither relaxed nor tense but caught in some superficial net.

I do not want sympathy. I do not want to be judged. I do not want a hug. I do not want to be.

Pulsing through my brain...

It is an absolutely gorgeous evening here and I’m sitting on the Reception of a capitalistic hotel with the door open and the sea breeze just gently fluttering in. The large gold curtains cover the effects but the vase of pink lilies is ever so discreetly waving at me from their perch by the telephone. I can hear the comings and goings in the port, I can hear the occasional car and a strange melange of people getting home and going out; making use of that last bit of their weekend. It is evenings like this which mellow me; there are still some birds awake but the hotel is silent apart from the odd creaking floorboard or slammed door. There’s an indefinable air of contentment; like no matter how many people are arguing all over the island still everything is well right now.

Evenings like this; when I’ve nothing more to do but observe said comings and goings whilst reading ‘The English Patient’, make me feel that really it’s not so bad to be living. I have faults, like everyone else, but I’m probably not inherently evil. And sure I take a blade to myself sometimes but perhaps that’s just what I have to do right now in my life; there are worse things – I could be doing crack or drinking but at the moment I don’t crave either one. Every single person in the world has scars – whether they be visible or not, it just so happens that mine are but they’re surely a testament to what I’ve dealt with?

Nobody has a perfect life; everyone could, at some point, sit down in front of a therapist and say “Well when I was a child…” Is that going to solve anything for them? No of course it isn’t. I’m not saying that everything’s down purely to brain chemistry but blame never got anyone far in their soul. Right now I may be ill, in some abstract way, and there are things I will have to confront. But I have today and I have tomorrow and probably a bunch more days after that with which I can make things better.

This isn’t to say that I’ll never beg someone not to leave me because I’m afraid of that big pack of codeine in the bathroom, or the implements in my wardrobe. There’ll be days, of course, when I’ll cry without any sign of stopping. There’ll be weekends when I slip into a strange idea that alcohol will make it all better. But all of this will pass – seventeen and a half years has to be some sort of proof of that…

Has no-one told you she's not breathing?

I have been pestered to write a new blog; so here it is. (Although really Jon sweetheart to have a say in my blog you have to actually comment…) I’m really not sure what on earth to write; I’m at home in the middle of the day because I can’t go to school. Well I can, but I can’t. I should go but I can’t quite make it through the day – yesterday I skipped it all together but I went in for a while today before I came home to bed. It’s pathetic, I know it’s just I don’t really know what to do. I know I have to pull myself together but what the fuck do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past two or three years?!

Next week I have re-sits; Spanish which I no longer take, English Literature (namely Chaucer) and an Ethics paper – the subject of which has escaped me. I got Bs in all of them except the Spanish, which doesn’t even matter anymore, but at least I’m not sunk when I fail them.

Last night I spent a long time looking into my own eyes – have you ever noticed how rarely you do that? I stood and I stared, and then I ran. I ran as far as I could then I walked as far as possible; I walked to the ferry terminal and sat for a while, then I decided against it and walked to Castle Cornet. I stared for a while at the markings out at sea, then turned and walked home in the rain. I live in a tragically selfish little bubble, but at least it’s not my dad’s achingly decadent life. Incidentally last Wednesday I had a little run-in with him – one day I promise I will learn to handle him.

I met a girl I used to know at school the other day; she goes to a private college now but we used to be rivals – the first to finish the school reading scheme, the first to pass our music exams, the first to be a hall monitor – it was all friendly though. She has an offer from Cambridge and one from Yale, to do law of course – she’s not changed, just her successes have grown. Me? My offers are for French and English – real academic… They’re at mostly average unis, the ones I have chances with anyway, and ABB is optimistic for me. I’m skipping school and cutting myself; she’s taking 6 A Levels and looking at me piteously. It’s strange how things turn out. How people change.

It’s exactly a year ago today, the 10th January, that I tried to kill myself. I was lying in hospital wondering why they hadn’t left me to die, this time last year.

Wow; this blog used to be called CrazyCapers – it used to be pink and my biggest dilemma used to be which Clinique moisturiser to take on DofE. Look at it now – it’s black and I have red stripes. I should’ve made a new blog when it changed names; read the archives from 2004 and see if you can spot me in it. The me of 2007 I mean, the Niki, the failure – the depressing little teenager! I should go.

New Year, Same Shit

First, before this post goes downhill I'd like to thank bj, laura, katie and dana for their comments on the previous post - thanks guys for caring enough to jot a few thoughts down. Be kind to yourselves.

Now the real stuff of this post. I'm sorry you guys - someone said to me that this blog was attention seeking and I got a bit defensive but you know what? It is. I need people to be there - want you all to say that I'm right and that I'm doing what I need to do. I need to be needed too though - that's why my phone's always on. I want people to need me and I get paranoid when they don't, wrong as it sounds that's the truth. At the same time I'm not a person who can cope with being on her own - I can't do that. I end up tearing myself apart and just crawl into the corner next to my desk or sit down in the high street and bawl..

Last year I vowed to get a hold of myself, stop hurting myself and stop drinking so much. Have I acheived any of this? No. Of course I haven't - what do you think I was doing last night? So I'm not even going to make targets for 2007 because I won't get any closer to realising them - probably I'll get further away, as I have done last year. It feels right now that I'm being crushed by something but I don't know what, people keep walking over me and leaving me which I know is my fault but I never force anyone to talk to me, and I never leave anyone that I love.

I'm thinking of finishing with the whole education thing - to be frank it's all going tits-up and I'm not sure I can handle the failing of exams. It's a decision I have to make anyway, and I'm not sure exactly what to do about it. No doubt I'll let you know.

I once thought I was quite a levelled young lady who could handle whatever was thrown at me - of course that was when I was 12 years old and really more like a 30 year old. Now I'm 17 and I know that there are no certainties, I know that each day could either lift me up or drop me. I know that I can praise myself or drive myself into the ground but it doesn't make me feel better or in control, it makes me feel vulnerable and even though I vow never to let anyone look after me deep down I think I need it - I just never let anyone get close enough. Maybe I never will, maybe I'll always drive people away when they care.

This is a mess, like me. I have nothing profound to say, no poetry to spout just a long date with my car and the beautiful vistas of Guernsey.

Sleep tight

End of Year Report

I’ve been threatening you all with this post for some time, or at least I’ve been threatening myself with it. I’ve been filling ‘www.nikitaelizabeth.blogspot.com’ with utter, utter crap trying to waste time and keep it going but really it only half succeeds as a blog when there’s an actual substance to what I’m writing. I’ve pretty much decided now that wherever I end up in my life I want to be writing – I don’t even care what I’m writing so long as I’m not sitting in a bank for 40 years wishing I weren’t there. If I’m sitting in an office writing though, I think I’ll manage. If I had any talent I’d say I wanted to be a writer; but the fact is I don’t. And even if I did I don’t think I could discipline myself enough to use it – so instead I’ll settle for something that just involves writing.

I guess I should broach the topic of Christmas; since this’ll be my last post before the blessed event. I know it’s tired and it’s almost a post-modern cynicism now but I don’t like Christmas. I respect its meaning but I don’t enjoy the family side of it, the pretending that everything’s ok when really it’s so far from that. I’m not saying that I don’t have fun – I go out with my friends and I catch myself sometimes feeling very blessed. The simple fact is that I can’t approach Christmas without memories of drunken arguments with my father and his former lovers; police interviews and collecting him from the cells on Boxing Day. Walking through St Peter Port on 26th December to collect your Dad from prison somehow sticks in your mind, along with the fights the day before. I feel as though I’m treading on increasingly thin ice each year when the 25th rolls along I almost can’t breathe with the wondering what’ll happen next – if he’s ever caught drink-driving again he’ll be facing long-term prison. It’s just a lot to think about when society is trying to stuff turkey down your throat.

I meant to write about music in this post; some of you may remember my previous music post and I was surprised to read it and find that my tastes had yet again changed. There’ll always be songs which stick with me of course; Leanne Rimes “Can’t Live Without You” was playing the first time Dad ever lost his temper. Keane’s “Bedshaped” was playing when I made that first cut. They’re all songs I can’t listen to without associating their respective events, but they’re songs I have to listen to sometimes. Everyday music though is now indefinable for me; I listen to Pink, Simple Plan and Razorlight. Then I might switch to Jeff Buckley, Johnny Cash and Joni Mitchell. Sometimes I need Nine Inch Nails, Manic Street Preachers and Radiohead all on the same day. Maybe even Miles Davis and The Clash – my point is that I don’t have favourites anymore. I’m not sure how many CDs there are now kicking around in the glove compartment of my car but I know that my shelf is looking pretty empty; so I’m guessing that most of them are hiding in Fifi.

This is a time of reflection, I think. I’ve got to the legendary point in school where I feel I’ve outgrown it and there’s no more motivation to be found – even though all of my University offers are conditional and I really need to work if I have any hope of succeeding. I have to study for these re-sits in January and then I have to shut down the rest of my life in favour of A Levels starting in April.

On a brighter note; I’ll be diving all over the mainland in March so if you live in Exeter, Hull, Leeds, Glasgow, Edinburgh or Aberdeen I may well be begging for loan of your floors and sofas *niki smiles sweetly*. Also I want to dye my hair again; what colour do you think I should go for? Anything but blonde will be considered. I’m getting back to my old size now too because I have cast aside the gym and started eating properly again. I’m just going to have to accept myself as I am because it’s too much of a battle to be someone else; so long as I’m physically healthy I figure everything must be fine with me. I’d still like a tattoo but of course I shall wait until I’m well clear of Guernsey; I do value my life enough to not want my mother to murder me.

Did I tell you that I’m a prefect now? It’s quite sad how excited I got about it; I forgot to hand in the application the first time but I helped out at our presentation day and got to be one because Mrs I said that I deserved it… I know there are loads of prefects but I like, in some perverted way, to feel like I still have a little credibility left. I used to be good at things; like music and school, but things changed and my life stopped being just about school and swimming and music. Another life got in the way and it put me off course; I haven’t sailed properly since Cowes either. Hence being a prefect in year 13/upper sixth/S6 kind of means something to me.

It was my second anniversary on the 10th December. Over two years of scarring my body. I know; I’m a fruit loop. Slowly though I am repairing my skin more than I am damaging it; of course I still have moments of weakness but by and large it’s only every week or so – which, trust me, is an improvement. When I went out to the staff Christmas party the other weekend I even went sleeveless; I know that it was dark but it was kind of a big deal because no-one I work with knows anything about my vampire-esque alter ego… You don’t get many receptionists like me heh.

For now I shall have to leave you, because I am tired and need as much beauty sleep as I can get.

One by one
Day by day
Inhale, exhale
That’s the way

Nothing

I remarked in the refectory on Friday that I had a strong suspicion that I was a nothing. Rachel then proceeded to poke me furiously; which made me protest - thus she concluded that a nothing could not protest.

I think she may have missed my point.

It should be noted that I have discontinued the taking of prescribed anti-depressant medication; thus those who know about that sort of thing should bear in mind that I'm all over the shop! Dr H was not impressed with my plan.

As it stands I am feeling slightly odd, and not at all good. I'm so moody. One minute I'm fantastical and the next feel like driving into a wall...

It's a mystery

"What is this quintessence of dust?"

That's right I'm studying Hamlet in English Lit. We never do upliftting reads no; instead we get Death of a Salesman and All My Sons and Spies..

So go on what is man to you - just dust or a little bit more?

This, this is what I have been missing

I have finished my three late shifts in a row in the most spectacular of fashions.

It was the work party last night and it was a free bar.

Since the 12th May 2006 I have been sober.

That is no longer the case.

I feel this morning very unwell and disappointed in myself.

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

That's really what's it's all about isn't it? Life, I mean.

Keeping quiet and going with the flow. Dealing with things and moving on.

Just had to share that quick revelation on from my mobile

au revoir

No!

No! My laptop's broken and I've duly taken it into Guernsey Computers to get fixed. Well I took the case in, without the laptop, then had to go home to retrieve the actual machine.. But anyway.

£25 just for it to be looked at - then God knows what it'll need doing to it after that - it was pretty ill.

But the most heart-breaking thing? I was half-way through backing up my hard disk when it died. Therefore I have not managed to copy anything over. Not my book, not my poetry portfolio, not my coursework. Nothing.

It's gone, all gone...

If only I had done that backup as I went along and not left it until it was obviously too late.

Can you tell I'm bored?

It's a disgrace I tell you. I've had three hours of free period. I have two pieces of coursework due in by the end of this week. Would it make sense for me to do them? Yes of course it would but that doesn't mean that I am... I never claimed to make sense!

Instead here's another picture of me looking like a boy, making bread in Caen - he made me get a lot closer to that damn oven I'm telling you. I have a strange thing with ovens - they scare me.

Anyway that was all. I've fixed the comment thingy now so...well leave one if you like.

Missed you

Niki? Oh she's over there in the corner

I'm sorry. Last week and this week were a bit dramatic and I was in an extremely strange place - hence I left the blog (and my life) for a little while to make sure I didn't offend, annoy or argue with anyone - because I wasn't myself anyway.

Today I woke up a little brighter and I got showered, dressed and ready for college for the first time in a while. I drove to college with trepidation and nearly changed my mind when I got to the front door. But I didn't turn around and scuttle back home, I carried on walking.

I got an offer from Glasgow today, and an e-mail from Edinburgh. I've had my subject reviews and got a bit overcome with all that but instead of following my usual self-destruct method I went to the help office, like I was advised, and took a few minutes out.

I have to learn how to pace myself, and stay calm. I have to learn not to get stressed and get myself in danger - I've got to stop calling people if this happens! Somewhere along the journey through seventeen years something got mixed up and started firing to the wrong neuron or something, but instead of flying off into the deep end I'm gonna take a few deep breaths. This is not to say of course that I'll stop moaning to y'all and going all loopy - I can't promise that!

Another target is to stop being selfish and difficult - have you ever noticed how many times I use the word 'I' in every post? It's a lot trust me and that's got to change. Get over yourself Niki!

There's a lot more to say but I'll leave it here and get a few reactions.

Thanks x

...

Blog is dead until further notice

Against the tide

Isn't this a beautiful picture? It's of the 'Endeavour' coming in to St Peter Port harbour on a beautifully stormy day in the Bailiwick. It's battling against the wind and the spray and the tide - now if you replace those elements with my mind, that's what I'm doing. Imagine how that ship would feel, if it could, having to push forwards through all that. That's how I feel only my battle is against depression and I'm trying to get up every morning and smile at people. 'Endeavour' did make it to her berth though, and she sat there calmly until the storm was over. As shall I.

I was part of the Rememberance service yesterday morning at the top of Smiths Street, it was a very moving affair and I found myself not only contending with the cold, but also fighting back tears. I stood to attention for an hour or so and I complained; the men who fell in the war endured horrors, and never once complained - there's a lesson in there somewhere.

I'm at college today though really I want to be in bed, I went to work yesterday when really I wanted to be in bed. I know they say that hiding away solves nothing but for me it really does - a few days hiding and I can come back right as rain, only just now I can't find the strength to ask the doctor for a week or so off. So I'll endeavour to push forwards, and not fall back.

xxx

In memory of those who fell in World War 1 and World War 2.

The Truth About Me

I think that this final draft of my 'winning' poem is about as much as I can say.


I'm having trouble,
With who I am;
Brown hair and eyes and
Skin that holds so many deep lies.
The colours they cascade around my world,
But all that I can find are monotone tears.
I've lost the control that I never had,
In fact I'm a mass of mess,
Surely one day I'll be discovered,
The true extent of my flaws.
I'll try to hide until I fade away,
With a little help I can get to tomorrow,
Those who question I will ignore,
Until the hour that someone breaks through.
They've not found me as yet,
So I'll maintain my sheild,
I'll make sure that my smile is wide,
And my outlook sunny and bright,
Though deep inside my grey soul will protest,
It makes me wonder if I'll ever escape.
The conflicting feelings, the contradictions;
My torn terror and mixed up mind,
Look inside and you'll see that you're blind,
What you see is not what I am,
So slowly I'll begin to realise,
The unstoppable future is revealed.
There are millions of people living and afraid,
And compared to them I see that -
Really,
I am nothing.
I am nothing.


Ha. If that got 1st place I dread to think what the rest were like...

I want doesn't get

I want to go to London. I love London.

I thought perhaps I just wanted to be anywhere that wasn't Guernsey, but no, I definitely want to go to London.

Anyone else feel like their life's falling apart? No? Ok just me then.......

Surreal

You'll have noticed of course that most of my blog titles are just one word lately - this is because I have no imagination and am feeling rather run down.
I guess you guys at uni all got to the point when school felt too young for you - when you felt you'd outgrown it and had no place there. I am at this point. Grades are slipping because my effort is minimal and everything seems to be focused on UCAS - no offers as yet I must add.

On a brighter note I won a sixth form poetry competition and have refused to read it it assembly - I thought noone would ever read it again, there's no way 1000 people are watching me on a big stage reading the damn thing!

Just feeling a bit useless and distant I guess - apologies if you can tell from conversations with me. I sort of feel like I'm the only one in the world and I barely notice when someone else drifts by...sounds sort of bleak I guess. It's not so bad. Just have to get pulled back somehow.

On a stranger note I now have red hair. I kinda like it. Maybe I'll leave it that way, maybe I won't. I'm on the hunt for a sort of black/red colour because black sort of made me look like a dead pirate but red's a bit extreme - so black with a red tint is appealing. I hated my mouse brown and I refuse point-blank to go back to my childhood blonde.

Well I shall leave you now to your merry thoughts, reminding you that mine are with you.

Escapism

This is where I want to be. Away from everything and everyone apart from the crashing of waves on the hull.

No more counting

A member of an online community I am part of passed away the other day, she took her own life. She was my age and she was known as emmybug. She didn't post to say she felt suicidal, she didn't text anyone, she just slipped away.
I am crying because I'm thankful. I have been where she was in her mind and someone or something saved me. It was decided that it wasn't my time to go, and I'm thankful for that.
Unfortunately emmybug slipped through the soft net we put up to protect her, and now we can only hope that she has peace.

No alarms and no surprises, please

I am without picture today and relying heavily on people recognising that inspired Radiohead quote up there. That's what happens if you don't get Broadband children. I had wanted to put a picture I took on Saturday morning whilst walking to work at sunrise, right across the Bailiwick and up into St Peter Port - even catching a bit of Beau Sejour and Les Cotils in the far right. Obviously this venture failed and will have to wait until I get back to college and the delights of free, fast Internet when I should be studying, then again a very wise man once said; "There's a lot of things I should do, kid"

This week is my reinvention week, my week to evaluate things. I've been wanting, and threatening, to do this for some time now but haven't had the time. Lo and behold along comes a little thing called half term to help me out. So inbetween reading all those books I meant to read ages ago, catching up on recomendations and making passable poems out of scribbles - I've also been changing.

I don't need to spend my wages as they arrive in my account each week. I don't need to buy copious amounts of clothes in a vain attempt to cheer myself up. I don't even need to buy that jumper in FatFace or those shoes in Sail Or Surf. I have everything I need. What I am going to do is save up for my car insurance and tax which both need renewing. I'm going to save for Uni. I'm going to save for a really torrential rainy day because spending on the little ones doesn't make them any brighter at all.

Last night I was reading through all the references that were kindly written for me when I was put forward for Lieutenant Governor's Cadet (Presentation ceremony on the 8th November - beward dodgy Guernsey Press photos of me in uniform). They are outstanding references and I can't get my head round them being about me. Me! John Elliott from GST wrote such a sweet one, and Jenny Falla from Guiding, a bunch of my teachers at school and even a little girl I babysit sometimes. They actually make me cry because what I'm reading here is how I appear to other people, it's enough to make anyone cry.

They say that people change, and I'd always maintained that my mum could change, my crazy alcoholic dad could change - but I never really believed it. They both have cars and houses and all they need, their lives suit them without change. I can't change anybody to fit in with my ideals for them - not my family and not my friends. But people do change with time, little aspects of their personality become incompatible and slowly but surely they drift away. That's sad of course but repairable - if both parties want it to be. Unfortunately part of these changes often involve irreparable differences and whilst I know a lot of people have drifted away from us all they never stop caring, maybe they just stop laughing at our jokes or loving us in our flawed beauty. We will never stop loving them though.

Tomorrow I'm going to wake up and I'm going to think of five things or people that I love, then I'm going to tell them. Try it.

Apprehensive but fine

I write to you, petals, from college. I have completed and sent off UCAS, I have completed and handed in assignments meant to be half term work and I have had my stitches removed this morning.

I'm looking forward to a half term filled with sleep and nothing else. I'm looking forward to spending time with my friends. I'm looking forward to a break.

I'm good.

Morbid Outlook

Today I am having a day of realisation. There are no doubt many causes for this and there's no doubt that most of them will sound stupid to you. Last night I had a very bad night. I knew it was coming and I knew that no matter what any psychiatrist or caring friend said I could not avoid it, and I couldn't. For days now I've known, I've been practising for it and working up to it and feeling so utterly lifeless that I'm surprised I managed to do it.

But I did. The first aid supplies holding my arm in place are testament to this. It hurts, of course it does, but it feels like a deserved hurt - a hurt that I've earned. I feel sick, and probably sound it too, but at the same time I feel calm - because I have quelled the beast inside and fed to him his ritual serving of blood, until the next time.

I feel devoid of an identity today, lacking in direction. Christianity today is a distant hope, and happiness a far-fetched dream. Dutifully I came into college today, wrapped up like an eskimo.

Uhm

I was going to put a photo of me and some pals in France but then I realised how fat I looked, and cancelled it. So I found a better one.

I'm not feeling brilliant today, I know I'm a big mess. I'm getting there though.

Love ya

Reconciliation

Who knows if I spelt that properly? I don't know.
I love you guys, you know that? Everyone who ever visited here, I love you.
I felt I needed to write this post to apologise for my behaviour in the past few weeks/months. I am better now. Really I am. Next time I'll try not to take it out on you guys so much, cos that ain't fair! Anyway Niki is back, and she's looking to stay - will you have me? x

I'm having trouble,
With who I am,
Brown hair and eyes and
Skin that holds so many lies.
The colours they cascade around my world,
But monotone tears are all I produce.
My smile is wide,
The outlook sunny,
Though deep inside my soul protests.
I wonder if I'll ever match.
Conflicting feelings;
Mixed up mind,
Look inside and you'll see you're blind.
What you see is not what I am,
I'm nothing, not really.

x

Wish List

You know what I want now more than anything? More than anything in the entire world?
I want to be able to talk, in person, about me. I want to not be afraid and run off whenever the subject of me is brought up. I want to be myself in anyone's prescence. I want everyone to know and see my arms littered with scars. I want to cure everyone's depression. I want to look good and know I look good. I want to sail around the world. I want to be in love, not just loved by someone. I want to not cry every morning. I want to not cry everynight. I want to write an entire book about everything that I've crammed into 17 years. I want to wear sleeveless tops and not be stared at. I want people to see beyond my scruffiness. I want people to not think I'm just a stereotypical teenager, because I'm not. I want to be enveloped in beauty.

Both Sides Now

I love Joni Mitchell. I love the acoustic version of 'Both Sides Now'. I love the lyrics.
I'm sorry I brought Christianity into this blog.

Rows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's just another show
You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say "I love you"; right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

Oh but now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I've changed
Well something's lost but something's gained
In living every day

I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

Desperate

Soon. Soon I will stop swamping you with black clouds. Soon.

I am told anyway. God told me. I'm not sure that I believe him.

I don't know what he meant. I have an idea.

Until then, shine on my sparkles.

Beautiful Pain

I know you thought that you were getting rid of me but I missed my connecting bus so I've now got a few hours to kill before I have to catch the next one. Therefore I thought I'd do something that I haven't done in a while and pour out every single one of my thoughts. There are quite a few so unless you've got a strong stomach or are incredibly bored...I'd advise you to look away now.

I want to be close to someone, really close to them - in body and in mind. I have rekindled my Christianity in a vain attempt to find some peace, or something, in my life. Right now I really need someone, or something, and since I don't want to have to see my friends cry again anytime soon I found myself at Church. Despite what many of you might think, I have not gone mad. I have always been curious about faith since I went to Sunday School as a child and have watched my mother go to Church every Sunday since then. It felt like the thing I was missing and for the moment, it's keeping me alive. I know that it's a cowards faith as I'm only there really to cling desperately to some form of reality, but it's a faith all the same and maybe someday God will even forgive me for all that I've done and welcome me back.

The title of the blog is something I was thinking about on the plane this morning. Am I becoming too fond of depression? It sounds absurd of course but I wonder if just maybe a part of me is afraid of what I could be without it - without self injury and without medication and without therapy. What's left of me? What would be left of my life? Am I really relishing my pain? I never stop talking about it, making you and others feel uncomfortable. I think that the idea is not all together unfounded, although it is sad and slightly unnerving.

I sound like I'm having a mid-life crisis I know. At 17. I know. But to be fair I've done a hell of a lot in those 17 years and by some people's standards I have reached middle age. God. The truth is I am very unlikely to go to Uni, now. I can't afford it and though my father can he believes I should make my own way in the world, which is fair enough. But really I don't think I can. I don't want to become him or my mother. I would rather be a nun than spend my working life in Guernsey at some private bank going further and further up my own arse until one day I just disappear and no-one notices until I'm washed up at Fermain, or something.

So I have decisions to make. I have to choose a life. But first of all I have to choose a Nikita.

Faith

Who am I kidding?
Faith in what exactly? This is exactly why I went back to Church, and it's exactly what's tearing me apart now.

I'm going away for a bit.
Use the UK number if you need me.

x

It's here

Over me
Looming
Stuck under it

Poppies In July

Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!

There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep!
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.

But colorless. Colorless.

Sylvia Plath

And the raging swirl of depression rages.
Adieu.

Rollercoasters

I know that this is an overused analogy but suppose that my life is a bit of a rollercoaster. Think of last night as the big dip which is approached at about 500mph and you're not sure if you're going to survive it because it's fast and manic and oddly detatched.

This morning is that long straight bit when you've no idea what might happen - is the ride over? Or is there going to be another life-threatening loop? No-one knows at that moment - even if they've ridden this particular rollercoaster before.

The point is that people don't die from plunging towards the ground on a rollercoaster. Right? Right?!?!

Don't judge what you don't know

I went to the gym yesterday and there were a lot of women in the changing room. Now I'm not a girl who wanders round with nothing on - I've always got my towel and I change in a dedicated room. It takes a lot to walk from the shower to my clothes then into a room. I do not appreciate Barbie girls making comments in hushed tones about certain red lines on my arms.

...

I know that they are there.
I put them there.
They are my fault.

...

If they want to look, fine but why or how they are there are nothing to do with anyone else unless I choose to tell them.
Have they been in my head? No. Are there any flaws on their airbrushed arms? No.

So they can fuck off with their giggling remarks.

It's a long way to good grades...

I promised a Uni roundup and now I'm back to college and that comforting routine of only working for about five hours a week I thought I should make a start. I'll go through them in order. Tough if you don't want to know, because I want to write.

Exeter

Nice campus, and very green. Bit contained - as in it was a Uni in a green bubble. I think I may prefer somewhere a bit spread around. The entry level is high too - AAB. Slightly too close to Guernsey too but I might apply anyway.

Keele

Up in Newcastle-Under-Lyme in the middle of nowhere. Again it was a campus Uni with a load of trees and smiling students. It's a bit land-locked and the town kinda creeped me out but it's my CCC entry level which right now I have little hope of exceeding.

Edinburgh

Gorgeous city and pretty buildings, I liked that the Uni was all over the shop. However I found the town a bit touristy and I was accosted by four Hare Krishna people which was annoying. It's BBB entry for my course.

Glasgow

For some reason I always fancied this city even before I went there. Stayed in the same residences as Keir so can testify that they're all the same. Smaller bathroom than Edinburgh but I'm up for a compromise. Major downside is that it's a five year degree and not sure I can finance it but we'll see. BBB entry.

Southampton

I went here to please my mother. It took twenty minutes from our front door to the Uni and that did not make me a happy girl! I know this city, I've lived in this city, this city bores me. And frankly so did the Uni - plus there were about fifteen Guernsey people there. AAB entry.

I still have to visit Warwick in two weeks time, but it's AAB too which I am no way going to get.

I got BBCC in my AS Levels and have just had a meeting with my tutor who feels I did not acheive my potential. Nah, you don't say! Year 12 was a shit year personally for me so I'm hoping in year 13 with the help of resits I can pull my sorry ass up to BBBB.

I now have to re-write my entire personal statement because my tutor feels that it's very me but far too chatty. Very me! Wouldn't want to come across as myself to an Admissions Tutor now would I?!

Hope you're all well, talk to you soon

The Invisible Girl

That's actually the title of a book by Peter Barham, as well as the title of a poem I wrote and was quite proud of until I saw he'd found the damn thing first! Anyway. How are you all? Preparing to go back to Uni in most cases I expect. I visited a lot of those places this summer and I'll write a detailed overview when I get back to Guernsey on the 10th. Good Luck to Laura who's going to Uni for the very first year.

I have lost a few people over the summer, a few friends. Not to death, but to normality. Maybe none of you are close enough to feel the impact, maybe you're just different people but I know that in the cases of some my calls and messages are no longer answered; letters no longer written and meetings no longer arranged. I don't blame them, not at all, I think it's pretty hard to be my friend - in fact people have told me that it is - but I love them for trying.

Do you remember when I first started being honest on this blog? Do you remember your reactions, what you thought? I was in deep then and I've been in deep several times since then - just ask to see my mental health record at the hospital! But I've been managing most of the time, surviving the bad days and celebrating the good - sorry if it seems I haven't written much about the good on this page it's just it's easier to write about bad.

Well right now I'm in deep again. So much so that during my weekly phone calls with the oracle that is Dr H, he has started to raise concerns and hint at staying here in the UK to receive 'treatment' once and for all. Tosser. I've got college to do, a Mum to keep level, sisters to guide, a Dad to hide from and a past to ignore.

It's entirely possible that the girl I am today is the girl I will be in ten years time - infact it's probable. Maybe I can find someone just as warped as me and we can get married and have messed-up kids. Although I don't think I could handle a kid like me - no way. Talking to a psychiatrist about domestic violence, coming down to breakfast with scars on show, disappearing for a week. I couldn't take my kid doing that! I'd kill both of us! Yet my Mum seems to be able to block it all out, my sisters ignore it and my Dad punishes me like I deserve. They've got it down to a T!

I was on the phone last night to the person I love possibly the most in the whole world and she was outstanding. Maybe she even saved my life. Who knows what's about to happen?

So I'll leave you here with a thank you and a request;

Thank you for sticking by me for two years or more.
Please speak now or forever hold your peace if you have any leaving me to do, or comments to make, or criticisms to...do. I'd rather get it all done in one holiday.

Love you

Sparkles

Sod today, just sod it.

I am writing again, and back to my miserable little bitch self.
I am running every evening in the biggest shirt I can find, listen to the angstiest music.
I made a young man happy.
I feel ill.
I should take the meds, I know, but I don't want to.
I am knackered.
I am leaving for Scotland on Sunday.
I have horrible hair, and arms, and face, and well I am horrible. And ugly. And annoying.
But hey.

This is Niki. 17 years old, daughter of a mafia man turned manager and an accountant. Living in a three bed semi and driving a Ford. Sounds boring, it IS boring.
You see all the blades and the drink and the drugs and all the stuff you don't know about is shit. And it happened. Now it is not happening. I must get over it.

I live where I live and I live how I live. Sometimes bad things happen, sometimes good things do. Live for tomorrow, not for yesterday or the crappy past 16 years. Drink Irn Bru and cry watching Casualty.

Because despite amitriptyline and sodium chloride tears, this is Nikita.

The day of reckoning

I wouldn't be an A Level student if I didn't write this post really would I?

Truth be told I haven't got my results. Obviously I couldn't go pick them up, I forgot to get my address changed to this 0ne on the mainland and my mum refuses to go get them.
I was supposed to send the school a letter asking if they'd let my mum have them, but I forgot - therefore I have not got them.
Tomorrow they will be posted to my Guernsey address, but no one will be there as my mum leaves early in the morning for Southampton, before the post arrives.
I phoned Dad to ask if he'd go get them from home and throw them in the post to Southampton, but he declined and the whole thing ended in a shouting match.

So. Until the 10th September I do not know whether or not I can carry on my courses; and I don't know whether visiting all these Universities is justified.

Nah I'm not miffed...

Well I did warn you...

My little cherubs, what shall I tell you today?

I could rant and rave about a bad night last week.
I could celebrate over two years of this crazy corner of the web.
I could describe the ring I just inherited.
I could give you in-depth analysis of my hair.
I could moan about still being covered in bruises.
I could educate you on the depressive bitch that I am...

...But I won't.

Because you just don't deserve it.

In fact all of you, why the hell do you still visit huh? You crazy muffins.
You know if you just slip away - I won't put a curse on you or owt...I'm not really a witch. (Well I am but I got thrown out of witch school and they snapped my wand.)

I've no idea what to write. Do you know how long it's been since I wrote fiction? I have so many things I want to write out - for the blog and for my red notebook...but I can't...because I just can't write.

And you know what? I think that's half the problem

"My only regret in life is that I'm not someone else"

I missed the blog's two year birthday. So.

I'll say something, somewhen.

Thanks for everything visitors, old and new.

Eternal dreariness of the messed up mind

Sorry that was an awful use of a perfectly good film title. Sue me.
SO. Where do I start?

I'll start at the beginning.

The day after I arrived in Southampton it was my Great Aunty Grace's funeral. I loved her. She used to teach English and she gave me so many books, she wrote history and she just fell in love with everyone she met. I followed the coffin up the aisle with my Godfather, I listened to the gorgeous things being said, I wished I could speak, I used a packet of tissues (fuck my rule about not crying in public) and I sang.
Then we buried her, put her in a hole in the ground and threw soil on her. We walked back to the hall and some people ate sandwiches. I just sat and was asked fucking stupid questions about college and University and my eyes and was I married and was I my mother?
I went to the toilet and cried, a lot.
I drove my grandparents home in their tank of a car.
I went to bed.

Next we have Cowes Week. Seven days of lethal racing on a Contessa 32 called Blanco. A crew of 7 in a class with 16 boats. We won five days, got one second and one third. I fell into the Solent and met a lot of sailors. I ate out. I watched the other six members of my crew get pissed every single night, while I drank water.
Overall we won. WE WON. FIRST. Out of the 1000+ boats in the regatta we came about 5th.
It was awesome, and well worth the discomfort.

So. Why can't I get out of bed? Why aren't the meds working? Why do I want something sharp and silver that sure as hell isn't tin foil?

Why the hell am I still alive?

Sorry. Didn't mean to ruin the greatness of Cowes. Just a bit fed up. How are y'all?

Ah well

Ace

I'm covered in bruises, I hurt, but it's fantastic.

Loving and leaving

Wednesday is the day I say goodbye.
I will have no mobile, only one number on which you can get me in emergencies - I'll text it to you.
Love you

Yup

Darlings

I'm writing once again from my bed, I spend a lot of time on this bed - in this room, looking around at these things. I've described it to you so many times now you probably have a perfect picture of it in your minds and would never need to come and see it for real.

Today was my first day as an official sailing instructor - and I have the shirt to prove it. I can't say that it was my best day, and really I'd prefer some time when I was content to start teaching children how to love the sea. I got ridiculously burnt and forgot to eat or drink because the idea of being responsible for three 13 year olds was way too much to leave me time to worry about mundane things like staying alive. I'm having to wear sleeves too because I don't want 10-13 year olds who go to school with my sister to see, tell her, tell my mum - and well cause a lot of hassle. So I rigged a boat and sailed it round all day with my instructor shirt, rash vest and lifejacket - and shorts aswell of course. It was 32 degrees down here. Plus it turns out that my charges are far more interested in their hair and flirting with the male instructors (who are very hot, admittedly, but they're a little old for the girlies).

On the plus side when we'd finished for the day all the instructors headed up to the bar, I was in two minds as to whether to join them but I did in the end and had an amazing time. Don't listen to what people say - sailors are lovely people and will only yell at you to FUCK OFF ASSHOLE if you're in their water and causing them to lose time in a race. Sure they drink a fair bit but the majority of them are sweet and funny and amazingly laid-back, which is just what I need this week. No matter how shit I'm feeling, how much I curse the reason for me being STILL alive and how much I moan, I just love the sea. End of.

I mentioned swimming the other day; I took my little sister - Emily aged 6 and 8 months - to her swimming class on Friday and I saw all the teachers there, all the little kids learning how to swim. I went upstairs and saw the qualifying times for the Island Games in 2007, and my old coach walked up behind me - well attacked me from behind - and told me she missed me. I want to go swimming like I used to, five times a week and properly dedicated to it. J and I were chatting after she'd finished tickling me and she reckons I could get those times for the 2009 games, if I started working hard again. It was nice to hear that, sure, but I can't do it - not now. I've changed far too much, not just physically but as a person too, people don't realise how much stress swimming properly brings and I don't want to commit to a three year training program just now. But I will swim more, not five times a week but everytime I go to the gym.

So how am I doing? To be honest I feel like, in the words of Thom Yorke, that "This is fucked up, fucked up" God this guy's depressing...mmm

Never fear...

...when Niki's here!

I am here. I have a lot to write from my three days of thinking. I want to get back into swimming again. I adore the sight of the ferry coming in at 5am. I'm going away for six weeks without Dr H and I'm thrilled. I got my prescriptions for the time away and I'm gonna take them regularly.

I'll write more when I get back from work, working with crazy Sven who is wonderful.

I love you

Condolences

The background picture on my laptop is a shot of three Beneteau First 40.7 Distinction yachts rounding a mark at Cowes Week last year, the one on the left is called Exocet Strike and it is the boat that I did foredeck for in my first ever regatta. We came 7th in that race, in Class 3 IRC, out of 34 boats and it was a pretty good achievement, I think. The boat was beautiful and the crew were the friendliest bunch of 40+ year olds that I have ever met. In retrospect, I ruined that victory. I got drunk that night and judging by the deck of the boat the next morning, so did most of the crew. We stopped at the kebab store. Never a good idea. This year I am going to Cowes and sailing on a Contessa 32 called Blanco and she too is beautiful. I am going without anything sharp and with the serious intention of not drinking. Last night I did drink, but I woke up in the morning and hated myself so much for doing it that I wanted to do something, very detrimental to my health. I cannot stand myself like that. I have realised that drinking=cutting and cutting=drinking. This year will be my first major test because contrary to what any sailor might say, regattas are less about the sailing and more about the local pubs. If I can spend 7 nights babysitting drunk sailors without becoming one myself then I'll give myself a break, no matter how we place in the races. This is my challenge.

I went into college to do the backstage stuff on the Charities Day assembly then excused myself from the rest of the day and came home, I've been laying on my bed for hours now listening to music and thinking. There was ice cream too. I've written so many pages of the joke of a book that I'm writing and so many poems that I think I've knackered my new pen. It's been months since I wrote anything fictional and it's such a relief to get it all out of me, in the open. It's like I've exploded but instead of blood hitting the bathroom floor it's been ink hitting the paper, and I like that. Now it's time to write to you lovely people, sorry...

It's been a week since I took my meds because the prescription ran out and they went out of my system and I saw no point whatsoever in getting anymore, well I fell into that shitty black hole. I just found a ladder. It's rickety and very old but if I'm careful with it you might just see my head pop up above the hole in a while. Anyway I've called up the doctors and I'll go tomorrow to get a new piece of paper and a check-up which I'm technically supposed to go for every six weeks...nothing to do with crazy amounts of pills a while ago... I'm fine anyway, well I hope so! I'll let you know if not.

Oh and good news, three of my poems have been selected for publishing in an NSHN anthology. Yeah I know it's sad that my only moderately grown-up writing is being published in a book created by a bunch of people who used to spend their free time making a mess of themselves, but to me it's sort of a big deal. Hopefully it'll get out there and people can read what it's like to be in someone else's mind - like mine for example. The only way I ever made sense of how I was feeling back in the days when sharp silver was even in my purse was to write in a poem that didn't have to be coherent or a conversation or an argument - and I'm hoping that the book will have a bunch of poems like that so you normal people out there can get a feel for what it's like. Not that I'm saying I think you should experience it - just understanding would be very helpful, for the public at large if no-one else, just so I don't get shitty comments in the gym locker rooms :-p

For now I think I'll love you and leave you

Flooding the school

I hate crying in school

Faster than the speed of sound

Alright not quite that fast, but I did pretty damn good in my driving lesson - if I do say so myself. Drove all the way round Guernsey with only one problem: my apparent aversion to 3rd gear - I always hit 5th. Still, at least we know it works right?

Oh that and the fact I have trouble sticking to the 30mph limit - good job Ian's got a clutch and brake pedal. Oh and also I tend to forget that corners don't last forever and one does have to straighten the steering wheel at some point.

You know what he said? I'm a little too relaxed. Wow. I'm too relaxed - my language teachers said that too when it came to oral exams, is that a bad thing? I mean is it better to be nervous and tense like I used to be? I just figure now that I may as well relax and see what happens - if there's one thing I've learnt it's that I've really got fuck-all say in what happens. Apparently this isn't a good driving philosophy.

Personal what?

Fucking Personal Statement

But despite that...

...I'm still Niki. I know people love me and I know that people care. It doesn't mean I think they're right, but everyone's entitled to an opinion.

I have a driving lesson today and then I'm going out. Which may be a disasterous idea. I'll let you know.

You know that's weakness, not strength, in my eyes

That's right. Weak little girlie here. Or not little. Whatever.

Blah

7th July 2005

I was in London that day, and I know some of you were making your way in on the bus too. The hotel I stayed at was the Thistle Euston and to the left of it there was a minor subway exit, it was through this exit that they brought some of the bodies of those who died.

I don't know why but what happened on this day last year has touched me more than any other disaster or attack I can remember.

I can do nothing to help of course, just like I could do nothing then when it took me five hours to get from Victoria to Euston, all I can do is watch again the faces of people who lost those they loved - this time on television instead of in the streets.

In memory of those who died or were injured, peace.

My darlings; I write to you all from my bed - sitting cross-legged on my bed listening to Alanis Morissette. Yes I have sunk that low. You only start listening to 'Perfect' by that bitter woman when things are really shit. Do not fear though because one way or another, this shit will end - right Abs? I'd quite like to know when so that I might know for how long I have to sit around crying and refusing to get out of bed...but mneh we can't have it all.

I don't really know what to write to be honest - do I ever? I'm looking at my wardrobe which is covered in pictures of holidays with friends, flyers from concerts and regattas, pictures I love and of course my beautiful Jon. I have some of those Edward Monkton cards - you know the ones? We must take our tablets or else we will GO MAD, Happiness Vibes and others... They make me smile. Also there's a card all about hugging and of course the mantra of the moment 'Never mind tomorrow, right now I am ok'

I'm supposed to be reading 'The Shadow Of The Wind' by Carlos Ruiz Zafron but my attention span is a bit rubbish at the moment so I'll put it to one side and read later - good plan I know. My mum is currently yelling so loudly at, I suppose, my youngest sister. I hate yelling, I mean really hate it - even if I'm not the one being yelled at. It just reeks of arguments I used to hide from between my parents. My favourite place to hide was under my bed with Rosie, my rabbit. Nothing could touch us there. Of course now my bed has shoes and books and crap under it and I'm a little too old to run from shouting.

The dark is another thing I don't like. Petrified. Pitch black I cannot do, there has to be some sort of light source or I can't sleep and will probably cry. Yeah I know I'm like a three-year-old but - well it's a long story that I won't bore you all with now, you probably know it anyway. So it's under a week until Charities Day, the committee for which I am secretary for. We have this one day a year when year 12 set up games and shit, plus a huge assembly and raffle etc to raise money for three of our chosen charities. This year it's Help a Guernsey Child, Teenage Cancer Trust and a Guatemalan boy we sponsor through school. On the day I'll be wandering round terrorising young people with an orange bucket, dressed like a Cowgirl and begging for money. I am also on the tech team backstage for all the concerts and assemblies we have going on. It's gonna be manic, hopefully.

Shortly after that it's the final day of term, thank God. Then project week. Then holidays, and not a moment too soon I must say. I'm so ready for holidays. A friend of mine from YE and my RS class has left college to be a nurse, and I'm so proud of her because she was only in school because her parents insisted but now she's applied for the training course, got in, and now has 19 weeks free until she starts in November. Lucky girl. Going for what she really wanted to do, and she's so shy and sweet - I'm really happy for her.

I think I'll shut up now.

Fade Out

Where is my life going? I mean it, what is the point to it now? -This is not suicial-

There is no cutting, no drinking, no vices except sugar... I'm currently a well-rounded young lady. So why am I crying? Why do I look longingly at sharp things? Why do I wish none of you met ever heard of or met me?

Stupid damn pills aren't working

Where the ocean meets the sky I'll be sailing

Hey beautiful people

Mind if I gabble on for a bit? Not sure what I'll come out with but it's Sunday morning and I'm in the countdown to work so I should probably do something with my time to take my mind off it...

So it's nearly the summer, only two more weeks of official school before I push year 7 and 8 into the sea - I mean teach them how to sail - for a week and then I'm free, free! I'm over to the mainland on the 26th July when I'll head straight down to Cowes and kick ass in the regatta - ohh Cowes Week without alcohol...watch this space ;) I'm going short sleeved and fuck whatever anyone else thinks. Then after we've won on Blanco, the gorgeous Contessa 32 I'm racing on I shall head back to Southampton and dump my washing at the house before heading off somewhere else - London, Abs? Obviously I will get more clean clothes - don't worry!

Today Guernsey has brought into being the Smoking Ban - thank fuck - no smoking in public places which is ace because although I adore the smell of smoke, seriously wow, but I guess it's bad for us. Plus I wanna see how the 40-a-day father of mine copes. Also of course there'll be no smoking at work which means the non smokers get the comfy smoking room with sofas! Yay! Not that I get any damn breaks anyway, which is inhumane - 9 hours behind a desk in a pencil skirt and waistcoat listening to stuck-up bastards paying 200 quid a night for a room.

I went out with Rach yesterday before work and I wore short sleeves - I sat her down and she asked all she wanted to about it and then it was ace. No I didn't spend 100 quid... After work in the taxi queue I got puked on which was actually disgusting but it also made me smile because I probably did that once but there I was going straight home from work at 11pm. Aren't I a good girl?

I'm gonna go all shallow now and tell you about how slim I'm getting. I bought three tops last Tuesday in my staple size 16 - I don't try on, can't be arsed with that - and I got them home and guess what? That's right, too big. Fuck yes! They're from all different shops so that's good right? I changed them for smaller sizes and now look ace of course. In true mother fashion my mum is now trying to make me eat more - honestly I can do no right for that woman. Oh well.

At school I started a petition because out of the five vending machines and two cafeterias there are no Fruit Pastilles on sale - I'm getting people to sign if they think we should stock them and I'm doing pretty good. And no it isn't just because I'm the oldest year in the school now and everyone younger is scared of us - everyone needs Fruit Pastilles.

Mother just bought a new car - at last - and has been driving it round everywhere. UNTIL yesterday she realised that she didn't have any insurance and now refuses to drive until she has some - seriously she'd be fine without it, she doesn't go above 25mph at any time. My car on the other hand is very cool, I have my provisional licence now so I can drive if someone comes with me - how scary is that?!

Right now I think I should go and get some breakfast. I wish we had pop-tarts.