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.