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.