3:04.

It was the night when the sky was dappled blue with clouds. I remember it had a pale pink glow towards the east like the clouds were ripped pieces of trace paper in front of a drying watercolour. And it was nights like these where I wished I owned a compass. So that in all the uncertainty, and for when you cannot see the moon or the stars, you will always know one thing for sure. Which way is north. And this also the night when I realised that it’s not as easy to crawl into your parents bed as it used to be. I’d been crying, making the duvet salty with every gasp for air that came rushing from my throat. And this was a rare night because I don’t cry much. The sadness is buried so deep into my bones that it cannot flow with the tears any more so I have no choice but to surrender to the empty void of bleeding lips and forked tongues. I could see the blade that was glinting in the dying light but, although every voice in my head was screaming for blood, I did not reach for it. And then my heartbeat was so loud in my ears that it overcame the whispers of my ghosts and all that was left was the stinging in my bloodshot eyes and the rhythmic beat of my heart against the cages of my ribs. So it was the night I counted to four with each quivering breath and tiptoed out of bed into my parents’ bedroom. I guess I should have known that it would not be like it was when I was little. The last time I’d done this was when I was six and had had a nightmare and was too scared to sleep again. I suppose the only difference, 10 years later, is that the nightmare is this life and that I am now more scared of the monsters in my head than the ones under my bed. This was the night that I stepped over my fathers’ cold feet until I was crouched in a space between him and our dog and, after swinging my lefts over the bedpost into the cool air, sat for a while, the dog sleepily nuzzling my hand with his warm nose. And that was the night when I realised that I could no longer fall asleep safe in the arms of my father and instead I would simply have to return to my own cell of white walls and shredded memories. And so I did and as I did so, I let the water drag my head into the current, leaving my consciousness with the waves.

Coffins behind the velvet.

{POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING}

I think about dying quite a lot. Not necessarily the suicide kind of dying, though that creeps in too sometimes, but it’s never serious… Just thoughts about pain and how much easier one way would be than another. But the kind of dying that has no real meaning; no ending note. No crying, or screaming for the pain to stop. Simply slipping quietly into a peaceful state of non-existance and tranquility. And it seems so appealing. Dressed in white, or maybe black, alone to sleep the hurt away.
And that is how we see it.
But I think that maybe the peace is a facade and that we never really get peace, do we, because of everyone left behind. And death is never easy. There are never the slow, lapping waves of calm washing over you, and instead a dark tidal wave of the regrets of the dead. No memories here. Just our stale hearts as they rest in the cages of our ribs, slowly pumping your remaining sadness round your veins before it finally gives in to the velvet curtain of darkness and it drops to shield your coffin from the tears on the pews, rotted by words of our choking throats.
If peace is the ultimate desire, then surely the nails of the coffin is no place to rest our sorry souls.

She still exists?

This was supposed to be published last night, but I ended up finishing it at 1am and my wifi was non-existent. Damn.

Yeeees, I do.

AND SUMMER IS NEARLY UPON US.

I have been meaning to write at least something but I have simply come to the conclusion that my creative instinct has just evaporated or gone for a long holiday to Mexico.

Hmm.

So, how about a mid-year review kind of thing? oh this will be depressing

So, at the start of this year, I did that… *whispers* New Year Plan and as far as you and I are concerned, it never… happened. Okay?

Okay.

See, thing is, nothing has been done about that.

And this is why I don’t make resolutions.

…So… in a moment of desperation, let’s take a look at this… plan.

Blog reflections ~ Considering I started this blog on Christmas Eve 2012, I may as well look back on some of my worst posts ever and laugh and cringe at how badly worded they are and at my failed attempts to make jokes. And just muse over how awesome you all are and wonder about how you don’t realise how much I suck.
Reflections on the past year ~ Basically where I remember all the really bad/awkward/stupid/idiotic things that have happened over the past year and cry about them whilst armed with a pot of Ben and Jerry’s.
Resolutions (and what happened to last year’s) ~ Oh dear.
2014 Bucket List ~ Bucket lists are good, right?
Hopes for 2014 ~ Probably trying to be deep and failing.
Blog ideas and series that I may or may not keep up ~ I have so many ideas lying around so I may as well list them all and have this list as a constant reminder of my decreasing blogging abilities.

Oh god.

Have I done any of these things?

No, no aaaaaand oh look! No!

So, swiftly moving on from that.

What have I done?

Well, are you sitting comfortably?

…Yeah I got nothing.

Is an existential crisis an appropriate reaction to the moment you realise that you have literally done nothing but eat pizza and cry for half a year?

Maybe talking about my current state of affairs would be a better idea. you wish, don’t even pretend you’re doing something with your life

Currently, I am a pizza-devouring, guitar-playing, peach tea-drinking almost-sixteen year old on the brink of crisis. I’m constantly torn between the lust of having electric blue hair and keeping it dragon-scale blonde, as one of my best friends once described it. I long to be a mermaid in a sea of fairy lights but also a shadow, writing dark poetry in the moonlit corner of a room. I watch Supernatural too much and I cry when Dean gets hurt, but I can’t say I care so much about Sam. I eat a lot of pizza and Oreo chocolate and I thank God for fast metabolism. I have the best friends in the universe and am ever so slightly in love with them. I want floral skateboards and snakebites and black and white dresses and books and an endless supply of Ryden fanfic and films and bottles of Jack Daniels and I want 50s swing dresses and Alex Turner and to kiss Andrew Garfield on the cheek and I want tickets to see Arctic Monkeys and to travel the world and I want to feel intoxicated.

But also?

I’m average. I’m fifteen and working at a little garden centre on Saturdays to pay for my music addiction. I’ve talked four people out of suicide and I would be lying if I said I can cope with that. I’ve been advised by a doctor to see a councillor, which isn’t possible for me until next term at least. I’m in a constant battle with my mind and I have a few too many scars to prove it. I’m scared to let people down and I’m scared to see myself get any worse. I don’t know where my relationship is going; I don’t know where I want it to go. I don’t like to admit that I get jealous, or paranoid. I don’t like to admit that I still want to die. Or that I still want to see blood. And I’m sorry we don’t talk as much as we used to. And that I ignore you sometimes. It’s just so loud in my head that I can’t string two words together to tell you that I love you. But I am okay.

And I was not the girl who listened to The Smiths before she heard Asleep in Perks. And sometimes I don’t read the books before I see the films. And I don’t have a fake ID and I’ve never even properly got drunk. I get nervous putting my hand up in class, but I’m good at small talk. My idol appears naked on her album cover and is known to be one of the most reckless females in the rock industry but I’m self-conscious and I’ve never had a detention. And I would like to say I don’t care about anything but I have to please people. And sometimes I like to talk to people just because they try. And I’m prone to mood swings and sometimes I hurt people and say the wrong things. My sister is one of my closest friends and I rely on her a lot. I’d like to say that the only person I rely on is myself but I need certain people to stay alive.

And I would say that I am rather quite unextraordinary.

So.

Mid-year review?

Ordinary. But okay.

Reintroducing myself.

When I was younger, sometimes my grandparents would come and stay with us for a few days. One time, my grandmother and I walked down to the park in my village and we bought ice cream and a magazine and we sat on a bench by the pond facing away from the road and directly onto the fields and the hills. That was back when I was four years old, maybe five and I haven’t sat there since. I’m not sure why.

Also, we used to be really close with our neighbours. We’re still close, I suppose, though not so much. They have a son my sister’s age (let’s call him T) and a daughter my own age (M), so it was always pretty cool having two best friends living next door to you, well, strictly speaking, as our houses are semi-detached, in the same building. At one end of the hedge in our gardens, it was cut short and replaced with a little black gate that would always jam shut or not open properly, and we’d meet there, myself and M, whatever the weather, and then go to one another’s houses and play make-believes and make cupcakes and start projects that would never be finished. Then in the summer when the days were longer and everything was warmer and nothing had to be done, my sister, T and M and I would open the gate and we’d play Tig using both our gardens and cricket and Stuck In The Mud and football and T would swap teams because we all knew that he’d win the game. Then during the day, we’d take out all our brightly coloured pop-up tents and tunnels and join them together to make a giant network of tent forts and we’d have blankets and cushions inside them and we’d stay in there all day until it got dark. If it was raining, we’d go inside and make blanket forts in M’s room and we’d have chocolate bars and we’d talk about what we wanted to be when we were older. And then we’d fall asleep because it was 10 o’ clock and it was late.

And then M went to high school (she’s only six days older than me but is in the year above) and so we didn’t have much to talk about any more; she was grown up at a big, expensive school and I was still at primary, only just learning the things she learnt a year before. Sometimes we do still meet up to watch films or to thrash each other on Mario Kart or sometimes to just talk and I love that, and sometimes we’ll just talk about all these memories.

As myself and my sister, C, got older, we began to find ourselves needing each other more than ever. The pressure of high school and college and growing up in general began to get us down and we found that we actually could rely on each other when times were tough. When we got our dog, we began taking him for a walk every evening, just us, and we’d talk about everything. In summer, we’d walk for hours, around the fields and the housing estates and the hills and we’d sit down at the side of a flower-filled field and lie in the dwindling sunlight for a while, forgetting about everything.

And that is part of me.

The point of this is, it’s not your name or your age or where you live or anything that really matters. It’s about your story, and the things that have made you who you are. So those are just a few parts of my story and I think I might share some more with you soon, if you’d like me too. Also, you guys should also try this, make it however long or short you like. Let’s make this a tag, anyone up to help?

xx

 

I am human and I will let you down.

Here, for those of you in the Supernatural fandom, have a shit-tonne of feels. I found this song through an Instagram post a short while ago and it was the shot of Jared holding the card saying, ‘I am human, I am human, I am human and I will let you down.’ This is not okay. Not. Okay.

Anyway, I found the song just today however the picture itself hadn’t left my mind since the first time I saw it. And maybe that’s because it holds so much truth. Another song, Far From Never by The Pretty Reckless, includes the line, ‘no one will never let you down’ which I have begun to be accustomed to saying in the recent months since I heard that song for the first time also.

With risk of seeming incredibly pessimistic, when someone tells you that they’re never going to let you down, no matter how genuine they are or how much they mean it, they will.

It may well just be something incredibly small, but all the same, it hurts.

But this is human nature, we simply cannot build relationships with other people without something sometimes getting in the way, that’s just how it is.

Also, I’m not saying that as soon as someone lets you down, that’ll be the end of it, because for the majority of the time, it won’t be, and I firmly believe that people deserve second chances, sometimes third chances, but it’s when you find yourself continuously giving someone more chances that it becomes a problem.

Anyway, that kind of swerved a little away from the original thought (and I apologise for the fact that this is incredibly poorly written, I may well rewrite this sometime).

I don’t tell people that I’ll never let them down any more. It’s not true.

And when, during a fall out or argument or whatever you so wish to imagine, they tell me that I told them that I’d never let them down, I know that I said exactly the opposite.

xx

(A more light-hearted post will be up soon, don’t worry ^-^)

Forever and why I don’t want it.

Capture

My boyfriend said this to me yesterday. In case you’re not familiar, my boyfriend, I believe I call him Skate here, so Skate and I have been together for three months after being close for just under a year. I love him. And I know that this, again, is a generic teenage thing so say but you know when you love someone, right, and I know that I love him. We’re long distance, if you can call it that. There’s a hour between him and I. But I suppose these things don’t really come into this. Perhaps a little, but only a little. Despite the distance, it’s still amazing. This is the boy who, every day, makes sure that I’m okay and tells me that he loves me, who every time I see him, tells me I’m beautiful and perfect, and that I’m too good for him. This is the boy who will do anything to make me feel better and will be there through anything and who, along with those few incredible others (yes, you know who you are…), has kept me alive.

But ‘forever’ scares me. We all seem to be looking for a forever and waiting for a forever, maybe just waiting for the right forever, but a forever all the same… But… Why?

The thought of staying with one person for the rest of your life frightens me a little and maybe that’s a little strange as why would you not want to find that one, utterly perfect person who will never leave you and who will stay with you through everything?

Part of me, I suppose, does want that a little. And I know that when I am older, and more okay in myself, then I will want it.

Perhaps it’s partly the fault of the music industry. Maybe ‘fault’ is the wrong word… ‘influence’ may be better here. I say this because it is telling us that love doesn’t work out and that forever doesn’t mean forever and that when a person tells you that they won’t let you down, they’re lying and they hurt you so much that you can’t take it.

I don’t want to be the girl in the songs; the girl that expects forever when he tells her he’ll be her Always, the girl who gets hurt every time because he changed his mind.

Also, I am fifteen. That means… Possibly eighty more years with one person. Eighty. That’s a little terrifying, if I’m honest.

Plus, how can you be sure that you’re with the right person if you’ve never been with anyone else?

I know this post may seem awfully pessimistic and negative about the whole ‘love’ thing, but I really hope it doesn’t. I don’t believe I’m being a pessimist, more so a realist who is slightly scared of eternity. Of course, I’m not saying that ‘forever’ doesn’t exist, of course it does for so, so many people, but it just doesn’t exist for me right now. And it makes me sad, because I know that when my forever ends, my forever with Skate… He might still want that forever and I’ll end up hurting him and that is the last thing that I want to do. Bearing in mind that he was almost on the brink of tears when saying the things he did. For now, I do, somewhat, have a forever, our little forever, but I know that my forever won’t be an eternity.

xx