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Today, I sucked at playing chess. Nothing unusual there. Except that I would have been a couple of moves away from having a simply genius set up. Unfortunately though, I obviously wasnít quite in the genius mindset required; not taking notice of what your opponent is doing (namely, setting you up for a checkmate within minutes and taking your ranking down another good few points) is just all-out retarded. To make up for this, I have run roughly 4.25 miles and painted my nails (including toes) a lovely pearly colour. Oh, and I havenít revised maths. Funny how priorities change.
I might be spending my life looking for ways to waste time. It doesnít pass quickly enough so I set myself meaningless tasks and targets as if thereís some sort of grand finale being built up to. Then sometimes you sort of lose your grip and all the minutes and hours slip between your fingers and you curse yourself for being so ungratefully impatient; itís made sure of that people who wish time away will lose it when they most desire it. You can always start again, but Iím a creature of habit and I like to repeat my mistakes.
I keep hearing my sister coming downstairs to rustle through the kitchen cupboards. Sheís not supposed to eat tons of thing; gluten, wheat, even fruit until her appointment today where she got told she is now allowed to ease fruit back into her diet. She gets really ill in all sorts of ways if she eats those foods and the condition she has is due to a prolonged poor diet. Too much of what she canít help. I bet sheís sneaking them right now. Sheís like people you see on telly whoíre addicted to food, except she doesnít get fat.
My teeth are aching and my brain feels like itís expanding at an alarming rate and my eyes are threatening to pop back inside my skull. I havenít told my parents that Iíve had a horribly constant headache for the past two, three weeks; I canít be bothered to go back to the doctor every couple of months and have needles stuck in me and tedious eye tests over and over again, only for them to admit there doesnít seem to be a specific cause. I just want to be left alone in a dark room and be miserable, please.
Rubikís cubes refuse to smash satisfyingly when you throw them at a wall; even when theyíre already partially broken. A lot of things could be fixed, Iím sure, if things would just break when you want them to. Itís no good throwing a hissy fit when everything in your immediate surroundings remains intact. Iím just itching to ruin something but I already made it to and back from the bathroom without damage. Aside from hitting my head on the wall, which has only served to increase my headache. And I stink of ink, which may also be aggravating it somewhat.
This morning I had a nose bleed and may have gotten droplets of blood on the carpet; I couldnít really tell without close inspection because of the pattern. It started as a mediocre trickle; with some persuasion it began gushing. Afterwards, I cycled to my nanís house and hovered every room for her, then I came back and ran four miles on the treadmill. It was all to no avail, though; I havenít seen a single speck of blood since. Youíd think running four miles would do the trick, like banging the last scrapes of ketchup out of the bottle.
Recently, Iíve barely written in my (semi-) public journal. I havenít written much
. A recent post contained only an explanation of how I would write loads if it wasnít for me having nothing to say. Either Iíve lost the ability to make conversation or I have no words anymore. Itís probably both; perhaps the shock of nearly falling off the bed the other day (and genuinely feeling I would die if I didnít cling onto my friendís leg for dear life until he somehow managed to pull me back up) has somehow damaged the language centre in my brain.
Words lose their impact with use; certain phrases canít be altered to sound less monotonous, or you risk losing meaning. In primary school they would drum synonyms into our skulls in order to prevent the same sentence from ever being said twice, because thatís
and unimaginative. Maybe they never had the chance to realise that you can just as easily do the job with ancient monosyllabic words. Sometimes those are the only words which will suffice. Itís worrying, though, this loss of impact; does it seem that meaning is also withering? Only
really know that isnít the case.
Even after twelve hours of exams, Iím glad to be back at college for these final three weeks. Having two and half months of holiday will be stretching it; I doubt I could have coped with an extra three weeks of it. Holidays are nice and all, to some extent, but theyíre so lonely and boring and lacking in purpose or achievement. Except for when you have things to occupy you. Thatís a different matter all together. Iím a bit busy with wanting to rush through college and university so that I can leave home and have my own space.
Sometimes you can only tell a complete stranger. Or, someone as good as a complete stranger. (Though, sometimes you can consider these people to be almost like family. Not just anyone knows what you have in common; experience isnít required, but it definitely helps). I never expect, I always assume, it meant more than you could ever have known. Tell them so that itís out of your head and the words are drifting between particles in the hope they might be found or echoed or whispered undistorted. If anyone in the world can grasp their significance, itís all of
I feel fat and Iíve been ignored by about six people and I feel like having a horribly emo whinge. The electricity has gone off (hence, me writing this in a notebook by candlelight, which is kind of difficult) and anyone I talk to just refuses to reply. And my feet are so blistered and cut up that I havenít been running in five days and I canít stop eating because Iím on my fucking period and why didnít anyone ever tell me that my nan tried to kill herself twice? ...Maybe this whinging is why people are ignoring me?
Today, I think I may have pissed off just about every single person that I have come into contact with. I just canít seem to help myself. I run away with myself and say all the wrong things. You can tell from peopleís reactions; most often they just shut up and ignore me. Thatís all that happens recently, no one talks to me because, why would they want to? All I do is annoy people and it amuses me no end. Except that I start panicking and digging myself into even bigger holes and I feel so incredibly lonely now.
Thereís going to be a meet-up, in just under a monthís time, for a forum I post on. I donít have a very high post count, but I spend a lot of time there, and Iíd love to go and meet the people who look after me and each other on such a regular basis. Itís even in a city pretty close to me, which Iím fairly familiar with. Unfortunately, due the nature of the site, theyíve decided only members over the age of eighteen may attend. Itís understandable, but Iím still hugely disappointed. I guess thereís always next year.
I spent about forty minutes in the bathroom this morning. Most of that time was taken up by scrubbing myself so hard that I thought my skin would fall off in the shower. I even shaved over the marks in an attempt to get the worst of the ink off. Itís so
. While I sleep, my hands get smothered in red smudges and everywhere rubs together, making the marks merge with one another so that theyíre no longer separate, but one huge rinse of pink. At least cuts are so much more tidy and pretty and easy to clean.
I may have just found my second-best. Hot baths. I rarely have them, but I just discovered how relaxing it is to feel like your skin is close to being melted away and like you might have to leap around and scream for a few moments. Yet, you stay in the water anyway, despite the tingling sensation. Iím not sure why. I wasnít ever exactly comfortable. I felt overwhelmed by the heat and trying to read only lasted for about quarter of an hour, because my hands started to lose feeling, being raised slightly above the rest of my body.
I just won a chess game for the first time in ages. These past few months Iíve been all ďoh here you go, opposing player with a rating ten times my own, take my queen, and hereís a ton of pawns and a bishop or two to complete the set... Hey, why not set me up for a really speedy checkmate that I donít even notice at the last minute?Ē Having said that, the game that I won yesterday, I was just trying to take this guyís castle. Next thing I know: ďgame over, black has wonĒ, me being black.
A few years ago, my three best friends attempted to arrange a surprise party for my birthday. It never happened; I freaked out for a week when they gave me really improbable excuses as for why they were busy and couldnít make it that day, and spent days crying to my mum about how my three favourite people in the world were lying to me and couldnít even be bothered to just tell me that they didnít like me. Pathetic, I know. Eventually, my mum had to tell me what was actually going on and ruined their plans. I suck.
Sometimes I tell myself that if thereís really nothing else I can do, I should just go grab a razorblade. Why not? After all, it only helps. But I never do. Iím less likely to even go near one when Iím in that mood. People always wish that God would give them strength, whether theyíre religious or simply uttering the phrase, but I often wish for it to be taken away from me. Which is insane. Sometimes I donít understand what the hell I can do instead, but waiting it out eventually tells me. I just hate
I cried and cried after watching Smallville just now. The boy (I donít know his name. I stopped watching it religiously years ago) died from a brain tumour. A girl that was one of the closest friends of the sister of my best friend died from a brain tumour on Tuesday morning. Itís ridiculous, that I should be this upset at a stupid show and about a girl who Iíve never even met, but she was only 19. Her friend is distraught beyond anything Iíve seen. I canít even imagine that, losing a best friend. The thought alone is unbearable.
The camera fixates on the vivid red gashes, fresh on her arm. Thatís the juicy, interesting part, after all, is it not? This is the shocking gasp-worthy shot, made especially so by no prior warning. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes of footage so far, and not even the slightest mention or indication that this woman self-harms. It wasnít exactly surprising. Dissociative identity disorder, youíd be naive not to expect it. Eight hours later and the images are still glaring in your mind and youíre wondering if you should have gone and stolen the pack of knife blades you found at work.
I came up with a new, alternate plan. Itís not the most original or the most instantly gratifying, but itís giving me a few extra weeks in which Iím not allowed to cut. I decided that if this new idea doesnít work out, only then am I allowed. I probably wonít though; letís face it, Iím far too annoyingly adamant that Iím never cutting again. I spent an hour in the bath with a razorblade last night, crying and staring at it. How very pathetically emo, I know. It made me sleepy enough to crawl into bed and have nightmares.
Iíve had a niggling suspicion for the past few weeks, maybe the past couple of months, that I am becoming even more horribly dependant than I already was. Which was a lot. Iíve always hated school holidays, and weekends, and also evenings. I canít stand them and they make me go slightly odd, perhaps. Today, itís been only three hours since I was with one of my best friends and itís already kicking in. These past few weeks, I feel like whenever Iím alone Iím simply wasting time, waiting. Itís getting beyond ridiculous and I would like a hug, please.
I keep trying to tell my brain to shut the fuck up, but it just wonít. I cried at two telephone commercials yesterday. Iím crying now and all the time. I really canít be bothered to do this all over again. One person yells at me and then the whole world hates me. And then I understand why they yelled and I believe Iím an awful, despicable human being. Mainly for being this sickeningly emo. Iím terrified of going back to cutting but itís all I can think about because I know itíll fix everything and make me feel better.
Iím completely exhausted and have decided that this is as good a reason as any for me to shut the fuck up once in a while. I couldnít sleep for ages last night and I kept waking up when I finally fell asleep and Iíve been fully awake since about 6am and I even look awful because my eyes are constantly red and puffy. Itís all really rather disgusting. Still, only two days to go. I bet Iíll completely chicken out and I wonít do anything and then what if forced to do the you-know-what? Itís all really rather silly.
I just passed my driving theory test and Iím not so sure that I feel anything. I always figured passing one half would be cause for much celebration and though I feel kind of relieved, I donít really see it as that much of an achievement like all my friends seem to. I donít know, maybe it isnít that big a deal and everyone else thinks the same, too. I canít wait until I can take my practical exam, though. I want to be able to get out of the house whenever the hell I want, and have some independence.
Iíve had a headache for about ten hours. This has not been improved by the panic that followed when I thought I got hair dye in my eye and left it a few minutes and thought I was being poisoned and gassed to death when my nostrils seemed to widen and everywhere stank of dye. I felt like I was going to faint and decided that maybe I was also going to die. I think now, looking back, that this was all a paranoid reaction. My eye didnít even sting or anything like that. I tend to overreact a little.
And finally, sleep. Iíve been waiting for tonight for
. Or, a week perhaps. I get to lie in bed all morning and I donít really need to emerge until around 7pm, and my parents are unusually fine with this, as I have an unusual excuse. Mind, no matter how much rest I get, I always feel exhausted. Not that I actually get much rest. I lie awake for hours and then when I finally drift off, my sleep is often fractured and Iím wide awake by about 6am. Sometimes, I can sleep fine. I still feel tired though.
Today, the memory of something Iíd read earlier made me laugh (it wasnít all that funny at all, it was simple blissful relief and reminiscence; realisation of just what you have) in the shower and then I found myself crying, tears joining the soaps suds in the tray. I think this silly little phase may be fading out. My head hurts from where I banged it last night, but I feel lighter and more breezy than I have done in weeks. I planned on sleeping in long this morning, but I canít stay asleep no matter how hard I try.
I looked at the date for this entry and had somewhat of a shock. The end of the month already and I thought weíd only just started. Perhaps Iíve wasted an entire month by being emo and horrible. Iíve been thinking about this a lot; one of my friends always tells me sheís jealous of me, being in love and all that shenanigans. Another tells me she Ďhatesí me (from jealously apparently) when she sees how much weight Iíve lost these past five months; she tries, but canít seem to shift the weight. I canít understand whatís wrong with me.
Beforehand, I figured I might just go a bit silly and perhaps consider what was left after seeing Radiohead; once upon a time, achieving that, as sad and obsessive as it is, would have been the be-all and end-all, thereíd be nothing left for me to do. Plus, you know, seeing them and not getting to kidnap the band members. Strangely enough, I think it was one of the best nights of my life, but not in the way, as Johnny puts it, that youíve experienced the best moment in your whole lifetime and everything else is inadequate from thereon.
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