REPORT A PROBLEM
As childish as it is, Iíve been feeling rather excited at the prospect of making friends whilst attempting to lose weight. Everyone seems friendly, though most are only acquaintances yet. One person Iíve found, if itís possible, may actually be a bigger Radiohead fan than myself. I think we might have made friends already, perhaps. I was weighing all these sorts of things up in my head last night; I donít remember when I last cried. It feels like an age. My initial reaction was to wonder what is wrong with me, but now perhaps Iím being normal for once.
Nietzsche; I swear his words go in through my right eye (thatís my short-sighted, reading eye) and out through my left. Or they sit in my head for a second before evaporating and creating condensation on my brain. Perhaps thatís what causes my headaches. One of my friends used to have agonising, unexplainable fits and one of the theories was water on the brain. I just donít see text flying out of your left eye that likely of a scenario. Someone would notice eventually, or thereíd be a nasty accident. Probably just being bored to death, but there you go.
At some point when I was still in primary school, I confessed to my mother that Iíd rather be a boy. She cried a lot, and (hopefully) forgot about it, as it was never mentioned again. I sometimes still have fleeting thoughts, thought Iím pretty certain Iíve missed that particular window. Even in high school, I was still dressing in boys clothes; if not boys, at least baggy, unflattering, uniformly black garments. Iíve become increasingly girly in the past year or so; Iíve always liked bags to an extent, but Christ, I can even get excited about shoes these days.
Just a few seats ahead of me, thereíre some girls squealing about the hilarity they just encountered; a ticket conductor informing them that smoking in the station is forbidden. One of them suggests that they should have continued nonetheless, after all, he was on the other side of the track and they could have easily gotten away; what could he have done to stop them lighting up? The others fall about at this, for they are such rebellious little ones, or so theyíd have the whole carriage believe. I doubt admiration is what they crave, more likely theyíd detest that.
How can such an important hierarchy switch around without you even noticing? No one even bothered to inform you. A girl isnít supposed to do that to her best friends, though theyíd do the same were they in the same situation, wouldnít they? Had they found the same kind of exact match. I always swore I never would do, but this is the kind of thing that creeps upon you so slowly that youíre already comfortable with it by the time you notice. Itís been switched for longer than you can remember; only now can you bear to admit it.
I can never write the entries that I want to. They never turn out how I imagined; I canít used the right words or find the correct tone. I feel comfortable and OK right now, but the entry I just attempted made me sound completely whiny. Yes, Iím at a complete loss at the moment, but itís OK; I just canít describe how everything is right at the same time as being so disconnected and so full on the inside, of the opposite to the loneliness tingling on the surface of my skin. I feel warm and need to cry.
Hello, one gigantic sigh of the body and brain. Iím so glad to be back at college tomorrow, Iím itching to fall asleep so the morning comes around sooner. I swear Iím not just weird. I just want to have people and routines, and something to make the time pass quicker. Trust my iTunes to have picked
particular song to play right now. Itís always so appropriate because everything always is; you adapt and it becomes appropriate. Sometimes though, it really is true. This will always be appropriate and this will never stop being as long as I live.
I feel terribly hurt and upset right now. I know that I shouldnít, but damn it, Iím an unreasonable bitch with raging teenage hormones and Iím coping with this the only way I know how; ridiculous entries and stupid emo woe and misery. Or not. I donít feel that bad. Iím just really wound up. Perhaps Iím not upset, but angry? I donít even know, or care. I think I may be alone in my loneliness, because no one needs me like I need them. Yes, weíve hit emo, I believe. I know everyone talks about me behind my back.
I just sent a friend of mine an e-mail that was close to two thousand words long, and realised just how much of a one-track mind I have, always relating everything back to the same thing. Far worse than Iíd thought, if Ďworseí is the right way to put it. Not for me, just other people perhaps. I noticed that I have to hold back from doing this for a lot of the time; I worry people will get sick of it, or worse, think Iím rubbing my own sickly happiness in their faces, especially as I try not to.
I think I finally made a Plan B. Which is admirable, for me. I donít tend to have them; I donít like the idea that Plan A wonít work out. It will, so long as I work for it, though. I just really need it to, thatís all. Iíve always had an impractical Plan B that I shouldnít even really consider, but it seems the best thing, in my silly head. Weíll just see how things go, I guess. Thatís all you can really do. I just donít want to ruin all my good grades and, I need certain things.
I wonder if I seem fairly anti-social at college. I prefer to go in, get the classes done, and go home. I donít really like the breaks in between. I love seeing my friends outside of college, but whilst there, I feel like I have chores to get over and done with. And then I want to go home and rest. Perhaps Iím just unsettled, because I always wish Iím at college during the evenings, weekends, and parts of the holidays. This is definitely lessening, though, I think Iím getting slightly better at not always relying on others for company.
All last year, I never considered dropping out once, yet this past week it seems like a most tempting idea. I enjoyed my subjects last year and now I feel like Iím totally lost and donít understand a word of any class. I thought Iíd put in all the effort and was pleased with my results; I just forgot I had to do it all over again. People expect things of me; I keep getting asked questions in class, especially philosophy, and I donít know how to answer, and then when I attempt it they look so disappointed in me.
I hate keeping secrets from my friends. At some point, I donít remember when, it never felt like such a big deal to me. It doesnít matter, just when they
things. When they assume itís OK to say it because none of us would care. They donít know I care, and itís not their fault. Thereís no reason why they shouldnít think they know me better than anyone. Thatís the worst part in some ways, knowing Iím purposefully deceiving them when they should be the ones who know everything. Iím making this sound far more important than it is.
There's this guy I sit next to in my English Lit class, I only met him this past week or so. Recently he was bitching about his parents; apparently they once said they'd be able to pay all his university fees and now they can't. And he was all pissed off at them, saying heíll somehow screw the money out of them and acting like he somehow
all that money off them. I was so shocked that someone would just
that from their parents; Iím already saving because university is a bloody privilege that some people canít afford.
I dreamed I walked ten miles to buy a pair of scales that actually work. When I got there, they only had one set left, and I discovered Iíd lost another two pounds. I wish; Iím too worried to weigh myself today, I donít fancy the disappointment. I always want to go running when Iím in bed; itís the most annoying time to start thinking about how fat I am. If the treadmill was inside the house, maybe I would. Thereís no way Iím going out there in the middle of the night, Iíll probably die of a nervous disposition.
My legs and back are aching loads, but I always feel that exercise is only worth it if it hurts. It doesnít hurt at the time; that would just be daft. But afterwards, I like the tenderness of my muscles; it feels like something might actually be happening. I like pushing myself because I know I can do it. Itís the one thing where I can control my own achievements. Itís a nice, comforting definite. I donít have to hope, I simply have to do. Itís nothing like academic achievements, which arenít mine; I just regurgitated a textbook accurately enough.
I dreamed I was in a falling lift last night. A girl from my philosophy class and I thought we'd die together; in reality weíve never even spoken and the only reason she was there was because Iíd seen her drying out her phone in the ladies earlier yesterday. And because sheís wonderfully skinny and can wear tiny jeans that still manage to look baggy on her. I comfort ate a whole lot today; for me this involves bananas, hummus, and rice cakes, yet I still feel immensely guilty. My mum says Iím in danger of becoming like my sister.
Look at all the imaginary superglue, glistening like the tears it took to run this mess away. It came out with the sweat, or so I believe; sweat and tears, all we need now is your blood. Shattered beyond belief, yet constantly renewing and fooling myself into carrying on. I continually break down in tears, fix myself (or have someone else do it) and then succumb to this impossible exhaustion; I canít relax but Iíve been would too tight to care anymore. Panic a second and the cycle takes holds again. I want to drop everything and never want again.
I feel relaxed! Oh, thank the Lord, I feel like yelling at the top of my voice. Itís wonderful; Iím relaxed and donít feel like I could burst into tears at any given moment, and I donít contemplate lying down and wondering whether never waking up would be the best option. Sleep and red wine and making decisions may possibly be the best thing ever. I feel refreshed and not in the least bit like giving up and Iím excited again. Itís wonderful to enjoy all of this again; I think the past week or so was just a blip.
Damn automatic payments! Iíve received two e-mails this week reminding me that my subscriptions on separate websites are coming to an end and that on the 24th September a renewal payment will automatically be taken from my bank account. Problem is that I only have three quid in my account. Damn the screw up at the Educational Maintenance Allowance office; I would have money were it not for them! ...OK, so I have cash. I can pay it into my account, but that would use up calories and breaths I could spend on running. I worry about money too much.
The churning stomach sensation of nerves (Iíve been waiting for tomorrow for six weeks) was just pleasantly interrupted by a victorious 18 point jump up in my online chess rating; take that checkmate, mother! ...Weíre pleasant about it but yes, we gloat over our wins. I think I get on really well with my mum; possibly (yet not proudly) I think this is enhanced by the tension between my sister and her. Mum once tried to stab my sister (the flying knife missed) and my sister is gradually driving mum into an insane asylum. Itís all very two-sided and horrible.
I can drive without L plates and without someone supervising me! Driving on my own for the first time didnít even feel scary or nerve wracking; it felt completely natural. And, having Radiohead accompany me as I sang to my heartsí content along every road was rather good too. Iíve finally gotten one hurdle out of the way, and Iím currently clambering over another. Iíve gotten half my draft personal statement written, with lots of little edit notes where I can improve all over it. Iím actually feeling relaxed regardless of the amount of sleep or food Iíve had today.
Itís not like I donít deserve this. Itís not like I donít have a million things to be guilty for; even more outside of what I did to you. I canít really blame you for being like this... I just wish it would stop. I wish I could change everything and I wish you would stop being so fucking hot and cold, acting like you want to see me and then either stand me up or act so unbothered that I donít even know if you care one tiny iota. And itís exactly what I did, just not so terrible.
I have to start my AS maths class tomorrow; Iím going to be (one of?) the oldest in a class full of people I donít know! Argh, Iím anticipating that theyíll all think Iím stupid because Iím retaking a class and if thereís anyone from my old high school... This may be really uncomfortable. Still, I think Iíd almost rather not have any friends or companions in this class; I really need to get my grade C bumped up to a B. I so should have studied and not been so cocky, just because Iíve previously been good at maths.
Today, I held my friends hand whilst some man stabbed her in the neck. Though, it was for a fee, and she had given her consent prior to the event it was still fairly disturbing. The room was dark green, pretty and cosy yet sterile. My own reaction was to clench her hand just as tightly as she did mine, as it feel so unnatural just to stand by and watch something like that; I wanted to shove him away and look after her but I have to admit, the final result looked great. Iím easily won over by piercings.
I can fully cope with six hours of college and being ill, thank you very much. Of course, it helps to have something to look forwards to; it always does. I can even get up half an hour earlier than usual just to make sure my hair is completely dry (to prevent making the illness worse) and also to straighten it (to keep it nice and under control for the rest of the day), which is all very out of character for me. If I canít be bothered with make-up, thatís it and who cares if I look a mess.
I donít know if Iíll bother with 100 words this next month; I tend to forget until late at night and I never have anything to say anyway. Or rather, I can talk for England but writing is a different matter. Words look silly when you write them down and they never sound how you intend. Perhaps I just donít have very good control over my writing, though my GCSE teacher told me I exercise excellent control. Then again, I was particularly proud of my coursework; since then itís all gone downhill and I donít put much effort into it.
I can wear size ten jeans! This would be even more terribly exciting than it already is were it not for the fact I still look fat and lumbering and disgusting. I always thought a size ten would look wonderfully skinny with no clothes on? Not that I mind. Not too much anyway. Iím happier with the way I look than I have been in years and even if I piled all the weight back on... Iíd still be happier than Iíve ever been. Sure, Iíd like to keep it off; Iíd
to lose another stone and a half.
Iím supposed to be writing an attempt answer at some philosophy exam questions; hello, YouTube. My teacher said something crap was better than not even trying, but itís getting started thatís the problem. I think Iíll leave it a few hours and then scribble something incoherent in the minute before I fall asleep. Plus, I have a three hour break at college tomorrow; I can always use that, especially as Iíd quite like to do something other than negotiate between two of my best friends. One hates the other, and the second is finally getting sick of trading on eggshells.
Everything I felt only a week or so ago seems to have dispersed; I think Iím enjoying college even if the classes are beyond me. Possibly this is the influence of too many sweets and watching our philosophy teacher have to run to the bathroom, but I see nothing wrong with that. Of course, Iím putting off doing the work we were set for tomorrow, but even that doesnít feel like such a challenge as it did yesterday. I at least admitted that I didnít understand anything and had only written a minimal amount, rather than avoid asking for help.
The Tip Jar