Twenty-four hours and things will change?

Another twenty-four hours, and will things be the same?

I never make resolutions for the new year; not because I fear I will give up on them, more of a fear that I'll never try them. So it would all be pointless in effect. But alas, this year I have chosen to give myself one goal. That one and only goal is to be more positive. A lot of things may change and be stressful, yet having a positive outlook could make all the difference. I have to try, be brave and go forth. Conquer fears, including the one I have about getting close to others. I need to make an effort with people, like N and S. There could be lifelong friendships at stake.

This year on reflection, I feel I have grown, settled, changed. I am not exactly who I used to be, but the core elements are still there. I have realised I need to take care of myself above others, and that I can't just slip away like I thought I may be able to once upon a time. I have gotten rid of problems, and solved others. Yet some big issues still remain. Slowly but surely, I reckon I'm heading in the right direction. I'm hoping happiness will follow.

I wouldn't mind if we could do this a little while longer.

The cityscape never fades, no matter where you go. The lights, electrifying and bold. Neon signs, street lights bouncing off bar stools and onto sidewalks where crowds are spilling out from clubs. Restaurants with fairy lights and candles seen from outside. Concrete jungles where dreams are made of, lights to guide and inspire you, many different people from different places all spun into one. They make you feel brand new, giving a new perspective; making you have the urge to seek further than the backstreets. The seedy one night stands and sultry gentleman's clubs, pickpockets and the underground. Noise, too much noise. There's more than that out there. There is the thing that people like to ignore the most - peace, tranquility, serenity. Perhaps the city is a means of blocking the natural mind. Another way to further ignore our true selves and the beauty all around. But without the hubs, there wouldn't be livelyness and singing. Joyous karaoke and mixing. There would be no life in the night, just a slow moving dull scape of buildings silhouetting against the night sky.

Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die.

The Princess Bride (1987.)

Never Been Kissed (1999.)

Sugar, we're going down swinging.

I had the most oddest dream/nightmare. Some nights are better than others, like the previous night I felt relaxed and content and at peace. Last night was different though, and I spent a whole hour watching the final of Soroity Girls on 4OD which was lovely because secretly I want to be in a close sisterhood with some nice individuals who I can learn from and share with. I hope the concept launches massively. Anyway, the comfort I have felt the past few days needs to definitely be transferred onto friends. I'm hoping S and N are the way to go, but they seem quite religious.

Back to my dream/mare. A whole bunch of stuff happened prior to the main event, but that's getting fuzzy in my mind so I will cut to the chase. There's a coconut man who lives with his wife and two children across the street. They were apparently away from home, yet he came back in his RIAN (number plate) car. He looked unshaven and bloodshot. Probably had been drinking. Then, in the next day, his family returned. I was just observing them all, happy and lively and running to and from the other car unloading their things. It must have skipped to 11pm, when a police car flashing it's siren lights came onto the street. There was a big scuffle between the coconut man and the police - ending in him being thwacked into the policecar. My dad hadn't returned home yet, and I don't know if there was a connection there or not. But it seemed really odd. Anyways, that was when my dad rudely woke me up.

Come on, I know myself by now.

"I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. Even now, when people lean down to touch me, or hug me, to put a hand on my shoulder, I hold my breath. I turn my face. I want to cry."

— Marya Hornbacher

I am alive. For better or for worse. I woke up in a feverish state several times last night. There's a storm raging outside and all I want to do is cry. I binged and I wanted to purge but I didn't and I feel so fucking fat. I've stayed in my room, in bed, avoiding everyone and anything. I just want to sleep. It's all too much. The littlest things set me off. Everything's too loud, there are too many people around, it's too bright. Both mother and brother tried to hug me, and my mask slipped, and I snapped. It evoked so much rage that it scared even me. I hate being touched. And I shy away, but really, all I want is to be held; I long for an embrace to fold myself into. Someone to disappear into. I just want to be not me for a while. I want someone to care. I need you to notice, but you probably forgot to remember me. (Did you?) And yet I hate this; being so vulnerable, so needy, so dependent. (I just want to hear your voice. Where are you?)

How do you continue living when you hate the very bones of yourself, the simple fact that you exist, in this world, today?

"'Cause I don't trust that there won't be another string of manic freak-outs if I stick around. Come on, I know myself by now. It's not an easy realization to come to. I'm not the best thing for you. I'm not the best thing for you."

"I’ve cried, and you’d think I’d be better for it, but the sadness just sleeps, and it stays in my spine for the rest of my life."

I barely know what to do with myself; I feel infinitely sad yet strangely alright. It's only when I think of you that I become more and more, like turning up the volume until the silence is too deafening, and I drown in myself and my thoughts and the demons. Where are you? Did you forget me? I miss you. Do you care?

I can't wait to forget you. I'll never forget you. I am easily forgettable.

Just last the year;

Christmas is the worst time of the year for me. This one in particular marks my five year anniversary of.. survival? staying alive? I don't know what to call it, but five years ago I was at an all-time low; no hope, no future, just darkness, and on Christmas Eve, I was going to kill myself. I remember having Death Cab's Transatlanticism on repeat and looking at myself in the mirror, thinking fuckyoufuckthisyouareuglynoonewilleverwantyouthereisnopointtostayalivebecauseyouwillneveramounttoanythingandyouareuglyuglyfatfatuglyuglyfatuglyhopelessuglyuglyfatfatfat and I sank to the floor crying, clutching this jagged piece of glass I was going to use to slit my wrists, to escape this hell, to die. And then, I don't know. I don't know why I didn't. Maybe someone called my name, maybe I thought there was something else that I wanted to do before I died, maybe there was a spark of hope somewhere inside me. I'll never know. And now, five years later, I am in that same place. I've come to a crossroads, and I don't know which path to choose. I know you can never go back, and you will never have another chance, and it's better to try and lose than to never have tried at all. If you fall, pick yourself up again. Time heals all wounds (but not really.) Lose your hunger, and you lose your way. Stay true to yourself. Don't let anyone tell you what to do or think. Don't change for anyone. Don't depend on anyone. Give and you'll receive. (These are all clichés, but there is truth in them.) Trust yourself. Trust your dreams, and chase them, no matter where they might take you. These are the things I've learnt. And yet.

My stomach is full of whiskey, painkillers and sleeping pills. There are fresh cuts on my thighs. I am here, but not really. I am disconnected. (My mind is arguing the pros and cons of living and there is nothing I can do about it. I am constantly at war with myself.)

And should I still be alive come morning, I will probably delete this.

times are hard for dreamers.

My little Amélie,

You don’t have bones of glass. You can take life’s knocks. If you let this chance pass, eventually, your heart will become as dry and brittle as my skeleton.

I am a butterfly but you wouldn't let me die.

I don't want to let you go. If you were thinking I gave you permission to, I didn't. There's too much that I want to say, but I can't find the right words without looking like a complete desperate idiot. I find it frustrating that there's nothing within me to solve this, but then, I am pretty much empty & alone forever. Sometimes I really accept it, but then others it just makes me want to scream inside. There's a coffin with my name on it, and I can't wait to be contained in it. I always get defensive when i'm tired, there was no other meaning behind it. I sounded uncaring and easygoing but I felt the exact opposite. Nothing I ever do comes out right. You were always there, pretty much. I just don't want you to go without a true chance..

You might never know what you nearly had.

My life is the worst.

Losing it.

It's fast approaching the dreaded holiday that I wish never happened, ever. It sounds like THEBITCH is coming one day/night earlier than the rest of them which leaves a bitter, anxious feeling inside me swirling all over my insides. God knows why we're even having Christmas here again this year, it's stressing everyone out in the house. Lately I have been listening to a lot of music, some nostalgic, a lot new & it really brightens my day to be honest.
It was a clear night last night. I could see stars and constellations, spent ages trying to take decent pictures and changing the ISO level, but in the end only got a handful of good ones. Then this morning I awoke to the harsh low winter sun, and about several inches of snow and I was like ugh, don't wanna get out of bed and the sound of my parent's arguing. It's like I never left. I just wish I had one person in my life that didn't abandon, neglect or change their minds. I want somebody. Why do I always have to be in it alone? Largely, most people have families or friends or drink or sex etc. I just have stalkers but I want something constant and stable, preferably love. I guess I just can't be loved.
Every night I stay awake until two or three (sometimes four) with all this shit killing me inside, every single day I wake up wishing I hadn't, I try to push all this down; physically in my mind I tell myself to push it all further, deeper from my mind but i'm finding it can't go away, that it won't go down. Maybe there's too much of it to just hide away. It's stuck in my chest, my guts, my bones. Everything aches, and all of the time I find myself wanting to cry. And I cry every time I'm alone. The tears are endless streams, I could go on forever crying a river. It's never been that much of a flow before. I'm really worried for myself.

There's a degree of difficulty in dealing with me.

I wish my moods wouldn't rise and fall so quickly; my world turns from pleasant to black in the matter of seconds. Like Jenny Lewis sings, The lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap. And all I can see is darkness. An infinite, starless night. And I wish to god I could tell him, I do, but I.. I can think of a hundred reasons not to. "He's busy" or "he'll get worried" or "I'd be bothering him". He seems to accept me, flaws and all, but there's only so much he can know. I flip so easily. I turn on myself; self destruct. I fall. And everything hurts, and there's nothing anyone can do to make it better. I fall, and then I dig myself deeper and deeper, and I feel like maybe one of these days I'll fall out of a hole at the opposite corner of the world. And there's nothing I can do about it.


I guess it's time to try and be productive again, or procrastinate some more..