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June 10 No-one could ever love you half as much as I do now...I love going mad. It feels like you've been hit with a solid wall of water - soft but solid and immovable. I watched a girl on the lawns outside the Guildhall today, staring into a hand mirror, bored of her own striking beauty. I watched a little boy chase ducks into the river. I watched an old man help his young granddaughter across the street. I watched all this and no one watched me. No one saw me - I'm invisible in my insanity. May 07 Ag-on-eeI am in agony. It's all David's fault. That's all I'm saying.... apart from the fact I'm finding it hard to walk in a straight line.  This agony has made daily tasks rather difficult. I fell over in the shower and cut my head on a loose tile. Another owie. I slipped in a muddy puddle and ended up caked to the thigh in brown. My parents find it hilarious.... especially as I am now sat at my desk with one leg hanging over the back of my chair and the other on top of the computer box in an attempt to alleviate my disquietude. He's in biiiiiig trouble!  In other news, the world (as far as I am aware) is still turning, John Prescott is still a fat odourous pig and there is a bluebottle flying around my head in the last seconds of its life. 5 seconds later: News update. The bluebottle is dead. I must now take my leave to wreak my vengeance on 'The Boy'. Mwahahaha! April 22 The Putrefaction of TelevisionTelevision is becoming an abomination. I watched an episode of the Simple Life today (I was ill and bored). Two 'celebrities', Paris Hilton (heiress to the hotel empire) and Nicole Ritchie (not sure who the hell she is), 'worked' for a day at a place that made computer circuit boards. They must have caused $1000s damages. I was stunned at the complete lack of respect that they both had for what other call their work, their livelihood. It was disgusting. Apparently this is the basis of the entire television series. How can anyone be so disrespectful when they have so much. Or is that it... they have so much, the need nothing else so they 'have the right' to look down on the rest of us. Someone ought to take them to the sweatshops in Asia or the shanty towns of Africa. But then, if you're that stuck-up, would you be moved by the sight of starving children lying in gutters with shit and flies? Probably not.
On a more pathetic note. I miss, want (!) and wholeheartedly love David. Dammit. April 11 I hate doctorsWhy is it that doctors all have that same smug look? The one that says 'I'm better than you and you know it'. I hate it. There is only one doctor who does not have that look - Dr Caley. He doesn't need it. Every other doctor does. I saw two separate doctors today. Dr Wilson - a fat, toad-like woman who speaks in a monotone and appears to have no personality. I went to have a contraceptive implant inserted and she was to do this. Dear god, that woman is flat! I've met door handles with more personality that her. The otherwas Dr Ferguson - a small, Irish-sounding psychiatrist with an unnerving habit of asking what turns out to be a poorly phrased question and stares at you while you allow your brain to grasp that he'd just asked a question (poor phrased as it was) and is requiring an answer. The staring is extremely off-putting. Both have that look in common. I have noticed that quite a lot of pharmacists have also perfected it. I don't like it one bit. These people make me feel small and awkward and these feelings exacerbate my extreme clumsiness.
For these reasons I have decided to declare a war on doctors (minus Dr Caley) - especially psychiatrists. I escpecially HATE psychiatrists. The way they act like they know me but in reality have no clue and I'm not going to help them. Dammit. April 06 F*cking Emo Moronettes!Someone sent an 'agony aunt' letter to me, the sixth form agony aunt for the forthcoming Student Voice magazine.
'My friends are emos, like me, and they have started to cut themselves to fit in with the Emo philosophy. They are doing it to rebel against their parents. What do you think I should do?'
My reply:
People like your friends seem to be are making a mockery (for want of a better word) of those who cut for a genuine reason. Self-harm is a serious pscyhological issue, not something you do for fun or to rebel. If you want to rebel then go out and get pissed or stoned. I am speaking as a self-harmer, as if you hadn't noticed. It became my coping method while I was in a junior psych unit because I had no other way. It REALLY F*CKING ANNOYS me to know that people like your friends are basically mocking what became a very real and very dangerous experience for me and millions of other people worldwide. If they actually sat down and tried to convince themselves that their internal pain was so great it HAD to be balanced out with a similar external pain do you think they could do it? No, neither do I. Stupid little emo children who need to grow up and stop acting like complete tw*ts and get a grip on reality before it jumps up and smacks them in the face. As for rebelling against their parents... scare the sh*t out of them more like! I don't think there are many (good) parents out there who wouldn't be absolutely distraught at the fact that their child felt the need to carve into themselves for relief. Or pleasure? Why you would use this as a weapon against your parents is even more of a stunner. My advice? Tell them to get their heads out of their arses and find a les pathetic and 'emo-typical' way of rebelling. March 21 Aarg!I have a hairline fracture in my wrist. It hurts like hell, has swollen up and is going black. Why me! March 17 Waxing legs in a french lessonNo french lesson this afternoon as the teachers are on a trip. After finishing the work, our group of 7 sat around and gambled with Haribo sweeties at Poker until Curlytop suggested I try waxing my legs. Don't ask. I don't know how we got onto the topic and I admitted I'd never tried it. She produced a packet of wax strips from her bag, rolled up my jeans and stuck it on. Not too bad. Rip! AAAARRGG. Fuck! The idea of wax strips is they aren't really hot when you use them and they are good for short hairs in between proper waxes. My hair was growing nicely, waiting to be removed in the bath the sane way, with a razor. It was entirely ripped from my shin. Good god! I am surprised my shriek didn't alert one of the German teachers upstairs. How do we get into these situations?
In a way, for these days, I will miss school. March 07 KissingWhat is the best part of a kiss? The anticipation as you move in to your partner? The actual kiss? The hands? The eyes? The... ahem.... tongue? What is it? I know what I think it is but I wonder if anyone will read this and tell me what they think.
March 06 So much time, so little to do... wait, reverse thatTo say that nothing has happened would be a revolting lie. On Saturday, Gifford and I split up. I'm not sure why as neither of us wanted to and by 4.30 on sunday we were sat on a bench in the park with our arms round each other. On that front, ignoring the weekend, things aren't too bad.
I get my exam results on Friday. I don't want them and I really want them. I must remember to take a sick bag to school that day.
I'm still mad.
I'm still screwed up.
I'm still me.
So far.... January 25 In the white room/with black curtainsExams over. Not in the mood for a long entry.
Life going crap.
Got headache brought on by too many paracetamols.
Shit. January 17 Where my shadows used to beThe French, in their eternal gallic wisdom, have filled their Senate with 'old men' (literal translation). Is it any wonder that their country is hated internationally? Their President is a nutter who looks like a shovel! Their Prime Minister is a name unknown to most of the population AND Shovel Man's University buddy! This is a nation who had to choose between Chirac, a thoroughly unpleasant and oafish man, or Jean-Marie Le Pen, a blatant Fascist! Knowing all this valid information about the French Political System how can I possibly learn to love their langauge? It's like asking a semi-homophobe to love Polari (okay, maybe not that extreme). The question should also be asked: Are Shovel Man and Question Head (Dominique de Villepin, French PM) better or worse than Big Ears (Tony Blair) and Fatty Lard-arse (John Prescott)? I couldn't answer that but Chirac is a womaniser and Prescott is a fat, violent pig. Maybe we could merge them into one Political Mega-Force!
What has this to do with anything, you ask. The answer? Absolutely nothing. I am using this as an opportunity to practise my touch-typing and I'm doing quite well. However, I have amused myself in my slagging off of the French. Damn them and their stupid tenses! Subjunctive, Perfect, Imperfect, Plu-perfect, Conditional, Conditional Perfect, Past Historic, Present, Future and all the other French tenses. Damn them all! Also, those stupid little accents they insist on putting all over the place. What makes it worse is that you have to use special keyboard codes to type them on an English computer. And genders! How is a room feminine but a college masculine. Its daft. I'm saying this as a girl born of German parents, semi-fluent in german, a language with some particularly wonderful words. Languages are very odd things. Why do the Spanish insist on putting upside-down question marks at the beginning of sentences? So the reader knows that the question is a sentence and can adjust his tone thus. Brilliant! My favourite language to learn is Latin. I'm doing a Latin A Level. It is a brilliant language and certainly not dead! Learning Latin (as I have down since year 3) improves your style of writing and grasp of basic grammar rules. But then, I am the sort of pedant who corrects punctuation on posters and NEVER uses split infinitives.
Someone's boring me - I think it's me (Dylan Thomas). January 15 о бог помогаетThe relationship with Gifford has reached the stage where I have become a gibbering and painfully obsessive wreck. Today I have drunk 24 cups of very hot, black, unsweetened tea and washed my hands 10 times. I went in the shower and shampooed my hair three times, washed myself twice and shaved my under arms until they were raw. I revised for my Biology exam for 4 hours straight. I wrote three pages (6 sides) of A4 nonsense and called it a poem. I know I won't sleep tonight and I will fail my exam tomorrow. The only problem is food. I don't want to be hungry but I am, achingly so. I want to eat constantly. I can't help it. I start each day with a small breakfast, followed by a small lunch and then mid-afternoon I go mad and my stomach aches like hell and all the tea in the world couldn't squash my hunger pangs. I think I'm going to go mad. This was how it started before. The skin is peeling off my hands, the wounds on my legs have turned black and ooze constantly. Sweet sweet madness. Welcome back! I've never been so glad to see someone as I am to see you. January 14 27 WordsIdiot Boy has resigned. I don't know why this makes me feel the way it does. I shouldn't be bothered. But I am. I really am. January 04 Get your philosophy from a bumper stickerMy A Level English coursework essay on The Great Gatsby has been requested by the exam board for their archives! That might not sound too impressive but bear in mind that mine was the only one from my school in ANY subject to be requested and it hasn't happened for 4 years! I had to sign a consent form to say I was willing to have my work in the OCR/NEAB/Edexcel?AQA archives. Incidentally, this piece of coursework took me two hours to write (when I really get into a text I can spew out essays in a flash) and I was awarded full marks (50 out of 50).
That's my exciting news for the day. I went to see Narnia with Gifford on Monday night. Wonderful film, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I am slowly getting back on my feet after my Christmas illness although it has lead to unfavourable living arrangements.
I have had 6 University offers now, all the universities I applied to have made me offers.
Exam revision beckons! December 31 My New Years Resolutions are already brokenThe New Year is not actually here yet but its certainly going to be an interesting one given the events of this evening! Gifford came round for dinner (external circumstances meant he had to leave at 11), we talked, danced to Jools Holland music and played Monopoly. That may not sound like fun but I can assure you it was!
Christmas was awful. I contracted a bug from somewhere and put on antibiotics. Antibiotics never react well with me and so I had a fit and ended up in hospital on Christmas Eve. The fact I was in the Lake District at the time made it worse. I was allowed out on Christmas Day morning but I spent all the time until the 27th, when we went home, in bed asleep. I didn't eat anything for 5 days and lost half a stone. I still haven't eaten properly and my appetite is non-existent.
I am at work tomorrow (urg) and monday. School starts back on wednesday so at least I have one day's grace for relaxing and revising. I don't really feel like I've had a particularly relaxing holiday. Or even a holiday at all. Now I am alone and its nearly midnight on New Years Eve. Happy New Year to myself, may the new year be better than the old one (Not in every respect, Gifford, I mean no offence to you). December 18 Can you see the real me? Can you? CAN YOU?!Sundays are always slow and miserable and feel like they are 4 days long. I hate Sunday - I always have. Sundays were the days my friend wasn't allowed out because they were doing family stuff so I had to sit in my room and play with my imaginary friends. Eventually, that's all I ever did on a Sunday... and every other day of the week.
I did some more painting last night. Just a small patch, the size of 3 postage stamps. It was what I needed and, like a drug, managed to calm me in an instant. The awful thing was I did this just after Gifford left, literally a few minutes after his exit stage right. Afterward, I slept for 4 hours solid and then woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Since 5.30 this morning I have been writing essays, writing christ-makkah cards and bashing my head again an invisible concrete wall.
I break up from school on Tuesday and go to the Lake District on Thursday. I was supposed to be going out to lunch with Gifford on Wednesday but his mother is intent on making him collapse from exhaustion and has ordered him to stay in and revise. He isn't a mummy's boy but he is, like me, an only child. His parents are obsessed with maintaining the 'perfect suburban family existence' and he HAS to submit to their wishes in this area. Naturally, he hates them, almost as much as I hate mine but I have the advantage of freedom.
Soon we will both crack, him from the stain of work, me from lack of food and sleep. Until then, neither of us will speak anything of it and after then we will wish we had. Life's a bitch, I'm looking forward to death. December 17 Can't think of a title, can't bear to leave it unnamed...This will be a very quick entry as I'm expecting company any time soon.
Things aren't going too bad at the moment. I haven't slept longer than 3 hours a night in ages, I've lost 2 stone in a month and someone hit me with a rug at work today (by accident as he was turning around) and gave me a nosebleed. Apart from that everything's fine.
5 university offers in total and an offer to study in America for my 2nd and 3rd years. I'm feeling very apprehensive about going to university but I am also excited to the point where the excitement cancels out all other emotions.
Better go as the pasta is probably boiling over and ruining the cooker. Again. December 11 I want a hippopotamus for christmas/Only a hippopotamus will doWorking in a shop on the run-up to christmas really does crush your faith in humanity. Its nice to nurture the dream that humans still have a part of them which is not completely fuelled by consumer fetishism. At christmas this dream is squished.
A bratty little boy informed me today that his 'mummy really loved him because [he] always got lots of presents and last year he got a bike AND a computer'. When he barked this at me I gave him a hard look over my glasses and replied 'what are you GIVING this christmas?' His reply was a confused look and 'dunno'. Then he slunk off to mummy and daddy, busy cramming a basket with more ways to tell their son they love him silently and without bodily contact or effort.
I do not think that shops should be open on Sundays. I not religous or family-oriented but there needs to be one day of rest. I am tired of seeing little children dragged around shops on Sundays. They should taken to the park or on a family day out. But, it seems, mindless consumerism has no rest. Smiths was really busy today. Loads of people wanting books we didn't have or that didn't exist or that weren't released yet. (One woman became abusive on being told that the book she wanted didn't exist.) There were also loads of phone orders... until I unplugged the phone.
This was done just after I made Angela Stupidhead cry. I didn't mean to. It stunned me that she did cry. If I'd meant to upset her and it had worked then I'd be pleased with myself but I honestly didn't mean to this time. Still, I did feel a twinge of pleasure, she's a self-centred and obnoxious bitch. I only said 'You grammar is appalling today!' I meant it in jest and my tone, smile and laugh reinforced that. She ordered me into the stock room and, between blubbering, screeched 'I am a Supervisor! I have A Levels! How dare you disrespect me! I am a Supervisor!' She then thrust the walkie-talkie at me and disappeared upstairs for an hour. I had a secret giggle in the travel section.
I went to Gifford's for dinner last night. He beat me a chess, I have not been beaten in 6 years! It was a hour-long game and I held my own, I think. Then we watched The Blues Brothers and sang along to the music. Life is good. December 09 PieOn the advice of a good friend I took the 'What Pie Are You?' test.
I am:
CHERRY PIE!
I'm 'the perfect combo of innocent and sexy
Those who like you enjoy a contradiction' Hmm... Didn't my Lord deliver Daniel - why not every man?I'm a little bit drunk. Just a little bit. This is my plan - get a little bit drunk, wait an hour, then work solidly till dawn on revision and essays. It works.
Today has been the epitome of shite. I have been banned from study leave. That is to say I HAVE to be present in school every day as usual during exam periods, no time off to study like my colleagues, only allowed out of lessons for the actual exams. I don't know how I'm going to pass them with hardly any time for private SILENT study. If I'm at school all day, at work some evenings and then in my room, surrounded by external noise and distractions when am I to have the silence I need to cram my brain with subjective tenses and the Kreb Cycle? You may ask why I've been banned from study leave - I am 'too opinionated'. I told Rat Features that she was incompetent in reply to her telling me that I shouldn't be in the 6th form, I should go back into hospital where I am 'more suited to their lifestyle'
The typing of this entry is taking up the hour I need to wait for the alcohol to settle me into a fit state for essays on Oxidative Phosphorylation.
I went to work today and was told that I'm going to receive a written warning. I'm not entirely sure what for, either way I don't care. They can sack me and I wouldn't blink an eyelid. Gifford could walk in here right now, tell me he was using me, he hates me, he lied to me with every word and stab me in the back - I would still apologise for bleeding on his shirt.
I am feeling murderous. Self-murderous. I don't know why I don't just complete the inevitable act. Do I honestly think I am going to succeed? No, I don't so why do I bother? I don't know.
There's too much concrete for us to breathe.
I want to be five again.
I hate myself.
I don't want to be like this; too thin, too tired, too ill, too real.
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