Chapter Eight: Down

"Tidal waves
They rip right through me
Tears from eyes mourn
Cold and sad
Pick me up now
I need you so bad."


I haven't posted in so long, it's getting ridiculous. I realised this the other night and mentioned it to Jared, and he said "it's because you're happy."
And then I realised that was actually true. Basically I've just been using this blog to post about being unhappy or confused or things like that. And looking back, this is true of my other blogs as well as my past personal diaries. Why do I only write about being upset? If this was a real account of my day to day life, a lot of it would be all about how happy and content I am.

I guess at least part of the reason I don't blog about being happy is, well, it's boring. It's connected to the other reason I post sometimes... when I've had an epiphany or a breakthrough of some kind, and I want to share it and sound wise and impressive and like a really good writer. People don't really enjoy reading about happy people. It makes them depressed that they aren't as happy or don't have the things that the happy person does, and most of the time that depression shows as boredom. I want people to read my blog, to identify with it, but you have to admit that it's easier to identify with unhappy things than happy things. Why is this? Surely we aren't all sad all the time.

But when you look at musicians and artists and film writers and other creative people, the same theme shows through. I certainly know that it's infinitely easier to write a song when you're feeling down. When I'm happy for ages my creativity dries up. Why? It's not like we only turn to music when we're unhappy. But it's so much harder to write about feeling good than it is about feeling bad. Happiness and the reasons behind happiness are so indescribable sometimes. Happiness is fleeting, whereas depression settles in for the long haul.

I'd really like someone to do a study on the human brain to find out why this is so. And how do we fix it?

Anyway. Deanna has inspired me. From now on I'm going to blog more, and I'm going to use it like my diary, like I was supposed to. I don't want to look back and think that I was unhappy during what is actually the greatest time of my life.

P.S. Hahaha. Jared went to the dawn celebration this morning, he had to get up at 4am and now he's lying on the couch and I can hear him snoring XD

Think

"Hello, I've waited here for you
Everlong
Tonight I throw myself into
And out of the red
Out of her head, she sang..."


He got me a fan. From Spain. It's plain blond wood and cream fabric.
He handed it to me and said, "For you! From Barcelona!"
I said, "For me?! Ohhhhhh Tam!"
He said "It was the only one which didn't have some tacky design on it."
I felt like kissing him.
It's one thing to get someone a souvenir, it's another thing entirely to actually hunt for one that the person will actually love.
Not everyone got a souvenir. But I did.
It makes me want to cry when people put effort into things like that and actually think about you.
I cried on my birthday, because of Jared's present. He got me a gray soft toy bunny rabbit which looked just like Wallace, because he knows what Wallace looks like, and a nice silver ring from Pascoes, because I'd said that I wanted a ring to remind me of him, and a homemade Dream Theater t-shirt with my favourite lyric on it. He listened.
Thoughtfulness is one of the most amazing things in the world.
That's why it is horrible how my parents no longer try and guess what I want for Christmas or my birthday. Because it means that they no longer know me or really care enough about me to know what I want.
The weird thing is that I say that I hate surprises. But what I really hate is when someone goes, "I have a surprise for you!" and then won't tell you what it is. I love surprises when I have no idea that they're even coming.
Like the fan.

Chapter Six: Out

"So fill your head with what you think you understand.
My ears grow tired of listening to this constant recital
Lend yourself only when it suits
For this worthy cause, for this worthy cause
Feed the elevation that you so desperately, so desperately...

And in this voice of confidence
Too proud to admit flawed opinions
Bound to his verbal crusade
Preaching his infected position.
These tones will always deceive the unfamiliar
Still glorifying your misperception.

SO IN LOVE WITH THE SOUND OF YOUR OWN VOICE
And why? You would talk for eternity
The watcher runs
With the circles of his debate
And in the end, what's been achieved?"


It's definitely time to move out.

When you admit a huge weakness in your character; when you ask a small favour of your mother in order to help you overcome this weakness, and you are denied on the grounds that this person who is meant to love you and care for you is too lazy and busy to do this small thing for you... it's definitely time to move out.

When you come home late, exhausted from a stressful weekend worrying about and crying over your soulmate who has had to spend a night in hospital, and from nursing him back to health; when your father attacks you so personally that you break down in tears and sob so hard you cannot draw breath, and even then he has no pity for you; when your mother calls you selfish, thoughtless and immature, and then expects you to come over to the couch and make her feel like she hasn't done anything wrong... it's definitely time to move out.

When neither parent seems to understand how the weight of keeping peace in the family, the weight of all their countless fights, the weight of the negative emotion that they spread in any house that they live in; how that weight descends upon you and bears you down, crushes you to the floor while you try and lift it away from yourself... it's time. It's time. It is time.

From now, the money I earn from teaching is going towards that one goal. I will endure until I have enough. Then I will leave.
I've been procrastinating, inventing and imagining amazing situations where I could keep my beautiful new house with my window seat and evict my parents, evict that negative emotion. I haven't faced the fact that it will take sacrifices to escape this situation. I feel like I've grown up all of a sudden.

I have to get out of here.

Resolve

"Feed my head with some real thoughts
And let me think instead of being taught
I'll say things you won't believe
Just stand back, just let me breathe."

So in the end I got sick of it all and texted the silly fool, and to cut a long story short we are now back to normal.
But now I don't know if I'm as happy as I was before, because Jared said "why do you have to be friends with him again? You've seemed so much happier in the past few weeks."
Have I really? Was I really happier without? Or is my boyfriend just saying things to try and get my friend boy who he detests out of my life? I could never believe for a second that Jared would tell me a lie or even a half-truth. God only knows.
Why can't I have everything? Why can't everyone just be happy?

Things that are annoying me right now:

Answering the phone.

Having to try and be on a diet-ish thing where I'm supposed to be eating healthily but really just wanting to say screw it and snuggle down and eat a king size block of chocolate.

The way that my parents, especially my mother, makes me feel guilty for eating anything at all, but especially when I eat a whole family bag of chips because I'm supposed to ask her permission before I can have any at all. I mean what the fuck. I'm not five years old anymore. This is my house too, except she doesn't seem to think so. We had a fight about me keeping my room tidy and she was like "this is only your house as long as we allow you to stay in it." How inappropriate is it to threaten to kick me out of the house for not tidying my room or for eating a bag of chips? That's like that lady on SVU last night who sent that teenager to prison for urinating on someone's fence. Except she got arrested, and my mum is still laughing too loudly on the phone and coughing in a really dramatic manner that makes me want to strangle her.

The way my dad looks around at me with his eyebrows raised when mum asks me to apologise for something she should have the sense not to take personally, and then he wiggles them and looks at me like I'm stupid. I think it's nearly time to leave home.

How I want to leave home but we just moved into a nice new house which I love, so I don't want to leave. I'd rather evict my parents. I wish I owned this place.

How there are "twi-hards" and "twi-haters". Those are not even clever names. If you're going to go overboard then at least have some imagination and intelligence for God's sake.

This constant pressure that I feel to act like an adult, or at least not to act like a teenager. I have never acted like a teenager. I never thought I'd care, but I do. I just want to complain about stupid stuff! Not have to think about big world issues and be a normal person!

How whenever I feel morose people say "but you should be happy". I am happy. Honest.

Chapter Five: Accident

"Hopelessly drifting
Bathing in beautiful agony
I am endlessly falling
Lost in this wonderful misery
In peaceful sedation I lay half-awake
And all of the panic inside starts to fade
Hopelessly drifting
Bathing in beautiful agony."

I didn't want to go, really. It was Jared's first time in the South Island and we really would rather have stayed in Christchurch and seen the sights there. But we got roped into it... and really, once we'd left, it was very fun. Until it wasn't.
We all piled into the car: my brother Dylan, his wife Tania, her daughter Azriel, Jared and I. Off we went on a 2-hour drive up to Porter Heights, the nearest snow-covered mountain. As we went through the curiously flat Christchurch countryside, Azzy was remarking upon all the farm animals; she reminded me of me at her age. "Sheep, sheep, sheep, sheep, sheep..." she'd chant. And then "cow, cow, cow, cow...". Horses deserved a special exclamation and she'd point them out to me, because I said I loved horses too. We had a lot of fun laughing at her because somehow she knew all the pop radio songs, even Lady Gaga and all those people. Nobody had a clue where she'd learned them from.
Eventually we got there, not without a few "are we there yet"s. We parked the car, kitted up in our borrowed snow gear and set off.
As Tania, Jared, Azzy and I set off up the snowy walkway, Dylan decided he'd go and see how much it was to rent a toboggan. It seemed the only place to toboggan was the walkway we were trudging up, which seemed strange, so after throwing a few snowballs at each other and slipping over a couple of times, we approached a ski instructor to ask where the best spot was. He waved us over to a rather steeper hill on our left.
It was tough going to climb up this hill. Too tough for Azzy and the pregnant Tania, in fact. So Dylan had the first go, climbing up the slope about four metres and sliding from there. Azzy got the next go, from about two meteres up the slope. In the meantime Jared and I set to climbing the near-sheer snowy incline. I got to a patch of exposed tussock grass and sat on it, my legs tired already. To my left was a cliff of about four or five feet; to my right was a gentler slope. Dylan climbed up to us with the toboggan and we surveyed the path down.
Even Jared said that he wasn't going to do it, that it looked too risky. But none of us seemed to be thinking properly. Maybe the cold air, with so much less oxygen, got to our brains. Maybe it was just spur of the moment. But I decided to go. Fearless, I laughed at Jared. "Move over, chicken boy", I teased, and crawled over to where Dylan was holding the toboggan. "Be careful", he warned. "Once you get in the thing it's going to start moving straight away."
I planned to aim for the hill to my right, so I wouldn't pick up so much speed. But Dylan was right. Once I sat in the toboggan, he let it go... and I had no control.
It took off so fast that I was whiplashed onto my back. It started sliding away to the right and went over the five-foot cliff. I landed heavily on my left side, still in the toboggan. It curved off the the right and I came out of it and kept sliding straight ahead, right into a fence. The bottom board hitting my jaw spun me around and stopped me.

All this time I wasn't afraid, I was just so bewildered. The whole way down I was just going, "what?".

Winded, I struggled between the impulse to breathe and the impulse to scream. Screaming won and I yelled, as loudly as I could for as long as I could... and then everything went black.

The thing that struck me about it was how peaceful it was. No light, no sound, nothing... just velvety warm darkness, like that moment between sleeping and waking. I could've quite happily stayed there forever. I was utterly, totally and completely convinced that in a moment I'd wake up safe and warm in my bed back at my sister's place after having a bad, bad dream. And then I heard Jared. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I heard his voice, and I thought 'oh, right. Jared', and opened my eyes.
The next few seconds were the most terrifying experience of my life.

There were people all around me. I couldn't see a single face I knew and they were all way, WAY too close. I didn't want them there, I wanted space, I wanted air, I wanted to organize my thoughts and figure out why I was on this hillside and what had happened to me before I dealt with anything else. I was horrified. The next second, pain hit me. I screamed and screamed and screamed, right into the face of a lady paramedic. In the same instant I noticed that my jaw felt wrong, that there was blood and tiny hard bits of tooth in my mouth. I wanted to ask if I had any teeth missing but I couldn't stop myself yelling long enough. I was so, so frightened. Then I noticed someone was holding my hand, and I managed to calm myself enough to listen to what that person was saying.
"Love, it's alright. It's okay, I'm here." Jared. Jared was here. I tried to process that. If Jared was there, then everything was fine. He kept up that chant the whole time, holding me in, keeping me sane.

I managed to answer the paramedic's questions between involuntary moans and sobs. One of the guys had a hat in the shape of a fox on his head and I remember being worried that I was hallucinating, and then wanting to laugh, even in the midst of my terror and pain. They checked me for paralysis and I could move my legs and arms. I remember saying "thank God". I know Tania's face popped up at one point, detailing out what had happened to me in the logical way that she has. I remember Dylan, with a strange face on that looked like he wanted to smile for me but was too worried for it.
Eventually they got me back to the first aid place on the mountain. They did more checks and said I'd chipped a tooth, but they were all still there and I hadn't broken anything. I had huge bruises on my jaw and my ribs, and a deep, deep cut on my leg, but when I was ready I could go.

At the end of the day I struggled to my feet and somehow made it down the hill to the car, leaning on Jared and Dylan. They settled me in the front seat and, with Tania driving very, very carefully, we started back home. And that would have been that, if I hadn't started bleeding out of my ear.
Dylan called dad and explained everything, saying that he'd probably take me to Christchurch hospital and to meet us there...

...a few kilometres away, my mother and sister turned to each other and said, "She didn't want to go"...

...We got there eventually and they wheeled me into A&E. I remember protesting proudly against the wheelchair, but succumbing to group pressure. Jared had to leave while we were waiting and he was away quite a while. When he came back I gave him my hand; I could see that he'd been crying and I said softly, "oh, love...". He buried his face in my hand and his and broke down. It must have been so horrible for him to watch me slip away.

Eventually, after many x-rays and examinations, they told me that my jaw was broken in three places; down the middle and on each corner. Because my ribs were just bruised, I was okay to go back to my sister's place.
I was so afraid to sleep that night. I was terrified I'd wake up back on that mountain, back in that nightmare. But I was exhausted, and there was no fighting it.


I won't dwell on the other appointments; the painful plane trip home, the annoying south african doctor who said I'd have to have my jaw wired shut, my determination that I wouldn't, my healing of myself so much so that I impressed the surgeon who came to check me out, my slow-seeming but relatively fast healing ribs, the plethora of drugs and pills I had to take for the first week and the alternate birthday celebration I had to have.
But now I have experienced being hurt that badly, and I never want to again. And it could have been so much worse. I'm lucky.

It could have been so. Much. Worse.

Bars

"Every empty one of us have methods
To quell the madness of this pace
But yours have led and running south
A jealous storm has carried down your face

You could take that wait and all that fuss
So now just get the best of us, you know
Give me love not suicide
And the wiser, wider part of me will show

A picture says with sight
What we can't say with words
But you've been walking eyes to feet in dark sunglasses
A picture will survive
So smile and look alive..."


This weekend was meant to be a nice happy one with Jared as my parents went away. But he ran a temperature and had to go to the doctor, and ended up having to go back to his house. I'm coming to the conclusion his immune system must not be very strong.

So I spent the whole day today watching season one of Grey's Anatomy. I've never watched a whole season of something like that in one day, unless you count Doctor Who (shut up) which I don't. It was actually quite nice not to have to wait a week to find out... well, to remember... what happens next. There's something to be said for wasting a day in front of the tv.

But it was then that I realized that I'm no different. I enjoy drama just as much as the next person. Other people's dramas mean that I can forget mine. It's when it actually gets inside my head that I hate it. And well, obviously! Really, who would like that? So it's my fault, really. For being sensitive. For letting things that aren't real get inside my head. Grey's can make me cry, but for the most part I find it relatively unrealistic. It doesn't really relate to my life like it does to other peoples'. But something like Wuthering Heights... I know EXACTLY what it's like to have someone obsessive and damaged hold on to you. So tightly that you can't breathe. And I know what it's like when you get used to them. And then when you finally break their hold you get so much oxygen that it only takes one spark to ignite...

It's a family trait. Damaged people find us, and grasp us, and use us as ladders to climb back up to the light. But unfortunately, sometimes we get overwhelmed. We have to rip the ladder away from them and use it ourselves. And not look back. And not wonder if they've made it up or not. We have to separate ourselves to survive.
I'm really bad at that bit. I have a chronic case of what if. Of looking back. If anyone took a picture that summed me up, it would be of me looking over my shoulder. It's not healthy, it's not good for me or for anyone around me, but it's just the way things are.


That's another theme. The Way Things Are. Can I help the way I am? The life I've lead, the friends I've made, the people I've been involved with? Should I be punished for that?

This holidays I've caught up with an old friend. He and I have History. It's all resolved now, but that day at that cafe we talked about it for the first time. It all happened two and a half years ago, and it was the FIRST TIME we'd talked about it. It was... liberating. It was really nice to find out that he was still sorry about it... about hurting me. A long dusty puzzle piece clicked into place, completing that picture. And it felt good.
We ended up going back to his place and watching Mr. Bean, and eating gourmet pies. But when a technology malfunction meant that Jared didn't hear from me for hours, and then when he did, found that I was alone in a house with another boy that I'd had History with, he was very upset. Very.
It all culminated in Jared and I having a big long conversation and him asking me to never let myself be alone in a house with another boy again. And it's not like that really happens that often... in fact, hardly ever. But... just the simple fact that I've been forbidden to do something is a new thing. A new step.
I have this problem. It's called being a teenager. I'm lucky, I only have a mild case of it, but it means that sometimes... sometimes... when someone forbids me from doing something, I really REALLY feel like doing it.
Not that I will. But I want to.

Man, I feel screwed up. The only reason I'm blogging about this is that I've been thinking about it, and when I think about it I end up feeling like there's a thin layer of gauze wrapped around me. Like a set of almost-translucent bars around me. Cutting me off. And the question prods me in the side... doesn't he trust me? Doesn't he think that I can look after myself?
I've already asked him stuff like this, and he says he does trust me, but he still feels bad about it. And I will do anything, ANYTHING, to make Jared happy. No question.

But inside myself, in the depths of my mind, I should be allowed to be a bit annoyed.

Right?

Travesty

"We all feed on tragedy
It's like blood to a vampire.

Vicariously, I
Live while the whole world dies
Much better you than I."


Why is it that human beings have such an appetite for tragedy? An appetite that even drowns out our appetite for love? Some of the greatest "love" stories in the world are based in tragedy. Look at Romeo and Juliet. Death and destruction. And more recently, look at Twilight. How much darkness and corruption and fear and sadness is in that series as a whole?

What about Wuthering Heights? There's a new version of it on tv round about now. "Oh, that's a beautiful story", Jared's mum said. But it's not. I admit that I haven't watched or read the whole thing yet, but I don't think it's a good idea for me to. I watched the first half of it last sunday and what do we see right away at the beginning? Heathcliffe, hopelessly and frighteningly obsessed, digs up Catherine's coffin, wrenches the thing apart and, though his own deluded mind sees her merely sleeping, the truth is that he climbs into the coffin and strokes the bones of his former love. And we are supposed to look at this as a beautiful story? It carries on. We go back in time and we see the two, Catherine and Heathcliffe, helplessly and hopelessly attached to each other. And yet what does she do? She marries someone else. The two torture each other. So much agony and anger. This is not love. This is obsession. Mutual obsession, disguised and paraded as "true love".

IT IS ALL A LIE.

In one of my English courses this year, one of the subjects we studied is "love". Again, the text we studied was not about love. It was about lust, obsession, infatuation. Not love. It angered me so much to hear people advertising this travesty of emotion as love, as true love, as soulmates.

LIES.

I have been obsessed with people. I have had people obsessed with me. I have felt lust and infatuation. And now I have experienced true love. And let me tell you, obsession and love are NOTHING alike. Nothing. It makes me so ANGRY that a writer or film maker can do this, can taint and corrupt the idea of love with their horrible, obsessive characters. And yet these "works of art", these "great love stories" are bought and eaten up by the average person! What kind of corrupted, twisted view of love does the population have if these horrible, frightening, tragic stories are viewed as stories of true love?

Perhaps if they are correct, then nobody experiences true love. I know of nobody who has had stories like Romeo and Juliet and Wuthering Heights happen to them in the real world. But I know that I have true love. I know it like I know who I am. And so, from my anger at popular authors and directers, comes fear. If what I have is true love, then there is only one path for it... the Wuthering Heights path, the Romeo and Juliet path, the Twilight path... the path to destruction. The destruction of the mind. The destruction of life. The destruction of other people's lives. I am so afraid. How can such a force of good have such bad effects?

I don't know who to believe- the world, or myself.

Chapter Three: Overtake

"We all have someone that digs at us
At least we dig each other
So when weakness turns my ego up
I know you'll count on the me from yesterday

If I turn into another
Dig me out from under what is covering the better part of me
Sing this song
Remind me that we'll always have each other
When everything else is gone
Each other, when everything else is gone..."


Today I had a wonderful morning catching up over a cafe breakfast with my girls. It felt so good. I really am starting to realize how cut off I've been from everyone but Jared... like I'm falling behind them on the road of life, being overtaken by everyone... I really need to keep on top of it. It's such a nice feeling to be back in a group of girls... I even followed Deanna into her AUT lecture, which is where I am now. This morning has made me see just how much I actually miss school... not the classes, obviously, but the atmosphere and the connection with everybody; seeing the same people every day, being up-to-date with everyone just through "the grapevine"... and being at the same institution at the same time, day in, day out. Deanna is one of my best, best friends, but I somehow managed to not seek out to talk to her for months. (Hi De, if you're reading this later haha) Just spending an hour in her company makes me feel so happy and loved. How could I have forgotten that? Resolution- keep up with Deanna.

Ironically, the lecture I'm chilling in right now is about how relationships work. It's kind of interesting, though for someone who overthinks everything like I do, it's kinda commonsense-ish.

The lecturer just said "the substance of relationships is communication". It's so simple, and so true.

Perusal

"Well hey, hey baby it's never too late
When I'm gone you won't remember a thing
But I can't stay and you know I won't wait
I was gone from the very first day

Oh...

You've never been so used as I'm using you
Abusing you, my little decoy
Don't look so blue, you should've seen right through
I'm using you, my little decoy

Oh, I'm not sorry at all...
I won't be sorry at all...
I'd do it over again."


Girls go out window shopping. It's a thing that we do. Even if we can't afford, don't need, or even don't want anything new, we'll go out and look at clothes in shops. It's a fun activity. It's like dressing up dolls, except you're the doll (maybe we're conditioned to do this from childhood, when we're given dolls and shown how to dress them up?)... sometimes we'll even try the clothes on. But the important bit is that even if we're looking, we have no intention of buying them.

Guys don't seem to be able to understand this at all. Maybe that's why girls get accused of being teases, or of leading guys on. A guy catches us looking at him or talking to him in a certain way and as soon as he finds out we're not single, or not interested, we are discarded and labeled a tease. Well, I say "we"... I mean me. It seems to happen to me a lot.

Maybe if guys could be made to see the merits and the fun of window shopping, they'd get this. We're looking at them. We're talking to them. Once in a while maybe we're even flirting with them. But we have no intention of going any further with them. We can't afford to (no spare time or affection), we don't need (aren't single) or want (aren't interested in) a relationship. But if we didn't try boys on for size, we'd never figure out what we really want or need.

I guess where this is really coming from is this: I've just recently realized that, contrary to popular belief, there are a LOT of decent guys in the world. And I mean a lot. You just need to look in the right places. In my tutorials alone there's at least three guys who interest me (one of them only mildly, but still). And I'm lucky enough to be considered attractive to quite a number of boys who come in contact with me (I know it's pretty conceited for me to say that, but I don't feel like being down on myself today, and if I give in to my logical brain, the evidence for this claim is there. Starkly).

Since I've started comparing notes with Jared, I've become disillusioned with the male species. I used to think (or maybe hope) that heterosexual guys could talk to girls with the sole aim of wanting to get to know them, as a friend. As in, with nothing to do with getting into their pants, or hooking up with them, or thinking "damn, she's hot. I'd better talk to her". Jared assures me this is not possible. And as he is a boy, I have to take his word for it.

That being said, it's not just his word. With two of the guys who have been rather obviously interested in me, as soon as I've mentioned a boyfriend they have backed off somewhat.
EXAMPLE ONE: Guy from my ENGLISH101 Tutorial. He was all friendly and very, very obviously keen, but as soon as I mentioned Jared he started sitting somewhere else.
EXAMPLE TWO: Today a guy from my LINGUIST101 Tutorial was talking to me while I was standing waiting for Jared, and by and by he asked me what I was waiting for. "Boy," I said, pointing to where I could see Jared coming up the hill. "Oh, right," he said. "Well, see ya." And he walked off. It was very sudden. It almost made me laugh.
(Now, I'm willing to give in if anyone wants to object to the way I'm reading these situations. I'm fully open to other interpretations. But with my woman's intuition that's how they seem to come across.)

It kind of makes me a bit sad when this happens. I admit freely- I enjoy being noticed and talked to by guys. It makes me feel attractive, and not just physically. Everyone wants to feel like an attractive person, no matter what they say about "I don't need a man" etc. It's also nice to know that I'm attractive to people other than Jared. So it makes me kinda sad when I mention a boyfriend and the other guy immediately loses interest. Would it be so hard for him to continue to talk to me without me being available?

My brother and his wife and Jared and I went to see a comedy show thing today, and one of the comedians went off on a rant that interested me very much. He was talking about how girls complain that all the guys they meet in bars are chauvinistic, horrible pigs. He objected. He got quite agitated actually. He said, "There are guys out there who want to love you! Who want to bring you flowers and think about you and to... to place you on the pedestal you deserve! But they're not the ones you tend to fuck!"

Girls go window shopping. For guys, too. It's just idle perusal. Some guys can be very pleasing to the eye, too. For a little while you can pretend that you do have time and affection, or that you're single, or that you'd like a boyfriend. Just as trying on clothes makes you feel trendy and good-looking, trying on guys makes you feel attractive and appealing. And what girl doesn't want that?




I should really start writing my advice book for guys decoding the female mind...

Unbound

"Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road.
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go.
So make the best of this test and don't ask why.
It's not a question but a lesson learned in time.

It's something unpredictable but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

So take the photographs and still frames in your mind.
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time.
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial.
For what it's worth,it was worth all the while.

It's something unpredictable but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life."



So much agonizing over such a simple thing. One little kiss on the cheek. And I agonized over it.
He kissed me on the cheek when we came in the door. And with that the spell of worry was broken. It was obviously and ridiculously normal.

I got a bit drunk at the party, actually. It'd been a while. As stupid as this sounds I need to control myself when I'm drunk and try not to be such an idiot, cause I can see myself doing it and it's just not cool. I say really dumb things. And it doesn't work when the people around me aren't drunk at all.
Also I've noticed that when I'm drunk I'm good at things that I'm usually bad at, and bad at things I'm usually good at...

Anyway. It was a really good night. I didn't feel any pangs or any worry at all. Until it was coming up to time to leave. I thought to myself, this is it. This is your last chance to figure this out, to look at him face-to-face and arrange a spot for him in the correct place in your head.

I hugged him. He lifted me off the ground and hugged me tight back. I kissed his cheek and begged him to take care of himself. He said he would. I told him I'd miss him, and he said he'd miss me too. And then we left.

In the car on the way back, I felt sad. I'd said goodbye to him, my Shadowboy. I would never see him in that way again. That's when I knew that I wasn't done yet. If I was sad, I wasn't finished. That's when I realized that was only the introduction. The rest had to be done inside my head. So I sat back and instead of avoiding all the images of He and I together that had haunted me for years, I closed my eyes and stared and stared at them.

I feasted on them until they were all I could see. Then I forced them into long pieces like ribbons, and visualized them as connecting my heart and His. Then I lifted my hands and took up a pair of imaginary scissors. I concentrated on each one individually. He and I. Our held hands, on every occasion they were and every one I'd imagined. I began to cut, as close to my own heart as I could. As cleanly as I could. I didn't watch the ties falling away. I didn't look back. Focus, focus. On to the next. His face close to mine. That look in his eyes that only couples share with each other. Our lips meeting. The scissors snipped. They were very sharp. Focus, last one now. Me and him, alone, intimacy uninterrupted by any other person. Us as lovers, for life. It was hard to look at that one, but I made myself. Focus. Cut the ties that bind. Become unbound.
The scissors met. The ties fell away. I didn't watch them.

I opened my eyes and looked straight over at Jared, filling my heart and soul with the quiet joy that I had my life companion, forever, the one I was meant to be with. Forever. Forever. No pain, no uncertainty. Forever.


A few minutes later I made myself examine my heart, make sure that everyone was in their proper place. It seemed correct, everything seemed in order- Jared filling the romantic like a ray of warm, soft sunlight, and my friends all glittering in the platonic like crystal rainbows. And that's when I saw him. When I had a sudden revelation.
He was still there. But he was in the right place. He mixed in to the platonic with ease, as if he'd never been anywhere else.
It seemed stupid right after the blinding moment of realization, but it was such a huge thing at the time; he was my friend. He could still be my friend. I didn't have to cut him out of my life. He could be my friend. Just like it should have been all along. It was so simple and astonishing that I smiled and almost laughed aloud.

I had the best. The best of all worlds. Unbound friendship... abounding love.

Chapter Two: Stop

"You've got it, you've got it
Some kind of magic
Hypnotic, hypnotic
You're leaving me breathless
I hate this, I hate this
You're not the one I believe in
With God as my witness.

Now when I caught myself I had to stop myself
From saying something that I should've never thought.
Now when I caught myself I had to stop myself
From saying something that I should've never thought of you, of you,
You're pushing and pulling me down to you
But I don't know what I want
No I don't know what I want.

I don't know what I want
But I know it's not you...
Keep pushing and pulling me down
When I know in my heart it's not you."



I don't even know how to start this. It's so stupid and pointless and utterly, utterly sad. But not sad like the previous chapter. Sad like pathetic.

I should know better than to read my old diaries.



A week or so ago I was talking to a friend of mine about a certain problem we both have. I suppose its origin is in our over-developed imaginations, our poets' souls, our elephant's memories for past emotions.

It's the What If.

The wondering what might've happened. With a certain someone. If the stars had all been aligned and it had all worked out the way we wanted at the time.


In the days directly before my Jared, my life, my light and my soulmate, there was a dark tunnel of a teenage love in my life. A boy who- through no fault of his own, because he was almost always direct and honest with me- lived in my heart on and off for three years. From the moment which he first became lodged there his shadow began to fall across me, my love, my mind. And in the last year, this shade of him took on a life of its own... even after the boy had lost that kind of interest in me... even after he kindly, thoughtfully and carefully made this absolutely apparent to me... his shadow continued to take over... to claim territory in my heart until the whole thing was dark and corrupted, until I screamed for release, wanted to rip it out of my chest and escape. Hopeless. My eyes so darkened there was nothing else to see but the shadow. Helpless. Too sick to see any way out or any alternative to this twisted love I had come to hold.

And then, like a candle lighting, like the sun rising, a light appeared. Jared rescued me out of my self-inflicted blindness, lifted me up to the warmth. Showed me what love really is. Gave me my life back, claimed my heart back, healed it. All without even knowing it. I know now what I was always missing. Like a puzzle piece fitting perfectly into the piece next to it, he fit. Like the perfect missing note in a melody, he sang. Like sleep washing over after a long night of sleeplessness, he soothed. He is my soulmate; the one I've waited for through who knows how many past lives. And I wouldn't trade him for the world. I want to get that straight. Whatever else I might say in this entry, it doesn't mean that I'd ever let Jared go. Under any circumstances. Because a life without him would be the most potent living hell imaginable.


And yet... and yet... try as I might, I can't completely let him go. The boy who shadowed my heart for years.
My heart is not his kingdom anymore; it's Jared's. And yet still wonder what it might've been like to be his, without the shadow.
I know he's not the one for me; Jared is. And I know that even if we had been together, it wouldn't've lasted- we were almost too similar, he was almost too much of a kindred sprit. The vibe would've felt wrong. And yet still I wonder what it might've been like to have what I wanted so badly for so long.
Secretly, I never really liked kissing before Jared. It was... boring. Honestly, it really wasn't often that I felt like I really wanted to do it, I just did it because it was expected. I think that's because I'm a very specific person; the only person that I am ever going to feel good kissing is always Jared. And yet still I wonder what it would've been like to kiss him. My shadow boy.

These feelings are on and off, just like when he first appeared in my heart. When they're off they're gone like he never existed. But when they're on they keep me up for hours. Just like tonight. I want to be rid of them completely. I want it to stop. But I know no way how.



This year he's moving to England for a gap year, a working holiday, all on his own. It's been months since I last saw this boy; madness considering he was in my group of friends, a set of people I saw almost every single day last year, and considering that he was one of the people I was closest to for most of that year.
His leaving party is on Friday. He'll be gone for a whole year- it'll be the last time I'm going to see him for quite a while. I want to get these feelings I have finished, over, packed away in a box, taped up and stored in the attic of my mind. I want to never want or have to look at them again.
Jared's coming to this party too. He's finally gotten over his slight jealous streak; though I think he still feels edgy about a few people, and this boy is definitely one of them... and fair enough too, considering what I'm writing here. Again I want to stress that Jared is my soulmate and that I can't live without him: no way in hell, heaven or earth would I swap the two around or do anything to betray or hurt him.
But the problem is that me and this boy have never talked about what happened between us. I think this is because he's not one of those guys who like to talk about their inner feelings, which is horrible for me because that's how I sort things out; through talk. Through action, positive action in a positive direction.

I only ever kissed this boy on the cheek, once. Just once. But lately I keep thinking that I should do it again. Still on the cheek. Still just once more. To kiss goodbye to my memory of him. Goodbye to the last fragments of his shadow. Maybe also to compare kissing his cheek to kissing Jared's... just to make absolutely, positively sure that I'm right about how this boy and I would never have worked out. But I'm afraid that someone will see and take it the wrong way... one of my other friends, or, God forbid, Jared... and I'm scared that this boy might take it the wrong way too. I of all people know that you can never count on what you think you know that someone's thinking.

I know it's a bad idea. But only mostly.

I need closure, but I don't know what to do.

Oblivion

"Why? Tell me the reasons why
Try, still I don't understand
Will I ever feel this again?
Blue sky, I'll meet you in the end..."



My Nana died on Thursday at 4.30pm.

As I walked through with the rest of my family to say goodbye to her, I turned my head to look out the ranch slider. The afternoon sun hit me full on my face, and it filled up my eyes with warm golden light. My first thought was what a beautiful afternoon...

When I walked into her room my eyes first fell onto my Mum. She was an absolute mess. I went to cuddle her. Then I looked at Nana. But she wasn't there.
Her body lay there like... an object. An absence of life. I couldn't even look at it- not because I was afraid, or even sad. Just because there didn't seem any point. She wasn't there. She was everywhere... everywhere else. In the afternoon sun in my eyes. In the dust motes in the air. In the tears of every person in the room.

I let go of Jared's hand. I walked over to the body on the bed and laid my hand on its arm. I looked into the sun, and then I spoke. "I just want to say, thank you. For being such a wonderful Nana. And for giving us this lovely... lovely afternoon."

I left the room, straight-backed, as dignified as I could be. Jared followed. I made it all the way to the deserted lounge, and then I was immobilized by the swelling of terror and grief. I felt like screaming, shouting, doing something to show the world some part of how horrible it was going to be without her with us. Instead I choked it down, stifled the cry, let it stream out of me in tears and trembling. Jared and I held each other as the despair rained down from the ceiling of the house my Nana had lived in since the age of sixteen.



We went for a walk down to the end of the street, to revel in the beauty and promise of the evening Nana gave us. Peace began to enter my heart with the cold air in my lungs, and I looked up to the sky, right into her eyes. She's where she belongs.

Syncopation

"I'm just a face in the crowd
Nothing to worry about
Not even trying to stand out
I'm getting smaller and smaller and smaller
And I've got nothing to say
Its all been taken away
I just behave and obey
I'm afraid I'm starting to fade away..."


It's so beautiful and sunny outside. Hot, too, if those builders in their shorts are anything to go by. It's crazy to think that about a week and a half ago there was just concrete in the back yard... then, over the course of a day, the framing for the first floor went up... then, just last friday, we came home and the second floor was up too, and the framing for that. It's all happened so fast, it makes me wonder what takes so long when a house is built... Dad says the plumbing and the electricity, and the furnishing, and things like that.
Anyway, it's so beautiful and sunny outside, but inside this house it's freezing. Or maybe it's just me? I've had to move my computer out to the lounge because my room is an icebox. I'll need the electric blanket on my bed soon. And it's still March!
I'm so annoyed with the amount of work I have to do. I've got a written assignment, a 1500 word essay, a sight-singing assessment and a close reading test all on the go all at once this week. I suppose I should've started all this stuff earlier, but nobody told me to. I guess this is my first taste of how Uni is different from school.
But I can't even say that's why I haven't been blogging or commenting or facebooking or beboing or any of that rubbish. I'm constantly very much in danger of making Jared my whole world, forgetting there is more to life, there are more friends and there's more work and other things to do. I have to discipline myself. But even the most time we two can spend together doesn't feel like enough. I'm not sure what to do about it.

My parents were away all weekend down in Christchurch with Meredith and Phil (my sister and her partner) for a much-needed break from the stresses of having a dying mother...

...anyway. Mum said I could have Jared over to stay the weekend, which was astounding; she's very paranoid about no-sex-before-marriage and all that jazz... but she seems to trust us. Which makes me feel bad as we'd already violated her wishes in that respect. But it doesn't matter, really... Jared is my soulmate. We will get married, we just can't afford to right now. It's all just a matter of time.
It was really fun. It was like a little taste of the life we'll have together when we finally save enough to go flatting or buy our own house. It seems strange in this day and age what with career women and whatnot but I have a real housewife-y streak in me- I love cooking for Jared, or with him. I get really excited when I think about future meals and things, and about making the house look nice. Even cleaning doesn't seem so bad when I'm doing it for him. Which I can tell is going to come in handy when we're living together.

I went in to visit Nana on Friday morning and she was so pleased to see me, it was very warm fuzzies. She seems a lot better after going through a hell of a lot of pain because of this operation they gave her to try and prolong her life. We were having a lovely peaceful time until my Uncle Richard showed up.
Richard's a pastor in his family's church. I'm not sure if anyone reading knows this, but my family is really quite Christian... my personal close family is the least religious of the bunch, and Auntie Christine (my mum's sister) and Uncle Richard's bunch are the most.
Anyway, he showed up in Nana's hospital room, in "pastor" mode, and started talking to her about death. He was asking her how she felt about it and going on about "a better place" and "where you belong", and every so often- twice in the space of about twenty minutes- he would notice I was quiet, elbow me in the ribs and say, "Pretty deep stuff eh Sheen!" Nana told him I was working things (spiritual beliefs) out myself, and I said that I'd rather figure it out myself than trust what anyone else fed me, and he said fair enough; but in true Christian style, he decided in his mind that this made me an Athiest, and showed me this little trick with his watch, saying "if I threw all the components of this watch up into the air, how many times would it take for the pieces to fall back into the shape of a watch?", which is supposed to say how could the world have come about by chance. I am not an Athiest!
Then, when I got up to go put my coffee cup in the rubbish bin, he shuffled over and took my place sitting right next to Nana, and she asked him to pray for her before he left. So he took her hand and turned his back towards me- a true cold shoulder. As if me joining in on this prayer would poison it or corrupt it. When he finally left I was in tears.

Lately I've been feeling as if I've reached an age where nobody- least of all me- knows quite what to do with me or how to behave around me. I am an unknown entity. Am I an adult? A child? Do I belong to a religion or not? Am I a friend or an enemy? Do I have full responsibility over myself or can I let others make decisions for me? Who are my friends? Who is my family?
The whole world wants to define me, and I evade its grasp- not because I don't want to be defined, but because I'm not finished yet. Let me do it myself. Don't force me into a mold of someone I will be sick of in five years' time.

I just saw the wood for the roof supports being delivered. Soon the skeleton of the house, its body, will be finished. And then the complicated stuff will begin.
For seventeen years I've been making the skeleton of myself, growing it, letting the plumbers and the electricians and the interior decoraters run riot, swap seats, have food fights, throw parties. Now maybe it's time to sit them all down and get to work on who I really want to be.

Foreword

So here I am again, planning to pour my heart out to strangers on a public website... although the only people who are going to be reading this are (probably) people who care about me, or at least know me. So it's more like planning to pour my heart out to people who are thoroughly sick of me already.

The main reason why I started this is because my friend Daniel- mostly known as Danny- is on this site, blogging out his life, and I love to read about it. Danny's the one who inspired me to start writing life-blogs on my myspace, and now he's moved on, I guess I've followed him... I think I also want to try and shut down at least one of my social websites (I have myspace, bebo AND facebook) and myspace is definitely the one I use least. In fact, in all honesty (which is my new policy) the only reason I was on myspace is to read Daniel's blog, because I like to keep an eye on him... I'm a mother hen.

Myspace used to be a "thing" between me, Cloe, Daniel and Ayesha- then my three best friends outside Avondale College, and my confidantes. They were all there first and Cloe cajoled me onto the silly site, and we all blogged about our lives, our loves, our hopes and our disappointments together. But now... well. Ayesha's blogs have gone private, and fair enough- I haven't made an effort to keep in touch with her, and I'm paying the price. Cloe's blogs haven't really changed since their beginning, but most of what she says are things that I could hear from her personally when I text her. Danny's blogs have moved here. And my blogs slowly petered out and stopped when I met my soulmate, Jared, because suddenly there was a sudden lack of negative drama in my life... and I just recently realized that most of what I blogged about was my dramas.

You might ask why, if my negative dramas were what I blogged about and they have stopped (or nearly so), am I starting a blog at all? My answer is a bit silly really. You see, most people I know who keep a diary keep just that- a diary, a book, physical paper with physical ink telling about their days, their nights. I used to as well, but the onset of technology has had an interesting effect on me; I find I get impatient with writing for several reasons. These are:

• My writing is HUGE- I fit maybe ten average words on a line of pad paper on a good day, and maybe five on a bad day.

• I am not a fast writer, and when I try to write fast my writing gets messier and bigger and messier and bigger until I'm absolutely disgusted with the result. Despite the evidence of my messy room which is usually covered in discarded clothes and books, I am not a person who revels in messiness. I can't study or do homework in my room when it's messy, I hate it when things are colour-coordinated, and I can't stand disorganization. Can't. Stand. It.

• However, I am a very fast typer. I love the speed and neatness with which the words run onto the screen- typing can keep up with my out-of-control train of thought, and the events and changes in my life.

So there are my reasons. This site is fantastic, it autosaves like every five minutes so if I lose any of my silly rambles due to Felix's spazzes (Felix is my laptop, but don't get too jealous- as you might've realised, he's a bit senile, and his battery is shot so I can't unplug him at all), I don't have to tear out my hair about it.

Hopefully this blog will be an easier way for the people I love best to keep caught up with my life and so on. A few of my friends have left Auckland (e.g. Ee Laine), and quite a few of them who are still in Auckland aren't at Auckland University (e.g. Deanna, Priscilla, Cloe, Quanny, Brooke), and quite a lot of them who are at Auckland University I haven't even encountered around campus that much yet (e.g. Sarah, Meeral, Julia, Sonali, Danny, Dhakshi), and this is my third week. I guess I'm confessing to being lazy- I don't feel I have time to write to each of these people individually- as well as concieted- who really wants to hear about all the silly stuff that happens to me, day to day, or even the serious stuff?- but there it is.

Just know that I love you all. This chapterbook is for you as much as for me.