Obsession

"And in the dark
I can hear your heartbeat
I try to find the sun

But then, it starts
I'm always in the darkness
Of darkness I'd be King..."



Ohhh no. Please tell me this isn't happening. Not again. I thought I was past this stage?
It all started with a man called Jason Kay, from the band Jamiroquai. I was so scarily obsessed with him I even used to say goodnight to a little picture of him in my wallet (Deanna can attest to that. I'm sure she'd love to). The next big one was a little something called Phantom of the Opera. Now that one wasn't too bad because it was a whole thing, not just one person that I was fixated on. But that screwed me up enough because it was so dark and depressing. After that there were a few minor flutters into the land of the insane before I hit on Doctor Who, namely a certain actor called David Tennant. Now I was a bit older, so this wasn't as scary as the Jay Kay one but still... huge giant folders of images in My Documents, box sets of dvds... and after the final of the second season when the Doctor and his female opposite character Rose were parted forever, it took me three days to get over the sadness completely. I cried myself to sleep that night, it was such a sad episode. Even after the obsession itself was over and I finally saw David Tennant as a man and an actor, and not the character of the Doctor who I'd fallen in love with; when David Tennant was replaced as the Docter by this other baby-faced young guy, I scoffed and insulted him for being unoriginal and generally just not as good.
But now... I just watched this episode with the new guy, Matt Smith, and there was this one scene... and the same old feeling started coming back to me.
It always starts with something touching, with a character showing some vulnerability or tenderness. This fluttering feeling starts in my chest, just like the beginnings of a crush on some real normal person. At the time I just go "awww, that was so sweet..." and I might rewind it if I can to watch the scene again (which I did). But later on I'll find that I can't stop thinking about it, and then I'll find that I feel sort of... wistful and lonely, and still caught up in the story. Wishing that it was real and that I was in it. And that is how my obsessions start.
I blame my imagination. I am so good at putting myself in the shoes of the female opposite character that it affects me somehow. Admittedly this is a skill on the part of the scriptwriters and actors and directors too, but I have always been good at imagining, ever since I was a little girl. And it mucks with my brain. And I thought I'd grown out of it. It hasn't come back to attack me since I met Jared. And yet! HERE IT IS AGAIN. And I don't want it.

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

Educate

"Why do I feel so numb?
Is it something to do with where I come from?
Should this be fight or flight?
I don't know why I'm constantly reeling.

Helpless hysteria
A false sense of urgency
Trapped in my phobia
Possessed by anxiety."


I had my first day of music teacher training today. It was... intense. There's so much they feel the have to educate us on... and I'm paying attention as I've never paid attention before, despite the feeling that it's all common sense. You know, stuff about being friendly and that. I don't know, I'm going to have to look through my notes again. My head is overfull of information; it doesn't even know where to start cataloging.

Also I had an instant coffee today with too much coffee in it and went on a nasty caffeine trip. I got all anxious and panicky and sick-feeling. Why do I do that to myself? Why haven't I learned about my low tolerance for caffeine? I had two coffees and a tea today. I must get out of the habit of drinking things like that just to look grown up. I think this is an example of what that girl said today, Laney (the other new vocal teacher), that learning is conscious. You have to choose to learn from something.

A tiny baby has just come into the world. My niece, Lyrical. She is so, so tiny. It's daunting. I feel afraid when I hold her, nervous of the huge responsibility that comes with such a tiny thing. I loved the idea of "Auntie Sheen" but now that it's down to it, I'm scared. The vulnerability and dependence of a newborn baby is staggering. Her entire life, aspects of her personality and her behaviour, they are in our hands.

What will she learn?


Well, I'll teach her to sing. And that coffee is bad for you.

Fresh

"It could be wrong, could be wrong
But it should've been right
It could be wrong, could be wrong
To let our hearts ignite
It could be wrong, could be wrong
Are we digging a hole?
It could be wrong, could be wrong
This is out of control
It could be wrong, could be wrong
It could never last
It could be wrong, could be wrong
Must erase it fast
It could be wrong, could be wrong
But it could have been right
It could be wrong, could be wrong

Love is our resistance."



I haven't had time to make New Year's resolutions yet. In a way I'm actually scared of them. I've always hated goal setting because I feel like I'm putting pressure on myself. The usual template for goals- "By [insert time here] I will have done [insert goal here]"- includes no qualifier, no "or else". So if I don't accomplish my goal, the only other alternative is feeling disappointed in myself. That's not nice. Expectations strike again!

These were last year's resolutions. The ones I've achieved are in bold.

"Get plenty of sleep
Make every second beverage water
Eat healthily
Wear my hair up at least three times a week
Dress alternatively
Be myself

Start writing again
Start dancing
Write in diary every day
Listen to all of my backlog of new music

Teach piano and voice
Get a job
Save more than I spend
Get a new laptop
Find a keytar
Move out
Go to every lecture

Never forget a birthday
Stay in touch with high school friends
Throw farewell party for EeLaine"

I guess I got most of them... so why am I so scared of resolutions? I guess what I'm most afraid of is failure. I'm afraid that other circumstances will arise that aren't my fault, and I won't be able to accomplish my goals. I'm even more afraid that fate won't intervene and it will be all my fault for being lazy.
This is going to be an intense year for me. I'm moving out, trying to balance Uni and my new job as a singing teacher, trying to get enough money to pay the bills and look after myself and Jared. It might be tough. To throw more on top of myself just seems silly, and seeing as I don't know what the year is going to be like, setting goals that I can predict I will accomplish is impossible.
And yet, with this fresh start hovering over my head, I can't help but turn my mind towards the important things, the things I want to achieve this year.

Scarred

"I miss who we were
In the town that we could call our own
Going back to get away
After everything has changed."



I just read over my blogs so far and something kinda struck me. I'm much better at writing about internal drama... emotional accidents and things... than physical things like my accident in Christchurch.
My grandma is over right now and of course we had to explain to her what had happened to me. I started trying to tell her but the more I talked, the less sense I made and the more the story I was telling disturbed me. Mum had to take over. I couldn't believe how much it bothered me to recount what happened. I guess that I had spent so long pretending that it hadn't happened that admitting to myself that it had was terrifying. I couldn't read the blog that I wrote about it here, either. I suppose this is what the phrase "scarred for life" really means. Not necessarily something you think about all the time, but something you try not to think about because it frightens you so much when you do.
After the accident, Dad said that he hoped that it wouldn't stop me being adventurous and fearless like I was before. I'm not sure whether it will or not... I might go back to the snow, but I am never going to Porter's Pass again.

The boy- ex-Shadowboy- is coming back to Auckland next Thursday. I can't wait to greet him at the airport with all of our friends! But the funny thing is that I feel so different. Once upon a time my heart would have LEAPED with hope and happiness and so on... now that he's just my friend, it's just a comfortable warmth, a passive feeling of rightness. I'm not used to a feeling like that. I suppose it's really good because it means that cutting my inappropriate ties to him has worked and healed. But I won't know how I really feel until I see him.

I was talking to a friend of mine- the one who betrayed me earlier- the other day and I started describing his writing style to him, how it wasn't like I expected. I had expected more mist and illusion and confusion, whereas his style was more solid and... meaty. Practical. No mystery, just straight storytelling. He said, "mist and illusion have nothing to do with telling a story". But I disagree. The way you write something has a HUGE impact on the experience of the reader.

This is a bit of a weird entry because I'm basically waiting until I have to leave for my English 121 exam, and filling up the time with writing. I have a feeling that the things I have said so far are all little seeds of future entries or lines of thought that will develop later into fully fledged rants. I just wanted to get them down before they sunk into the torpid swamp of writing an essay this afternoon.

Answer

"Think of me when you're out, when you're out there
I'll beg you nice, from my knees
And when the world treats you way too fairly
Well it's a shame I'm a dream

All I wanted was you..."


Today I lay on my bed and stared out the window as a cloud turned into a dragon, then to a dog, then to a mouse, and then disintegrated like candyfloss.
As I watched I was thinking:


"Why doesn't anybody think before they speak?"

"Am I not allowed to have a moment of weakness? A moment of insecurity?"

"Don't I deserve to have that insecurity vanquished?"

"Do I always have to be the strong one?"

"What do you do when your body and mind are fully rested, but your soul is exhausted?"

"Does anyone really know how I feel?"

"If not, then where do I go to get the answer?"

"In trying to stop beating myself up all the time, have I gone the opposite way? Do I now think I'm better- kinder, prettier, more fun, more patient, more thoughtful, more selfless- than I really am?"

"Why do I get so insecure?"

"What is wrong with me?!"

Abandoned

"The truth is hiding in your eyes
And it's hanging on your tongue
Just boiling in my blood
But you think that I can't see
What kind of man you are
If you're you a man at all...
Well I will figure this one out on my own
On my own...

I'm screaming 'I love you so'
But my thoughts you can't decode.

How did we get here?
I used to know you so well.
How did we get here?
I think I know..."


People are strange. You think you know them, and then they go and do something totally unexpected.
Some people are stranger than others, and this kind of strangeness spills over into the relationships they have with other people. The relationship becomes strange... becomes something out of the ordinary, something others cannot understand. From the outside it can look wrong, disturbing, unnatural; but from the inside it's the safest thing each person knows. For some, it can become like a back stop. A fall net. When your boyfriend breaks up with you, this friend is there to help you not to lose your sense of beauty or worth. When your other friends get petty and catty and ditch you, this friend is there to make sure you are not alone. When the world fails you, this friend is there to step in. And when you have a friend like that, you will defend them to the end. You defend their anomalies, their strangeness, their failings, and especially you defend your relationship, because no matter how intense and unnatural it may seem to others, it's your security.

We were tight. We were tighter than tight. But he has disappeared off the face of my earth, and it's like a rug being pulled from under my feet. I fell, and my safety net should have caught me halfway down... but I'm still falling, and I think I'm beginning to realise that sooner or later I'm going to have to save myself... or break into pieces on the ground.

It almost feels like losing a partner. I dread seeing him around uni, and yet I wish I would because then I could shout at him. I could demand to know where he was when I needed him. I could make him hurt, and be sorry, and then maybe... just maybe... we could be friends again. I could have my net back. I could be safe again. I could stop feeling so abandoned. So bewildered. So lost.

"Where were you when I was burned and broken,
While the days slipped by from my window watching?
Where were you when I was hurt and I was helpless?
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me.
While you were hanging yourself on someone else's words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun."

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.

Schism

"Pure intention juxtaposed
Will set two lovers' souls in motion
Disintegrating as it goes
Testing our communication
The light that fueled our fire then
Has a burned a hole between us so
We cannot see to reach an end
Crippling our communication

I know the pieces fit
Cause I watched them tumble down
No fault, none to blame
It doesn't mean I don't desire to
Point the finger, blame the other
Watch the temple topple over
To bring the pieces back together
Rediscover communication..."

He's a good friend of mine. So was she.
They'd been together before. A four-month relationship that seemed to be lasting forever. And then she ended it, and the hold that he'd kept so tightly on her ripped him apart. That time, I was her friend, seeing everything from her point of view. She was my best friend, and when I say best I mean best. But he was my friend too; not as close, and for not as long, but his friend nonetheless. I was stuck in the middle.
And then I did something silly. For ten fateful minutes I let myself become a volatile broadcaster instead of just a safe sounding board. For ten minutes I took pity on him, and I told him just one little thing that she had told me. And he reacted, and she noticed, and I told her what I did... and things between me and her were never the same again.
Oh, she forgave me. We were still best friends. But that's when we started growing apart.
My friendship with him began to grow until it eclipsed what I had shared with her. Looking back now, it was almost as if I made a choice. With those ten weak, soft minutes I chose him over her.
I don't blame myself, because the position I was in was of such intense pressure that the expression stuck between a rock and a hard place doesn't even come close. It was more like being burned by a fire on one side- the fire of his intense pain -and choked by a rope on the other- a rope that pulled and pulled as she tried to escape the ruins of their relationship. So I gave in. I fed the fire with a piece of the rope. I'm beginning to realise now that perhaps I cut the rope to do that.
I don't regret it either. Since I cut that rope she has become less and less the kind of person that I want to spend time around; running further and further into the distance until all the things that she once was to me have almost disappeared over the horizon.

And then he and I got together. A two-month summer romance that seemed to be lasting forever. And then he ended it, and and the hold that I'd kept so tightly on him ripped me apart. Because it was her. He still wasn't over her.
We both had other relationships, and after the compulsory period of awkwardness, he and I were closer than ever. I got over him... but he never got over her.

And they got back together. Months passed, and it seemed it would last forever.
But if it didn't work once, it was never going to work twice.
And now that they've broken up again, I find myself on his side more than hers. It's surreal for me, having been through this twice with them and now being on the other side of the fence. This time I blame her so much more than I could have ever blamed him all those years ago: it's the way that she just doesn't seem to care, this time. At least the first time she fretted and worried for the proper time period.
I may be wrong about how she's feeling. After all, we haven't had a deepmeaningful, like we used to, for years. But there are some things I've always known and noticed about her... she is immensely practical, ruthlessly down-to-earth, and can be brutally, brutally blunt.

After all he and I have been through, I can't help but take his side in this. But it is surreal... to be part of both lives, to be the fork in the road, the schism of their love story.

Chapter Four: Apathy

"Still it's hard to just get by
It seems so meaningless to try
When all I want to do is cry
No-one ever knew I was so sad

Cause even though I get so high
I know that I will never fly
And when I fall out of the sky
Who'll be standing by?

Will you be standing by?"

A month or so ago I went on the pill and things have not been the same since. I've felt so down all the time... not the drama-filled, stormy down that I'm used to, but a general rainy cloud over my head. I've never really had mood swings before, but I know now what they are. Happy one minute, sad the next, for no apparent reason. And I feel so hopeless and helpless to resist... and in fact, it's as if I don't want to. I'm drowning in apathy. I don't care.

But I know that in an hour or so I probably will care.

It's so confusing having this leaping thing inside my head all the time. Up, down, up, down. I worry that next time I have to make a proper decision about something important, I'll be on a down and not make the right one.

But next time you see me, I'll probably be smiling.

Staying happy these days is like reaching for a star. I'm a long way down and it's a long way up, and I'm scared that if I ever catch it, it will burn my hands.

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.

Purgatory

"The world is a drought when out of love
Please come back to us
You're all of the above
'I'm making a choice to be out of touch.
Leave me be,' He said, he said, he said...

'Leave me here in my stark raving, sick, sad little world!
Leave me here in my stark raving, sick, sad little world!'"



I haven't posted for a while... I guess there hasn't really been anything to say. I'd closed that chapter- it was quite a short one I guess. I thought it'd be that easy. Cut the ties. Turn in a new direction. Start a new chapter. I should've known.
It was really weird actually. I was thinking that as I loaded up my blog, and then the latest entry under Danny's blog said something quite similar. That seems to happen to us a lot.

Today I logged into msn for the first time in ages to sort out my mess of a hotmail inbox. There was a message from Shadowboy in it, just a general thing sent out to everyone. He called it Travel Log, and it was just an account of what'd happened to him so far... but reading it made me so... so sad. I suddenly realized that, by cutting the ties I had to him as more than a friend, I'd almost cut him out of my life. Made him someone neutral, normal, unknown. And it hurt. Evidently there are still some sore spots from where I cut the ties, and they haven't healed yet.
So, patience. I must have patience and wait for them to heal. Silly really- I shouldn't've thought that it'd be that fast and easy. I should've listened to you, Danny, when you said time. Twice.

I'm in purgatory. In limbo. Just waiting.

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.

Fury

"It's a cruel thing you'll never know
All the ways I tried
It's a hard thing faking a smile
When I feel like I'm falling apart inside

And now you're gone it's like an echo in my head
And I remember every word you said..."



It was close to seven o'clock at night. I was on the bus on the way home from Uni- what a place to have a mental spasm- and that song came up on my iPod... Robyn, Be Mine. Back when shadow-boy was my obsession that song would make me cry until my heart nearly burst. But when I heard it today something else began to rise in my chest... utter and absolute fury.

I've never felt so purely angry in my life. I don't deal with anger very well. I'm not used to it. Frustration, yes... hurt, yes... regret, yes... but not anger.

So I ran. I got off the bus and I ran through my suburb in the darkness. Like the first time I heard that song, I wanted to scream... this time in a different kind of agony than the first... but I didn't want to scare my neighbours... so, like the first time, I danced. I beat the ground with my feet, I cut the air with my arms, I lashed out at the sky. I spun through my fury.

I stopped when it was getting too late and too close to my house to continue.


How dare he?! How dare shadow-boy still affect me this way when it's been so long, and I've been through so much life, and I've had the most amazing person practically given to me on a plate- it's complete crap! Why?!

I believe that everything happens for a reason... but what the hell is life trying to teach me with this?! I've learned everything that I can from him- what is the point in prolonging this torture, this utter useless hopelessness?

And the worst bit is that it's not even his fault. The only person I can really blame is myself- my mind. My stupid, stupid mind! It's all in my head. The one person whose rejection consistently made me feel like I wasn't good enough. And he doesn't even know. He has no idea.
It's. All. In. My. Head.

Chapter One: Inevitability

"Spinning round and round it goes,
I can't let up, I can't let go,
Out of control, my wheels in constant motion."


My Nana and I are very close. She's about the only person in my whole family who I feel connected with; the only person I never get angry at or frustrated with. A kindred spirit in my family full of christians, drama queens and hypocrites.

A few years ago she had breast cancer. Luckily the doctors were able to operate and they removed one of her breasts, annihilating the cancer. At the time the only thing that worried me about it was that it was possible my mum, my sister or I could get it in the future; it might be hereditary.

A few weeks ago Nana started complaining of pains in her chest. We took her to the doctor, who sent her to hospital to get scans and things and sent us home with pain drugs, and we settled down to wait for the results.
Then the pain developed into something else. Nana started having difficulty breathing. So we took her to the doctor again, who diagnosed fluid in the lungs and sent us home with drugs for clearing unnecessary fluid in the body.
My Nana and I are the same. We hate taking pills.
When the breathing problem didn't get better, we went back to the doctor a third time. He acknowledged there was something else wrong and packed her off to hospital. They did more scans and x-rays and things. They couldn't do the scan they wanted to because they had to put dyes through her kidneys and they were too dehydrated from those pills the doctor gave her last time, so we had to wait a while. But they finally got around to it.

The fluid in my Nana's lungs has cancer cells in it. They've also migrated into a bone in the front of her chest. The doctors can operate on the bone and slow down the growth of the cancer, but they can't cure her. They can't make it go away. And they can't yet say how long she has left. Dad thinks it could be up to three months. I remember my heart stopping when he said that. Three months.

This isn't right. She's been around forever. She has to be here for my sister's wedding, for my wedding. For the birth of her first blood great-grandchild. For my graduation. For my life...


When I walked into the hospital today I felt awful. I really hate hospitals... they make me feel nauseous, but not in my stomach, in my heart. It's like all the pain and worry and sadness that's gone on inside that building has somehow seeped into the walls and the lino floors, the doors, the elevators. I know that good things sometimes happen in hospitals too... people do get better, babies are born... but to me, and especially today, a hospital is a hotel for the dying.
Nana is so weak. It's just... so weird to see her like this. Her mind is sharp as ever, but her body is letting her down... she can't walk, she can't even shuffle up in the bed by herself. Every movement causes her pain. Her voice is so quiet and wavery... not that she was a loud person before, but she has always had a firm, strong voice. She's so tired and sleepy all the time... she said "I just want to sleep". I don't know if I have words to sum up how different she is, except for this: she's dying. And there's nothing we can do about it.
Every time I speak to her I think "this is one of the last times I'll say this"... I shouldn't, I should stop myself because it just upsets me, but it's true. It's true.

The day I found out we were losing her, I didn't want to think about it- I still don't. If I close my eyes I'll start thinking about her, but if people can just leave me alone, not touch me, not hug me, just let me sit and stare... it's like I can slow down time. That night I didn't want to sleep. I was afraid of dreaming, or thinking, or waking up and forgetting. I stayed up till 4am deliberately not thinking. I just want to escape. Get me out of this world gone mad.
Last night was okay because I got to snuggle down in the arms of my beloved, but tonight will be another sleepless one.
I don't want to sleep. Nana can have my unused slumber. And soon she'll be under the deepest sleep of all.
I don't want to sleep.

I don't know what I'm going to do without her.