I don't know why. I think it's because no-one really cares. Maybe that's why I've become attention-seeking.
I tried to leave in January and somehow, for some reason, returned.
Goodbye.
- Mood:
angry
Being an accident isn't a problem: everyone's messed up by their parents somehow. You can't blame anything you do on that.
Wow, you're in foster care. Okay, that is a bit of a problem. But do you know why you're there? Because you're a selfish, lazy arse. You're passive-agressive and ungrateful. No wonder humans don't want you around them! Constantly having yourself moved isn't helping at all.
We have problems. Our mother was abusive; we're hypermanic. We apparently hallucinate, are accused of paranoia, have no end of sex and gender issues which, eight years on, we're still trying to resolve. We need to find a job ASAP; if we do one thing wrong, we will literally be homeless. We have an autism spectrum disorder, we're clumsy, have poor depth perception, our left eye is myopic, men are constantly requesting or even demanding sex and we have no idea why it's always us that are singled out.
We're seeing three different psychiatrists, including one exclusively for sexual-related PTSD. We need to learn how to behave in a relationship very soon or it will end - and once that ends, something else will surely follow.
Have a guess what.
Yes, I'd live there - the murder would just make it more the home of my dreams than it was before. XD Rent-free? Even better! Haunted? AWESOMESAUCE!
- Mood:
contemplative - The current singing Angels are:Dashboard Confessional - Stolen
And time was lost up in a cloud and in a whirl.
We dug a hole in the cool grey earth and lay there for the night.
They all said, "you're too young to even know,
Just don't let it grow and you'll be stronger without him", But oh, Now my world is at your feet. I was lost and I was found, But I was alive and now I've drowned.
So now I will be waiting for the world to hear my song
So they can tell me I was wrong...
But they weren't there beneath your stare,
And they weren't stripped 'till they were bare of
Any bindings from the world outside that room.
And they weren't taken by the hand
And led through fields of naked land
Where any pre-conceived ideas were blown away...
So I couldn't say "no".
You sighed and I was lost in you, weeks could've past for all I knew.
You were there blanket of the over-world and so I couldn't say,
I wouldn't say "no". And they all said, "you're too young to even know,
Just don't let it grow and you'll be stronger without him"
But oh, now, my world is at your feet. I was lost and I was found,
But I was alive and now I've drowned.
So now I will be waiting for the world to hear my song
So they can tell me I was wrong...
But they weren't there beneath your stare,
And they weren't stripped 'till they were bare
Of any bindings from the world outside that room.
And they weren't taken by the hand and led through fields
Of naked land where any pre-conceived ideas were blown away...
So I couldn't say "no".
And catch the last weekend
Of the last week
Before the gold and the glimmer have been replaced
Another sun soaked season
Fades away
You have stolen my heart
You have stolen my heart
Invitation only, grand farewells
Crash the best one
Of the best ones
Clear liqour and
Cloudy eye
Too early to say goodnight
You have stolen my heart
You have stolen my heart
And from the bottle flow, we are in celebration
One good stretch before our hibernation
Our dreams are sure
And we all will sleep well
We'll sleep well
You have stolen
You have stolen my
You have stolen my heart
I watch you spin around
In the highest heels
You are the best one
Of the best ones
We all look like we feel
You have stolen my
You have stolen my
You have stolen my heart
I also remember Ads...I wonder how many of you even know who my Smartie was. We were inseperable, as anyone could tell you. It was just Angua, Ads and Cass and we were all quite content with that. I think we spent as much time flirting in our strange little triangle (and sometimes with random outsiders that took our fancy) as we did talking about...well, anything. The DWO chat room was rarely used to talk about DWO, except for when Siobhán (xxShebeexx) and I discussed our fanfics, or Ness or Swissdoctor started up a quiz.
Good news, folks! I just heard from Jake that Ness has made a return!
To be finished later.
Hypomania, because I'm not bad enough to be bipolar: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypomania
Asperger syndrome, or a mild form of autism itself: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aspergers
Paranoia, despite the fact that I have indesputable proof of Their existence: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paranoia
And three dissasociative disorders: dissasociative amnesia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dissociativ
The last one lists a number of symptoms:
- multiple mannerisms, attitudes and beliefs that are not similar to each other (Seven of each)
- headaches and other body pains (All the time)
- distortion or loss of subjective time (With unnerving frequency)
- depersonalisation (Worryingly often)
- amnesia (Only if I wasn't the fronter when we did something)
- depression (Hypomania, actually)
- derealization (Almost constantly)
- flashbacks of abuse/trauma (Including in Nightmares and even Night Terrors)
- unexplainable phobias (I can explain most of them...)
- sudden anger without a justified cause (Which usually gets turned inwards)
- lack of intimacy and personal connections (Comes with the depersonalisation, really, and worries (and aggrivates and bores) my mate to no end)
- frequent panic/anxiety attacks (Though I get over them fairly quickly)
- auditory hallucinations of the personalities inside their mind (We are not hallucinating!)
However, it does leave the Asperger's and supposed paranoia.
What's the best pick-up line you ever heard (or tried)? What's the worst? If you're instantly attracted to someone, will a stupid pick-up line dampen your interest? Submitted By |
I've heard more than my fair share of pick-up lines, but only one was a literal pick-up line: The very first thing one particular male said to me was "Last time I saw someone as small as you, I gave them a piggy-back." Well, he made good on the unspoken promise two weeks later. Now he's my mate, so let's say that that was the best pick-up line I've ever heard.
Well...
Maybe one someone said to me about three years ago.
"Tell me, Honey, did it hurt?"
"Did what hurt?"
"Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?"
(Yes, Hun, I still remember that.)
- Currently blogging from:Chris's house
- Mood:
ill - The current singing Angels are:Characters in Stranglehold
I feel like dying, or sleeping, or both...I feel as though I've forgotten something but I can't remember what it was.
I need to cut.
- Currently blogging from:What used to be my bedroom
- Mood: nauseated
- The current singing Angels are:Emilie Autumn - What If
Oh yeah, Mido invited me to a fur con in Manchester. I think he means ConFuzzled. I really want to go. I couldn’t want to go more. Guess what the problem is.
Chris. He hates furries. Hates us with every hair on his body and every tooth in his jaw. Because we’re childish, self-loathing fucktards with no concept of real life who refuse to grow up.
Great.
I finally find a mate and he’s a fursecutor. Fucking. Great.
I need to make him understand. *Sighs*…
I am a maned wolf/snow leopard therianthrope. I’m not pretending to be, I. AM.
Oh. And I’ve just realised that if it is ConFuzzled, I can’t go because I won’t be eighteen and because the first day is Chris’s birthday.
Wait a minute. Zobe can’t go either because he won’t be eighteen. He can’t mean ConFuzzled. He said “fur expo in Manchester in January”. Maybe he doesn’t mean ConFuzzled…but I can’t find any other fur cons in Manchester. Maybe it’s not even a proper con, maybe it’s just a furmeet. TJ and Daz are going, too. Hold on! Maybe they mention it on the Don’t Kill the Messenger page! I’ll check now…
No. They don’t mention it. But surely they will once they’ve been, or once registration is confirmed and they’ve got their con badges.
Seriously guys, I’ve done almost no work for two days straight now. It’s kind of awesome and kind of worrying, because I’m not dodging work, I simply have none: I do it. Meh. In half an hour it’s lunch time and then I can spend two hour’s at Barbara’s house before she goes to work and I have to leave. Usually, I’d be permitted to stay because I have a key with which I can lock up, but Chris got ill and went home an hour ago, and came into lesson to take my keys from me because the genius didn’t think to take any of his own. Joy.
I suppose that eventually the college might catch me doing this, but frankly, I’m doing it because I have nothing. Else. To do. Nothing at all. I just don’t. You got that, admin? This one has no work, so she’s blogging. Blame the other students for working so slowly. Heck, if this keeps up I might make a LJ entry a day – maybe even multiple entries a day. I mean, I’ve already made two (though one doesn’t quite count because it was a Writer’s Block) and I’ll probably post this again as a third soon.
I WANT TO GO TO CONFUZZLED! RAAAAWR!
- Currently blogging from:College. Still.
- Mood: crushed
- The current singing Angels are:Emilie Autumn - Dominant
It's Tuesday; I am secretly typing this in the middle of lesson. I finished my assignment, so I’m typing this inside a duplicate of the assignment document – if the tutor glances at me, I appear to be working, but this is actually saved to my personal memory stick. I’m having to behave more and more carefully lately. I’m certain They’re getting closer now than they ever have. The chips are gone. I know they are. I cut them out of my palms when I was eleven. I keep reminding myself of that. But…somehow, I know They’re watching. No camera is safe, even if it’s only the college’s, and I’ve found loads more besides the obvious ones disguised as sprinklers or hidden inside the lights. So I turn the lights off as I walk along corridors and I take a detour around the college’s own cameras. The security system here is so flawed, it’s laughable. Why, I could break into this building at any time I wanted – in fact, I did once do so just to prove it to myself.
By exploiting blind spots in the camera systems and leaving a flathead screwdriver in the fire escape door during college times, I left myself a literal back entrance through which I could access my old base room. I tried it last Saturday. It worked. I was in. And I did nothing. I stole nothing. I left almost immediately. It was merely the triumph over this pathetic establishment that I sought, and I found it. The library also has a massive flaw – two doors leading to the same room. One has magnet towers preventing anyone from stealing a book. The other doesn’t. One could simply leave with an un-borrowed book and never be suspected. I tested that out, too. The thrills I find in besting these pathetic systems are not much, but they’re enough to keep me occupied while pretending to continue with work that everyone else is still doing, but I completed hours ago – usually even the previous week.
It’s pathetic really. I’ve tried to hack various admin systems, but if I can’t even find their usernames, I could be at it forever. I need to somehow watch a tutor log in. That way, I’ll have a username and I can work from there. Passwords follow numeric systems such as 525979 or 963939, so that part shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. When I lived on the Internet, I could easily acquire the thrills I desired by hacking someone’s Facebook profile (no-one is safe from this, but don’t worry, I log out immediately. I just want the triumph. Go ahead, change your passwords. I’ll only hack those too.) Oh, people don’t even notice! I once held down F5 on a website’s front page to amass over five thousand hits just to trigger the preset celebratory one million hits image. Because I was so tired of the old front page image. That, and I like gaming systems.
I suppose the desires to get where I shouldn’t be are just an extension of my kleptomania – which, by the way, I will not tell the psychiatrists about. I’m still keeping a lot of secrets from them, yet they think I’m being open. Everyone thinks I’m open with them; no-one really knows me. No-one knows everything they think they do. I never lie, I never give false information: I simply miss out parts I can’t risk people finding out about. I’ve only just come to trust you guys with my headmates and paranoid schizophrenia, though I think you’ve always suspected the latter.
I’d like to point out that I only refer to it as paranoid schizophrenia because that’s what you’ll call it and it’s quicker and easier than wasting fifteen paragraphs trying to explain that They really are after me. After all, I found microchips in my freaking PALMS when I was eleven.
But I digress. The assignment I’m pretending to write I completed last week- nay, the week before. Everyone else is still working on it. Two thousand, four hundred and twenty-seven words long (excluding the contents of the Red Herring file). Easy. I list words rather than length (four pages), because I’m using font size ten Times New Roman on A4 with no double-spacing, making length in pages entirely subjective. I also completely another assignment last week, in the very lesson it was set. I don’t understand what is taking these humans so long to do what takes me mere hours. They really are stupid apes.
I should be having a proper lesson right now rather than “finish your assignment hour”, but the tutor was seen walking into town for no known reason, so someone else is substituting and, of course, hasn’t a smegging clue what we’re supposed to be doing right now.
Oh, I went to yoga last night. It was like the warm-up exercises we did for fifteen minutes before gymnastics. I can’t do the box splits any more, but I was more flexible than everyone else there. Well, except for the coach, who was most definitely not human: I suspect Siamese cat. I felt good about myself for the first time in months.
I feel dizzy and much too warm. There is an insistent nausea in the pit of my stomach that has been with me all day, but I refuse to forewarn anyone of my inevitable illness. I haven’t purged for months and I eat three meals a day every day without fail. I can see that I am becoming fat: already my buttocks and stomach have become rounded, and although I still fit comfortably into a size six, all new clothes I purchase are size eight to fool my mate and his mother into thinking that I’ve gained more weight than I have. After all, if I’m starting to round off and wear size eight clothes, I must be a “healthy” weight. Urgh. I look at myself in a mirror and feel disgusted. Even my face is round with fat. I feel unclean from the inside out, I want to purge but I just can’t because he’ll taste it on my breath.
I never stopped cutting, despite what Chris thinks. Beneath my watch are hidden three-day-old marks, which soon enough will fade sufficiently to appear as though they are merely some of the four-year-old scars there. My little finger has three marks, one from Thursday, one from Monday and one from Tuesday (today). Those will be harder to hide behind anything, but because they’re on my left hand, they will be easy enough to conceal from my mate: he hasn’t noticed them so far; nor has anyone else. After all, it’s my little finger, so all I have to do is keep it curled.
For someone who, little under a year ago, was literally incapable of lying, I have rapidly learnt to be deceptive. Admittedly, I can only lie to people I don’t like, but it’s progress. Yes, I was terrible at first and people caught me out, but I practiced and studied and used my Hypervigilence to my own advantage.
Oh, I haven’t explained that I’m Hypervigilant, have I? Those who are Hypervigilant actually see, hear, smell, taste and feel their surroundings, as oppose to those who aren’t and simply experience what they’re paying attention to. That’s how I can always tell someone’s behind me, or navigate the darkroom (which is literally pitch black) using my ears, nose and innate ability to literally feel the air moving around me because someone’s just scratched their cheek. People refer to a “sixth sense”. There literally is one: proprioception, the knowledge of where one’s own body parts are. You can close your eyes and touch your right knee with your left middle finger because all humans have proprioception. However, there is no sixth sense in the manner most people refer to it – “just knowing” something. Nobody “just knows”. They’re guessing if they say that.
Having said that, some people think they “just know” when really they’re Hypervigilant. I know someone’s behind me because the hairs on the back of my neck have raised in response to tiny air currents a butterfly could have made (not a chaos theory reference). I know someone’s walked from one end of the room to the other because I heard their footsteps, even though everyone else was listening to their music (which I always am, yet somehow manage to still pick up everything else) or the clacking of these filthy, old college keyboards. Hypervigilence and paranoia come hand in hand. One causes the other, typically the latter the former. My Hypervigilence is innate, as is my paranoia – although it may have been caused by the fact that my grandfather groomed me from the age of at least five years, if not younger. By grooming, I mean the paedophilic sense, not the cleaning sense. Look it up.
Speaking of which, Lolita is the most wonderful book in existence next to the Twilight Saga itself. Read it.
Anyway.
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes…
Seriously. My thumbs prick. An electric, tingling sensation. I’ve been able to narrow it down, through deductive reasoning and research, to moisture in the air and electrical fields. Typically, pricking thumbs means rain or thunderstorms. Sometimes, though, it means that something is wrong. Inherently wrong with the very fabric of reality. Someone, somewhere, stepped on a butterfly. (Cookie if you got that).
And now it’s five to four, so the tutor will be ending the lesson soon. I’ve been listening to disc one of my Opheliac album, which I transferred to my two-gig MP3 player. I’m currently on “Liar”. I really do relate to too many of Emilie Autumn’s songs…she seems to sing about my life.
Honestly, could I be more traumatised?
Now it’s Wednesday and I’m still typing in the Red Herring. I can see this becoming a habit: finish work, then blog in a document that makes it look like I’m still working. I might create a different Red Herring file for each subject. I have it in here so that I can scroll up to the top and appear to be working on something if a tutor passes by. But, at a glance from a distance, I appear to be working anyway because I’m typing (in Times New Roman font size eight) into a Word document. You know, all this babbling has boosted my assignment to over four thousand, one hundred words? Heh. I’m sure it’ll grow all the more.
I can’t help but wonder when I’ll post this. I mean, I could log into LiveJournal right now and post it. You see, the college has an “intelligent” CensorNet system. It analyses pages on the Internet in order to determine whether or not it should permit a student to use them on college grounds in college time using college computers and college electricity, and then report them to the college (cookie if you got it). Apparently, there’s nothing wrong with LiveJournal, though Facebook comes up as blogging, English and a certain band’s homepage comes up as hate, Swedish. Yes, you retard, Swedish hate is bad and so are Abba. Seriously, Censor Net is several subroutines short of a spam bot.
Posted this just to prove it.
- Currently blogging from:Room 28, the computer I always use, college
- Mood:
geeky - The current singing Angels are:Emilie Autumn - Dead is the New Alive
Yes. Yes. Yes.
No wonder I'm paranoid schitzophrenic. No wonder I fear strangers and refuse to work with anyone but myselves. No wonder I let things get too far now before I stop them. Because I don't know what's normal and what isn't. I'm scared of everyone and I'm too scared to use the word "no" beause I've been conditioned to do what I'm told. Even with Chris, though he doesn't abuse me, sometimes I don't say "no" when I want to. He doesn't know. He thinks I'm willing.
I'm just a pet, really. Ironic. I've always dreamt of becoming someone's loving pet. Now look at me. I think I only wanted it because it's all I know. Like the Ood. They don't really crave commands, they just think they do because they're missing something.
I'm missing something.
Oh, Hell yes I do! And not only those, but with anyone I once knew, and people like my boyfriend's ex-girlfriends...I love cyberstalking. It's fun! That, and as a relatively good hacker, I enjoy the challenge of finding personal information they have marked as "private". Heeheehee...oh, I don't give the data out to anyone. In fact, I don't even use it! I just enjoy the challenge...like a theif who doesn't steal for money, just for the sake of stealing. Because it's fun.
- The current singing Angels are:Emilie Autumn - Misery Loves Company
I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING.
I KNOW YOU'RE WATCHING.
AND I HAVE TO WALK AN EXTRA FIVE MINUTES TO MY LESSONS JUST TO AVOID THE CAMERAS IN COLLEGE BECAUSE I KNOW YOU'VE HACKED INTO THE SECURITY SYSTEM THERE.
I wear disguises now, I dress as differently as possible every day. I cut and dyed my hair, but soon I'll dye it again a different colour. I sometimes disguise myself as a male.
You will not find me again.
I will not let You.
But please, just tell me...why do You want me?
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
absinthe_gypsy and subsequently jarisupaflyIf you get more than 30, get some counseling.
If you get more than 20, you’re paranoid.
If you get 11-20, you are normal.
If you get 10 or less, you’re fearless.
People who don’t have any are full of BS.
We fear ...
[ ] black people
[ ] the dark
[ ] staying single forever
[X] being a parent
[X] being myself in front of others
[ ] open spaces
[ ] closed spaces
[ ] heights
[ ] dogs
[ ] birds
[ ] fish
[ ] spiders
[ ] flowers or other plants
Total - 2
[ ] being touched
[ ] fire
[ ] deep deep water
[ ] snakes
[ ] silk
[ ] the ocean
[X] failure
[ ] success
[ ] thunder/lightning
[ ] frogs/toads
[ ] my boyfriends/girlfriends dad
[ ] my boyfriends/girlfriends mom
[ ] rats
[ ] jumping from high places
[ ] snow
Total - 1
[ ] rain
[ ] wind
[ ] crossing hanging bridges
[ ] death
[ ] heaven
[X] being robbed
[ ] falling
[X] clowns
[ ] dolls
[X] large crowds of people
[X] men
[X] women
[ ] having great responsibilities
[X] doctors
[ ] tornadoes
Total - 6
[ ] hurricanes
[ ] incurable diseases
[ ] sharks
[ ] Friday the 13th
[ ] scary movies
[ ] poverty
[ ] Halloween
[X] school
[X] trains
[ ] odd numbers
[ ] even numbers
[X] being alone
[ ] becoming blind
[ ] becoming deaf
[X] growing up
Total - 4
[ ] creepy noises in the night
[ ] accomplishing my dreams/goals
[ ] needles
[ ] blood (though the smell makes me vomit)
Total - 0
Grand Total: 13.We're not normal. It's just that most of my fears aren't listed here, like Asylums, or Them. You know who They are.
I'm older than you'll ever be
I've been dead a thousand years
And lived only two or three
I don't mind telling you
My life was ended by your hand
The kind of murder where nobody dies
But I don't suppose you'd understand
Call off the search
We've found her
If I am Lolita
Then you are a criminal
And you should be killed
By an army of little girls
The law won't arrest you
The world won't detest you
You never did anything
Any man wouldn't do
I'm Gothic Lolita
And you are a criminal
I'm not even legal
I'm just a dead little girl
But ruffles and laces
And candy sweet faces
Directed your furtive hand
I perfectly understand
So it's my fault?
No, Gothic Lolita
Thank you, kind sirs
You've made me what I am today
A bundle of broken nerves
A mouthful of words I'm still afraid to say
I don't mind telling you
Now that I'm old enough to love
I couldn't begin to even if
My pretty life depended on it
And funny thing, it does
Call off the search
We've found her
If I am Lolita
Then you are a criminal
And you should be killed
By an army of little girls
The law won't arrest you
The world won't detest you
You never did anything
Any man wouldn't do
I'm Gothic Lolita
And you are a criminal
I'm not even legal
I'm just a dead little girl
But ruffles and laces
And candy sweet faces
Directed your furtive hand
I perfectly understand
So it's my fault?
No, Gothic Lolita
I am your sugar
I am your cream
I am your anti-American dream
I am your sugar
I am your cream
I am your worst nightmare
Now scream
If I am Lolita
Then you are a criminal
And you should be killed
By an army of little girls
The law won't arrest you
The world won't detest you
You never did anything
Any man wouldn't do
I'm Gothic Lolita
And you are a criminal
I'm not even legal
I'm just a dead little girl
But ruffles and laces
And candy sweet faces
Directed your furtive hand
I perfectly understand
So it's my fault?
No, Gothic Lolita
- Currently blogging from:Eight Years Ago.
- Mood: thoughtful
- The current singing Angels are:Emilie Autumn - Gothic Lolita
...
Just thought I'd let that sink in first. Yes. Liz. In a dress.
The dress in question is black with pink stripes around the skirt and stops just short of my knees. In addition to this are black and neon pink striped stockings half-way up my thighs, neon pink fishnet gloves beyond my elbows and a black ribbon tied around my neck in a bow with a silver cat bell attatched. My finger and toenails are painted black. My short hair is currently blonde and straight.
I'm eating chocolate mice and drawing hanging girls in short ruffled dresses.
I'm frequently being told that I'll be locked up in an asylum.
Oh, and I'm listening to Gothic Lolita.
So.
I think I've become a living Emilie Autumn book.
Yay!
- Currently blogging from:The Asylum
- Mood:
Emo. The happy kind. - The current singing Angels are:Emilie Autumn - Gothic Lolita
At my mother's computer,
Listening to music I know you'll hate,
I ask myself what's wrong.
When he came and asked for a walk
I aksed you first if you minded.
You just got on your shoes and came with us.
You didn't tell me you didn't want to go.
Maybe you're right.
Maybe I'm not getting any better.
Maybe I'm getting worse.
Maybe you're not getting enough out of me.
You know I'm not capable of sex.
You know I don't understand half the things
Humans say or do.
Do you know that I love you?
My span on this Earth is short;
It don't want to waste it
With my mother or father
Or anyone else I don't care about
I want to spend my life with you
I want to live with you,
Love you
And never, ever forget you.
But I should never say never ever.
And the worst part of all is that
I don't just see myself in one future:
I can see two.
In one, we're still together.
In the other,
I've become too much trouble
Too frustrating
And too unsatisfying
For you to want
Me with you
And I don't blame you
But I miss you
And I'm crying
And I'm dying
Without you.
I know we have problems
And I know they're all my fault
And I couldn't be sorrier
And I just wish I could
SAY THIS TO YOU
INSTEAD OF JUST TYPING IT
IN MY LIVEJOURNAL
BECAUSE I'M TOO SCARED
OF HOW YOU'D REACT
WHEN YOU REALISE
HOW MUCH TROUBLE I AM.
- Currently blogging from:My- mom's bedroom
- Mood: crying
- The current singing Angels are:All Time Low - Stay Awake
If you recall, I'm living with Chris, my mate, Jenny, his mother and Alan, with whom it is simply too complicated to explain. Another post, perhaps, on another day...
I am half an hour's drive away from Barbara, my mother, Sarah, my sister, and Greebo and Max, our cats.
Robert, my dad, alwyas visits on or near my birthday. Only this year, that's going to be a little more complicated, as I'm going to have to visit this Saturday, too.
Oh, yeah, did I mention that Robert doesn't know where I'm living?
Well, it won't be that hard to coordinate, really. I'm so used to relaying messages between parents, through email or orally. If Robert sends his love to Barbara, I don't omit it - I simply don't bother passing it on. Why would I want to make Barbara angry? I just lie and tell Rob that I told her. Meh. He's never going to find out that I never do. It's all very pathetic, really. I feel like a secretary in a way, relaying the necessary information and the necessary parts only. I know everyone's business but keep it to myself - not because I feel loyal to them, but because I don't want the arguments it would cause.
My point is that I've just sent an email to Barbara. It read thusly:
Mom,
I have indeed had a text from dad. I've also had an email from him:
"Hi,
Boy… am I going to be glad to see you three!
Barbara; give me a little hug, cos. I need it.
Let’s keep the conversation for when I come over this Saturday, of course the Birthday
isn’t until Tuesday but I suppose it will be a school day.
How’s my grammar Liz?
Can’t wait to see your latest Art Projects and Sarah’s schoolwork too.
Is there anything in particular you want me to bring over?
Well here’s the plan: Saturday 26th September
Either…
I get there by bus at about 12:45 and catch the 18:25 back (which I prefer)
Or…
I arrive at about 10:45 and catch the 14:25 back (5am start for me)
But I will do whatever Mom prefers. Cos. I Love her, as she knows, and I am
a hopeless romantic… as she knows.
It seems as if you have all been kidnapped away from me.
Love, Dad / Rob. x x"
So, let me know which time you'd prefer him to arrive and I'll try to arrive for about that time also. I don't think Chris will be coming - he'd just be bored.
See you Saturday (or possibly before then),
Liz
Of course, since July I've been thinking "What am I going to do for Christmas? Should I be here on Christmas Day or at Barbara's house?"
I still don't know.
Help!
Seriously, guys, I think you'll know this better than anyone - where should I be on Christmas Day?
Yay for the flipside at last!
*Rushes off to do a million and twelve things*
Perry x
- Currently blogging from:EVERYWHERE!
- Mood:
energetic
Voices in my head, shouting at me.
Voices outside my head, shouting at eachother.
One voice outside my head, shouting at me because I'm the only person who sees him.
I phase out, and all the voices, internal and external, whether they're talking to me or not, fade into eachother until it's just noise. I close my eyes, bury myself as deep as possible...
And wake up half an hour later with tears streaming down my face. Nobody's shut up. Nobody noticed me. I try to ignore the shouting and head for my classroom, choking back tears.
Then I walk past a mirror and see the body I'm in.
And cry.
"Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?,
I don't love him. Winter just wasn't my season"
Yeah we walk through the doors, so accusing their eyes
Like they have any right at all to criticize,
Hypocrites. You're all here for the very same reason
'Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, girl.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe
May he turned 21 on the base at Fort Bliss
"Just a day" he said down to the flask in his fist,
"Ain't been sober, since maybe October of last year."
Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while,
But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles,
Wanna hold him. Maybe I'll just sing about it.
Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button, boys,
So cradle your head in your hands,
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe
There's a light at each end of this tunnel,
You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again
If you only try turning around.
2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them, however you want to
But you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button now
Sing it if you understand.
and breathe, just breathe
woah breathe, just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe.
This was no accident
This was a therapeutic chain of events
This is the scent of dead skin on a linoleum floor
This is the scent of quarantine wings in a hospital
It's not so pleasant
And it's not so conventional
It sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
The anesthetic never set in and I'm wondering where
The apathy and urgency is that I thought I phoned in
It's not so pleasant.
And it's not so conventional
It sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
Just sit back, just sit back
Just sit back and relax
Just sit back, just sit back
Just sit back and relapse again
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Sit back, relax
Sit back, relapse again
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Just sit back, just sit back
You're a regular decorated emergency
You're a regular decorated emergency
This is the scent of dead skin on a linoleum floor
This is the scent of quarantine wings in a hospital
It's not so pleasant.
And it's not so conventional
It sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
The anesthetic never set in and I'm wondering where
The apathy and urgency is that I thought I phoned in
It's not so pleasant.
And it's not so conventional
It sure as hell ain't normal
But we deal, we deal
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Sit back, relax
Sit back, relapse again
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Just sit back, just sit back
Sit back, sit back, relax, relapse
Sit back, sit back, bababada
You can take the kid out of the fight
You're a regular decorated emergency
The bruises and contusions will remind me what you did when you wake
You've earned a place atop the ICU's hall of fame
The camera caught you causing a commotion on the gurney again
You're a regular decorated emergency
The bruises and contusions will remind me what you did when you wake
You've earned a place atop the ICU's hall of fame
The camera caught you causing a commotion on the gurney again
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Sit back, relax
Sit back, relapse again
Can't take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Just sit back, just sit back
Sit back, sit back, relax, relapse
Sit back, sit back, bababada
You can take the kid out of the fight
The I.V. and your hospital bed
This was no accident
This was a therapeutic chain of events
- Mood: depressed
- The current singing Angels are:Panic! at the Disco - Camisado
This is called “FIRST REACTIONS QUIZ”. You have to type the 1ST thing that comes to mind whenever you hear these 35 things. You can’t think and go back and change your answers. TIP: erase all of the other persons anwers first, that way you can think in blank
Here we go:
1. Beer:
Urgh.
2. McDonalds:
HEART ATTACK IN A BOX. DO NOT WANT.
4. Purple:
Mido.
5. Power Rangers:
Thundercats!
6. Weed :
Dandylion clocks are fun! ^^
7. Steroids:
House, MD.
8. Cartoons:
Anime.
9. The President:
Who?
10. Tupperware?
What?
11. Florida
Too hot. No thanks.
12. Santa Claus:
They worship a God called Santa, who has fearsome claws!
13. Halloween:
You missed the apostrophe. Also, yay, Hallow's Eve! /Pagan
14. Alice:
In Wonderland!
Cullen!
15. Grammar:
YOU ARE AN IDIOT IF YOU CAN'T EVEN FORMULATE A SENTENCE!
16: Myspace:
Myspaz.
17. Clowns:
The Joker.
18. Marriage:
ZOMFG CHASE AND CAMERON FINALLY DID IT!!!one!!!1
19. Paris:
Hilton. *Shudders*
20. Pat:
*Pats own head*
21. Redheads:
Yes please. .p
22. Blondes:
Urgh. Idiots.
23. Pass the:
Salt
24. One night stands:
No thanks.
25. Donald Trump:
WTF?
26. Neverland:
Peter Pan!
27. Pixie:
TINKERBELL!
28. Vanilla ice cream:
Maple. Syrup.
.)
29. Hooters:
Owls?
30. High school musical:
Ryan.
31. Pyjamas:
Yay!
32. Woody:
*Giggles*
33. Wet Socks:
Squelch.
35. Love:
Some things are worth getting your heart broken for.
Typed as I listen, so any mistakes are my own.
Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself
And covered with a perfect shell
Such a charming, beautiful exterior
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
Perfect posture but you're barely scraping by
But barely scraping by
Well, this is one time
Well, this is one time
That you can't fake it hard enough
To please everyone
Or anyone at all
Or anyone at all
The grave that you refuse to leave
The refuge that you built to flee
The places that you've come to fear the most
It's the place that you have come to fear the most
Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself
And hidden in the public eye
Such a stellar monument to lonliness
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
Perfect make-up but you're barely scraping by
But barely scraping by
Well, this is one time
Well, this is one time
That you can't fake it hard enough
To please everyone
Or anyone at all
Or anyone at all
The grave that you refuse to leave
The refuge that you built to flee
The places that you've come to fear the most
It's the place that you have come to fear the most
And you can't fake it hard enough to please
Everyone
Or anyone at all
Or anyone at all
The grave that you refuse to leave
The refuge that you built to flee
The places that you've come to fear the most
It's the place that you have come to fear the most
It's the place that you have come to fear the most
Apt, don't you think? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JptwwGTTS
- Currently blogging from:Under a raincloud
- Mood: depressed
- The current singing Angels are:Dashboard Confesseional - The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most
Last Wednesday was my first day of College. Even though he wasn't meant to be in that day, Chris came in with me, because that's what mates do. ^_^
The course I am doing, just to remind you, is called The National Awards Programme. Effectively, I do a different subject on each day and at the end of the two years I get four A-levels (because Wednesday is going to be a sort of nothing day in which I do digital creator).
On my first day, I was lead to my base room, room twenty-eight, by my base tutor, Teresa Davies. She sat the nine of us (yes, that's how interesting the course is) in a circle and made us all stand up in turn and introduce each other to the rest of the room. When she came to me, I announced "I'm going to throw up," and ran out of the room. I made it to the toilets and vomited expertly into one of the bowls. When I left the stall, a woman was waiting for me. I recognised her from Student Services. Apparently, Chris had sent her in to see if I was alright. How did Chris even know? He must have been waiting outside my classroom, bless him.
He was, needless to say, very worried. He was just as worried when I vomited again half an hour later for no apparent reason. He said that if I did it again I had to go home.
Thankfully, I didn't.
On Thursday, I vomited only once.
By Friday, not at all. Only nearly.
Monday, yesterday, my Business Studies tutor made us stand up and introduce ourselves. It was then that I realised: I'm going to have to dodge this every day of this week. I ran out of the room and vomited for the second time in twenty minutes. Sixty minutes later, I vomited again out of sheer nerves. Chris did not hear of this until the end of the day. I didn't tell him I'd fainted in class for several minutes (which, by the way, no-one noticed) until we got home. He ordered me not to go today.
This morning, I got up as if to attend college anyway. Just as the bus was arriving, Chris convinced me not to go.
"If I hear you've vomited again," he sighed as he proffered his keys, "I'm going to be very upset." I pondered for a moment: I was going to have to introduce myself; that meant I would vomit; that would upset Chris. A lot.
"I don't need those keys," I dismissed, "I've got my own." I always take my key with me, even though Chris and I rarely part and he always takes his. I'm a very "just in case" person.
Chris's face softened into a smile. "You're going home?"
I nodded silently.
His smile grew, he cupped my face in his hand and we kissed briefly. "Have a good day," he bid me as he hurried to not miss the bus.
"You too," I called after him, and hurried home.
So, here I sit. Blogging. Because I can't stand the people there, and a shedload of age-old foes have come up from John Beddoes this year. Huzzah.
Don't worry; I'll go tomorrow. I phoned Teresa, my tutor, this morning and explained. She said to talk to her about it. Tomorrow.
- Mood:
anxious
- Currently blogging from:About five feet away from the events of Resi 4
- Mood: chipper
Looked up thunderclap headaches on Wikipedia. I was right about the symptoms and causes.
However...
A minority of anerysms are caused by copper deficiency, which in itself is usually caused by excess zinc (as one metal counteracts the other) or Wilson's Disease, which is typically a genetic mutation of the ATP7B gene, or Wilson's Disease Protein. Most show symptoms between the ages of six and twenty years old. Said symptoms can be filed under two groups: Liver disease and neuropsychiatric. One can only display one set of symptoms, but some display both.
Liver disease symptoms include tiredness, increased bleeding tendency or confusion and portal hypertension.
Neurological symptoms include mild cognitive deterioration and clumsiness (Bella Swan talking here). Parkinsonism or dystonia usually follow, including rigidity and slowing of routine movements, with or without a hand tremor (which I sometimes have) or ataxia, which is a lack of coordination. Seizures and/or migrane are common in Wilson's Disease patients. I get migranes all the time and the seizures...well, no, not so much.
Psychological symptoms include: Changes in behaviour (come on, you've all noticed my behaviour's changed lately), depression (tried to kill myself twelve times), anxiety (I couldn't be a more anxious person. My friends, mate and psychiatrists all agree on that) and psychosis (yeah...I don't even need to tell you about that, do I?)
Kayser-Fliescher rings, or KF rings, may be present around the iris. These are dark rings, usually quite narrow. I have dark rings around my irises...have done for years. They just showed up one day out of the blue...or should I say out of the hazel. :P
Genetically speaking, both parents would have to be carriers of the mutated ATP7B gene. There is a 1 in 100 chance that any one human is a carrier of the mutated gene. There is then a 1 in 4 chance that I would inherit both mutated genes. That makes it a 1 in 10,000 chance that my parents both had the mutated ATP7B gene and a 1 in 4 chance that I would even inherit it.
So, all in all, pretty unlikely.
Until you consider that the Earth's human population is 6.782 billion, probably higher.
So, in the grand scheme of things, pretty likely.
Erm.
Yay for hypochondria?
- Currently blogging from:Behind a keyboard
- Mood: ill
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