Warning: epiphany in process

Well. Without meaning to give more ammo to my lovely borderline shippers, I’ve got to say that the only war cry that springs to mind lately, the only phrase I think I could sincerely apply, is that infamous I love I hate you don’t leave me. But, of course, the fact I notice this rules out the possibility of BPD. Self-awareness is not part of the package.

Anyway, I’m not here to argue that today. I’m here to complain about the close friend of mine who’s recently buggered off to Canada. Things aren’t the same without her around at school. Because I knew she was leaving, she was amazing. She was wonderful. It wasn’t fair she was leaving. She was leaving me. How dare she leave me? She was leaving me and I was going to be on my own? And so I wouldn’t say her name and I hated her and I bitched about her and I spread rumours and now I’m over it a bit and I am so scared everybody else is going to leave me that I am going to leave them first. They’re not going to get a chance. It really seems to be the most logical option. I don’t want to be ditched. People are going to alienate me; they’re going to talk about me; they’re going to hate me how I’ve hated them and if they don’t, I’ll drag them down, and I don’t really think that the girls who are my friends particularly deserve to have to spend time with someone who is going to be looking at them and seeing their organs and bones and the blood in their veins, or involuntarily imagining how they would scream if that pen went into that eyeball at that angle – because I can’t help that, it’s a reflexive action – an immensely troubling one and one that is worsened whenever I read something like The Silence of the Lambs or The Regulators, which maybe I should avoid but seeing as those are two of my favourite books, I don’t and don’t even want to – I don’t mind feeling that way, which scares me -

Deep breath. New sentence.

Happy, free, and sparkly like glass

Dragging myself away from researching the topography and transport systems of Trondheim, Norway, to let it all out. I had forgotten the absolute crystalline joy, just-cut diamond joy of being ever-so-slightly mental and not remotely dissociated. In those couple of days before it overloads, before I overload, when all I honestly want to do is sing and run and rhyme and talk and talk and talk, and any hallucinations are friendly ones, like the girl who was my friend for a week and never existed. I’d forgotten. My father told me I’ve been ‘mellow’ lately. I don’t fight. I don’t argue. I don’t see CAMHS. I think I miss it.

Birthday meme-ing

It’s my birthday today, so this is a post I did the other day and saved for just such an occasion (oh but I’m a pro!). It’s a meme, so if you feel like delving further into my psyche then go ahead and click the wonderful Read More button (I still feel smart for finding it). Otherwise, it’s just a meme, really, and you probably won’t miss much.

 

Me and a boring life

Spent my morning so far at my desk, staring out the window at the rain and listening to Paramore. I did a bit of writing but I can’t find the self-control in me to look at my Physics textbook and buckle on down to some revision (my GCSEs start next week), and then I nicked one of my sister’s birthday chocolates and my mother came home and we ate lunch. It’s stopped raining now. This is my exciting life. I’m coasting down it in neutral.

One of the psychiatrists from CAMHS (Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services) called while my mother was home. They feel like finding out whether I still reckon I can control the weather, I suppose. The first time they suggested for an appointment clashed with one quarter of my Latin GCSE, so no can do. It’s set for next week now, I think. I’ll naturally write about it here; this is my fancy new toy that I can’t quite work yet, sure I’ll update!

Anyway, that’s me done so far. I finished reading Christine this morning (I’m a real Stephen King nut), and started reading My Sister Jodie by Jacqueline Wilson, which is my sister’s. Now I’ll probably go look for something to eat while I finish reading it, and then my sister’ll come home and I’ll learn my Latin. Hm.

Chin up, chucky egg. TTFN.