I am writing in blue because I am feeling blue. This is going to be depressing and sad but I really have no-one else to talk to so I am going to talk to whoever ever really reads and whoever ever really cares.
I am at home and all alone, hiding in the computer room so that no-one can see me and no-one will look at me. I am afraid that I have failed something, or someone somehow, but I dont know what I have done or to whom.
I am bawling my eyes out for no reason, for some reason the tears come and they dont seem to stop.
I feel like I am all alone. No-one calls me. No-one remembers me. I am confused. I am sad. I dont know what to do with myself.
Other people, when they get sad, when they are confused and upset they run to someone, to anyone, to the person that they run to. Right now I feel like they have all run to those people and I am the odd one out. I have no-one to run to and no-one is running to me.
I say fuck it, I say I will do it on my own but I dont want to I am not built like that.
I don't know what I am writing anymore, I think I will just run away and be someone else. Someone who always makes everyone else happy. Someone who is surrounded by people all the time.
Sorry.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Friday, June 17, 2005
Complexes
When I was 15, my best friend (who I must add is my best friend to this very day) told someone who told someone who told me that with my long hair and long face, I looked like a horse. Yes a horse, good ole miss horse face herself. Now I would like to say that I retaliated with quick witted humour, that I trumped her with a comeback so obscure and intelligent that it cut her straight to the bone, but if I said that I would be lying. No it actually hurt, and for the next 3 years everytime I looked in a mirror at my long thick straight hair, I thought to myself 'wow you really DO look like a horse'.
So at 18, with the cruel horseface taunt playing on repeat on the radio station that is my mind, I went to JustCuts at Miranda and got the whole lot chopped off. Cropped, spiked, short. Some have been known to say dikey.
See, the taunt, which my best friend can no longer even remember coming up with (though she did find it rather amusing when I reminded her and confessed that that was the cause for my short locks), well it became a complex for me. It haunted me to the point where it is only now, at the grand old age of 23, that I am comfortable with the notion of growing my hair back long.
I often fall victim to complexes. One person will say one thing in a fleeting comment, and BAM I'm agonising over my physical disability.
For instance, back in my born again christian days, it was a hot summers day and I wore thongs to church. My friend who was sitting next to me looked down and said "wow you have hair on the tops of yr feet" and went back to singing the praise and worship song.
So I looked down and sure enough, there was hair. I mean its not as if I have werewolf feet that look like built in furry ugg boots, but yeah there where a couple of stray hairs on the tops of my feet. Nothing too spectacular.
But the comment stuck in my mind, and I found myself finding more and more reasons to wear closed in shoes. In fact, after that comment, it was 2 years before I had the guts to wear thongs in public.
Then there was the girl who I was marking in a soccer game who said "wow you have the biggest muscles in your legs that I ever saw" Now I think this was actually meant to be a COMPLIMENT. But do you think I was seen wearing shorts or a skirt for the next 2 years? No way, you couldnt have paid me enough to show off those giant legs of mine.
The certain ex-boyfriend who nicknamed me RissaBelly cos of my belly? Yep you guessed it, No tight tops ever again. Or swimmers. In fact to this day I suck in whenever anyone goes near that region. Just ask the current man!
Now Im not sure why I felt the need to blog this, but I have two suggestions that I will let you chose from:
1) I wanted to prove to you all, once and for all, how much of a nutcase I really am... I mean Im sure that the men in white coats are just around the corner, waiting for the right moment to come and get me.....
2) This is therapy and I needed to get it all off my chest (my small chest. my tissue stuffed chest... AAAAAGGGHHHHH I feel a complex a'comin!!!)
I must dash, I have to go and will my boobs to grow for half an hour in the mirror....
Just jokin.
So at 18, with the cruel horseface taunt playing on repeat on the radio station that is my mind, I went to JustCuts at Miranda and got the whole lot chopped off. Cropped, spiked, short. Some have been known to say dikey.
See, the taunt, which my best friend can no longer even remember coming up with (though she did find it rather amusing when I reminded her and confessed that that was the cause for my short locks), well it became a complex for me. It haunted me to the point where it is only now, at the grand old age of 23, that I am comfortable with the notion of growing my hair back long.
I often fall victim to complexes. One person will say one thing in a fleeting comment, and BAM I'm agonising over my physical disability.
For instance, back in my born again christian days, it was a hot summers day and I wore thongs to church. My friend who was sitting next to me looked down and said "wow you have hair on the tops of yr feet" and went back to singing the praise and worship song.
So I looked down and sure enough, there was hair. I mean its not as if I have werewolf feet that look like built in furry ugg boots, but yeah there where a couple of stray hairs on the tops of my feet. Nothing too spectacular.
But the comment stuck in my mind, and I found myself finding more and more reasons to wear closed in shoes. In fact, after that comment, it was 2 years before I had the guts to wear thongs in public.
Then there was the girl who I was marking in a soccer game who said "wow you have the biggest muscles in your legs that I ever saw" Now I think this was actually meant to be a COMPLIMENT. But do you think I was seen wearing shorts or a skirt for the next 2 years? No way, you couldnt have paid me enough to show off those giant legs of mine.
The certain ex-boyfriend who nicknamed me RissaBelly cos of my belly? Yep you guessed it, No tight tops ever again. Or swimmers. In fact to this day I suck in whenever anyone goes near that region. Just ask the current man!
Now Im not sure why I felt the need to blog this, but I have two suggestions that I will let you chose from:
1) I wanted to prove to you all, once and for all, how much of a nutcase I really am... I mean Im sure that the men in white coats are just around the corner, waiting for the right moment to come and get me.....
2) This is therapy and I needed to get it all off my chest (my small chest. my tissue stuffed chest... AAAAAGGGHHHHH I feel a complex a'comin!!!)
I must dash, I have to go and will my boobs to grow for half an hour in the mirror....
Just jokin.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Nigel No Friends
It has recently come to my attention that I do not have a set group friends. Oh I have friends, and I even have friends that have been known to congregate in groups. But it has been discovered that I do not have that group of childhood friends who have known each other for so long that they can reminisce about primary school, that group who played sport together, went to school together, smoked bongs together, cheated on each other, fought with and bitched about each other, backstabbed and used each other.....
Oh right, thats why.
See I had friends in primary school.I even had a group of friends. We had a gang. We were rebellious. We sat OUT OF BOUNDS. We were real tight, we all sat together and had sleepovers...... Then I got changed classes into the "smart" class (Im not boasting, its the truth, ok?) and suddenly they thought I thought I was too good. Which at the grand old age of 10 was news to me, it had never occured to me that I was smart or particularly good- I wasnt even a fast runner! I couldnt do a handstand! How good could I be?
Now in this designated "smart class" I again started off on the right foot, group of friends, birthday parties, sleepovers.... Then my physical disabilities began to hinder me- I wore glasses, and I was rather on the "chubby" side of life. now by chubby, I mean a few kilos overweight, not childhood obesity fat boobs at 7 type chubby. Festively plump is more accurate. But unfortunately being a four eyed thunder thighed butter ball does not make you "most popilar girl in the world" material anyway.
Now with both of these groups Im sure I could have begged. I could of grovelled for their acceptance and agreed to be their slave in return for the charity of their friendship. Actually, in the case of the last group, I think that is pretty much what they wanted me to do.
But its not in my makeup to be so undervalued and it is NOT in my makeup to beg and grovel for the acceptance of people that really isnt worth it in the first place. I might have been young, but I had a good enough judgement of character to recognise petty superficial morons when I saw them.
Besides, to be honest, I didnt really like them all that much anyway.
Now in High School, when most people quickly found their circles and formed their cliques, I found that I really didnt fit any of the little groups that popped up. Not beautiful, not nerdy. Arty, but not in the way of the arty girls. Not sporty enough for the sporty ones. Not "fully sick" enough for the Bankstown Girls.
Now I guess that some people learn to assimilate and to become like those around them specifically so they fit in. Now I may have tried this at many stages but it never worked and my true colours always shined back through. oopps.
So I sat in the "assorted misfits" pile and gradually we sorted ourselves into our own little sub-misfits groups. My best friend (to this very day) was also an assorted misfit.
So there you all go, my dirty secret uncovered. I dont have a group of friends that I grew up with and who remember the time I farted under the ping pong table at Sharons 7th birthday party when we were hiding from Naomi (but now you guys know anyway.... doh). Oh, the shame, the dirty dark shame. Indeed.
To be honest, I dont think it is really such a horrible thing. I have friends of all ages and from all walks, and I probably would not have had the honour of meeting some of them if I was hiding in the comfort of my own group. But thats just my opinion, and my opinion is based on the fact that I am happy.....
Indeed
Oh right, thats why.
See I had friends in primary school.I even had a group of friends. We had a gang. We were rebellious. We sat OUT OF BOUNDS. We were real tight, we all sat together and had sleepovers...... Then I got changed classes into the "smart" class (Im not boasting, its the truth, ok?) and suddenly they thought I thought I was too good. Which at the grand old age of 10 was news to me, it had never occured to me that I was smart or particularly good- I wasnt even a fast runner! I couldnt do a handstand! How good could I be?
Now in this designated "smart class" I again started off on the right foot, group of friends, birthday parties, sleepovers.... Then my physical disabilities began to hinder me- I wore glasses, and I was rather on the "chubby" side of life. now by chubby, I mean a few kilos overweight, not childhood obesity fat boobs at 7 type chubby. Festively plump is more accurate. But unfortunately being a four eyed thunder thighed butter ball does not make you "most popilar girl in the world" material anyway.
Now with both of these groups Im sure I could have begged. I could of grovelled for their acceptance and agreed to be their slave in return for the charity of their friendship. Actually, in the case of the last group, I think that is pretty much what they wanted me to do.
But its not in my makeup to be so undervalued and it is NOT in my makeup to beg and grovel for the acceptance of people that really isnt worth it in the first place. I might have been young, but I had a good enough judgement of character to recognise petty superficial morons when I saw them.
Besides, to be honest, I didnt really like them all that much anyway.
Now in High School, when most people quickly found their circles and formed their cliques, I found that I really didnt fit any of the little groups that popped up. Not beautiful, not nerdy. Arty, but not in the way of the arty girls. Not sporty enough for the sporty ones. Not "fully sick" enough for the Bankstown Girls.
Now I guess that some people learn to assimilate and to become like those around them specifically so they fit in. Now I may have tried this at many stages but it never worked and my true colours always shined back through. oopps.
So I sat in the "assorted misfits" pile and gradually we sorted ourselves into our own little sub-misfits groups. My best friend (to this very day) was also an assorted misfit.
So there you all go, my dirty secret uncovered. I dont have a group of friends that I grew up with and who remember the time I farted under the ping pong table at Sharons 7th birthday party when we were hiding from Naomi (but now you guys know anyway.... doh). Oh, the shame, the dirty dark shame. Indeed.
To be honest, I dont think it is really such a horrible thing. I have friends of all ages and from all walks, and I probably would not have had the honour of meeting some of them if I was hiding in the comfort of my own group. But thats just my opinion, and my opinion is based on the fact that I am happy.....
Indeed
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