The Post Break Up Blog. (This isn't my proper diary but I have a lot to say and the arthiritus in my wrist means that pen to paper - I take hours)

So here it goes. I want to write till my heart is content, because it's really really not content. In fact it's uncontent - if that's a word. I might go on a bit too much now, I'm not thinking so much about the phrasing of my sentences or whether I'm telling a good story or not, I'm literally just doing this so my own headspace is less crammed.
Wow a week where so much has happened. I kissed another boy, split up with my boyfriend which was my idea and he was the one that wanted me back, rather than the other way round. Which would seem like a dream only to some that lost their other halves through cheating. But doesn't really make much sense, because I needed to feel like I'd lost everything - I didn't want him to feel he'd lost everything, which judging by his facebook status - He does. I needed time to think, think about what I want, or who I want, if we're being specific. I know I love him, but I'm young, right? The world at sixteen years old (when you live in Britain, because I watch American programmes all the time and I swear the girls on those shows are like 19 and still virgins. Which is cool but really rare around here) looks like a lot of options and a lot of fun, but when you're in love even though it's absolutely lovely, wonderful, amazing while it's there - it restricts you. It builds a box around you. And you fell in love young, you wanna stay with that person for a long long time, but you know that if you do you'll constantly be lusting after other people, cos you'da never experienced anyone else. And how unhealthy is that???!
So I stayed at the other one's house on Saturday and we had sex, it was a joyful drunken encounter, and that made it brilliant - I got to do something I wanted to because I was a free woman at last. Except as soon as he started ringing me I felt like guilt had been washed over eyes that a minute ago looked back to my weekend with happy thoughts, but now looked at everything with a pain in the heart and a funny feeling in the stomach. And believe me, he rings a hell of a lot if you don't answer, he's right persistant. So - guilt for every time and you will actually feel like a pile of poo on the floor.
I asked him, I asked him to give me a days where I could just think. I can't think when I'm being told what an awful person I am and what a terrible thing I've done, asked if I've made a final decision, or told I'm loved. That's weird. I don't want to be told I'm loved! It's churning my stomach, not HIM saying it, of course not - That somebody is actually wasting the love in their heart on me! That's what's bothering me. I know I've done an awful thing right? But we did break up before it. It's just, now he's found about it.
He has to know everything. He just has to. And you know the way he wins? He makes me swear from the bottom of my heart, or swear on his life. I can't swear on his life, I'm too supersticious - I care about his life, if I'm lying, and he lost it, JESUS I would be wrecked forever. I sound about five, I don't even care! It's like, now I know that I'm pathetic, and needy and all that jazzz, and I know that I've lost a brilliant thing, and I know there's a high possibility he'll read this so I shouldn't say the next bit, but I am gonna.
I don't want to leave the other one now. Before I had sex willingly with the boyfriend I've just split up with, I was raped and before that other nasty sexual stuff happened to me - And that was that. But where I live, it's not the biggest of places - And in a week, if you go outa your house, you will without knowing it, see some of the same people that are complete strangers, the same ones you saw last week. People you don't know aren't really strangers at all, because your head knows who they are, even if it doesn't put a name to them. So the person that raped me I see once every blue moon and it's a part that hurts (not the biggest part that hurts, they took your virginity without your permission - that hurts the most) - but looking at someone that's been inside you and knowing they'll never say a word to you in your life again, you were just another accomplishment. People that have one night stands a lot of the time and secretely hate themselves - I think they'd be able to relate with that. In fact anyone that's had a sexual experience with someone that just saw them as a body - something to use it as a place to put their wilkins, never a person to make love to - they would understand that. It's the whole, passing somebody who was once inside you, a part of you for a brief moment in your life, but never saying a word to you, never continuing to be in your life. I guess my views on sex are somewhat tainted, and I'm really strongly moralled when it comes to who I'll give it up to. I've had sex with two people now, the second one was the other day and I knew I could trust him, and anyway - sometimes there's no thinking involved, you know something should happen and will happen if you just let everything go naturally and how it's meant to... But I still wouldn't've let it if it was wrong. But, I feel that if I chose to get back with my now-ex boyfriend, for reasons such as the fact that it's breaking my heart to see him sad like this, and left the other one - WELL. "I had sex with you a couple of days ago. See you later though yeah? Like, never, loser." That's just not me. AND that would make me cry more than never getting back with whatshisface.
I don't like to leave names on stuff like this.
Every time he rings me I'm aggitated. I'm aggitated when he speaks. With the other one, I'm excited. This is not an effect of a new person being all new and making you giddy and an old person being all predictable and making you bored - To some degree he always did aggitate me, and I don't know what it was. I think it's the fact than whenever he rings, I know it's going to take too long, and he repeats himself a lot, and a lot of the time gets narky if I don't wanna continue the conversation for an extra ten minutes. The new un - well, he's not much of a phone person like me, he rings for a reason, I ring him for a reason.
Still, love. It's an issue isn't it? AND it doesn't conquer all. Because it's not conquering this. I'll get some tosser saying well then it was never love. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe love should be where you love somebody's every fault as well as all their good bits, and maybe it should be where it's completely impossible to cheat on someone because you love em so much. Don't think this didn't occur to me when I was cheating, don't think I didn't doubt whether I truly loved him. I did. But seeing him laugh makes me laugh, seeing him smile makes me smile, seeing him cry makes me cry, seeing me breaking his heart breaks mine. He completed my life for the last three months and was the very air I'd breathe when I woke up in the morning. Now I breathe frustration, because I wake up to him ringing me. I don't know what's really happened.
He just rang me actually. And took up quite a lot of time. And my mum shouted up the stairs to go talk to her. I feel I'll never get everything that I'm keeping built up out and into the open.

A Rubbish Night For A Social Reject.

Have you ever been to a place that makes you feel a complete outcast? A place that makes you feel completely ugly and not good enough? In your heart you know that you're different, and different should be a good thing, but for that moment, that awful out-of-place moment, you just wanna be a clone of everybody else and lose that special individuality that you posess? Maybe you don't ever feel that. Maybe you're completely confident in yourself at all times and proud that people look at you and never get you mixed up with another person. I don't know.
Tonight, well, last night - it's 3.28a.m now - I went to this... thing. You know, they hold em in nightclubs, those events. Loadsa music and people. All the girls get dollied up and all the boys go there to take the girls home. That's my opinion of em anyway. It was held in a rock club, one that one of my friend's go to. A friend that dresses quite alternatively, has a funny odd personality and a music taste slightly similar to mine. I just assumed I could dress how I dressed when I went along to similar places with her. Like me. Baggy tops, an army jacket, (or a leather one depending on the mood), denim shorts, black tights and black boots. I was even considering wearing my big baggy jeans and black trainers, a khaki vest top, with a tie. I'm glad I didn't do that, I would've felt worse. Nobody wants somebody with an Avril inspired style when you have Barbie copycats. When we got there, I instantly felt low. Looking around, I was the only girl not wearing heels, not showing their arms, not showing their legs. I think I was probably the only one without a fake tan, hair extensions and false eyelashes too. Whilst, I know that once upon a time I've had a similar image to these girls, I know what kind of boys it attracts (and I wasn't looking to attract any boys, I had my boyfriend on my arm, a guy I'm happily loved up with)... I felt more than insecure looking down at what I was wearing. It's not the first time I've felt scruffy or poor this past month.
They were playing boom boom chav music. I can so dance to this kinda music when I'm drunk. Under 18's event = no alcohol to be served. Another downfall to the night. I'm not confident around hundreds of people my age that I've never met, and some that I've briefly known at some point that keep passing me by and tapping me on the shoulder and saying, "Pixie? Y'alright love?" or just glaring at me with a look of pure disgust because I shouldn't be there, it's not my thing. I need alcohol for confidence! It's a sad thing to say, but since the age of... twelve...(?) that's been the sad truth.
I wanted to go home. God, I wanted to go home so much. It was so busy - and I am so claustrophobic and retarded. I was in the loo almost having a panic attack because some really loud girls were smoking weed in there. I've smoked weed before, I still will if it's offered to me, and I've been a loud girl before (and still am if in the right circumstances). But when you're in a place like that... It's different innit? Anyway I think that was what scared me. Knowing what a bitch I was, how keen I was to start confrontation with anybody different to my group, knowing how I'd laugh at people and take the piss purely to boost my own ego. Knocking other people's confidence down to build up your own. Something I've been saying a lot lately, cos I've been seeing a lot of it, and remembering myself. I know what to expect, because I've been there.
I've lived that life and I don't see what's so special about it. Your morals are a load of messed up bollocks and guys just lap it up, because you let em. You flush your natural beauty down the toilet and replace it with plastic beauty, and all you know how to do is "have a laugh" and "get fucked" (and both meanings of getting fucked.)
But, all I know how to do is sit around waiting for life to happen and waiting for somebody else to make me motivated. All I know how to do is talk about my feelings because I know them oh too well, and wallow in my misery. That, I'm brilliant at.
I got my boyfriend to come home with me, even though he wanted to dance. I hated the sweaty ming mongs on the dance floor all sweaty and minging, they made me feel sick. And like if you entered their dance floor you got yelled at because apparently they didn't have enough room. I left, and I was gonna go see some people with him... But I just decided to go home. I feel low. I'm writing with character but I don't feel like I have any when I'm actually speaking. I think, I'm so drained of motivation, I don't actually want my character conveying through my words. I think it's such an easier ride to hide yourself and shut up. But, nobody reads this. So I'm cool.
He's been out with his friends for a bit, had a bit of trouble with the police. Anyway, he's coming here. He has his own key to get in. In fact I think he might be here now, cos I can hear creeping downstairs. I'll stop typing even though I wanted to google the word conveying, cos I dunno if it meant what I was trying to say.

The First Proper Blog & A Bit About Me.

If I'm in a bad mood and I'm writing something, I just feel like putting: AFJEHRJFHJAR. BANG BANG. Or something. I'm in a slightly bad mood, but I'll just stick with what I was gonna do and not act like a toddler. I'm going to try my best to tell you about me.
Firstly, I am a Brit. I always find that internetey things, like blogs and youtube vlogs seem to be more American than English, Irish or Scottish or Welsh. Maybe they can express themselves more, while we sit at home watching Corrie and drinking tea. Or maybe just because they have a higher population. I wish I was American a lot of the time. If I had've gone to school there, I'm sure I would've had a much nicer time than the time spent in education here. I could've been on a cheerleading squad - and worn my own clothes to school, you know, for a sense of individuality, instead of - Hello, look at us, we clearly all love blue jumpers and black trousers. I hated school, I truly did. I'm sixteen years old and a half. I don't know why people put "and a half" after their age because they're writing or saying it to look older, but because we know that, it makes em look younger. However, I put it so you know, that in less than six months, I shall be 17. And 17's a good age. It's two odd digits.
My boyfriend wants me to let him read this blog, but this thought bugs me. It's bugging me quite a lot as I'm writing. If you know that nobody you know is gonna see something, you can do whatever you like, cos you don't tend to care as much what the people you don't know think of you. I feel horrible because I'm being all secretive about it, but what if one day he really pissed me off and I wanted to sign into blogspot and write a long ranty rant about what a douche he is? Shortly after I'd get a text saying "Oh thanks a fucking lot!" That would not be good. Just thinking about the future babes. Of course, I'm gonna let him read it, I can't be mean. Not good to have ways of keeping tabs on me though. A girl might start to rebel.
I missed college today, I can't wake up in the mornings now. I wonder whether some things are fate, or part of a big plan. Maybe there's a reason I felt oddly depressed at 3am the other night, and couldn't go to sleep because my boyfriend wanted to talk to me, and I kinda needed to talk to him, even though I was absolutely shattered. My sleeping pattern evidently gets fucked up and maybe that's because I was meant to miss college today. Or am I being too Mystic Meg about things?

Introduction

I had a blog way before this one. I have about sixty hotmail accounts due to my love of change, so I have no idea what I signed up with. I'm silly, I don't write things down. I reckon I must think that I'm Super Woman sometimes. I believed that my memory would hold the email address and password I used, and the other sixty I've used to sign up to other things; myspace, facebook, all that. I can think of countless times where I've arranged to do something with someone and not wrote it down, purely because I've thought; I can't possibly forget that; and then forgot it, and had a lecture to recieve, and a falling out to follow. This time I've wrote the email address down, and the password. So, no forgetting! For once. :)
Some blogs on here are shit. If you make one, it's most probably because you wanted some way of sharing your life with other people, because you think the events that take place in it are interesting enough to make a good read. But there's some that are literally just like...
"got an a on my history report and im going to the cinema later with ben. katie's really stressing me out lately and my mom and dad are too. anyway gotta shower catch you later bye."
What the fuck is that.
I'm making this, in the hope that it can provide at least a little bit of entertainment. And maybe, that after reading a bit, you might know a bit about me, the life I live and the people in it. Sometimes it's good to read about a complete stranger. It gives you a break from your own life, and if you find similarities with yourself and somebody half way across the globe - that's quite cool too. After writing this I hope people do actually read it, or won't I look like the most foolish girl ever, ever? Not that anybody will know that I'm foolish, because nobody will've read it.