A Bit Of My Life Right Now.

Signs and symbols of musicThis is something I wrote last night….

I sit here listening to soppy half aggressive love songs with lyrics such as “see the flames inside my eyes” crying those eyes out with no control.  I have lost it; I have lost my balance that I just spent the past sixteen months trying to achieve.  Here I sit drinking in bed scared to move, tipping over the edge of sanity.  My silly brain is sending me messages of where the scissors are in my room, the penknife in my bedside draw.  Why won’t this sickness just leave me?  Why am I just not allowed to be better?  What have I done to deserve all of this pain and confusion?  Why just why!

I am now terrified of my travels that I was previously ecstatic for.  It is not fair.  Self-pity is washing through me.  As you can tell.

I wish I could write songs, intense short moments of exposing my pain and being free of it.  I feel like writing my story is a lullaby-luscious song, I just cannot be as free from it as quickly as I could if I wrote a song instead.  Although there is that big issue with the fact that I cannot sing.  Fuck
my life.  Seriously just fuck it right now.

Motivation Week and Edits

I need to get these edits done.

They are constantly on my mind like an annoying fly that you just can’t swoosh out of the room or hit with the freezing weapon that is hair spray.

I have been away for a long weekend of debauchery – it would be a lie to say I was not jaded right now. I feel like I need to be wrapped in blanket of hugs and for someone to tell me that I am pretty as they stroke my hair and feed me crispy bacon nomm. Yes it is one of those afternoons. I have 118 days until I leave the Country!!!!!!!!!! Not long now, not long to get these edits done.

It just feels like SUCH a BIG TASK!

I guess I am worried that:
1. I won’t be able to do what my editor wants me to do!
2. It won’t ever be as good as I want it to be!
3.That it will never actually have a finish point!

I need to stop thinking about it and do it… Agh it just isn’t going to be a fun task, boo to edits. Boo, boo, boo. Down to the depths with you please. Could someone just do it for me? Not that I would actually let anyone else do the edits to my story! I need to find an inner strength from somewhere – new motivation.

This week is therefore going to be my Motivation Hunting week. If you know a good place to start looking please let me know, just don’t say the bottom of a bottle as I really don’t think I could handle drinking just yet for a few more days.

MOTIVATION. MOTIVATION. MOTIVATION.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty together again

Humpty dumpty falling of the wall

Almost three years on from my attack and still he has this hold over me.

I thought that I had dealt with it, I thought that I had convinced myself that he no longer thinks of me, feels for me, or could even acknowledge me. If he felt nothing for me, why would he pay me any attention to hurt me again – this was my logic.

I guess I was wrong. 

He has moved on publicly, with a new girl friend who seems nice, kind, and cute. I guess I always knew it was a front, but then it felt like I was bigging up my importance in his life by thinking that.  Therefore I removed the idea from my brain in fear of self obsession.

But, I guess I was right.

He found a route to me, he lashed out, and all of my defences came tumbling down.  All the therapy in the world, all the pills and potions, remedies and theories, could not make me fully defended again. I felt once again like that manipulated teenager, confidence eroded and the need to please, to be accepted, taking control.

It scares me to think of what he made me. 

Visualize yourself not falling off the wall

Just like the expectation of the next wave to crash behind your legs, I know my attacker will return. Time and time again. I have given up believing the people who say he will probably just ignore you next time he sees you, he is being childish, try not to think about it.  Those people do not know our story.  They do not know the lashings of hateful words were lashings on my body.  They do not know the cutting comments where him cutting his way in to me.  They do not know that he will NEVER stop.

I will always be that girl to him. The one that reminds him of everything, his first serious girl friend, his first ‘love’.We share friends, we share neighbourhoods, we share the local super market. There is no escape from him here.

This is why I am going away.
I need to get away from here, from him, from the memories. 

UK………………………………to………………………………AUS

Rant over. No more.
I fear more than death itself that I will sink back in to the murky miserable depths of my sickness. I can not go back there. I can not do it. The past year and a half have been the worst in my life and I WILL NOT live through them again.

Sex

For those of you that followed my blog before, well you know that I have an ever so slightly, (cough cough), weird and altered relationship with sex. SEX SEX SEX. Even typing those words makes a girl feel a little good inside; far, deep, down inside – sorry I couldn’t resist the pun.

I have had some pretty crap experiences.  Hasn’t everyone though I hear you say? Yes they have, but my level of crap I don’t think is quiet so common.  Never the less, I LOVE sex. The overwhelming feeling of lust and hungry warmth rushing through your body is undeniably addictive. I am a sex addict. And… you know what? I don’t care. (Not a diagnosed sex addicted by the way, I am no Tiger Woods. I have urges that are hard to managed when they are not fulfilled. So I guess I am a Tiger Woods in a minor minor teeny tiny form, minuscule.)

It was only recently that I realised not everyone enjoys normal sex… some of my friends are just put off of sex because of shitty fucks and poor performing pricks. A girl friend of mine, who is referred to as Sophie in my book-to-be has recently lost her V plates. She broke down the barrier and is now getting on the sex hype bandwagon. Her love of the new sport is shown by her compliance to find completion even with a kidney infection – what a trooper! Yet one of our other close friends who has been having sex for the past 3 years just seems totally disinterested in the whole act. The last time she was kissed was before Christmas!!!

I know that everyone has differing libido’s.  However, the variation just seems ridiculous. This taboo subject (which thankfully is becoming less tabooy) feels in large, unexplored. How comes some people can squirt, how comes some people can’t come at all? How come some guys are good to go after a ten minuet rest period and others are good for a day or two?

Sex has always fascinated me, I guess because it has a hold on me.

I know that this post touches upon crude subjects than I usually talk about.  But I need to start being a bit more open about it all, and stop holding back as I don’t at all in my book. It is full on with everything. Which I guess is why it was so cathartic. I am going to be finishing the book edits soon, and then after that I am going to upload a few taster chapters to get your opinions. Your reviews and criticisms. No more being scared of the opinions.

So from here until the books release I am going to start peeling back that little layer that I keep all covered up in fear of the Judge’s slamming down those wooden hammers, peering over their high and mighty desks to point a finger at ashamed little young me.  

gavel on white background