Bitch, Please.

It's so weird to think that school is such a huge part of our lives. It's the place we spend a good twelve years in, before choosing to dedicate another five years on top, for college or, A Levels, and University. We see the same people for such a huge amount of time that it becomes routine. But isn't it funny that when we all leave school, we don't talk. Sure, we facebook, and we tweet. But we don't face-to-face meet. People we once claimed to be 'friends' are just numbers on our facebook page. 

And talking about facebook, and Twitter, isn't it pathetic when people use it as a means of directing bitchy comments at people? I first had myspace, and I had it to customise a page about me. So that people could go onto it, see my likes, dislikes, my music taste. Facebook was find of the same, but it became more about informing the world that my vagina was yet again tingling over some new band, or song. But now, when I go onto facebook & Twitter, I just see statuses aimed directly, yet cowardly indirectly at other people. And I find myself wondering, who the fuck in hell gave you that right to sit on the pedistool you've placed yourself onto and cast so much judgement onto other people? It baffles me how people waste their time picking apart other peoples lives, but I guess this is what social networking is morphing into; a virtual battlefield. 

Clock of Life.

I never thought broody would be a word to define me at age stage of my life, not until I was on the verge of turning thirty, had a wardrobe full of LouBoutin that could compensate for spending the next decade buying nappies, and clothes, and shoes so small not even my big toe would fit them. 

But I am. I want to have a child, and to be depended on the the rest of my life. I want to watch them grow, feed them that baby goo that looks like reguritated sick, but I hear is actually quite addictive. I want to bake cakes with my children, and take them to the park, spoil them with toys. Don't get me wrong, I don't want all of that at this exact moment in time, not really. If God did a Mary on me and presented my womb with a baby, I would probably cry for nine months straight. I'm not ready for my vagina to be split apart. But it's strange that, as you get older, you want things you didn't before. My goal before University was to graduate, make shit loads of money, and then fritter it away on LouBoutins (investments!) and clothes (kind of investments!). But I want a family. I want to be a mother. My boyfriend once said to me he couldn't imagine not wanting children because that's why he feels we're born. And he's right, we're born with the ability to create life, and carry it inside of us (I think that its a bit Aliens VS Predator!).

Recently, a friend of my boyfriends died. He was just twenty one, the same age that we are, and he died in a car crash. I don't know where he was going, or coming from, but I would bet in those minutes leading up to the accident, and his death, that he didn't expect to die that night. That when he left his house to go out, he expected to go home again, safe and sound. But we never do, do we? We hear of deaths, and tragedies that happen, but somewhere in side of us, we're convinced that bad stuff won't happen to us. Every human being has that belief inside, howeevr small, or big, that they're invincible. But no one is. Life can be taken at literally any second.

And I'm scared of life. Scared of just that; that it can be taken away from any of us at any second. Maybe through a sickness, or through a freak accident, or from another person. You just don't know what's going to happen to you. You like to think you'll live to an old age, and die in your sleep, or something peaceful, and dignified. But when you really think hard, about life, and how precious it is, fear creeps in, because its something you can't buy. When its gone, it's gone. There's no buying it back, or turning back the time. 

And its when something like this happens that I get scared for wanting to be a mother one day. Scared that something will happen to me, that my life will me cut short, and I won't have that. And you can't think like that, I know, but you when someone the same age as you has their life taken away in about five minutes, you can't really stop yourself, can you? 

Bubble.

I feel better. Better than I have in a really long time, which is strange. Sometimes, you just plod along in life and you don't realise that you've lost a part of yourself. You know, your sparkle, or whatever it is you want to call it. And recently, I've been a person I've not liked. I've felt so low, I can't ever imagine feeling lower. I've cried for days, smiled for one, and then cried again, and it felt like those tears wouldn't stop. Like they'd keep falling from my eyes, and I would drown in this wave of pain, and emotion, and it felt like it would never get better. But it did, and it has. And I finally feel happier than I have in a really long time, even before my dad left. I realise now that I was lost for a really long time, and my dad leaving didn't create that lost person. He hurt me, I can't deny that. But I was broken for a long time before he left us, I think he just triggered this depression, but I feel okay. I've let go of the burning anger. I still cry, I don't know if this will stop soon, but now when I cry, its not because I'm hurting, I cry for the memories. I cry for the times that I miss, and will never get back. I cry for the memory of a life when my dad was in my every day life. I cry because I crave those memories, the times when he'd smile and be happy, or we'd watch something together. And more than anything else, I cry for my mum. For the fact that she will never again have those times with my dad that they had before. I cry for the fact the next time we go on holiday as a family, he won't be there. They won't wake up at the crack of dawn, and go along to the beach and have a coffee. My dad will never spoil my mum rotten, treating her to pretty things that she deserves. I will never see my dad in his holiday mode, relaxed and happy, as my mum and him joke around and laugh. And I cry because I crave these moments. I want them back, but they're gone. They'll remain memories, and nothing more. And finally I cry because it's true, so true. You never realise what you had until you no longer have it. And at times, I took my dad for granted, and now he's gone, and I just want him to know I love him.

Reblog.

The Life's Shit Blues.

I find that the mere word depression is depressing. It's such an ugly word, isn't it? I mean, is there even such a thing as depression? Or is it just that sometimes life is so shit, that we simply just can't pick ourselves up. In which case, it shouldn't be called depression, and instead the-lifes-shit-blues. TLSB for short, of course.

I am at the lowest point of my life. I've never been in such a horrible, dark place before. And I don't know whats wrong. The doctor called it 'acute reaction stress' but that doesn't seem to justify the way I feel. I mean, is it down to the fact my dad up and left? Or did this stem from the fact my life seems to have no meaning at the moment? A few months ago, I had University, and then the prospect of easily finding a job, and making lots of money. And yet here I am, months onwards, and its harder to get a job than I thought. I'm still slaving away in retail for a wage that doesn't allow me the luxury of not worrying about money. Or is it down to the fact I feel a spotty, fat, ugly mess? I have roots spouting out my head because I'm unsure of what colour to dye it next. The scales are actually on my side for once, but I feel fat, which can only be down to the comfort carbs I've been devouring lately. Hello, pot noodles, and chocolate. And as for getting fit, I can barely drag myself out of bed at a decent hour to have breakfast, let alone sweat it out to an 80 minute exercise DVD. And I no longwr have an interest in facebook. Once upon a time, it was my daily source of gossip. The first thing I'd do when I woke up would be to divuldge in my news feed to see what arguments were going down, or who was now in a realtionship, or more seriously, knocked up. The thought alone of deactivating my facebook and being without such constant updates horrified me. Surely you couldn't go cold turkey overnight? Surely there must be a facebook rehab? Well apparently not. And as I confirmed my deactivation, nothing changed. No heart convulsion of sheer shock took over my body. I wasn't short of breath, or having palpitations. I felt nothing.

So, I'm going to go crawl back into my bed, and hibernate underneath my duvet, and listen to Ben Howard, and hope that tomorrow, I feel better.

A Cliché.

I don't know when it happened, but I've become an absolute cliché. Overnight, I've become that gushingly romantic girl that talks about her boyfriend non-stop. I'm the girl who sits and writes blogs about him, and writes indirect facebook and twitter statuses about him, but I have never before ever felt so in love. I adore every inch of this boy. From the tip of his head, to the end of his foot. I could sit and stare at him for hours on end, and not get bored. I could count the freckles on his nose, and trace the shape of his shoulders with my finger tips. He is literally the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last thing on my mind before sleep. When I'm with him, I fall asleep pressed up against him. And when I'm not, I miss his so much it kind of hurts.

And every single time I tell him I love him, I can't quite believe how lucky I am. 

The Help.

I've just watched The Help, and firstly, I'd like to express to whoever is reading this what an amazing film it is. I started reading the book on my Kindle, but put it to the side and forgot about it. But today, I bought the actual book, and decided to get back into it, and the film is absolutely amazing, but so sad, and tragic. 

You know, I have strong views, and when I think back to my ancestors who fought for women to have a voice, I feel a sense of achievement that I have my own voice. Too many women are afraid to stand up for what they believe in, even in the twenty first century. They stay with men who make them feel low, and unattractive. They let their boyfriends, or husbands cheat on them, and then they take them back. Far too many people are scared to take a stand, and tell these people that are no good to keep one foot in front of the other, and walk out of their lives! And sometimes, I feel that my stubbornness is a bad quality. When I think I'm right, I'm determined to show that to people. And when I feel strongly for something, I'm passionate about it to the point of being arrogant. And if somebody I loved was to stand in front of me and admit to infidelity after telling me that he loved me, then I'd tell him to turn around, and walk right out of my life. But now I realise those attributes aren't bad qualities to have. I'm not a doormat, and nor will I be treated like one. And I have my own opinion, and I'm free to express that. And I will do. 

But when I look back at the times, not that long ago, when black and white people were segregated, it makes me feel sick to the pit of my stomach. What single minded idiot woke up one day and decided that he was better than a black person? What made that person feel like they had the right to belittle someone of a different ethnicity? Because I would like to go back in time and meet that person, and tell them exactly what I think of their ignorant attitude. 

There is so excuse for racism. I don't give a damn that somebody got shot and their killer was black. Or that someone was mugged, and the attacker was black. There is just as much violence caused by white people as there is black, and their race has not a damn thing to do with their actions. People are equal. Whether they're white, black, chinese, indian, whatever! Aside from their skin, they're born with exactly the same limbs, and organs. We all breathe and same, and eat the same way, and we all shit and piss in the same way. So WHO are YOU to decide that you're better than a person? Just the fact that you're judgemental is enough to showcase that how wrong you are. 

It really sickens me that during the race divide, black people were branded ‘niggas’, and ‘negros’. And that they had to go through separate doors, and use different toilets. That they weren't good enough to socialise with, but were good enough to be left along with their children? It doesn't make sense, and it truly disgusts me that people could be treated so poorly. It makes me so angry that the colour of a person’s skin can affect their whole entire lives. And to any person that is racist, I want you to understand that you're the kinds of people that the world really doesn't need.