I don't even know what to call it anymore...

Frustration?

Anger?

Despair?

Sorrow?



I thought, foolishly, I could get out of the house this weekend.

Go to Kenan's on Friday, then spend the night with Modo on Saturday...

In my excitement, I forgot about my parents hating me.



I didn't even have to ask them, to set them off.



Mum keeps asking why all of us like to stay alone in our rooms with the doors closed.

Why they've never had us around as their children.

...Well, when have they welcomed us? When have they been around us?



I want to move my cupoard...

...and I can't.

I just want to cry, but it's not going to move it.

...but there's no way I'm asking them for help.



I just want to cry.

Oxy Moron

Kenan once wrote a poem in Year 4.
"On. Off.
Black. White.
My bed shits are flying."
It was a poem about opposites, and apart from that spelling mistake, well actually that line, it describes me.

Outside: Switch On the smile, Switch Off the emotions.
Home: Switch On the tears, Switch Off everything else.
Everywhere is White, but my Home.

It's so easy to switch.
One minute you're strutting down the road, a spring in your step.
Every few minutes, someone compliments you, says hello... notices you.
You smile, you wave, you laugh.
You start conversations with strangers, you take pleasure in feeling the rain on your skin, you thank every driver when you cross, even though they're at red lights.
Your confidence and your ease with yourself, your environment and people is a beautiful sight.

You cross into the other realm.
You shut the front door, and like the mimes who can easily change a smile to a frown or vice versa, you tense up, the muscles on your forehead furrowed, tears prick your eyes.
You can hardly string sentences, and manage grunts and few words when spoken to.
Yours eyes lose their magic, and you hide them.

It's no wonder you love Oxymorons so much.
...you even chose to be called Oxim Oron on Facebook at one point.

Random Ramblings...

I hate it.
I hate that part.
Not the bit where you're being lulled to sleep, feeling safe to not have to tip toe around.
No, not those five, ten, on you're really good days twenty minutes where you think things might be going your way.
Not even the times when you feel so calm you could curl up and just bask in the warmth of your blissful state.

No.
I'm talking about the bit that comes after that.
That slap that stings.
The part that makes you wake up and realise.
The moment the tears spring back to your eyes, and that feeling washes over you.
That feeling.
A remix of Despair, Hopelessness, and Regret.

Regret for foolishly thinking everything was alright.

With everytime your eyes well up again, you wish there wasn't a next time.
...and everytime realisation dawns on you, you pray and you hope that you're not coaxed back into that false feeling of calm and peace.
Just so that it can be snatched away again.

Isn't it better to stay in one consistent way, than to keep getting happy only to be let down again.
What's that phrase?
Prevention is better than cure.
And ho-hum glum is better than disappointment.
...for me.

There's only so much disappointment one can take.

In the BottomLess Pit.

I woke up and thought there was a small rodent on my pillow.

No... just another clump of my hair.

Another thing to add to The Stress List.

Actually, there's another one.
My typing has gone really bad, as well as my sense of spelling.
I had to ask LittleOne how to spell graffiti last night, and I'm still having issues spelling it now.

How long can I carry on like this?
Only eating dates through the day, and then dinner with the family.
Staying my room, only coming out to eat dates, use the toilet or go to work.
Tearing up every few minutes, and then spending another 20 minutes trying to calm myself down.
Taking a mixture of Nytol, Piriton and Night Nurse at night, so I can knock out when my head hits the pillow and I don't have to think anymore.
Only speaking properly to LittleOne, and uttering the basics to the rest of the family.

I want to tidy my room.
...but I seem to end up curled up in my bed instead.

I washed my hair this morning.
It looks like I drowned it in chip fat, already.

I can't speak on the phone without that lump growing in my throat.

I can't go through with The Plan.
I cry everytime I think of it.

FaceBook Ban.

I've been banned from FaceBook.
...but I don't understand why.

I've had naughty pictures up on there since last year.

It's 'cause of that group.
"Embrace the Nudity"
I can't find a few of the other pictures that were up there, and those people have vanished off FaceBook World, too.

Lol.

I is well bad, bredrin!

Attention Whore.

I'm keeping a tally.
... a record.

I like to mark every line down, and after every four I love that big diagonal stroke.

The area I work in is not a good area.
Drug Deals, Litter, Working Class Racist folk of all races, Lol.
But, I like one thing, that possibly most people in this society don't...

The male drivers.

I walk to and from work everyday, and it involves me walking from the bottom of this cruddy road right up to the top.
I've tallied 34 Beepings at me since 8.28 this morning.
That includes popping into Gregg's at lunch, too.
There's been 12 "Alright Beautiful/Gorgeous/Sexy/Darling/Stunner/Fitty/[insert other "nice" word]" today.

Considering my previous post, about my acne and greasy hair.
...and the fact that I wear a hideous coat, and my trousers being too big for me, I still got it!
Yea, ok, these men are just sleazing and would do/say the same to a tree with knots shaped like an arse and boobs..
...but I love it.

I was tempted a few times to go up and start chatting, but then I remembered the area.
Too close.
Too risky.

Saturdays are my skirt days.
I can't wait.

Flick, Flick, Flick....

'Cause I have nothing better to do at 1am on Monday morning.

..even though I have to be up early to get ready (and straighten my hair) for work.

Yes. I have a bruise.

God knows how I got it, though.

...and after reading a certain email I received recently, I felt like taking a picture of my arse

...Makes. Me. Wanna. Scream.

..or get back into bed..

The nightmares have started again.

Now it makes sense.
All those sleepless nights, being frightened of everything.
They come with stress.
..or worry..
or whatever it is the family make me feel...

It's ma soeur ainee's birthday today.
...and I'm meant to act happy, and all smiles.

Dad went and got her quite a nice cake.

It's weird.
He always waits for 12.36 to say Happy Birthday to her.
No one even remembers when I was born.
They celebrate her birthday 'cause they're happy.
They "celebrate" mine, because they think if they don't I'll get upset.

Apparently I taught Little One how to have mood swings.
No one sees that I taught him manners and how to do things for himself.
No one sees the effort I put in to teach him grammar and his time tables.
No one else answers his constant questioning with proper answers, no one takes out the time to find out about the sports he likes so that he can have a decent conversation.
No, they see me in his mood swings, they see me when he's being stubborn..

But do they see themselves in my anger, my violent behaviour, the destruction around me?
Can they not see who is behind the curses that leave my mouth?
Is it not them who taught me about aggression?

Father can't stand me.
At all.

I think he may hate me.

So, what's the point in even trying?

You clean the house, organise his papers.
You make him breakfast, coffee, bring him ice cold water in his decanter, file his feet and massage his legs...
You try your best to organise the household, you make doctors and dentist appointments, you arrange hospital appointments, you try and pick up the kids when you can...

...and he still thinks the other girls are precious, and you're just there to do their crap.

Step 1: Planning - Sorting out Finances.

If I put a pound in my ISA for every day I work, I will save £22 by the end of this year.
So, if I have a higher rate, I should save more.

If I keep doing this for four years (for the same amount of days worked per month), I could possibly save over £2,000.
Is that enough?

What about when my student loans come through?
How about putting £50 a month during each term?
That's about an extra £900 saved.

What if I worked extra?
Or, worked through holidays?
What if that Teaching Agency got me a few placements, and Amana pulled up their socks and had a consistent project running?
How much extra would I be able to put away?

Another few hundred?
That would get me over the £3,000 mark.

...and what about what I should have in my account anyway?
If in one year, over £5,000 can pass through my account, then over four years that would be £20,000.
Couldn't I spend less and save more?
Put a few pennies in the ISA every week?
Would that be enough?

Would it be sufficient for what I plan to do.
...or would it be wiser to wait an extra year?
A student living in London can get by on £6,000 a year.
Surely, I'd be alright with something around the £5,000 mark?
That would be enough, no?

How much is enough, though?
How much is enough for escaping?

Written on The Roof.

Droplets fall down the window pane.
Droplets fall down my cheeks, again.
Rage, Fury, Anger, Hurt...
Neglect, Sorrow...
Some of the things I've felt.

Colours go grey.
Stars don't shine.
Smiles show happiness,
I'm afraid I've lost mine.

A bruise, an ache,
A happy smile replaced by a Fake.
A cut, some scars.
She's allowed it all, so far.

Night after night,
She is restless and has no sleep.
Her only solace is those few moments with Deep.

Time is passing,
he clock ticks on, slowly.
Storm's a brewing,
not too long, she worries.

She feels it inside,
She can feel it erupting.
She doesn't want to bear these burdens anymore;
She doesn't want to be the Ugly Duckling.

Ramblings...

I might have a job.
I start my "two week trial period" on Monday.
I sound like a product.

It's a tiny Optician's, with a woman who drools and has shakey eyes.

The Job Centre gave me £100 to spend on new clothes.
I abused it!
Not as much as I should have, though.
Oh well, two tops, three pairs of trousers, a skirt, and a pair of shoes isn't that bad, considering I didn't pay for them at all.

Amana still haven't got back to me about when they're starting.
=(
I was counting on that job.

Kumar messaged me again.
"Seeing as it's November now, when are you going to get my money to me?"
Lol.
She's so fucking up her arse.
She has three jobs.
Why is she so desperate to have a few pounds given back to her each month?
She knows I can't give it all back in one go.

Quasi is cute.
I've had dreams where I've used the L word with him.
... and I don't care that it's all doom and gloom in the future.
'Cause it's nice and fuzzy right now.

OMG.
My battery died in my vibe.
After 11 months, I was so shocked, and almost upset.
I forgot how powerful it is, though.

I think my Eczema's coming back.
I've had that weird Face Patch for over a year now.
..and now I've spotted patches on my arm that I keep itching.
Bring on the BetnoVate.

This extra horniness is adding to my SchlagNess.
I'm leading on a few guys, and I can't stop.
But none of them are like Quasi...
...Taylor comes VERY close, though.
Yum Yum Yum...

I love Tropicana.