Invisible.

I don't understand how a single wall post can cause me to rant and rave to myself in the dark (really dark) hours of the night, just before I need to catch up on sleep. But it has. And somewhere deep down I am sure this is all for a good reason that may never reveal itself, but it's there.

FACT : I don't like introducing my friends to one another. Yes, brand me selfish before I even have a chance to explain this juvenile behaviour to you. You would think that this would just add to more fun. More people being more happy together with you. So this would all equal one huge super party.

Fuck that. The reality of the situation is, well my situation at least, is that people don't remember me as soon as they have met. They completely forget that I am in the middle of this entire conversation and proceed to discuss their life stories as if they had grown up together or something. It's not so hard to at least try and include me, but people are weird. I don't even know how this works. I don't know if I subconsciously step down to let them carry on their budding romance. I don't know if subconsciously I want people to be happy.

I don't fucking think so. It's so hard for me to hang on to friends. Either the really good ones move away, or I move away from the really good ones. And it feels like, you don't fucking care who the person that introduced you in the first place is. Why are you going around telling MY friends that you will be here? Why? Does this not go through me? Do you even care how I feel about these people? Maybe I had this massive fight with them and don't want to talk to them. Or maybe I just don't get along with them. I don't know.

Also, why them? WHY EVERYONE FUCKING ELSE BUT ME? Are you trying to make me feel more worthless than I already do? I'm sorry, ARE YOU ACTUALLY TRYING THIS? You don't think I have degraded myself enough? What makes them so much more entertaining than me? Is it tits? I got tits. Is it some easy look plastered on their face?

GIVE ME A FUCKING CLUE.

Tell me why I become invisible to everyone. Why does everyone forget me? It's like I am matchmaking friends but no one wants to matchmake friends for me. Why would anyone worry anyway, about matching people with me? I'm so fucking shit as a person, and heck no one would even remember me. Maybe because I don't even fucking care.

This is turning out to be the shit week I predicted.

A lot more tears on the fucking way.

Cheers.

PS. I miss you blog, you have no idea. How does even my BLOG manage to send me on a guilt trip???

The Beauty In The Eye Of The Beholder.

But the beholder is blind to me.

I can't get over this. I don't think I ever will. Ever feel good enough for anyone, not even myself. It's like one of those fly-on-the-wall situations, except for me it's apparently permanent. It has its own screen time and its own soundtrack, but without an audience. After all, who would want to watch such a depressing story for no pay?

I just watch myself, silently, blissfully. Waiting for me to make the next move. But I don't make any moves. Because I can't help but think of all the reasons why. Why I can't be good enough. Why I am constantly overshadowed and undervalued. Sometimes, the things people say really get to me. I feel less worthy than I should and incapable of being normal. Maybe the normality I wish for, isn't really normal at all. It's just something different than what it is for me now.

Normality is to be loved by people for who you are and in return you give love. So much of it that the amount of love you get back overwhelms you that you hate it. And maybe if you are so normal, your hopes and dreams come true because you work hard for it. Maybe you get rewarded for the little things that you do. Maybe you get rewarded for the little things you say. But you most definitely feel normal.

But I can't feel this normality. Nothing feels normal anymore. I don't know who normal something is or how absurd. My judgement impaired, I walk around in a haze hoping to find something normal, that will bring me back to the world I thought I understood. I wish for a star, a clue or anything remotely magical to show me the right way, for I no longer know it.

I don't know how to feel about things anymore. I don't know if something is good for me, or it's disguised as a curse. Because the happiness something brings me, inevitably invites bad auras and your happiness is short-lived. Should we really celebrate something that will only invite more curse? More pain? I can't imagine why someone would want to be happy.

I've realised that I am only truly pleased when I am depressed. My mood permanently sombre. If anything, it's more stable. It takes a lot of effort to shake someone out of depression, but think about how long it takes to make someone upset. How long it takes to mortify someone about their bleak future. How long it takes to make someone cry.

A heartbeat.

Even before their heart thinks of beating.

So why can't I stay depressed? It's a good place to be; nothing will bother me because there is theoretically nothing past rock bottom (although now that I have said that my rock bottom will fall through.) And no one can upset me. Because the only way they could is to join me there. And once there, if you do find me, you would be so overcome by the pressure of living in such a low place that it mutes you. Like the button on a remote.

And that is where I find the normality. To be stable. To be unshaken. To be fearless. To be totally depressed.

What about all those times I have been told that I will achieve something? This thing in particular is not something I can study for, or buy. I can't achieve this unless it chooses me. But I guess I am just one of those people who keeps getting passed over. Never chosen. Sometimes I am chosen, but only to learn hard lessons. I have no good memories from being chosen for this. There is always someone next to me who sends me into the darkness, where no one will see me. Past a beam of light is a haze of darkness, but you would never question the light or what lies behind it.

And there I am, wandering in the dark, watching all the attention go to the beautiful beam in front of me. It makes me wonder, will anyone ever look beyond the light and look for the beauty in the darkness? Is this beam even bright enough to overshadow me? Is this all just part of that fly-on-the-wall story?

Yes, that beam exists. And it is so bright, it's blinding. That even if it was possible to see past it and look into the darkness, you would not be remotely interested in what you find back there. After all, there is this shining light in front of you that would probably give you anything you want.

Am I always meant to be this way? Overshadowed? In the darkness? Never knowing what it's like to be the one that gets it all?

How do you think it feels when you are constantly passed over for things? If I could control this, I would have held its reigns by now. But at this moment, and forever it will be this way, I am in no control nor any indication of what this all means and why it happens. I am always the one in the shadows, waiting for my turn. Ever waiting. How much longer do I have to wait?

I think I am one of those girls who just never gets that one thing she wants. Maybe it's because I want it. But I can't just stop wanting this. But I need to. Because I am never going to get it. I am just going to have to live with what I have, however bitter and alone I might be. Perhaps I can pour my heart into other things. Be so famously ruthless that I am unstoppable. From all the anger that I have from not getting what I think I deserve.

What have I become?

A monster.

You leave me to be like this. Alone. You want me to be alone. Never to know what's it's like to be paid attention to. Alone. No comfort. No place to run from my sorrows. This is my sorrow.

Alone.

Forever.

I Have Never Been More Scared.

Than I am at this point in time.

FACT : I am scared of people.

That's why I try to make the effort to meet people and make myself so grotesquely vulnerable so that people would like me and I would familiarise myself with them and not be so scared. But I am still scared. The fear is always there. Lately I've been keeping to myself. Hang on, let's make it a bit clearer. Lately, I've been WANTING to keep to myself. Yes, that's so unlike me, I hear you say.

But this is what I've what I've become. A recluse. So afraid to approach people around me. For fear of rejection. For fear of disapproval. For fear of disappointment. For fear of fear itself.

I can't do it anymore. I want to be who I was before. Fun. Loving. Creative. Enthusiastic. Attention seeker. Where has that gone? It's disappeared. Locked up. I don't even know.

I just want me back. I am at odds here because I've quite basically lost myself and changed into something I vowed I never would be. I want my confidence back.

You hear that?

I WANT MY FUCKING CONFIDENCE BACK, BITCH.

Cheers.

PS. Sorry, but a perpetual state of panic is not a very nice place to be.

Stop.

Is it clear for me to go?

FALSE.

Just how long does it take you to realise that the people you had laid your trust in all this while suddenly emptied that bucket of it? Drained it until it was bone dry. Made sure every last drop of trust had been sucked up by the concrete it was poured onto.

And then proceeded to take your heart and wring out any emotion you had left stored in it.

It depends, really. Based on, well quite obviously, how much liquid trust you laid in them in the first place. How much of that dripped from you when they pricked your heart with a blade. How much they decided to collect in the bucket, and how much else they let you bleed out until you were exhausted.

And that is how you trust people. After you've spent most of your past building up walls to guard yourself from emotional attack, it becomes very difficult to allow any diffusion through these walls. Just as negative feelings bounce off the walls, positive emotions are blocked from leaving. After all, they leave you only to be destroyed or transformed into negative thoughts. Without these walls, you would be left in a state of delirium - deciding between depression or catharsis.

As I have said before, there is nothing more binding and powerful than the weapon of trust. Like a steel blade, only free from deterioration; like biological armament, only without an antidote; like a stab in the back, only a lot more effective. Yes, trust is a powerful weapon. But it is as powerful as it is scarce.

It's not something someone would readily give you. Unless they have a really good plan.

Or they really enjoy the sex.

But once you have it, wow, your possibilities are only limited by your personal capacity for causing anarchy. You can tear apart friendships, relationships, and perhaps countries. The world, why not? Imagine the amount of pain you could inflict on those who deserve it. Or don't.

No firearm in the world would give you the same amount of pleasure; it's almost orgasmic.

THE CATCH.

If that person is already protected by several emotional barriers, you probably won't get very far. You might appease them to a certain extent, or break down a certain number of walls, but the barrier closest to the heart is usually the strongest. And if that person has already been broken several times, you might just die trying.

And this story of pain somehow always relates to ... me. Maybe when you keep getting beaten down for reasons you can't comprehend, you don't get what you deserve, you don't get the support you need, you can't understand the separation or the categorisation, you could begin to realise that things are just better when you are alone. Completely alone. With no one to ask why you are that way.

No one to question your paradox of happiness.

Perhaps it's time to truly understand emotional solitude. Being sealed. Being unbreakable.

Being unbeatable.

Because after all, I have all that trust buried inside me.

'Trust is like a mirror. You can fix it if it's broken.'

'But you can still see the crack in that motherfucker's reflection.'

Cheers.

Hang With Me.

Just don't fall

Recklessly headlessly in love with me

Cos it's going to be

All heartbreak

Blissfully painful and insanity

If we agree

Oh you can hang with me.

Robyn makes too much sense sometimes, it scares me.

I should rename this post 'Limbo', because that is how I am feeling right now. There are always several worlds you could exist in, and just because you have neglected one/some of them doesn't mean they disappear. They just repair themselves and become better than ever, waiting for you to return to it.

That's why it always seems better to get away from the world you are in right now, because the other one seems so much better than you remember it. And it is. It's everything you want it to be : calm, devoid of drama and everyone you love and care about loves you the way you want them to. Skies are always blue, beaches are always warm, and everything feels as real as it can.

Beach resorts don't really need marketing strategies, to be honest.

But that isn't where you can stay forever. Something in the other world will call you, claw you perhaps, and maybe drag you back into the world you hate to live in. It's got disease and disappointment and drama that only involves you.

That's where I am now. In limbo between two worlds. At first I hated being here. I wanted to return to the dream that I was living - with the comfort and the freedom I felt always. I eventually forgot about the loneliness and solitude that would have killed me had I not put it out of my head. I found solace in spending on clothes and shoes and beautiful things that would inspire me, and made the only place I had to myself, my sanctuary. Where no one could hurt me, destroy me and remind me of all the things I didn't have. Here, I could tell myself all the things I did have and feel grateful for them. And if I squeezed myself into one of the corners, I could dream of all the magical places I could be in at the moment. Where I had everything and everyone I wanted.

But then I had to realise that I was no longer dreaming. And I was becoming more comfortable with reality. I was more comfortable with having people to talk to and people who love me surrounding me at all times, and slowly I was waking up.

Soon I have to return to dreaming. I'm not going to like it, unless the dream gets more interesting. Which might not happen. And I think life is only going to get harder for me.

Fuck all this - things could just have been easier.

Cheers.

PS. I don't know what I am saying anymore so if there are grammatical errors then correct it yourself.

Kaythanksbye.

I Love The Way Nylon Feels Against My Skin.

It's better than leather.

Especially when it's crisp, glossy and filled with pages that try to pass themselves off as portals into a wonderland where music and fashion and photography combine into a melange of ecstasy.

NYLON magazine is not a drug. Although it's a close substitute.

It easily slides into the top spot on the list of my favorite magazines, right next to American Glamour because the only thing that's as good as a magazine that tells you what to do to be amazing, is a magazine that tells you the exact opposite. How to be an individual. How to be a rebel. How to embody all things hippy.

How to be in the indie about town.

But there is something so compulsively addictive about NYLON. Despite being a mainstream magazine, there is nothing mainstream about it; it's almost as if it's a constant battle to fight that label. It represents all things underground, from mid-level fashion to grungy attire for the decadent teen. It represents the pictures of the shutterbug with a less-than-efficient camera (think of the period between Lomo and SLR where no one really ventures) who still manages to portray some sort of adolescent angst through them. It represents the music you wouldn't listen to because no one told you to. Yet.

I won't elaborate because I know that once I entirely dissect this magazine, something in me will change my view on it and I will detest its very existence until my terribly short memory kicks in.

NYLON + GLAMOUR US = LITERARY ECSTASY.

Another thing. What is with this flood of indie, never-heard-of bands with nothing more to offer than a keyboard jingle and a bad haircut? First of all, they all look the same. You can literally spot them on the street in _____ (insert name of famously indie English city) ______, decked out in ankle-high pirate boots, skinnier-than-skinny skinny jeans and raggedy t-shirts with random prints, passed of as vintage.

All they play is trash! First of all they sound the same, they seem to date their influences to the same artists of the same time period (I don't expect Gaga to be mentioned but maybe you could pick an artist that hasn't already been worshipped?) and they all think that a cool haircut is one where you get really high and go crazy with a razor.

It looks stupid. There is nothing sexy about you. No one listens to your music.

Deal with yourself?

Cheers.

This was a completely nonsensical post. Yes, nothing has changed.

I Don't Know What I'm Doing Anymore.

I don't know how to feel.

Cheers.