Sunglasses.

Hide my eyes from the sun, and the pain from my eyes.

I can't be fucked to be cryptic right now, or poetic, or quite simply type this post out in riddles. I have a few people I would love to talk to right about now, but they are either unavailable or can't really be bothered to offer me the level of comfort that I am looking for right now.

I suppose at this point, all I have to offer are couldas, wouldas, and shouldas. (Read : The could-haves, would-haves, and should-haves.)

First of all, I shoulda listened to my gut feeling. There is someone I know who has an uncanny sense of instinct, and she told me that that little voice in my head is almost always right. But I hate myself so much for not being able to talk to her about anything, simply because I know she worries her life away because of me and she really doesn't need anymore of my issues to think about.

The one person I know who could sort my life out, is the one person I couldn't bear to tell.

I like how funny life thinks it is.

From the second I saw you walk away, I remember that voice in my head telling me that this would end soon. It would all be over. But I decided to waste a week of my life, hoping it was wrong. I decided to waste a week of thoughts on you. A week of giving you that little bit of faith to you that you hardly deserved. A week of waiting on you to show me that you wanted me as much as I wanted you. A week of thinking that you could be worth anymore than what you really are.

A week of lies.

Second, I shoulda seen it coming. I should have remembered exactly why I was attracted to you. I should have linked it to that little box of bad memories in my head. I should have predicted your next move. I should have realised that this could have never ended well.

Third, I shoulda learnt by now to keep my body and my feelings separate. Loosely translated to mean, I should have fucked your hot ass so many times over without ever thinking of you as a human being with real feelings.

After all, up until now, that's all you see in me.

I think it's safe to say that at this point, my life needs a bit of a clean up. I've got to get rid of the toxic people in my life, the people who cause nothing but issues that I have to deal with. All this pretty much includes bitches who lack maturity, bastards who can't be bothered to treat me as more than a piece of meat, and everyone else who I trust more than they trust me.

Because I shouldn't need to have to sort my life out as well as yours at the same time.

Cheers.

High Hopes.

Where the grass is greener.

I remember being absolutely in love with this song by Pink Floyd. Maybe it was the progressive piano tones, maybe it was the whining guitar, or maybe it was just lyrics that define me. How we all have high hopes, but these things don't always have to come true for you. They don't always have such beautiful endings. I mean, if you think about it, it's those stories with terrible endings in your head that always seem to turn out right for you.

Maybe we should all just look to the end of the world, and we might survive another day.

And then you have your emotions. Fluid and volatile. They control you, possess you, and dictate the way you are supposed to behave. They never let your mind intervene when it wants to, because it knows that when you are in a situation with only questions, you are better off acting on instinct. Acting on your psyche.

Acting on idiocy.

Maybe that's why it takes control of you. Because if we were left in charge of the mind, we would arrive at nothing because there are no definite answers in this game. You will probably never find the answer. If it were that easy, I wouldn't be here staring out into the sunny day, with a raincloud over my head.

The mind remembers all your experiences. It has to. It's the one that makes you stop in the middle of nowhere to throw you a surge of pain with a myriad of visuals. It's all you. And him. And how good it felt. And how bad it felt. And how guilty you felt. And how angry you felt. And how upset you felt. And how alien you felt. And how stupid you felt. And how humiliated you felt.

And how you blogged about it.

And it loves to remind you about your mistakes, at any moment in your life. As soon as you think about something beautiful, it stabs you in your chest with an emotion, that leaves you dangerously gasping for air even when pure oxygen surrounds you. Soon after, the stupidity hits you. The regret. The guilt. The disrespect you have caused your body. The way you can't recognise who you are after all this has happened.

And then the questions. The thinking. The over-analysing. The incessant worrying.

The self-destruction.

I like to call this the waste-away mode, because I literally waste away. I eat till I'm bursting, I moan till I'm tired, and I hurt till I'm numb. It's a vicious phase, but I suppose self-healing was never easy. It's analogous to peeling of your dead layers in tiny tugs until you bleed no more, and then you sit alone to dry yourself out until you can walk outside into the cool air to bloom again.

Yes, it's quite like that.

Or if you prefer setting yourself on fire and rising from the ashes. Your call, really.

They say it's important for you to learn from your mistakes, so history doesn't repeat itself. They say that it's best for you to understand yourself before approaching any situation, so you know exactly how to handle its obstacles.

But you never can.

Literally, the mistake turns into a memory. It separates itself into good and bad and sits there in your head until the next mistake happens. And eventually, all you have is just a ball of mistakes, rolling itself about in your brain.

Breaking you.

Cheers.

You Deserve It.

And you still don't have it.

There are some things in life which you stake as yours and keep for the rest of your life, or others which you carelessly toss aside once its life has passed. And then there are things that are rightfully yours, perhaps because it literally has your name on it, or rather its your instinct that says you should be its owner.

But despite all these categories, and mindless stereotyping, there are some things you just don't ever own in your lifetime. It could be something that is financially owed to you, and you never get it back. It could be something emotional that is taken away from you. It could simply be time.

And that's my dilemma. I can name a few things that should be mine, but are being taken away from me. I am usually cryptic on this blog, but tonight I just don't have the fucking energy to encrypt everything I am thinking into medieval-style riddles just so you can read this post four times over and still arrive at nothing.

I deserve my wages, and I am not getting it. You can think it's fun and games to pay me as and when you feel like, but for fuck's sake - get it into your head that I am going to be your employee. I have a cash problem and you are about the only way I can fix it. So treat me like an employee and have some ground rules for yourself.

There is nothing that I want more than this particular event right now. But if everyone is planning my life out without including me in it, then nothing you plan will make me happy. I am on my knees, begging for this one grant, but you can't seem to understand the magnitude of this plea. If you want to keep me away from you, then I shall do exactly that.

I know I can't help the way I am. I'm not old enough to do alot of things, even to live my life. But I am trying to change it because I know that I deserve it. I do the same amount of work as everyone else, but why must I suffer like everyone else? I can't slip on a false identity like other people can because of my brilliant circumstances. I can't fake something because things don't seem to want to work out that way either.

And another thing.

Completely unrelated.

As most of you know, I am a shopaholic.I live of retail therapy, and as an emo would dye her hair black and jive to Eyes Set To Kill, I would run off to the shops and buy as many things as my hands could carry when in depression. But right now, it's gotten worse. To the point where things aren't funny anymore. There are too many expenses and too many purchases for me to handle. I can't seem to be able to afford alot of things that I should be able to spend on. My shopping habits, for a start, have gotten more serious. Instead of having a good thought about an item before wearing it, I purchase it on the spot. Instead of giving myself a fixed budget, I spend past that because 'I just have to'.

I think I need help.

A miracle, maybe?

Or is that something I deserve.

Cheers.

Yours Truly.

The other woman.

I suppose I make myself blog about the embarassing/very disappointing moments of life because it's my way of seeking closure. And after I've closed this up, I seem to blog about it again because I can't stop thinking about it.

Or it could just be my way of telling my readers my life story without actually forcing myself to say it.

Ah, the other woman. Usually described as the person who comes along into a relationship and starts a rabid massacre. She tends to separate the two people so far apart from each other, that by the end of it they barely have any recognition that they were ever in love. She would now be the topic of conversations and the subject of rumours - basically instant fame.

All because of one small move.

Now if you know me well enough, you know that I've been there and done that. It's like going to hell and back because this situation isn't funny for anyone. No one likes to be cheated on, and no one likes to be part of it. And I told myself precisely to leave it all behind in my past.

But this is the story of my life.

And my blog is called Twisted Tragedies.

It's only right that the two relate to each other.

Yes, it happened again. And this time the offence is a little more serious. I never reveal details on this blog so there is no way you will find out exactly what has gone down, but I assure you that the effect of it is just as painful.

It was a crazy night. It was dark. It was heated. It was scary. I could not read his mind, he could not read mine. It was an act of lust and on my part, total stupidity. It was uncomfortable. It was unreal. It was haunting. It was mindless. It was heartless.

It meant nothing to me.

But there was a part of me that thought that there could be something more to this. That maybe it may lead to something worth my time. That maybe this wasn't something childish and complicated.

But hah. The story of my life is that of a Shakespearean play.

He was a liar and a cheat. I am the witness and evidence to a crime. And the most disgusting part of this, is that he is from the one part of the world that spells nothing but trouble.

Perhaps I invite trouble.

Perhaps I prefer to live on the wild side.

Perhaps I feed off the drama that becomes me.

Perhaps the only way I can have emotional contact with someone is with the lights off.

Perhaps I am always going to be ... the other woman.

Cheers.

Situations.

I can't handle it.

This is going to be another one of those I-am -talking-to-you-not-you-not-you-not you-but you-yes-you kind of posts. Where I don't really have a steady train of thought, but one that decides to stop at random points on the tracks for crazy amounts of time, and then make you switch to another train that seems to move at first and then stop again just to piss the hell out of you.

Kind of the one I was on yesterday.

So recently, I have been faced yet again with 'that certain situation' where I am unable to participate in something which would allow my life to be a little more colourful and entertaining and possibly a little less lonely. That situation that I sometimes curse when I am all alone, thinking of what else I could be doing with my life at that point in time. The situation that I could easily pull myself out of, but choose to sit and suffer through for the time being.

I have pretty much come to that point in that emotions cycle where you just can't be bothered anymore. After you find something you think might be worth pouring your time and effort into, you do. And sometimes you get pretty favourable results.

If you're tall, pretty and skinny, that is.

So that means for me it pretty much backfires. And once you get over the fact that as much effort and thought as you put into the situation, you will only get just as much negative drama back in your face. And after a while, you just turn asexual. Totally uninterested in anything that would have sent you head over heels just before. Because you just fucking give up really. You try - nothing happens. You don't try - really, nothing happens.

But I digress.

I was talking about not being old enough, and then I moved on to my issues with the male species. See what I mean about trains not moving?

So yes. I could easily do something about my situation, and possibly lift myself out of it with a make-do Get Out Of Jail Free card (it is really like being in jail.) It would be a tiny expense out of my weekly budget, but for all the times I would be using it - it would be more than worth it.

But I really can't be fucking bothered.

Because I don't care how many people I don't meet. I don't care how many people I don't get to make out with. I don't care how much fun I would have. I don't care how many nights I would come back from a good night absolutely drunk. I don't care how much time I would not spend sitting in my room, staring into space.

I don't give a shit.

So why do you?

Be selfish. Let me wallow in my despair. If I can't be bothered about these things, I don't see why you should. When I feel like it's time, I will make the effort. Because if you know me well enough, I will swallow my pride and fears and do everything I can to make this happen. My drive will be my only motivation, so I don't see how you could help me at any amount.

When I figure myself out, I'll let you know.

Cheers.

All The Right Friends In All The Right Places.

And we're going down.

There is something in mass media that taps into a secret opening into our minds. We can't see it probably because the mass media put it there themselves by opening our head up with their claws and setting their ideas so they begin to take root there. But you can't see anything even if you wanted to.

Unless you're mass media.

I think I can safely say that I am a victim. A victim of having had various ideals planted into my thoughts so that one day I can travel the earth in search of it and once I finally have the golden key to happiness, crack open that locked (shall I say the 'anti-Pandora') box and breathe in all of life's beauty.

Which probably doesn't even exist.

Take The Hills.




Okay, maybe not The Hills.

Take The City.




Yes, well I know I'm not rich and famous, but we can work with New York and fashion, couldn't we?

Alright then, Ugly Betty. ...Aha! Ugly Betty. She's fat. I'm fat. She's got an annoying voice. I've got an annoying voice. She looks like a pig sometimes. Hello? Me = oink oink.

And she works in fashion. And she works with the most gorgeous editor-in-chief. And she has a few pretty cute guys running after her (god knows why.) And she lives in New York City.

I don't know how big I can type out 'ideals' but IDEALS.

That is quite literally where I see myself. In New York and in fashion. Writing for a top magazine and living the city life. I dream this too much, I suppose. But sometimes I can't help smiling like a dumb fool at the screen everytime Betty has a whirlwind romance or comes out with a brilliant idea for a spread in a magazine.

Maybe my dreams are just inflating uncontrollably.

XXX

A recent series of events has led to me to think about myself. Yet again, I know. But this time in a more positive light. Shocking, I know. Because this time I am re-evaluating just how much ambition I have inside of me and just how much drive I am willing to give myself to get something that I truly want. The whole situation has turned me into a little bit of a monster, acting as if I was the only chess piece in the game with total disregard for how other people felt about me. I was the only one looking at everything objectively, while everyone was still sitting back comfortably and pondering their emotions and how they might affect the others negatively.

Blergh, all this wishy-washy nonsense makes me sick.

Call me a bitter bitch, but I just think that sometimes you might have to step on people to get what you want. But just where is this line drawn? Just who and how many are we allowed to step on/annihilate/kill?

Well it really depends on whether the other parties involved are willing to step on you. If you know or sense with primal instinct that they would get rid of you in a heartbeat, then go right ahead. If you let the bad people in life get to you, you may as well self-destruct on spot. And if you don't get the bad people, you could do just the same.

Patience is another issue because I am a true believer of the non-violence policy. Just to be clear, mental abuse is not included as violence, because I like it that way. So if you want to have a juvenile outburst for the first time, go ahead but that is strike one. If you want to have another immature snap-attack, do it with caution but be warned. And if you feel the desperate need to have a cow moment at me for the third time, oh baby, it's about time I showed you who was bitch.

I am not your punching bag, neither am I your snap-taker. (I made the word, so use it.) I don't take crap from you because I expect more from you sweetheart. I know that you try to make yourself believe that you are nineteen and drag everyone else down that lane with you, but really I think you haven't grown since you were five. Although, please believe me when I say that I try to deny that you really are five. I mean, you are about five times taller than me but your spoilt-brat tantrums are making me feel really doubtful.

I don't really want to try and count how many ideas I have tried to cramp into this post, but that's what they have calculators for, my deahs. It's a mish-mash of thoughts, but that's the way you hear me usually, don't you?

Oh. And one more thing. Any relation of the ideas used in this post to real living and breathing people is totally intentional.

And totally meant to offend you.

Cheers.

My Delirium.

Join me.

Last week was a pretty shit period for me. I didn't have anything to look forward to and people seemed to keep getting in my way and pissing me off. My longing for home returned, after I thought I had hidden it deep down within me. Turns out you can never hide something horrible for too long.

They all hit me in one go, leaving lasting bruises and even deeper burns just to remind me that I could still hurt like this. I guess if it's not some asshole you fell in love with that is hurting you, it would be something you came up with yourself. Maybe pain keeps us alive.

It was at first a period of intense hurt, and severe self-questioning followed as it usually does. Because everything that happens to me should have been caused by something I did. And then the confusion, the anger and the general annoyance of the situation.

And then everything changed into something unexpected; stagnancy. I was stagnant. Like I was just floating by in a mass of something alive but hardly moving. Like life had just let me down right then and there. Like it had just stopped mid-way without warning or a sign of it picking up velocity again.

And then I felt constricted. I started to feel that I am not meant for this situation and that life has a bigger purpose for me. The people around me do not share the same dreams that I do, and not even their own have the same grandiosity as mine have. They don't have the same thirst for life that I suffer, or a hunger for the things that they want in life. They are content, simply happy with what they have.

Maybe this is the reason why I am excited to move out of my current living space. I am already dreaming of how it will look and how it could best appeal to me. The colours, the shapes, the general feel of it. How it would give me comfort at the end of a long day. How it would allow me to delve into my thoughts as soon as I step into it. How I could travel to another space or time just by sitting there and dreaming.

How I could escape from my confines.

Perhaps I have set these boundaries myself and have chosen to ignore the fact that I could easily break through it any time I want to. Perhaps these boundaries are easy to overcome but I am holding myself back from them. Perhaps I am just dreaming these boundaries altogether.

But there is one thing I know for sure. My dreams aren't for play. I am going to make them reality. I am going to move into my dream city and my dream apartment and my life. I am going to have my dream job and my dream friends and my dream partner.

And maybe finally I can be happy.

I just don't know if it will take eternity.

Cheers.