head ventilation

dark

August 12th, 2008

This isn’t going to make even the slightest bit of sense.

Been feeling like I’m massively in the dark of late, so it was some shock to wake up into pitch black. I’ve guessed I’m alone, as no one responds when I call out. I’ve established that I’m in a smallish room, although how big it actually is, is a mystery. The floor underneath me is solid and although I can’t see them, I know there are walls there. I don’t think I really want to see them. I know they don’t smell too good, and they feel a bit sticky; I won’t be repeating the mistake of touching them again. I’ve no idea where the door is, if there even is a door! I hear nothing from outside, so perhaps there are no windows either. Instead of whimpering to myself or battered myself around the head with the book in my hand, the one and only object I can truly identify, I’ve opened it and started reading. I had to rip out the blank pages, and remove the dust-cover and hardcovers to use as fuel for the small torch I’ve managed to form. Tis always best to have a lighter with you, never know when someone will ask you for a light and thus strike up a conversation, for one. And the Ray Mears method of fire-lighting would have been next to useless here, no sticks!

I’ve sat myself down on my towel, another of life’s little essentials to have to hand at all times, and started to peer at the words in this dim light, without setting myself alight. My eyes are soon tired from the straining but I’m going to struggle on. It’s the only thing to distract me from this milieu I’ve somehow gotten myself into. I’m slightly hallucinating now, the unknown object on the other side of the room, that I haven’t gone near and am trying my best to ignore, is warping and appearing to move a little closer to me. To counteract the fear I’m doing my best to be my usual rational self and mostly not think about it. Just carry on with the book.

It’s a good book too. I feel I’m actually learning something, all the words are making sense and it seems to be taking up residence in my head, for a change. Shame it had to be happening here. Would so like to return to the comfortable surroundings of home, have a nice cup of tea and perhaps even a biscuit. No small luxuries available to me here though. The stink from the walls is making me queasy, I hope it’s coming the walls anyway. How’d I get here? Where am I? Is it just me, or are there others in a similar position? Too many questions. The book is calling back to me, “Don’t think about that, read me!”

Then a light flickers about five feet away from me. It’s not a natural light, and it’s very small. It appears to from a mobile phone. No, don’t go out, I need to see where you are…….. I crawl across the floor in the general direction of where the light came from, sweeping the floor with my hands. The floor, it turns out, is covered in a mud-like substance. This isn’t nice. I squelch through the ooze before my left hand brushes against something hard. I slowly move my hand back and feel a small lump of plastic. It is a phone. It’s got power. And has a signal!

Then I can hear the rustling of clothes as someone adjusts their weight from foot to foot and gives out a slight grunt from behind me.
ignore

August 11th, 2008

This is a random and vague collection of whine, of very poor vintage.

Too much to be angry about.

Too much to be upset about.

And none of it actually matters.

How to rectify diminishing self-worth?

I need to pull myself together and stop being so fucking pathetic. I’m truly pissing myself off. Maybe it’s just hormones and I’m not really feeling this alone and broken.

Something has to change.

Me.

Where can I buy a hug and thus not feel guilty about wanting/needing it?

Please ignore all this.

I’m going to slap myself silly now.
communication

August 11th, 2008

Why is a little bit of it too much to ask for?

There seems to be an all too common thread running around me at present. I’m hearing half-accounts from other sources instead of from the person concerned. Currently there’s a Social Worker in my home trying to establish what some outsider could do in terms of care for my mother. The fact that I don’t want this stranger in the house counts for nothing. I’d quite like to frog march her out right now. But I was ambushed. I’ve sobbed like an idiot in front of a stranger.

We’ve got to collectively talk now. But that’s going to prove difficult considering my father doesn’t like to talk to me and instead hold it all in. And having any sort of a discussion with my mother is near impossible due to her severe dysphasia. How anyone expects an untrusted unknown to manage is something I find quite laughable.

I now have two weeks to swallow my pride and do something to change my life, for the better. How much of the guilt can I bury?
loner

August 7th, 2008

How reassuring to know ones self-assessment is correct.

Spiteful Loner

You are 71% Rational, 0% Extroverted, 71% Brutal, and 29% Arrogant.

You are the Spiteful Loner, the personality type that is most likely to go on a shooting rampage. In high school, you were probably that kid who wore all black and who sat alone in a corner of the lunch room, drawing pictures of dead babies. You are a rational person and tend to hold emotions in very low-esteem; not only that, but you are also rather introverted, meaning you probably bury any emotions you feel deep inside yourself, like all of the bodies in your backyard. Combine these traits with your dislike of others and your brutality, and it seems that you would be quite likely to shoot innocent people in a rampage. Most likely, you also have low self-esteem. Hell, I get low self-esteem just looking at you. This is only yet one more incentive to go on a shooting rampage, because you wouldn’t care if you died as a result. Granted, you probably haven’t gone on a shooting rampage and probably never will, but all the motivations are there. All you need is for someone to push you over the edge, calling you names and belittling you. Like me. But don’t shoot me. I have a 101 mile-long knife, you know. In conclusion, your personality is defective because you are too introverted, brutal, insecure, and rather unemotional. No wonder no one hangs around you, you morbid, cold-hearted freak!

To put it less negatively:

1. You are more RATIONAL than intuitive.

2. You are more INTROVERTED than extroverted.

3. You are more BRUTAL than gentle.

4. You are more HUMBLE than arrogant.

Source: http://www.okcupid.com/tests/the-personality-defect-test
waiting

August 7th, 2008

I’m waiting for the talking to start.

It’s quite frustrating that so few of the people I know are willing to do talking. There’s a good need for these people to talk as well. It most definitely doesn’t have to be with me, but I can see enough to know that having it all swirl around their head isn’t doing them any favours.

Take my dad, for instance. He’s the kind of man who would never say “suck it up”, but that is his entire way of existence. I know he’s shit scared of what is to come, it’s possibly the biggest event in his life. Facing death tends to be the biggest thing in any life. But instead of opening up and talking, he’ll mope, he’ll get very depressed and push people away a little bit more. I am really proud that he’s managing to stay off the suicide-sticks though, for which I should take my pride out of the issue and just say it.

I don’t want to prod these people to the edge into talking. Some, I know, really aren’t ready to talk. And that’s fine, I get it. Just need them to know that I’m here for when they do need to offload, about absolutely anything.

Then there’s the some who really need to talk, because it’s causing more problems by not talking than any discussion could possibly do. It’s with them I need to be diplomatic, and I’m not very good at that. There’s a very good reason why I’ll stay very quiet during specific conversations. It’s partly because my hearing is fucked and I wouldn’t want to mishear but it’s mostly because I’m biting my tongue. I know there’s one conversation that I’ve got to have with someone where I’ll be doing just that to such an extent that my mouth won’t have a tongue any more, just a big, flaccid, bloody mess.
mutter

August 6th, 2008

Perhaps I should try to avoid all of humanity. Perhaps I should go the whole hog and become a hermit. Real running away and hiding! I should give in and commit to the ultimate anti-social lifestyle. Anything else seems pointless when I can do so much damage byletting my brain be exposed.

Tis probably better to be thought of as mad and avoided by all.

Will now walk away muttering to self.

*mutter…mutter………mutter…….mmmmmmutter*
hiding

August 6th, 2008

I need to do more of it, it would seem.

Although I’ve done remarkably well at it so far, just not good enough for my liking. It’s far easier to hide away from things when you don’t admit them to yourself. It’s about believing the lie. Once you’ve got that sussed, pretending you don’t see or hear certain things is easy.

I’ve had to hide away something which has been a big chunk of my life for a long time. That’s fine when there’s nothing being teased directly in front you. There only so much graphic talk of masturbation I can tolerate, which was all meant in a girly, chatty way but c’mon dude! I know that the drunken snogs were all meaningless, but being ground up against and being kissed in darkened places doesn’t exactly put out the fire. It sets off alarms mostly. This ain’t usual.

If they don’t know the effect they have on me, then big ouchy to me, but fair enough; it’s just my little problem. If they do/did comprehend what that sort of behaviour does to someone then I really don’t want to know. I’ve gone on the basis of the former for the majority of the time. Maybe that’s me convincing myself of a lie that isn’t there.

Then there was Saturday. I didn’t actually see everything. My viewpoint was different, but I came to the same conclusion about everything all the same.

There are many more things I should have said that night as opposed to the one thing I did say. I should have said “No, you best sleep on the floor.” But that would’ve been for purely selfish reasons that had nothing to do with getting a good nights sleep. I should have said something about the porn. I should have loudly objected to it, or said that I really didn’t want that on. I didn’t and instead closed my eyes to it all, quite literally.

Then later, I saw an arm draped over a waist and decided that there was no way I was going to get back into that bed, no matter how much some people objected to my new rather comfy resting place.

And now I know it’s all gone bad. At least one other knows this too. And the other one is either sticking their head in the sand and hoping it’s all going to go away at some point or is totally clueless.

I wouldn’t know which one to pick right now.

Shot myself in one foot, will quite probably do the other one in and then I will blow my brains out.
names

August 5th, 2008

That’s not my name.

Years ago, when I was altogether smaller, the school friends decided I needed a nickname, because calling me by my real name was too much effort, or something.

They played around with the letters and came up with something not very original. They weren’t the best with original nicknames anyway, as is often the way with kids.

Eventually they fell upon something which appealed to them. And that was that. I have since become that name to almost everyone. And I hate it. I hate being called by people I don’t know and new friends by it. I hate being introduced as it. The idiot that I am I used it within email addresses and usernames, as I am also crap with coming up with something original.

That fact that no one knows how to spell or pronounce my real name whenever I tell someone doesn’t really bother me, although I tell people it does. I don’t know, nor understand, why I bullshit with that. On telling someone new my real name it turns into a conversation piece and if they are old enough, ends up with them recounting the now very old and very tired half remembered fruit squash commercial jingle.

I’ve learnt to love my real name, although it’s taken a while and that has as much to do with my own self-loathing and sense of identity as anything else. It’s fairly unique and actually beautiful. It’s only three syllables long and a far more easy to roll off the tongue than the gained nickname.

Can’t change what’s gone before however, so here’s a new policy for me. No new intro’s with the nickname.
friends

August 4th, 2008

I need some new friends.

Friends that aren’t friends of friends to start with and that I just feel like a third useless wheel with for the majority of the time. Friends that I have some common interests with, the music, the books, the comics, the tv, the weird shit. Friends that I’m not afraid of the consequences of speaking my mind to. Friends I’m not scared of upsetting. Friends that can be honest with me. Friends that get my sense of humour. Friends that don’t want to constantly play with my hair. Friends that I haven’t known since before puberty. Friends that are a bit more male. Friends that know when to leave me well alone. Friends that don’t whine at me when I’m refusing to do something they think is a great idea. Friends that don’t want to fix me up with someone on basis that they’re happy in a couple and so should everyone else be loved up and in coupledom. Friends that don’t consistently badger me into doing things that my better judgement says I shouldn’t do. Friends that I don’t fancy. Anyone want to apply?
talents

July 29th, 2008

I don’t have any true special talents, not visible, show-offy ones. Not ones anyone would really want to claim.

I’m really fucking good at saying the wrong thing at the wrong moment.

I’m amazing at putting my foot in it right up to my knee.

I’m famous for speaking my brains and almost instantly regretting it.

Sometimes I shouldn’t even be opening my mouth, but carry on doing so without any real thought.

And when I’m drunk…….

Spiteful Loner