The last few days have had me in awful pain, with little sleep. something's making my chest and side hurt horribly, like a sharp, throbbing pain. It's there constantly when I lie down, along with an ache-though that thankfully is eased by pain killers-the actual pain, is not. Which means I can easily fall asleep on my side, but if I roll over in the night it wakes me up. It takes my breath away at times and the first time it happened I thought I was having a heart attack or something. I'm way too fucking young for that. Then it stopped and boy was I releived. If I let it happen, just lay back and try to relax, it's rhythm is like a heartbeat; ba-doom ba-doom ba-doom. Most unsettling.
The good news is that the hospital today could find nothing obviously wrong with my heart, but couldn't say there definitely was nothing wrong. The bad news is that they don't know what is wrong, and I am therefore still in pain.
There isn't anything else to really say, except, ouch, it hurts.
God, chest pain, another thing my father and I have in common. I think I could live without that one.
And Mayo's new blog made me think of the letter I wrote for my father...it's all about the memories. It really is.
Friday, 28 August 2009
Tuesday, 18 August 2009
Important things need saying sometimes
Yesterday was my dad's birthday. Almost missed it altogether but managed to see him by the late afternoon.
He's so hard to buy for, always says he doesn't want anything, and there's nothing he really has an interest in that I could buy. He loves Pink Floyd, but just as I do, he owns everything they've done already. He's a complete computer nut, but unless I was going to buy him a brand new one there isn't anything he needs for it. He only just finished building his latest one, so it's not like I could get him any extra bits and bobs. He has them already. Sock/aftershave have been done to death. So I got him a new shirt and a Family Guy t-shirt. He loves Stewie, he's such a fucking kid sometimes.
It didn't feel good enough though, and he hasn't been well recently, he's having an operation soon and I've got an overwhelming worry he won't come back from it. I know it's silly, it's not like he's 80 or anything. Fuck, he's not even 60 yet, but he's scared, for all the brave face he's putting on.
So I wrote him a letter, and I as soon as I started to think about what to put in it I started to cry. It felt like saying goodbye or something. So fucking strange.
Letter to my dad:
Dad,
Whenever I get cross with the kids you remind me it's the memories that count. It helps me reign myself in a bit, makes me think about whether what I'm telling them off for Is really that important. You were big on talking when I was little. Communication, always. When I was old enough to understand right from wrong, reasoning, you would explain to me what I'd done, why it wasn't acceptable. I think it worked for the most part, and more and more often I find myself trying to impart your words on my own children, because they are wise words from the heart.
It is all about the memories, and you've given me some amazing ones. I remember making paper animals while mum went shopping, running around in the park, going to work with you and being pushed around on the pallet trolley, or wandering into the darkroom to see what you were developing-though that mostly got me in trouble for ruining your negatives. I remember bike rides so long my legs ached, but then you'd buy us some chips and we'd rest before heading home. I remember the advice you've given me. I use it, even if you don't know it. I remember all of it, good and bad, but mostly good. My favourite one in an odd way, is when you told me for five days straight not to fall asleep with my TV or stereo on, but I kept doing it, so you cut the plug off of every appliance in my room and didn't rewire them for three days. It sure taught me a lesson.
You're paranoid about fire, and I understand why. Your story left a mark on me, too, and I've always been sure to have good smoke alarms and fire extinguishers, just like you do. You made me understand that one of the most important things to do for your children is to improve on what your parents did for you. I've got a hell of a lot of work to do on that. Way to set the bar high, dad, thanks.
I know you think you'll be forgotten easily one day, you say it often enough, but the truth is that you never will be.
It always hurt when we'd disagree, and you'd say you didn't care if I didn't love you as long as I respected you. It hurt. It made me think you doubted me. But I get it now, I get that you were protecting yourself and I get why. But there was never any need, I've always been a daddy's girl, I thought you knew that.
You are the kindest, funniest, most caring and stubborn person I know. You'd give me your last pennies even if it meant you'd have no food-I know it's been close to that once or twice. You've always been there for me, always helped me the best way you could, even when it meant NOT helping, because sometimes helping isn't really helping, it's just enabling. You'll never know how grateful I am for that.
All those thing are the things I love best about you, but what makes them even more special is that a lot of them, I share with you. We're so alike sometimes it's scary, but I love it. You kickstarted my interest in comedy, films, music, so many things. Remember when I was trying to draw one day-can't think how old I was, maybe nine-and you said to look at something around me. Focus on it. I drew a door handle. You said it was crap. Said it looked like what I thought a door handle looked like, not what the one I was looking at looked like. I drew better from then on, really concentrated. You know it's still one of my favourite things to do.
And when you got me that guitar from the no good boyfriend you tolerated even though you hated, the first thing I learned to play was Pink Floyd-Wish You Were Here, bacause it was always the song that reminded me of you. It's my favourite of theirs even to this day, always will be.
I don't always say it, and neither do you, because we're both odd and awkward like that, but I love you, dad, always will.
X
P.S. Happy Birthday.
He's so hard to buy for, always says he doesn't want anything, and there's nothing he really has an interest in that I could buy. He loves Pink Floyd, but just as I do, he owns everything they've done already. He's a complete computer nut, but unless I was going to buy him a brand new one there isn't anything he needs for it. He only just finished building his latest one, so it's not like I could get him any extra bits and bobs. He has them already. Sock/aftershave have been done to death. So I got him a new shirt and a Family Guy t-shirt. He loves Stewie, he's such a fucking kid sometimes.
It didn't feel good enough though, and he hasn't been well recently, he's having an operation soon and I've got an overwhelming worry he won't come back from it. I know it's silly, it's not like he's 80 or anything. Fuck, he's not even 60 yet, but he's scared, for all the brave face he's putting on.
So I wrote him a letter, and I as soon as I started to think about what to put in it I started to cry. It felt like saying goodbye or something. So fucking strange.
Letter to my dad:
Dad,
Whenever I get cross with the kids you remind me it's the memories that count. It helps me reign myself in a bit, makes me think about whether what I'm telling them off for Is really that important. You were big on talking when I was little. Communication, always. When I was old enough to understand right from wrong, reasoning, you would explain to me what I'd done, why it wasn't acceptable. I think it worked for the most part, and more and more often I find myself trying to impart your words on my own children, because they are wise words from the heart.
It is all about the memories, and you've given me some amazing ones. I remember making paper animals while mum went shopping, running around in the park, going to work with you and being pushed around on the pallet trolley, or wandering into the darkroom to see what you were developing-though that mostly got me in trouble for ruining your negatives. I remember bike rides so long my legs ached, but then you'd buy us some chips and we'd rest before heading home. I remember the advice you've given me. I use it, even if you don't know it. I remember all of it, good and bad, but mostly good. My favourite one in an odd way, is when you told me for five days straight not to fall asleep with my TV or stereo on, but I kept doing it, so you cut the plug off of every appliance in my room and didn't rewire them for three days. It sure taught me a lesson.
You're paranoid about fire, and I understand why. Your story left a mark on me, too, and I've always been sure to have good smoke alarms and fire extinguishers, just like you do. You made me understand that one of the most important things to do for your children is to improve on what your parents did for you. I've got a hell of a lot of work to do on that. Way to set the bar high, dad, thanks.
I know you think you'll be forgotten easily one day, you say it often enough, but the truth is that you never will be.
It always hurt when we'd disagree, and you'd say you didn't care if I didn't love you as long as I respected you. It hurt. It made me think you doubted me. But I get it now, I get that you were protecting yourself and I get why. But there was never any need, I've always been a daddy's girl, I thought you knew that.
You are the kindest, funniest, most caring and stubborn person I know. You'd give me your last pennies even if it meant you'd have no food-I know it's been close to that once or twice. You've always been there for me, always helped me the best way you could, even when it meant NOT helping, because sometimes helping isn't really helping, it's just enabling. You'll never know how grateful I am for that.
All those thing are the things I love best about you, but what makes them even more special is that a lot of them, I share with you. We're so alike sometimes it's scary, but I love it. You kickstarted my interest in comedy, films, music, so many things. Remember when I was trying to draw one day-can't think how old I was, maybe nine-and you said to look at something around me. Focus on it. I drew a door handle. You said it was crap. Said it looked like what I thought a door handle looked like, not what the one I was looking at looked like. I drew better from then on, really concentrated. You know it's still one of my favourite things to do.
And when you got me that guitar from the no good boyfriend you tolerated even though you hated, the first thing I learned to play was Pink Floyd-Wish You Were Here, bacause it was always the song that reminded me of you. It's my favourite of theirs even to this day, always will be.
I don't always say it, and neither do you, because we're both odd and awkward like that, but I love you, dad, always will.
X
P.S. Happy Birthday.
Sunday, 16 August 2009
I went to the wedding yesterday, only the ceremony though. It was beautiful, my friends Sarah and Micheal looked blissfully happy. It was so nice to see. Didn't go to the reception as there were a couple of people going that I really didn't want to see, but I managed a few minutes to talk to Sarah alone and when they come back from their honeymoon we're going to go out and catch up on a few things. Overall it was a pretty nice day.
Today has been quite nice too. Lazy and slow, enjoying just doing nothing for a day. People posting lyrics in other languages at Mayo's has been really nice-the words they chose were beautiful and sad but made me smile, I hope they make everyone else who reads them smile too.
Today has been quite nice too. Lazy and slow, enjoying just doing nothing for a day. People posting lyrics in other languages at Mayo's has been really nice-the words they chose were beautiful and sad but made me smile, I hope they make everyone else who reads them smile too.
Saturday, 15 August 2009
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Supposed to be going to a wedding this weekend. Yay. Lots of people getting drunk. Yay. There needs to be a special type of text to convey sarcasm. Honestly I don't really want to go, but I don't want to let my friend down, I've known about it for almost a year. But I liked a party back then... I don't think she'll be too bothered if I miss most of the reception, hopefully, but it still feels like letting her down. Like I should just get on with it, get over it or something. But she's gonna have so many people there anyway, I'm sure she'll understand, it's not like she doesn't know.
Today wasn't easy.
Almost had a bust-up with my parents, but I've learned to walk away, no point getting pissed off and wound up, not for me. They just don't take things seriously sometimes and I don't get why. There's a guy who runs their local off-license/newsagent, and I'm sure he's some kind of would-be paedo. He was very creepy with me when I was younger but because he was creepy I stopped going there altogether, and so nothing absolutely concrete ever happened that anyone who could do anything would take seriously. My parents know I hate the guy, and the one thing I always asked of them was to never take a child of mine in there. Not that I think they'd stand there and let anything happen, but I don't want the guy even getting the satisfaction of even looking at my kids, but today they took my daughter in there to buys sweets, and the guy gave her a lollypop. I'm so mad about it, and they just played it off as me being silly, just like they did when I told them about him when I was younger.
It's occurred to me recently that there are a lot of things I glossed over or chose to forget from my childhood.
My brother is such an ass sometimes. I don't understand how we're related sometimes, but my parents were harder on me than him. And I kind of get it now, having noticed myself doing the same things. You're so protective over first borns, but by the time you loosen up about things it's a bit late to go back and be as strict with a second child, so they seem to get an easier ride, and turn out differently as a result. My brother takes advantage of their generosity/I feel bad asking them to babysit once in a blue moon, my brother is often greedy and thoughtless/I'm not, my brother thinks it's okay to have no ambition, to not want something better, will probably still be living at home when he's thirty/I got a summer job when I was sixteen and never looked back, moved out when I was seventeen.
He has things easier than me, and yes, I am envious of that sometimes, but what pisses me off is that he takes it for granted. I'm not sure what I'm going to get my dad for his birthday next week, but chances are my brother hasn't even remembered it yet.
Told my doctor I wanted to try giving up smoking...he suggested I only give up one vice at a time. He's a smart cookie.
Today wasn't easy.
Almost had a bust-up with my parents, but I've learned to walk away, no point getting pissed off and wound up, not for me. They just don't take things seriously sometimes and I don't get why. There's a guy who runs their local off-license/newsagent, and I'm sure he's some kind of would-be paedo. He was very creepy with me when I was younger but because he was creepy I stopped going there altogether, and so nothing absolutely concrete ever happened that anyone who could do anything would take seriously. My parents know I hate the guy, and the one thing I always asked of them was to never take a child of mine in there. Not that I think they'd stand there and let anything happen, but I don't want the guy even getting the satisfaction of even looking at my kids, but today they took my daughter in there to buys sweets, and the guy gave her a lollypop. I'm so mad about it, and they just played it off as me being silly, just like they did when I told them about him when I was younger.
It's occurred to me recently that there are a lot of things I glossed over or chose to forget from my childhood.
My brother is such an ass sometimes. I don't understand how we're related sometimes, but my parents were harder on me than him. And I kind of get it now, having noticed myself doing the same things. You're so protective over first borns, but by the time you loosen up about things it's a bit late to go back and be as strict with a second child, so they seem to get an easier ride, and turn out differently as a result. My brother takes advantage of their generosity/I feel bad asking them to babysit once in a blue moon, my brother is often greedy and thoughtless/I'm not, my brother thinks it's okay to have no ambition, to not want something better, will probably still be living at home when he's thirty/I got a summer job when I was sixteen and never looked back, moved out when I was seventeen.
He has things easier than me, and yes, I am envious of that sometimes, but what pisses me off is that he takes it for granted. I'm not sure what I'm going to get my dad for his birthday next week, but chances are my brother hasn't even remembered it yet.
Told my doctor I wanted to try giving up smoking...he suggested I only give up one vice at a time. He's a smart cookie.
Saturday, 8 August 2009
Am I looking in a mirror?
I'm feeling reflective.
I'm not in the habit of deleting things so my last post shall stay. Like good tattoos, it's where I was last night and is valid in its own way.
Going to an NA meet today, I think I need it.
I'm not in the habit of deleting things so my last post shall stay. Like good tattoos, it's where I was last night and is valid in its own way.
Going to an NA meet today, I think I need it.
Friday, 7 August 2009
fuck this shit
Seriously, fuck it. I don't need the acceptance and I sure as hell don't want it anymore. I've been nothing but honest and that's what I get? Because I left the blog and missed a question? Bullshit.
Anyone who reads this, I DON'T have a tracker and won't know anyway, next time I feel like coming to this place I'm locking it up. Nobody needs to read it anyway. I've been reading Mayo's blog all this time un-announced, I can keep doing it without reading the comments or trying to participate.
To the people who made an effort to communicate with me and say encouraging things so far: Thank you again.
Anyone who reads this, I DON'T have a tracker and won't know anyway, next time I feel like coming to this place I'm locking it up. Nobody needs to read it anyway. I've been reading Mayo's blog all this time un-announced, I can keep doing it without reading the comments or trying to participate.
To the people who made an effort to communicate with me and say encouraging things so far: Thank you again.
For Anon 6:46...(and anyone else who can appreciate)
Anonymous said..
i do like wordsworth
how does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold. "
good day to you wishyouwerehere. thanks for quoting with me today. :)
August 7, 2009 6:46 AM
...............................................
Thank you, Anon. I needed our short exchange this morning. It very much cheered me up. So for you, though you probably won't see it and I won't know if you do anyway, my favorite Wordsworth:
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host, of golden daffodils
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.
I love it. I don't know why, I just have since I was maybe thirteen, or thereabouts. So I might do this once in a while, post something that inspires me or puts a smile on my face. Something positive. Thanks again, Anon.
i do like wordsworth
how does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold. "
good day to you wishyouwerehere. thanks for quoting with me today. :)
August 7, 2009 6:46 AM
...............................................
Thank you, Anon. I needed our short exchange this morning. It very much cheered me up. So for you, though you probably won't see it and I won't know if you do anyway, my favorite Wordsworth:
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host, of golden daffodils
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.
I love it. I don't know why, I just have since I was maybe thirteen, or thereabouts. So I might do this once in a while, post something that inspires me or puts a smile on my face. Something positive. Thanks again, Anon.
Thursday, 6 August 2009
Doing better. Possibly.
Last week I made a mistake, a big one. It's been a while, kind of, not really... two months. It's not long though, is it? Two months out of a lifetime. After almost two years of one huge mistake, two months is nothing, feels like nothing. Felt like nothing last week.
Had to spend the evening doing something I hate, because I'm shy, horrendously so. It's what prompted my fall in the first place.
"You okay?"
"Nervous... hate these things. Too many people, y'know?"
"Don't worry, you'll be fine."
"No, no I think I'm gonna throw up, actually. Had a JD. Can still feel it though, the nerves."
"I got something that'll help, if you want it."
I see it then, what I've been running from. Handed to me. Squished into my palm.
"Go on, you'll feel better, you know you will. Remember?"
I remember, I do, but I don't hand it back. Someone taps my shoulder, tries to take my hand and lead me to talk with people I don't know. I excuse myself and run to the bathroom. I sit staring at it, knowing I should just chuck it, flush it. But it's there and so am I and I feel like I need it. I want it.
Two months had beeen hard. So hard, and I'd hoped it would go away, the hunger, the sweaty anticipation of 'what if?' Someone calls me through the door and I know. I know I've been in there so long it'll look strange to anyone who noticed. So I just do it, just make that decision, take it, hope it's good.
It is good. It does help. It makes things better, flow better, seem easier, and I spend the night chatting freely, doing my thing and not giving a shit that normally I'd be a lot more inhibited. Maybe it was too soon.
But isn't addiction for life?
Isn't that what they say?
That it's a struggle everyday?
That it'll creep up on you when you least expect it?
So how long do you wait before you introduce yourself back into the world?
I just want to be strong. I don't even want to do anything anymore. I don't care. If I'm safe, my family happy, healthy, what does it matter if I make myself a hermit in order to stay away from what I know I should? I just wish that was the point. But I know that if I hide away from it the next time will be so much worse. I'll fall harder. I woke the nest day feeling shitty. Tired and kinda flu-like. Drained and with a longing I haven't felt since not long after the first time. After I'd gotten into it deep. Took some sleeping pills and dreamt the day away. Then the next. It's a good thing I was out of town or people would've known. Would've wanted to send me back to that place with its pseudo-religon and dumb rules. The only reason I got clean was because I couldn't get anything there.
I miss it though, like an old friend. And it came knocking today. I told it where to go, there are people here, I'm not alone and I wouldn't get away with it. Half of me wants to see if I could.
So I'm starting over. I've got six days on it. Maybe next week I'll be able to celebrate 14. Two weeks. Two weeks seems so far away right now.
Had to spend the evening doing something I hate, because I'm shy, horrendously so. It's what prompted my fall in the first place.
"You okay?"
"Nervous... hate these things. Too many people, y'know?"
"Don't worry, you'll be fine."
"No, no I think I'm gonna throw up, actually. Had a JD. Can still feel it though, the nerves."
"I got something that'll help, if you want it."
I see it then, what I've been running from. Handed to me. Squished into my palm.
"Go on, you'll feel better, you know you will. Remember?"
I remember, I do, but I don't hand it back. Someone taps my shoulder, tries to take my hand and lead me to talk with people I don't know. I excuse myself and run to the bathroom. I sit staring at it, knowing I should just chuck it, flush it. But it's there and so am I and I feel like I need it. I want it.
Two months had beeen hard. So hard, and I'd hoped it would go away, the hunger, the sweaty anticipation of 'what if?' Someone calls me through the door and I know. I know I've been in there so long it'll look strange to anyone who noticed. So I just do it, just make that decision, take it, hope it's good.
It is good. It does help. It makes things better, flow better, seem easier, and I spend the night chatting freely, doing my thing and not giving a shit that normally I'd be a lot more inhibited. Maybe it was too soon.
But isn't addiction for life?
Isn't that what they say?
That it's a struggle everyday?
That it'll creep up on you when you least expect it?
So how long do you wait before you introduce yourself back into the world?
I just want to be strong. I don't even want to do anything anymore. I don't care. If I'm safe, my family happy, healthy, what does it matter if I make myself a hermit in order to stay away from what I know I should? I just wish that was the point. But I know that if I hide away from it the next time will be so much worse. I'll fall harder. I woke the nest day feeling shitty. Tired and kinda flu-like. Drained and with a longing I haven't felt since not long after the first time. After I'd gotten into it deep. Took some sleeping pills and dreamt the day away. Then the next. It's a good thing I was out of town or people would've known. Would've wanted to send me back to that place with its pseudo-religon and dumb rules. The only reason I got clean was because I couldn't get anything there.
I miss it though, like an old friend. And it came knocking today. I told it where to go, there are people here, I'm not alone and I wouldn't get away with it. Half of me wants to see if I could.
So I'm starting over. I've got six days on it. Maybe next week I'll be able to celebrate 14. Two weeks. Two weeks seems so far away right now.
When the tigers broke free
I figure, if I'm going to write here, I should say why I'm here.
I wanted somewhere more private, where I can post about how I'm feeling, what's wrong, what's good, without... I don't even know. You see, I hail from livejournal. Everyone is in everyone's business there, and sometimes it's nice, but there's no place I've found with real community. And I've been part of a few, because I'm fickle. I hate that I am, but tying myself to a journal and friends based on what band, films etc, that I like, is something I don't want to do anymore, because as soon as I'm into something new, I grow out of that journal, those people. Or they grow out of me. And I'm tired of it.
So this blog is me. It's not all about what I like and it's not all about who I like. Just me. Which will probably make it boring as fuck but I don't give a shit; at least then it will not bore me six months from now.
I wanted somewhere more private, where I can post about how I'm feeling, what's wrong, what's good, without... I don't even know. You see, I hail from livejournal. Everyone is in everyone's business there, and sometimes it's nice, but there's no place I've found with real community. And I've been part of a few, because I'm fickle. I hate that I am, but tying myself to a journal and friends based on what band, films etc, that I like, is something I don't want to do anymore, because as soon as I'm into something new, I grow out of that journal, those people. Or they grow out of me. And I'm tired of it.
So this blog is me. It's not all about what I like and it's not all about who I like. Just me. Which will probably make it boring as fuck but I don't give a shit; at least then it will not bore me six months from now.
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