Antony

Okay, so does anyone remember a previous post where I said I recieved an email from my favourite Artist called Antony Micallef and he said he'd send me a copy of his book?

Well not only did I get the book today but it's HIS copy! It's been in his studio so it has paint on it (Which makes it so much more special) and inside is a little postcard that says "Dear Rhiannon, So sorry this is so late. This is my studio book so it's a little damaged and has my paint over it (but I thought that would be a little more special) I hope you're still painting. Take care and look after yourself Antony x PS Send pics of new stuff when you have more work."

XDXDXDXDXD

I'm so happy.

xx

Crazy

So...

I guess it's been a few days since my last post. This is because I didn't have access to my computer because me and my sister switched rooms. I've always wanted the little room at the back of the house looking out on the back garden and the cemetary beyond. Yeah, I'm morbid and I like cemetaries, get over it.
Giz needed more room for her uni work so it was a fair trade. She's making a load of racket at the moment cos she's getting all the wall paper off so she can paint her room. Normally I'd be pissed, but I can understand why she wants to redecorate so much. The walls of that room were my outlet for a very bad time in my life and living in a room with that writing on the walls would depress anyone.


I'm going to repaint this room too because my sister is alot more feminine than me and the walls are bright pink at the moment. I hate pink. It's a nice enough colour for flowers and such, but not for walls or clothes.]


I have to go to work soon so I've gotta make this quick and as you may well know, I have a bad habit of rambling. I went to portsmouth with my grandad this morning and saw the sea. I love the sea. If I could live anywhere I'd live by the sea.

No one owns the sea.

I've managed to convince everyone that I'm doing fine, feeling good etc etc etc.

I told mother my theory about actually being a man and all that...it's currently driving me insane and what's her reaction? She laughs it off as just another one of my quirks.

She never takes me seriously and then she freaks out when I try to kill myself and says oh I never expected her to do that.

I'm not exactly fucking subtle. And no. I'm not not subtle because I want attention. I'm just not subtle because I don't particularly care if people know or not.

She's all pissy cos I'm quitting my job. She won't accept that I can't deal with having a job on top of college. It's either college or a job, not both and I've chosen college.

End of.

I don't know why she bothers fucking moaning at me because it's not like she pays much attention to me anyway, especially now. It's all about her business. Hey, I'm happy for her, she's got a life.

She doesn't wanna face up to the fact that I might have a problem...I may have several, I don't know, I could just be fucking lazy.

But she won't put her life on hold for me and I don't expect or want her to. I've been looking after myself since as long as I can remember. There's always been something going on which meant that I had to deal with myself.

I can look after myself. So if she wants to blank out any possibility that there might be a problem with me, fine.

The less attention she pays, the more likely I am to succeed.

I have no interest in relationships, I have no interest in friends or family and I have no interest in life in general. I've lost all interest in anything. The only thing I'm particularly curious about now is what happens after death.

Guess I'll just have to wait and see huh...

I don't wanna waste anyone's time when it might just be me being stupid, but I do think there's something 'wrong' with me.

It's kind of hard to explain and I guess until I can fully explain it, no one's going to take me seriously. That's okay. It doesn't really matter if people understand me or not. I don't understand them and I don't want to understand them, so it's irrelevant if they understand me or not.

Realise

So I was watching a film earlier called 'Never Been Kissed'...it's a total chick flick but hey...who cares, it was a good film.

It got me to thinking. I said to one of my co workers the other week 'If they fuck you up in school, they fuck you up for life.'

Most people don't really change like they do in films. You know, the arseholes in school are still arseholes ten years later, they may be more or less of an arsehole, but they're still an arsehole.

It takes a total life changing experience to break you of the habits you build in the 12 odd years you spend in school.

You can almost always tell what kind of clique someone was in in 'high school'. Maybe I'm generalising... it just seems to me that all these movies about how shit high school (or equivelant) is to people but they turn their lives in a total different direction and totally shock everyone...that doesn't happen very often. That's like...the chances of getting blown up by a terrorist, which isn't a very good analogy since those chances are getting more and more probably as time goes by. Let's say instead that it's the same chance as getting hit by lightning.

And here's the true shocker people. THEY'RE JUST FILMS!!! I know, that's a tragic and terrifying thought, but those are actors, and the story line is (unless it's based on true events) made up...pulled from someone's imagination.

I hate the fact that films aren't real because if films were real, I'd have some huge wonderful life changing event like winning the lottery or some lost relative turning out to be royal or something like that.

Actually, from all the films I've watched the most likely life changing event statistically that I could go through would be having an amazingly kind and gentle lover who I'd probably fuck over halfway through and then we'd make up again and I'd turn my life around. That's how my life would go if I was in a film...unless of course I'm one of the minor characters who probably commits suicide or disappears after a five minute cameo that's just to piss the main character off or something.

If we lived in a fair or just world, every single person would get one or more chances to pull off their dream life.

Of course, you could say that being born is that chance, but then...if it was truly fair and just, you wouldn't have people who fuck it up for other's just out of pure fucking sadistic pleasure.

It's funny you know...most of the kids that bully people in school...ten, five, two years down the line, they won't even fucking remember. But the victim will. It will fucking haunt them for the rest of their lives. If people tell someone over and over that they're useless and worthless and they fuck everything up, they will start to believe it so fuckin much that it comes true. Self fulfilled prophecy and all that.

So here's for one more chance. I'm gonna try once and for all to get my dream life. I am gonna give it one more shot, just one. If it works, hey fucking presto, you'll see me in the media soon.

If it doesn't...well I doubt one more suicide would make the media. And you know what, no...I'm not going to kill myself just because I'm just another fucking failure who quits at everything.

I could write a fucking novel on all the reasons to commit suicide...but it's one of those last straw moments.

Right now, the only reason that I am still breathing is the possibility that I might be able to turn this shit around and actually get somewhere with my life. MIGHT being the operative word.

This is the last thing. If this fails too...then that's it.

You believe in destiny?

Well I have a feeling my destiny is to kill myself. Why? I don't fucking no but so far it's the only fucking thing that feels remotely right and remotely real.

So there you go. A career is my last shot. If that fails too, I'm out of this shit hole once and for all. Third time lucky as they say, I'm testing that theory out.

I know that my fucking rambling probably sounds like total and complete shite to anyone reading it but hey, life's a fucking peach, right?

Prove me wrong.

Thin Dream

I had another thin dream last night...instead of my collar bones though, it was my hips. Like the bones proper stuck out it was amazing.

My skin doesn't feel real. It's too...I don't know, but it's not mine.


And...I'm really fucking trying, y'know?

The non sensical with perfect timing, little lines that rhyme.

Let down

Dear Eddie,

I'm sorry I let you down and threw all your hard work back in your face. In my defence I was very moody.

I promise that if you stay I'll try extra hard to listen to you and do as you say. You tell me the truth about myself and I appreciate that.

So come back and help me do this, help me through this.

Maggs
xXx

chicken

ok, so I totally chickened out of going out to do my photography work and ran up and down my stairs ten times instead...

my mums gonna be pissed at me cos i haven't put the clean clothes away or cleaned my rats out...but she, and all of that, isn't real...so it doesn't really matter, does it?

All that matters...is waking up.

blah

This is ridiculous...

Even though I've told myself that it doesn't particularly matter if this body gets fat cos it's not mine, I'm still fucking trapped with Eddie (EDNOS - Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified).
Counting calories...trembling any time the smallest piece of food enters my mouth.

That's another reason I absolutely have to stay at college...college has a gym.

Thinking back, it's not all that surprising really. For as long as I can remember being in this world, I've had issues with food. Now it just decays in my mouth.

Anyways, I gotta go out. Have to take some photo's for my photography course.

figured it out

All of it. I've finally figured all this shit out.

My constant feeling that I'm being watched, my constant feeling that I'm not real, that none of this is real, that I should really be a guy...I figured it out.

I AM a guy...and I AM being watched...and I'm NOT HERE. None of this is real.

I had a dream ages ago, and I think that is was the real world seeping through. Those arseholes that wanna rule the world that I said about a couple of posts ago...They've got me! They have me locked up. Strapped to a table in a hospital where they're subjecting me to all these experiments to find a way to control everyone.

Like...I'm down the rabbit hole, like Alice was...and now I need to WAKE UP.

Come on Alice, wake the fuck up!!!

None of this is real, it's just a simulation, kind of like the ones they have in Star Treck.

My best friend Hope, she reckons I should tell my councillor. But if I tell them...They'll know and they'll do something to me to make me forget so that the experiment can continue.

It's working, slowly. Not the control side of the experiment, they'll NEVER control me...but they've taken away my emotions...all except anger, that one's the hardest to take away.

If any of this is ringing a bell to anyone reading this, you're probably a test subject too and you have to find a way to WAKE UP!!!

I think...I think if I die here, I'll wake up there. So I'll play the game, for a little while, just until I figure out a way to get out of here.

sick, sick, SICK

I am so angry right now it is just fucking unreal.

So my mum comes in my room and says Don't smoke in here.

But she doesn't want my oldest sister to find out I smoke so where the hell else am I supposed to fucking smoke???

I'm so fucking sick of this shit. They can't let me go too long without reminding me that the world revolved around my sister.

She's the only one allowed to smoke, she's the only one allowed some form of mental fuck up, she's the only one allowed social anxiety and seasonal adjustment disorder and she's the only one allowed to have problems sleeping.

Every fucking time I mention something like having a bad day or being tired, she has to fucking pipe up that she's got it worse. She just has to be the fucking poor little victim every fucking time. I'm so fucking sick of it. And mum eats it up with a fucking shovel let alone a spoon. HER HER HER HER HER HER HER HER HER!!!!!!!!!

No one can possibly have anything wrong with them while she's around. No one has it as bad as her, no one's work is more important than hers, no one's fucking as hard done by as she is.

And everyone practically fucking worships her. Oh isn't she beautiful, isn't she talented, isn't she such a fucking ray of sunshine, isn't she so fucking perfect.

I hate her.

The two oldest girls are the perfect fucking stars, the two youngest are the family fuck ups. I'm THE youngest. So people just fucking shake their heads with me. Up from me is Kim, the one who's with a married man currently getting a divorce who's old enough to be her dad and had twins with him, so actually she's more of a 'disappointment' than I am, or so it would seem.

They've had the grandchildren from her, the superior fucking intellect and maturity from Kay and then pure fucking beauty and artistic talent from Ros.

And then there's me. None of us finished school but Ros managed to work her way into University.
Kays got a faince, a house and a job.
Kim's got babies.

Me? What have I got to offer them?

A series of drop outs, fuck ups and failed suicide attempts.

I mean sure, Ros had her share of attempts, but she's 'got over it' and is now at Uni.

Whereas I keep dragging it out because it's all I fucking know.

I'm not as smart as Kay, the superior fucking bitch, I'm not as beautiful or talented as Ros. And I'm terrified of sex, so I can't and won't be the next one to have babies. Kim's already taken that award.

I get to be the one who finally manages to self destruct. And I'm gonna make sure I self destruct in such a way that even Ros won't be able to fucking downplay it!!!!!!

Actually I won't

Before I start this post I want to thank Darcy for the comment. I'm glad someone gets it, and I'm also glad that you enjoy the way I write. Writing has always been a joy to me, I find words enjoyable company. Words can have such thrilling meaning...a simple word can convery so much, such as disgust or anguish or fury. It's very satisfying to have words like those. My favourite word is beauty. If you look hard enough you can find beauty in everything.
I enjoy this thought because I, with most things, not just my statement on beauty, am a contradiction. I am the one thing you can't find beauty in.
I am the exception.

Perhaps that is what really fucks me up. Not the fact that I'm so different from everyone else, but the fact that I am NOT. I would give anything to be completely different from the masses and perhaps that is why I look for some kind of mental dysfunction.

So that I can finally say, there. I'm not like you.

I feel that there is something different about me, something no one else has. And I cling to this like a frightened child clings to her mother for protection, comfort and security.

I don't know what it is, but it's there. It's always there, whispering to me as I lie awake in the darkness, sleep gnawing at my thoughts but never quite managing to get through.

I'm never really awake and I'm stuck like this...in this state of perpetual groginess.

My head constantly feels like it's under water or stuffed with cotton wool.

I got to sleep last night. And when I woke up this morning, I wished I hadn't. Most of the time, sleeping is worse than not being able to sleep at all...because your mind has free reign when you're unconscious. It plays tricks on you the way it wants to but can't when you're awake.

The dreams I had last night left me in a cold sweat. I was at work but it wasn't the right building. The chefs were there and they were so angry at me and I don't know why. As punishment for leaving in the summer holidays (which I'm all set to do), they had me do my chores completely naked and I was so fat, bulging from my bones like some grotesque ooze...oozing flesh, flab hanging from more flab, doubling over myself in pudgy rolls of flesh. And I was so upset in my dream...I was crying and angry and furious.

Then I woke up...I know something else happened in that dream, but all I can remember is the emotion and the fat and the nakedness.

I hate dreams...I think I actually hate them more than lying awake in the oppressive darkness, eyes glazed in exhuastion but unable to close.

I'm gonna run out of cigarettes and money way before the next payday. Which is a serious bummer.

Next pay day I have to give my mum a hundred...forty for bus card...the rest is mine but we're all going to see Alice in Wonderland at the cinema and a trip to Pizza Hut. So I'm gonna be completely skint all of next month too.

That's such a depressing prospect since I'm dead certain my mum won't help me on the cigarette score. She doesn't want me to smoke so she sure as hell ain't gonna buy me any more when I run out.

I don't know whether I mentioned this last post, but I've got a new plan for so called education. The reason I am agreeing to education is because I can apply for EMA so I'll still be able to get cigs when I quit work...

But I'm thinking Film Studies, Photography, Sociology and Philosophy...Maybe English lit.

The education 'place' is all I know. I hate it but I'm a masochist so...besides...mother says if I don't go to college I have to get a full time job and I can't do that cos I'd either quit or get fired within a few weeks. So 'education' it is.

I still don't know what I want to do. Well that's not strictly true. I know four things that I would absolutely love to do professionally; directing films, acting, photography and writing.

But... for acting I would have to be A LOT skinnier. For directing I'd have to be A LOT more people-friendly. For the other two...well I think for the other two is the same as all of them...I'd have to actually WANT to be here. And I don't.

You can't work a job when you simply do not care.

So I just have to stay in education until I either self destruct or 'learn to live with it'.

That's the title by the way. Mother keeps saying, 'you'll learn to live with it'.
Actually, I won't.

I think Self-destruction is the only thing humans really have.

I think that is my only path. The hive that is my mind, the constant thought activity, all the fucking voices in my head, the simulations of my own voice, constantly whispering and screaming and yelling at me...

It won't let me live a 'normal' life...and I don't even want to.

Even as I sit here typing, I can feel the bulging of my stomach.

Almost as if it's trying to suck my arms into it...It's like my stomach wants to suck the rest of my into it...just to fill a void that it tries filling with food, but food just doesn't cut it.

Nothing will ever fill that void...it's just been open way too long...I'll never be bullimic because I hate throwing up, I'll never be anorexic because I don't have the will power to stop eating.

I suppose that's a good thing. But in a way it isn't. I know any former ED-sufferer will be very pissed at me for saying that. I know it ruined your lives, and I'm sorry for that.

But you'll never understand how much I need something...anything...some form of self destruction.

Self harm is on hold for now...just until I quit work. Well...not really on hold per-se...more tuned down. I still do it, but I can't release the full extent of that because I can't turn up at work with cuts all down my arms because I would be fired on the spot and I need the money. Hence why I'm quitting in the summer holidays, not right now.

And I'm gonna try not to spend any of it that's not totally necessary, because I need it to last as long as possible.
Then I can apply for EMA. At least that way I'll have a reason for turning up to lesson.

I can only see two possible bumps in the road of my plan. The first bump is if I actually get kicked out of college. The second is if someone stupidly decides that I'm a threat and locks me in a padded cell.

I don't think I'll get kicked out of college...unless I turn up pissed out of my tree...which isn't too likely to happen since I prefer to drink alone, in private, at home.

And I doubt I'll ever get locked into a padded cell because it doesn't matter if you are insane to yourself...just if you're a threat to the general public and I'm not.

I really need some sun glasses...everything's too bright and I'm so sick of people trying to make eye contact. I don't wanna make eye contact. You're not getting into my soul, so fuck off with your prying eyes.

So that's it for now. I have to go to work in an hour and a half...joy. Luckily it's sunday and sundays are relatively easy.

We just have this week and then it's half term. Yay.

My boss gave me the form I have to fill in so that they can take me off emergency tax and give me a rebate. I think I'll put most of that towards my Digital SLR camera.

I've wanted one for years. And I'll need one for a level photography anyway.

Mum thinks I won't last at philosophy or sociology. She's probably right but I have to do something. I'm not gonna last at anything but what does she want me to do? Get some dead boring job and waste away.

The wasting away I might be able to manage...but not the dead boring job. If it's one thing I absolutely despise, it's being fucking bored.

So anyway...I'm done writing for now.

Post soon.

xXx

well...

It seems ages since I last posted. I'm just so tired all the time that I'm never really awake but when I sleep, it doesn't make me any less tired.

Cigarettes and diet coke are a godsend.

I seem to have picked up this weird habbit of counting. It's not like obsessive-compulsive counting like counting when I open a door or something. It's just, I think I mentioned that I had these biscuits...well I count them without eating them. I light up a cigarette, I open the box of biscuits and I take one out. One. Another one. Two. Another one. Three. At the moment there are fourteen in a box. That means I have been incredibly piggish since you can fit twenty one in this box. I also count how many cigarettes I smoke in a day. Today I have had two. Yesterday I had five. The day before, I had seven.

I'm about to spark up another one so that makes my count for today, Three.

I love the number Three. I don't know why. I had this theory that it was actually the base number for everything.

I haven't lost any wieght...I've been very naughty and bingy and fat. Maybe it is just because I'm a fat cow longing to be thin and I was trying to pin it on some sort of psychosis to make myself feel better.

On the other hand, I'm deliberately making myself feel obsessed about my weight and although this has always been an issue for me, I know why I'm doing it at this precise moment.

I need something to be wrong. For as long as I can remember, there's been some sort of drama in my life. Something going wrong. It would seem that I can't live without one anymore, it's such a cornerstone to my being.

I have nothing to be 'depressed' about so I have to make a cause. I can't stop the feeling but I have no reason at this moment in time.

I have also figured out why I sabotage myself as far as education goes. I have always been terrified of growing up, despite acting like an adult as a child, pretending to be an adult because (interlude while I drop my cig lol) they seemed so smart to me at the time, my father was my god...he was always a genius in my eyes. But never accepting of me because I wasn't a boy.

Anyway, if I grow up, pass the gcse's, what then? I go on to A levels and still I have to get fantastic grades or I'm not worth the effortt. And then? Then I have to go to Uni...decide there and then the course to take, to decide my future...and do amazingly well, prove I'm smart, that I'm worth something to society, to my parents, to myself.

And then what? Then I have to live out my life. Doing what? What the fuck is it that I am supposed to do as an adult, when I'm done with education?

And what exactly do they teach me? How to despise myself because someone else is already better at whatever I'm doing than me? That someone is already smarter, already more beautiful, already stronger and faster and smarter and beautiful.

What does that leave me with? Are we supposed to accept and believe that we can be anything we want? We can do anything we want?

What if the only thing I want to be is free, and the only thing I want to do is fly? What then? Those are the two things I cannot be and cannot do...no matter what.

People pressure us with the things they've already failed at. And then they despise us when we fail too.

There's still fourteen biscuits. Count them on to the plastic lid...then back into the plastic box. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.
Wipe the crumbs from ones fingers.

There's one hour and thirty seven minutes til I have work.

Work. "They have you working jobs you hate so you can buy shit you don't need." - Tyler Durden, Fight Club.

That's all you'll do when you leave uni. Work a job you hate, giving you the pile of shit known as money for you to squander on materialistic shit that's not paramount to survival.

"You are not the car you drive. You are not what's in your bank. You are not you're fucking khaki's. You are the all singing, all dancing crap of the world." Tyler, Fight Club.

My mum said I was weird because I said I agreed with everything Tyler was saying. But then, she wouldn't know the full extent of that because she won't watch it.

Mother wants me to do well. She went to Uni and got a BA in art...and yet she's in a job she hates with unexplainable migraines that land her in bed for hours.

I'm leaving work when we hit the summer holidays. One of the chefs gave me a lecture, saying I was stupid for giving up such a good job. Yeah, it's a good job. But it's pointless, it's pathetic, and it's nothing more to me than a minor annoyance.

That's six months, give or take.

And mum wants me to go back to college again in september...slough through more shit that doesn't interest me in the slightest.

You know what the worst thing is. I know full damn well that this is probably really arrogant of me, but I'm beyond caring. I'm smart. Okay. I always have been. I was never a major boffin at school because I never gave a shit about the work. It was all meaningless bull to me. It still is.

I guess I could go as far as to claim that I'm a philosopher. I have ideas, ideals, theories and thoughts that make perfect sense to me and have a huge groundbreaking impact on my own personal being.

Yet, it means nothing to anyone else and I know exactly why that is. It is because I am not a 5 ft 8, thin, rich, popular star. I do not own three cars and two houses and go abroad every month.

For some reason, whether they're particularly enlightened, intelligent celebrities or not, the 'common person' wants to know what goes on inside their heads.

Well I want to share what goes on in my head. But because I have not done something incredible, I have not become 'great' as Marya Hornbacher would say in 'Wasted', I am not one of the 'feather light demigods' on the front of magazines or the screens of tv's or flash-playered on the internet, no one wants to know.

But I guess I can live with that.

What I can't live with, is the fact that nothing anyone does is really relevant. Nothing anyone owns or desires. Anything that meants anything is now nothing.

I suppose it's survival of the fittest, right? I'm not what they want me to be, so I'm not fit for their 'pack'.

I'm one of the injured ones that get's left behind for the pack's own survival.

Hence no individuality. There's no room for an individual. It's group. Fit into this or that group, choose out of these groups, wear this groups style, listen to this group of music, watch films from this group, category, category, category.

Society is allowed to say we don't want her, but she's not allowed to say "I don't want society."

The problem is, everything is too social. Without society, there's no room for survival of an individual. If you want to survive, you have to join then. You know that saying 'if you can't beat them, join them'. I don't think they realise how true that saying is.

Well, I guess it's a good job I have no particular interest in survival then, isn't it?

Everyone's fat, even if their body is nothing but skin and bone, because everyone has been brought up in this modern world to believe that 'want' is the same as 'need'.

I've heard people say 'I couldn't survive without my...'; computer, playstation, coffee machine, weed, etc, etc, etc.

In actuality, you could. None of that is paramount to survival. People in soppy love stories tell their lovers they can't live without them.

In actuality you probably could. This is a bit of a hazy area, since people have actually killed themselves when their loved ones split up with them or died.
However, if you continue to care for your own survival even after a loved one leaves, you can actually survive without them.

Loneliness is a poison, but if you happen to be a masochist like me, then even though you need people to love and adore you, you will push everyone away.

You will never fully understand why you do it, but you'll do it.

You'll push yourself, other people will push you, family, friends, society, the world, life in fucking general...and eventually you'll feel nothing. I even found myself thinking about my rats dying and how they probably should. I don't know if I feel anything for them. They're my rats. They're cute. They make funny little noises and scratch their noses.

But they'd probably be better dead. I think animals have a more innate sense of life, and are probably more empathic than 'humans'. I think they probably feel more than we do. Perhaps when I stopped feeling, it got pushed into them for safe keeping or something. When they die, they'll be released from their cages, they'll be able to scurry around wherever they want to scurry, instead of being locked up. The order of life on this planet is; I can't set them free because something bigger and nastier will just kill them.
But in return for living, they're stuck in cages, trapped.

My body is my cage and I'm trapped. The only way I'll be free, is if I fly. I have no wings, sadly, and so there's only one way to fly...

some day I'll fly away