I messed up,

Do you ever lie in bed and the curtains are closed so tight and your eyes are too because you’re just wishing that it isn’t morning, that this day has not come?

I feel like that every morning.

 

I messed up, quite a lot, in the last few months.

I was meant to calm down, get my head back into my books, get my brain back into function. Instead I just got into drugs.

These last two months have morphed into one very long day for me, a day that refuses to end.

 

I started seeing someone, until he got arrested for assault, so now drugs are the thing keeping me from going near him.

I tell myself, “If you have this spliff, you’re not allowed to see him”, and so I don’t see him. I just get stoned.

I don’t know what happened, one day I’m having lunch in the pub with my friends and the next I’m meeting them on the street and we awkwardly pass each other because there is just too much unsaid. Now my friends are a gang of stoners.

And we sit together every night and try to work out where the next spliff is coming from.

 

I started raiding people’s bathroom cabinets, looking for a valium, looking for some sanity and peace of mind. I found the valium.

I got kicked out of my apartment, then I moved and I got kicked out of the next apartment so I moved. I lived in 3 places in the space of 2 weeks because Landlords keep realizing I’m not tired, I’m just constantly stoned.

I don’t know what I want from writing this, I don’t want to stop, I don’t want to get up.

All I want is for the light to stop seeping through the curtains so I can go back to sleep and pretend this isn’t happening for one more day.

Hi Blog, it’s been a while.

 

So, 2012 is over in around 8 hours and 25 minutes. It’s the year we didn’t die! (how morbid).

I hate looking back through the year, at all the stupid things I did and all the things I should have done but didn’t. Why didn’t I? Because I’m far too concerned with rejection and all the magnificent things that came with it.

But good things did happen in 2012, great things actually.

I made a whole new group of friends who have now become a second family.

I was asked to make a speech at my college graduation for being such a good student (don’t know where they got that part from)

I had a crazy year with boys but I think I met someone special.

Someone special, you ask? Blog, you know me too well. Yes, I have always said I never wanted to find someone special but I can’t help what life throws at me. 

But hold up, it is only early days, and I mean very early.

I met this boy and I asked him for a lighter and then we proceeded to talk for the next ten hours. We talked so long I missed my bus to get to the airport. We talked for so long the sun went down and came up. And the things he said…oh the things. Among them:

I want to see you again

You’re beautiful

I’m going to stay until the 5th of January to see you again.

“Look how precious she is!”

Although now I have not heard from him, granted it has been Christmas and I’ve been in a different country and he has no credit on his phone. I’m giving him until the 6th to contact me and if he doesn’t then…well then I’ll make do with Barry.

Ah yes, Barry. Who I mistakenly slept with a month ago. Oh well, everyone knew it was going to happen, especially me. 

So blog, to sum up, I’ve missed writing on you. I like to look back at the whimsical rantings of the past months. In 2013 I resolve to update you once a week and not for any other reason but that I can come back on 31st December 2013 and laugh at myself all over again.

 

Happy New Year to you & yours and hoping you get your kiss at the 12 o’clock bell.

Growing Up In Belfast

I was born and raised in Belfast for 15 years, 20 minutes away from the city centre and 3 minutes away from paramilitary bases. I grew up in an extremely loyalist area and was nutured by men who would later kill.

People assume I am sectarian, racist or an expert on bomb-making. Don’t get me wrong, I was taught how to make a petrol bomb but anyone can make those. It’s the aim you really have to learn.

My uncle has been kneecapped for talking to a Catholic, my house has been petrol bombed because my mother worked in a Catholic area. I have been beaten for not standing up while the bands played.

When I was a child the paramiliatries would come to the door for my brother and I. They would send us down the road with bricks along with hundreds of other children to distract the police while they loaded trucks with drugs, guns and women. We didn’t know any better, we were taught to hate and fight.

We would watch as they held shop owners at gunpoint, taken hostage by them, played the game. It was a part of the ploy, they didn’t want a murder on their hands and who would let an innocent child be killed over money?

At midnight on the 12th July everyone would gather and stand by the skyscraping bonfire, cheer while the flag burned, dance to the men singing. It was a night we were supposed to believe in, it was our 4th July, our Cinco de Mayo. I didn’t believe in it, I felt sick. I wore a balaclava so no one could see the disgust.

When I was an adolescent we would buy alcohol and cigarettes from them because they had no qualms about age. They would hide in our houses and under my bed when the police came looking for them. They protected me, even though I didn’t want them to. They tarred and feathered the man who raped me, left him tied to the posts for days with a sign beside him saying “I am a paedophile”. I cried, because I felt sorry for him.

When I moved across the country I realised that a community was not supposed to work that way. Although I grew up there I am an opposite reflection of their teachings. When I visit Belfast now I see the murals and the painted roadsides. I can see the peace walls built to stop human beings fighting each other over a God they do not even believe in. I see the stupidity.

I do not care about your religion, I do not care about your politics.

Please don’t flinch when you hear my accent, I promise you, I am not one of them.

So my mother tried to kill herself again Part 2.

http://themundanelifeof.wordpress.com/2012/05/03/so-my-mother-tried-to-kill-herself-again/

Part 1 ^

When I received the call from my brother yesterday my first instinct was to grab my notebook and write down how I was feeling and interpreting this situation. I write for everything; the best and worst times, so it felt right to do this.

I didn’t know if I was going to publish the post because it was so personal and fresh, but for some reason I felt I had to. I don’t want this blog to just be filled with the non-whimsical upbeat days, this blog helps me progress through my mind and in writing and in twenty years I hope to look back at these posts and appreciate where I have been and where I am. I share a lot of my life, and this was just another part to share.

I certainly didn’t expect the feedback I received. I thought this was another post to be lost into the oblivion of my ramblings; I would have said what I needed to and would feel ultimately freer from it.

The response has been so lovely, and so uplifting. I’m happy this post could resonate with people and to know that even though we are strangers, you care.

So thank you, for reading, for commenting, for following and for not judging. But I must warn you, I am most likely not going to live up to your expectations!

So my mother tried to kill herself again

Being a young 21 year old who moved 500 miles to purposely be apart from her, I do not find this surprising.

This is the sixth time.

The first time I felt like death myself, my world had sucked itself inside out through one ear and out the other. I was 13 years old, my mother was supposed to be baking cakes for the PTA meetings not slashing her wrists in our bathtub.

The second time it hit me harder. I thought I had helped her, I thought I had pulled her through that, the counseling and the tablets were helping her. I was 15 years old, my mother was supposed to be warning me about boys, not stabbing herself with the bread knife.

The third time I ran away and I ran pretty far. I could have been a better daughter, I could be a normal average teenager instead of the geeky awkward girl I was then. I was 16 years old, my mother was supposed to staying up at night worrying about my activities, not swallowing the 142 assortment of tablets.

The fourth and fifth time rolled into each other. Maybe because I was fed up of getting the same phone call over and over, I was not her parent, I was not her carer and I needed to be apart from her so I could breathe. I was 17 years old for both of these attempts, my mother was supposed to be helping me prepare for university, not lying in a psychiatric ward.

This time, I didn’t answer the phone. I knew what it was and my brother confirmed it 3 hours later. I stayed at college, I didn’t leave, I didn’t cry. My mother is supposed to love and help me, not emotionally torture me.

She is helpless and I am not her helper, I am her child, not her parent. I am sad but not depressed. I am ok and she is not.

And finally, I see the light – this is not my problem.

So at this point I have to ask myself; is it ok to not care when my mother tries to kill herself?

The Lean In

Things have been happening. I’m not writing as much because my nights have been taken up by a new boy. Yes, there is a new man on the horizon. I’m going to call him Barry.

We go to college together and after months of flirtatious banter over coffee granules and photocopiers we met each other on a night out. Believe me, this is not hard to do where I live, I manage to meet everyone out on a Saturday night, after all there is only one club.

So after many many alcohol beverages I was busting moves on the dance floor with a dude who had such a good beard. I like beards, they contain so much effort. Anyway Barry did not like this bearded dude and in quite a hulk-like moment pulled me away from him and begged me not to kiss the bearded dude. (there was no worry about kissing the bearded guy, I admire them from away but beard rash on my face is just no good!).

After hours in the nightclub to-ing and fro-ing he asked if he could walk me home. Barry, that is. How gentlemanyly, I thought to myself.

And so we walked the three minutes to my house and he asked me if I would sit with him on the bench. One thing led to another and suddenly his lips were swallowing mine.

Now, 2 months later the flirtatious banter is continuing,(it has actually gone on to a whole other level of flirting) however due to our new found closeness Barry comes to my house maybe twice a week and we have a cigarette and carry on flirting.

However there is just one little problem: THERE ARE NO NEW KISSES. Seriously, none. I’ve tried the eyes blinking crazily, stroking the arms, but he just won’t lean in. Grrr. Just do it already, I will reciprocate by putting my lips all around yours, deal?

In the process of trying to get the lean in we also talked. He dropped a bombshell on me too, “Oh yeah, I kind of deal on the side”. Cough splutter.

One inquisition later I discover he only deals in the 420, but still, how much does this change things? Can I date a dealer, I don’t know.

All I know is, I get stupid, giggly and such a freaking girl when he shows up. It’s pathetic and I hate it. Just lean in already dude, gosh.

(Also listening to this repeatedly whilst typing this: 

)

5 types of people I will never be friends with

I’m not superior, I’m in no way cooler or better than anyone but my brutal honesty will just not allow us to be friends.

Why? You ask. Ok I’ll give you a list of absolute deal-breakers.

#1 – Pitbull/Jason Derulo/Akon

Basically any musician who feels the need to sing their name at the start of a song. I’m not going to introduce myself by singing my name to you, and chances are if I’m listening to the song THEN I ALREADY KNOW YOUR NAME. So in short, if you like any of these “musicians” I’m sorry but it’s not going to work out between us. You may hear me singing Jason Derulo’s name whenever it needs to be mentioned but this is in a purely mocking form. Everyone to thier own beat and all but just don’t be bringing your beats to my party.

#2 – Guilt.

My Sundays usually consist of a blanket, chocolate and the remote control. I don’t like Sundays. Why is that? Well it’s because I’ve worked my ass off the rest of the week and then Sunday comes along and I want to have a guilt free duvet day. (Every Sunday I want to do nothing the weather screams at me through my window until I’m forced to go shower, get dressed and act like a normal human.) And then you come to the door and you’re bouncing up and down like Tigger, on a Sunday! The day of rest! In short, get off of my doorstep because right now I have a serious case of Eeyore.

#3 – You’re boring.

You can also see this as me being boring if you wish, that’s ok. Your conversation about what Lisa did to Barney even though she was meant to be doing it with Harry LIKESHOCKOMG bores me. Leave Lisa alone, she is her own whore. I don’t care if such&such got a new dress/car/hairstyle/nose/body unless they are my dear friend and I like them.

#4 – You’re Homophobic/Racist/Sectarian/ A Bigot.

Basically, yeah.  Even in joke form. Yes really, I have no humor about those things. Although you can tell me that farmer joke cause that cracks me up everytime.

#5 – You look down at me.

Screw you b**ch, just because I’m shaking it like a polaroid picture in the middle of college doesn’t give you a reason to hate on me. You got a problem with my swag face, bring it on knobjockey. That sh*t cray.

Other reasons;

You don’t like random facts, you think mental health is made up, you believe Lady Gaga is the best thing to happen, you wear your hood up to look tough, you don’t shower, you don’t eat, you don’t drink, you tell me to stop smoking, you hike, you don’t understand my accent, you shout at me for drinking red bull, you love Justin Bieber or you wear crocs.

Also, Hipsters need not apply.

“So there you go, a list of definite reason we will not be friends, and I didn’t even get in to the grey areas. You seem like a really lovely person, it’s not you, it’s me. I’m the b**ch in this situation, don’t you go changing! See that girl over there, go talk to her! I can’t stand her so you’ll get along great!”.