Not interested

You know, I'm more interesting than people think I am. The biggest problem is, I'm not beautiful. I'm okay, I'm pretty enough to glance at, and perhaps to approach in a bar at the end of the night. I'm amiable enough to ask directions from, and then from the way I act, people stand around and speak to me for a while.

Those things that happen, whatever they may be, and at the time you think "I really don't want to talk about this"... to be honest, you probably won't get a chance to. No one asks. After a while you want to talk about it, because at the surface you seem like an average middle-class kid whose going through an identity crisis. But it's not that. I've felt shit.

Thing is, if you begin to talk about it, you seem like you want the attention... which perhaps you do. However you also don't want to put people in an awkward position, where all they can say is "Oh shame, I'm sorry" or "Oh. Yeah" or "That's great". They have no idea what you're talking about.

Yet, even worse than that is your friends, or people who you think know you. When they hear a story and they say "wow". That pisses me off. Because, did you really think I was such a shallow piece of shit? Did you think I lived here, moved there once, graduated, went to university, dropped out because I didn't like it, and now I'm here? I've had a life. If you know me you wouldn't be surprised by the stories I tell. Perhaps amused. Perhaps let-down. Whatever, but not surprised.

I never get a chance though. Strangers don't ask me. They ask my beautiful friend, or don't bother at all. My friends don't ask me, they don't think about those things. I do, simply because I want someone to ask me. But perhaps they think I'm intruding. I don't know.

I may not be interesting, but I know shit. I can talk about shit. I have had a very interesting life. Maybe I'm just not interesting.

The Diary of a Relatively Newly Depressed Nutcase

I keep on pushing people away from me. Isolation. Except for three or four good friends, who I keep close because I can't imagine parting from them. I used to think that was because I didn't want to care about people. I used to think it was because I'm selfish and I didn't want to spend time on people- I was already spending enough time with the friends I had.
Then I thought it was because I couldn't bare to lose anyone else. You know, the more people you care about the more likely it is you'll lose more of them as well. If one in ten dies; if you have twenty friends, you could lose two. I guess that's partly true. However today I've realised another reason for that.

And this one is the most selfish of all.

When Josh passed away, when I lost the person who was most important to me, I saw 50-75 people who were outraged and sad. 20 or so who were devastated, and at least 11 whose lives literally stopped and began a warped, fucked up spiral up and down and sideways, a sort of constant never-changing state of chaos and confusion and anger and all-round-fuckery. At least 1 of them, I, can be considered depressed, relatively alone, and certifiably insane.
Anyway, I don't want that to happen to anyone. When I die, and I'm not saying it will be soon, but when I die I want to minimize the amount of people who will be devastated. Just my family- father, brothers- and those three or four friends. And because there are so few of them, no one will be left to go through that alone.

See, I told you it was selfish.

Scratch My Back

So, it's been a while. Quick quick update on my life: work uni work party uni work party. In short, I've been very busy, but as anyone who's read my blog from the beginning of beginnings, you should know I have a constant stream of bizarre crap in my head and quite frankly if I were to put that on Facebook I'm sure my friends would ship me off to a mental hospital.
I've got a mouth full of diamonds and a pocket full of secrets.

The boy is scared of the girl, but the girl misses her mother. They undress each other and with it goes their childhood, socks and all. For a second they'll forget how they were taught to strive for the impossible, to feel homesick for a place that doesn't, never has and never will, exist.
I wish I could kiss you like I did back when I believed in victory and death and destiny.

I've always felt a little alone my whole life, but never lonely. Especially a while ago, oh I was the happiest girl you'd know. I've felt little pokes of the old man's solitude. You know the one that claws up your throat and makes it hard to breathe, when you stand alone in your kitchen and know that there is no one in the house, no one you can call and no one you can talk to. The one that makes you want to reach for a bottle but you don't because you know alcoholism runs in your family and girl, you don't want to go down that road. Oh but I do. I won't.

When I was a child I used to run out of school on breaks with my best friend, we would go find a fountain that was of course, frozen, it being Finland and all. We sat there for the whole lesson until one day my teacher found us. We were 9 and being 9, I didn't know what was wrong or right or kind of wrong or a bit right or somewhere in between. I said it was all my friend's fault- I've been paying for it ever since and in the future, I believe I'll always try and take the blame.
We also used to make concoctions with chemicals and things, then see what happens. Once I forgot it in my pocket and it exploded in the bus. That stuff smelled horrible, I think it had washing powder, some CIV liquid, and some other random crap.
No wonder our Finnish teacher kept a bottle of vodka in the cupboard. He was sacked for paedophilia.

Tomorrow I'll wake up with the usual shaking and shivering and a mouth full of diamonds or- dry hay.
Drunkard thought my mother was my boyfriend.

Maybe I'm doing this to lessen the old man's solitude. Make it more a post-break up loneliness. I broke up with my family, they moved away. I've been dumped.
The boy fears the girl who misses her mother.
The girl who misses her mother doesn't even notice the boy, only wants to scratch his back with her sharp red nails to not be alone.

Would you like me to take you away from here?

Side effects of sexual frustration are:

• Weight gain
• Depression
• Hypermania
• Stress
• Mood swings
• Low self esteem
• More weight gain (replace sex with food)
• Excessive consumption of porn/tumblr/"romantic" novels
• Short attention span
• Hair loss?

Am I missing some? 

Sometimes we have moments of genuine existence. Those are when you fear you're not doing right by your life. And you vow to do something about it. You don't.

You don't really listen until you're about to die. But then you live and forget it all.

We pray in desperation and when granted wishes we thank the lord who made us desperate.

We kiss the hand that feeds us, the hand that wipes its own ass with our food.

They've told me if you wake up, if you walk down the street, if you meet someone, if you buy something, if you hear something, if you eat something,
if you live,
you have to do it with your heart and mind open.
And all the happiness of the world will fall in you.

Guess it's kind of a gradient.

Gabi is fucking awesome.