broken sobs at 1am, flickering candles across sketchy papers. freshly picked sunflowers on the windowsill, dark under-eye circles. cold, sweet coffee and quiet words. city lights from a highrise, plants by the window. flannel and soft, sad songs. flower crowns and gentle touches late at night. impatience, pale colours, early morning blog posts. oversized hoodies and warm strawberries. bright sunsets, empty eyes, broken handwritten letters atop a desk. gentle smiles, sadness without reasoning, dancing in the rain. soft laughter. allnighters, easy love. uncompleted homework, filled notebooks. stars at 4am. unshed tears, paint covered hands, late night calls. silver rings, long-haired cats. miniature sketchbooks. smudged pencil lines, impulse buys. late night flirting, embroidered denim. midnight tea, vanilla, doodles in margins. abandoned projects, messy hair. daisies and daffodils. notebooks, new blossoms, fallen leaves. historical musicals. pencil doodles on desks, old books. too many emotions. quiet libraries, procrastination. lavender, nostalgia, photographs. almond milk, raspberries, lattes. spiderwebs, dewdrops in the morning. butterflies. unorganized routines, sad laughter. slam poetry, wax-sealed envelopes. warm sheets, skinny jeans. neon city lights, pressed flowers, tangled headphones. repetitive patterns, shaking fits. numbers, the colour yellow. leaves and bush walks. forgotten words, memorised faces. coloured voices, withheld secrets. quiet conversations, blaring music. torn receipts, rainy days, dark chocolate. old memories, small details. sparkles, journals, muted colour. leather jackets, cafes and cookie dough. piano music, soft whispers, clear skies. sea salt, moonlight, eyes. lemon water, gel pens.
open hearts, empty eyes. broken souls, forgotten thoughts. sad smiles, soft laughs. acoustic music, paint filled pages. taped up photographs, winter mornings.
memories made, faces forgotten.
so that was sort of a ‘my aesthetic’ post. but my aesthetic is a lot of contradicting things bunched together, a bit like me. it’s a lot of soft, yet a lot of dark. tell me about your aesthetic, just for fun. it doesn’t have to be as long as mine, just as long as the last three or four lines, but it’d be cool to see your aesthetics too!
It’s been forever since I last talked, since I last posted. I’m sorry, but here’s why.
On the 8th of July, I became older. It feels no different, but it feels very different. It feels weird. I’m now 15, halfway to 30. It feels no different, I am not a different person than I was on the 7th of July, but it’s very different. I’m one year away from being able to drive, three from finishing high school. It all feels very surreal and weird. And yet nothing has changed. I’m the same person I’ve always been, have the same sort of tastes, same issues, same everything, and yet, everything feels so different, so NEW, so weird, and I don’t know why that is. But yes, I turned 15.
I Struggled to Form Words
I’ve always had this issue with my confidence in blogging and forming correct and proper words and sentences to fill the pages of this blog, and it became a little bit harder. It became harder to like the content I was writing, making to put out to the world. Even though it was really not that bad, it was really quite good. But I didn’t like it. I still don’t. But I’m posting it none-the-less. I’m posting the works I’m unsure about, because I’m sick of the 147 drafts in my wordpress drafts folder. I’m sick of not being able to post and form the words I so like. I don’t like this piece of work, but I’m still going to post it, because it needs to be done.
I Went Downhill
In my mental health, that is. Everything got boring, sad, empty. I couldn’t do the things I once enjoyed. Everything turned dark, everything I’d once enjoyed. My art, my writing, it all had underlying suicidal tones. I became more anxious, anxiety attacks became more regular, my sleeping became worse, I stopped taking care of myself. Of my body, my brain. I became bored, the muscle cramps became worse, my music became softer, sadder. It all turned into a mess. My art became art, my schoolwork lowered in standard, I became sick. Sick of myself, of the world, of the people I so love. I began snapping at the people who are always there for me, my friends, the people I consider to be my family. I stopped posting on Instagram, taking pictures, blogging. I stopped bullet journalling, then writing, then journalling – taking notes on my day in the evenings, talking and then finally, drawing. I stopped everything. Stopped taking photos to post on my Instagram, talking to the online friends I’d once communicated with daily, even the friends I knew in reality, I stopped talking to. I hid myself in my mind, pulled back from everything, shrouded myself in sarcasm and my phone. Hid myself away from the world. I stopped going to my counselling sessions, started lying more to people. Lying about what I’d eaten, how I was, how much I slept. I told people I’d slept well when I hadn’t slept at all, told people I was full of energy when all I wanted to do was sleep. I slept at the weirdest moments, fell asleep at school, during breaks, when I got home. It was all for no reason. People asked me how I was doing and I said I was good when really, I didn’t know. I felt calm, but panicky, full of emotion, but empty. I felt sad unless I was with few calming people who made me happy.
I stopped doing everything. I lied. I pretended to be alright, when really, I didn’t know how I was. I’d put a pencil to paper and no words would flow, although the voices in my head were telling me what to write. No thoughts could be put into sentences that made any amount of sense. I paid less attention to the lyrics of songs, just listening to the same four songs on repeat. Sad songs, empty songs, soft songs. Not the fun, happy rock anymore, the slow, sad indie now. I hyper-fixated more than ever. I tidied a closet for six hours, taking everything out and putting it all back again, until it was perfect, not stopping once. Ignoring the people who made me smile, made me laugh. I pretended they weren’t there. And focused on this. Until it was done, until it as perfect. And yet, I couldn’t do that with homework. With reading. I couldn’t do that for any more than 10 minutes without being bored and having my brain give up.
My schoolwork was pushed back, my English and Social Studies grades dropped, fell to low marks from the heightened marks I’d worked so hard to reach. My art work began to be forgotten, the work I’d once done so well on left behind, falling with the rest of things. My fashion work became less focused, fell again. The lines, once so perfect, became messy and fast, done in 15 minutes, rather than the required 3 hours. It all became forgotten. Maths became more of a focus, something I spent hours at a time on, numbers became a calming force. The pages in maths textbooks suddenly filled with numbers, scrawled everywhere in pinks and blues and blacks. And yet, when it came to the test, nothing made sense. The graphing lines were confusing, the words floated around the page. It wasn’t the numbers. The numbers made sense. The words didn’t. The words flew about, became as though a spider had crawled across the page, legs covered in black ink. The letters couldn’t form the words I knew they once had. Nothing made sense. Nothing but the equations. Science became a hobby, yet a bore. The class notes had already been taken, the electricity became boring, repetitive. The out of class conversations became interesting, the old notes and definitions became fun. The formulas became second nature. Yet nothing was fun. It was all boring. All known already.
It all became scary. A deep hole of work, words, confusion. Things not understood, not followed. Because I had differing thoughts to others. I read further into the lines than believed, didn’t use methods the teachers enjoyed. It became confusing. It became upsetting, unbearable.
It’s still like that. Boring, slow. It’s the things I cannot remember. I cannot remember things that happened just yesterday. But I can remember things that happened four years ago. School’s over for the next week, but then everything comes back. And nothing can be correctly understood. But I’ll cope. I’ll remember.
I’ll go back to the counselling. Try to sleep. Stop listening to the voices. I’ll paste the words onto the paper, even when they make not an ounce of sense. I’ll draw the girls I once did. Go back to the books currently laying forgotten on the shelves. I’ll leave the sugar addiction in the past, eat the proper foods. The music will stay the same, calm and quiet, soft and slow. The hyper-fixation will continue. Because those things hurt to stop. The anxiety is too hard to slow. The anger spasms should be able to be stopped. Eventually. With help. With work. Maybe one day there will be no more anger spasms, no more tears shed in futile attempts to sleep at 3AM. Maybe. One day. Not now though.
I’ll pick up the bullet journal, now lost under piles of work. Collect a new one. Find new pens, remove the dead and dying. Forget. Renew everything, start a new. Try again. I’ll collect the empty packets of sour lollies littered about the room, throw them out. I’ll pick up the pens, textbooks, visual diaries and try again. Take as much time as needed to collect the words, form the spider mess into sentences, no matter how much time it takes. Try until the grades are picked up from their current low places.
I’ll start again. Try again. Pick all the issues up. Write them in the journals, capture them in everlasting memories, pin them up, draw them. Capture and create memories. Leave the past where it is now, stop dwelling on the things that scare me.
Maybe that’s ambitious. Too ambitious. But it’s a goal. A dream. A hope. It’s something I can aim towards. I can shoot towards. And maybe not reach, but try to reach. I have the ability to try it until I reach it. Or I’ll give up, set new goals. Try again. I don’t know. It’s worth a try.
My Physical State Became Messy
I became sick. My chest became rattly, they put me on medication. I took x-rays, had blood drawn. I missed a week of school, didn’t get out of bed. Ate nothing but fruit without throwing up for a week and a half. Everything became forgotten. I slept for 20 hours a day, but still woke up tired. I began feeling dizzy, woozy, as if I were about to pass out. I was constantly on medication. I wasn’t alright. But then it got better. I began to be able to walk around without wanting to faint. I started eating real food again. Not have to sleep all day. The medication started working, the x-rays came back clear. I felt better. Became better. Everything went back to its old ways. Everything was normal once again.
I stopped running about a year ago. I stopped workouts about two months ago. My physical state, physical well being became equal with my mental. My weight began fluctuating. My skin became a mess, as did my hair. Everything became forgotten. I didn’t look after myself. I began wearing the same clothes over and over and over. Hoodies and leggings. Day in, day out. My bedroom became messy, and then clean. The processes fell into misery, mayhem, mess. They became repetitive. They still are. Still are like that.
But they’re being picked up. I’ll go for a run, work out again. Wash my face, eat better. I’ll change from the clothes I’m habitually pulling on. Clear up the clutter from the floor. Remake the bed. Maybe. Hopefully. I’ll try.
I Gave Up
I gave up on everything I loved. The people, the creative outlets, the creatures. And yet, I continued to collect them. I found new friends, bought more stationery, collected more plants, found a new rabbit. And then I forgot about them. Gave up on them. Hid myself away with the same people I’ve always been with, left the pens in closed drawers, sat the plants on the windowsill, moved the rabbit from one cage to another. I gave up on the blogs, the lifestyle, the words and pictures. I gave up on the organisation I so loved, the stories the world so loved.
Now, it’s the time I pick that up. The time I choose between the friends, let the ones I can’t have the time for go, leave them to their own devices, fallen into the past, yet still there when they need me, leave them with the other friends they have, tell them I can’t hang with them, return to the people who have always been there. The time to pick up the pens and notebooks, fill them with the doodles and words and numbers that clutter my brain, cover the empty pages in colours, open them up to the thoughts and worlds that are hidden away. Maybe there’s nothing much to do with the plants, change their pots into nicer ones, find shelves, cover the walls with them, let them see the world from a different view. It’s time to give the rabbit more attention, let him sit with me at the desks I work, let him out into the open more often, find better food, more grass for him. Restart the other blog, pick up where I left off with this one. Find new content, new recipes, organisational skills, new poems, words, images. It’s time to forgive the things I’ve once forgotten. Time to start a new.
Now, it’s time to restart. Forgive myself for the things that I’ve never let myself forget. Start a new with everything I’ve always hated, always loved. It’s time to bring you on that journey with me. Enjoy the new.
the stereo on the dresser emits sound. a piercing, quiet melody plays, the artist’s unknown, the voice unfamiliar. it sits at a distance, there, but not there. it casts shadows through the papers, steady and still, unmoved. the song plays out, comes to a close. nothing plays after. it room falls quiet.
a car drives past. through the silence, the sound of its tyres on tarmac echo. a burning sound, paper consumed by licking flames, crackling and crying out. it fades out as the car proceeds on its way. it’s no longer there. the room rearranges itself, falling back into silence. nothing passes through it.
a stomach rumbles, a sound like paper crunching underfoot. the gurgles slowly fall away. they’re a reminder of the uneaten meal downstairs. it’s untouched, now forgotten. no one will remember it. only when they do will they realised what’s happened. the growling stomach come back, begging for the food it deserves. it’s complaints fall upon deaf ears and it recesses.
echoes of the wind down the chimney creak through the air. the fire goes out, confidential letters left with their edges blistered, yet to be destroyed. breathy whispers swirl through the open network, wind muttering untold secrets to the still, unwoken world. the quiet mutters die with the breeze, slipping into silence again.
a dog barks, falls silent. a siren plays, dies as someone attends it. a plane flies overhead, becomes quiet once passed. another car, another fire. it dies as quick as it came. a distant cow cries out for its child, stops once reunited. the world falls into a silent disarray.
the air allows thoughts to excel themselves into the silence. they echo around, fearful, bizarre formations of illogical concepts, quietly emptying themselves into the unknown. the peaceful tranquility broken by fragmented images.
through the open window, cold breeze flows. crisp and sharp against the warmth of the room. it cuts through the air, a single channel of cold. the wind blows in steadily, soft and nurturing. the corners of the journals lift, fall to the ground, dead.
heat ribbles against the chills, a stark comparison. it’s quickly overtaken, left to mingle amongst the layers of vellum left on the floor. the more the waves fight, the less they achieve. they allow the bitterness in. the gusts become stronger. a silent chill falls over the room.
the curtain billows open, a shadow flicks itself across the wall. branches from a tree outside illuminated across the empty wall. they cover the papered surface, empty thoughts and images, each full with a story never to be told. they move with the light and the breeze. fall back to their original, empty states as the curtain lowers itself once again.
the stars through the window blink. they sparkle and glitter through the dark, each a burning ball. they’re sparse, freckled throughout the universe, white dots on a dark canvas. they blink expectantly, hopeful. their prayers go unheard, called out through the silence.
the lights outside dim, an unwanted reminder of the ever-approaching dawn. a hint of the soon to be disturbed quiet. the air that will soon be touched by the warmth of the sun. the bright, intrusive colours will presently be surrounding the world. everyone will be awake, she will fall asleep. everyone will know no more than they did, no less they have.
so this is a thing. i don’t know about it but i hope you like it??? it’s titled by the date i wrote it on. i kinda have these insane so yeah.
the time we spend here is short. too short. there is not enough time to do all that we wish we can. its a book. you open it and read, but there are not enough pages to continue the story on, so you have to start another, once that story is finished. some books are short. some are long. the time we have here is the same. some spend longer here than others, some spend just hours, some several decades. fate decides the length of time we have, decides how long one is to stay, stay here. any time, however, is too little. there is not enough time to complete all that we wish to complete in the short time placed into our hands, mere years. we waste so much of that. like the book. so many of the pages are wasted. wasted on pointless chat, filler sentences. so much space that could have been used to extend the story, wasted on pointless waffling. the hours we spend on the useless – the mundane – could be spent on so much more, so much more than that which it is. but the pages of the mundane are important. important to help tell the story. to give the reader a break from the frantic action of the battle. we have the ability to hurl ourselves into a constant book of battle but no pausing could break us, smash our fragile core, weakened by the blows taken on the battlefield. we must pause, let the waffling play out as it will, in order to create some sense of order and calm in the story. we must break before tossing ourselves back into the chaos of the battles we fight to continue on, keep on as we must, to get through.
we are in control of the story we write ourselves. in control of the battles we write into it. the wars we choose to fight. we are in control of the amount of pain inflicted on the characters, ourselves and those around us. we choose how we cause them pain. we write their pain into our stories. the pain shapes us, shapes our character development, forced us to change as we are. the pain makes us and breaks us. but it heals. it heals. it causes the pain and the shock necessary to keep one wishing to continue on with the novel they choose to pick up and read.we must keep the interest, the interest is kept only by keep inflicting harm upon those, keeping the battles going, keeping the characters on their toes. we choose the battles we fight, those we choose to win, those we choose to lose. we write those losses into the story, carefully crafted so the pain necessary is there, but the blow is not too brutal, too harsh.
we write the ways in which we must. we write the things that happen in our life, the things that are choices. fate decides the rest. the fates tell us the things, they are further in control of our stories than we are, they are the ones who make the final decisions on the stories. they are the editors, but also, at the same time exactly, they are the authors, possibly the narrators. they give the ideas, the guidance, the guidelines and then proceed to leave the entire story alone, leaving us to write it in the ways we wish. they come back at the end and cull the parts of it that they dislike, remove the pieces they do not agree with. the fates make the final cuts on the written works. the pieces we write, the stories, must go through them before they are published to the outside world. the page counts must be chopped, more pieces of work must be eliminated. the length must be cut down, to ensure reader interest or to ensure that more stories are read, the world will never know. the fates will only know that.
we spend the time we have fretting. fearing that we are not writing the story correctly. afraid that the words will not make sense to the one who chooses to read them. dreading the day the fates ask for the piece to be handed in. we fret about the grammar, the spelling, the punctuation. we do not fret about the content. we know the fates will deal with that. they will cut the unimportant pieces from the story. they will cut it down so it is less waffle and more battle. the fates will do the job they know they must. we fear the worst for the things we do. we spend more of the novel on the fears we have about the end result than we do on the real content of the story. the body. more of the time we have is spent crafting the story than actually writing it. it is spent planning out the ideas, separating the paragraphs, outlining, creating characters, scenes, a structure. we do not focus on the format, the wording. we focus more on the planning. plan it to a t.
we think about the end more than anything. about what will happen in the end, how the fates will react. we dont think about the things we are writing. the content. the battles. the waffling. to us, all that matters, is the end. the end. what will happen at the end. how the ending will go. we focus not on the story we tell, but on the end. we seem to plan from the end, through to the beginning. writing the novel of our lives in a backwards fashion that we think will help us. that we think will be useful. we write everything backwards. the battles. the deaths. the harm caused, pain caused, to those around us. we write the result and then the method.
we dont know, right from the start, our place in the world. we ramble on and on, pages upon pages are filled with our rambles as we attempt to find our way in the world. find our place. the place that we belong as people. we go on and on until we find that place. where we believe so much that we will be happy. from there, we lead ourselves in another rambling mess, speckled with battles. rushed wars fought against the world as it attempts to cut us down, take us before our time. some of us are taken then. taken before our time. some of us continue. fight further more battles. make further more sacrifices. we continue on, without those who were there. those who were taken before their time. and we go on. without, them.
so yeah. that was a thing. it kinda ends oddly, but i kinda speak when i write things out and they turn out very different when you speak them the way they’re intended to be. i might record something like that one day, who knows?
It’s been a couple of days since my last moving on post and I’m back again. This series will be covering the process of moving house and moving on from that, it will cover wverything that goes on in that process and not glorify it. It makes it very real and shows the grief of leaving the place you call home and moving to a new one. Both of the previous posts in this series will be linked at the end of this post, but very quickly to recap what has happened in them both: The first post discussed finding out that we were going to be selling up and moving. It covered my initial thoughts and talked about the place we are moving from. The second post talked about everything that had happened in the nine weeks from that first post and the fact that we were now moving. It also covered the place we were moving to and the times between sale and movement. This post will cover my thoughts now, just before we move in a few days. It will cover the things I am happy about and the things I am not happy about along with the emotions I am currently feeling towards this move.
Now into the post, enjoy!
When I heard that the sale had gone through, there was a full moon and I sat outside for 2 hours and watched it. I didn’t know what to think about moving. I cried a lot that night, an awful lot. Almost all that I could think about was what was going to happen, I felt numb and sad. There was a sense of dread in my heart and I wasn’t sure why or what would happen. I think that this caused a lot of the anxiety that I felt in those initial stages. Then it was still a while away, six weeks, and it still didn’t feel real.
Since that time, it’s become a lot more real, but I still don’t think that I ‘know’ what’s going on, four days before the move. I know more than I did, how I’m feeling, but I’m still not super clear on that. I’ll go into more detail on that soon, but for now I want to cover what I’m thinking about the move. My anxiety has been heightened by the move, but I’ve also felt a lot calmer. It’s been a sense of utter empty calm that I’ve felt, and I’m unsure as to why that is. My emotions have been pretty much flat-lining, before flaring up again, but when they do flare up, it’s not for long, an hour or two. I’ve been filling my days with a lot of things, I had school camp, a bunch of school tests and I’ve been out with friends more than I ever have. It’s been common for me to go out and just be with friends for two hours after school. It’s been giving me an excuse to forget about moving. But when I get back from all of that and the moving thoughts come back, everything crashes. My depressive episodes have been more regular, but shorter. They’ll be there for an hour, a day, and then they won’t be there. If I get depressed, I get anxious and then the anxiety takes over the depression and it’s not there anymore. Maybe that’s just being a teenager who fills their days with a whole bunch of stuff, takes classes that require a lot of thought, has unstable friendships and travels a lot, but for me, it’s weird. I’m anxious, but I’m empty. I get the feeling I do when I’m depressed, the emptiness, but I get anxious. There are no thoughts there, but I’m still freaking out about all the thoughts. When there is that gentle sense of ease, calm, it’s scary. Everything is scary. Right, enough of that. Now the rest of the thoughts, the two emotions that I have avoided covering up there so I can cover them now; sadness and excitement.
I’m sad about moving. About having to get rid of all of the animals but the cats, the dog and the rabbits, the last of which will be gone when we’ve moved. I’m sad about leaving the place I’ve called home for the last six and a half years. I’m sad about losing the land. THe place, the house. I’m sad that I’m going to be losing it all. I’m sad about it all, it’s all so big and great and scary and it’s just making me sad. Getting rid of the animals took a much greater toll on me that I originally thought it would, but it’s getting better now, slowly.
Next emotion that is really incredibly confusing to me, excitement. I’m excited about moving, and this is a shock to me. I’m sad about it, so incredibly sad about it, but I’m also happy. I’m excited to be in a new place, to have the time to go out in the afternoon and walk the dog. To not be driving three hours a day. I’m excited to be able to go out to movies with my friends on the weekends, to be able to go around to friends places, to be able to do all of the things with my friends that I currently can’t. I’m excited to be moving into a place with bigger rooms, more rooms. I’m excited to see what my room will look like, excited to get a new bed, redecorate the room. I’m excited to see what the aesthetic of the room will end up like. I’m excited because there will be two spare rooms and one will be a music room and the other will be a spare bedroom-sewing room which makes me so happy. I’ll have more storage space, more room, more light. I’m excited to see what we do with the house, what we do with the gardens. I’m excited to have more time, to get home earlier. It’s the things that excite me that are keeping me going through this. There are more of them, yes, but they’re smaller, sillier things, but it’s good. It’s getting me through this. Through the difficult times of having to get rid of pets, of animals, of the place that I have called home for the past six and a half years.
Those are my mid-way thoughts, dears. I’ll have another set of these in about a week, when I’ve been in the new place for about four days, and we’ll see how I’m feeling then! I’ll be posting these very regularly for now, so keep checking your inbox for them!!!
It’s been a while, especially since I have done a moving on post. If you’re new here, Moving On is a series in which I discuss the fact that we are moving. I also cover the issues I am having with this, my thoughts and why I think it’s going to be like that. I addition to the above stated things, I talk about the pros and con of moving, the packing process and what it involves for me, the houses and properties we are moving to and from and the process of grieving, moving on from it and just my life around this in general. For the next two weeks I will be posting every one or two days on this topic, I will be covering the reason for that in this update post because it has been about six weeks since I last posted. Right, onward.
In the last post on this, I talked about living here, when we moved here and what it’s been like since then. I also discussed what we’re moving from and where we were thinking of moving to at that point int time, January 18th. The whole post is linked at the bottom of the page in case you missed it.
In this post I will be updating all of that and just giving an overview of everything that has happened in the past two months surrounding the moving process and what is going to be happening in the next couple of weeks. Enjoy, leave a comment and give it a like!
Since January, we have sold our house and bought a new house. About a weeks after that last post on this, we put the house up for sale, and the next day we had had people come into view it and had an offer in on the place. A week later, we had accepted the offer and were looking for a new house of our own. I can’t remember the exact timing of this all, because it was a log time ago and everything has just been super, super hectic and crazy and everything has been incredibly busy and I really haven’t had time to think about it all. Anyway, after about 3 weeks of searching, we had a house that we had put an offer in on, and a couple of weeks later, everything there was confirmed and we had the house as our own. That was five weeks ago yesterday (22 March, 2019).
We move into the new house on Friday (29 March, 2019), six weeks after sale confirmation went through, 2 months after we first began thinking abut moving. It’s been a full five weeks since we had confirmation of the sale on this property and everything had been sorted on the new one, and it still hasn’t sunk in. It’s still very raw, very fake and very pretend, I don’t think I really realise that it’s real yet, I don’t think I will until everything is out of this house and in the new one. (Oh, btw, I will be posting empty house tours on my other blog when we’re moving, sometime at the start of April, so keep an eye out for those!!!)
The place that we are moving to is a two story town house thing. It’s in a small town about 15 minutes away from the place I go to school and my mother works, there is a bus that goes from my school to the house. The actual place we are moving to is on a 900m2 piece of land, mostly taken up by the building and concreted areas. The house is nice, it has a small kitchen, large living areas, six bedrooms, two bathrooms, three toilets, a small laundry and a garage out the back. That’s it in short. There are a few other things there too (Harry Potter closet, linen cupboards and the like) but that is it. There is a small grassed area out the front and another out the back, a bunch of gardens, an outdoor barbecue area and a small grassy strip down the side of the house. It’s on a street just off the main road, about 50 metres or so down and it’s surrounded on all sides by more houses and a road. I know that it sounds like a house a lot of people live in, and it’s actually nice, and yes, I’ll admit all of that, but for me, it’s a huge change. There’s not enough land for me to bring most of my animals and I’m having to make decisions as to which animals I am going to taking, and which I am going to be leaving behind.
We move in on Friday, we leave here on Friday. There is a drive of a little over an hour between the two places which is good, but it’s still hard.
For now, this is my update post, I have a bunch more scheduled to be up in the next few days (one every two days). They will all be about this same sort of thing, so stick around for that! That’s all for now!!!
This piece is confusing. It’s something I’m not sure about sharing. But I hope it helps someone, it’s pretty, in my opinion at least. I’ve been feeling weird lately, and this is a depiction of that, in a few words. I find it pretty and it’s soothing for me, both to read and to write. I hope it’s able to help you too. I love you, always remember that. xo
Tonight, I’m at peace. With what, I’m unsure, but I am at peace. At peace with the world? With myself? With the universe? The stars in the sky? The breeze in the trees? No one shall ever know, but I am at peace. And it’s nice. It’s calming. Soothing really, being at peace. It’s enjoyable, stable, smooth. The world feels calm, life feels soft, I feel nice. I am at peace. Life feels undaunting, smooth and loving. It has gone in a hectic way, but now the boat has reached the smooth waters. For now. It will reach the storms again, I know, but for now, the sea is smooth and still. It’s gentle. The stars are above, and the ground is below. The air is trapped between, as am I. But I am at peace with that. Everything is calm and steady for once. The path of life has given way to a few moments peace. Steadiness. I don’t know where I will go, nor where I have come from, but for now, that does not matter. What matters is that I know where I am now. At peace, ease, rest. I am calm with the stars and the moon in the sky with the breeze, and the water and the fish in the sea by the trees. It’s soothing and calm. A first, maybe a last. But ease is nice. It’s steady. No where to go, but no issue in that. I am where I am, not where I will be, not where I have been. The world is calm and quiet, the stars are steady and bright, the sea is still and dark. I watch it all tonight, and I am at peace. At peace with myself, with the world, the universe, stars, sea, trees. I am at peace with it all. Tonight.
Remember that I’m here if you want to talk. I care for you, I love you. Goodnight, friends.
I gave up on my story. My WIP has died. Lilia and Melanie and Nya and Noah And Eleanor have all been quietly replaced. ANd I would like to explain to y’all why I’ve given up/stopped writing the piece I was. Lettuce begin.
Very simply, to begin, I didn’t know what else to write. I had the basic outline for the entire thing, but I just couldn’t get my chapters to be long enough, it just didn’t work. I could write for hour and hours and hours and have 3 part-written chapters that didn’t make sense and were 1000+ words off my goal (about 2500 words). It was becoming difficult to come up with things to write in that wouldn’t just be fillers (fillers being unnecessary pieces that you will cut out upon redrafting and editing). I had all these ideas but none of them seemed to fit with the theme (very real, very deep).
Next, it was boring me. I couldn’t find inspiration to keep writing and hadn’t written anything for several weeks when I finally decided to give up and put that to rest. It was boring me and I didn’t know how to overcome that boredom. With that boring me, I was beginning to find writing boring and not doing it as much, I wasn’t reading, wasn’t writing that, wasn’t writing short stories and wasn’t writing blog posts. The quality of my writing was dropping drastically and it was all effecting me. I was finding writing a chore and it was becoming something I dreaded, rather than looked forward to which was a shame.
I was triggering myself. This is possibly the biggest reason for ending this. I was finding the whole process of writing about mental health, suicide, self harm, eating disorders, homophobia, abuse and the like so difficult and it was actually hurting me to write about it. Everything that I was writing about was reflecting my life, my mental health, my eating disorders and the homophobia I have faced. Everything was so real that I would finish writing a piece and be so triggered that I needed to get everything out. I would come away in fits of tears, shaking, crying, not knowing why. The whole point of writing it was to bring more awareness to what teens face when they suffer from the things mentioned above, but it was having a really bad effect on me and I was beginning to feel like I was writing the story of myself and predicting what was going to happen to me.
I didn’t know enough. I didn’t know enough about religion to write about it. Enough about dealing with mental health to write about it. Enough about anything I was writing about, to write about it. The place it was set was somewhere I had never been. I have never been in a relationship like Mel and Lilia were, where they’re so in love with each other they’d rather die than hurt the other in any which way. I fet as thought I was going to be ruining people’s perceptions and possibly further injuring the things I was trying to help heal.
It wasn’t making any sense. None of what I was writing was making sense. My head was a mess (is a mess) and felt really foggy and none of my thoughts were (are) clear. It was difficult to form correctly formatted sentences and ideas from that mess . This was meaning that everything I was writing was ending up sounding really off and really murky. None of the ideas were clearly ‘there’ and absolutely everything was repetitive and really badly written. I hadn’t bothered to outline anything or go through the correct process to write it, I hadn’t come up with character information that went further than describing the things wrong with them. It was all a mess and nothing was making sense to me.
When I gave up on the work it was sitting at just under 30,000 words, about half-way to my goal of about 60,000 but I couldn’t form correct ideas or anything for that. I just felt like I had to tell y’all about what was happening with that rather than coming at you with another idea and having y’all go ‘woah! dude! What! New story! But what about the other one!’ because that would be completely reasonable. But now I can just send you this link and I’ll know you haven’t read this post!!!
Anyway, that’s all I can think about writing tonight, I hope it made sense and I hope y’all have a great night!!!
Bonjour, hola, hi. I’m reintroducing myself because I’m bored, want to post and stuck in a motel room! What fun. Also this may have something to do with the fact that pretty much no one knows anything about me because my About page was updated about 12 months ago and the only introduction post I’ve ever done was the first post on here which was approximately 251 posts ago.
And now I’m here and I’m going to be doing this thing. Because I can and I have no motivation to do anything but it. Please enjoy very much.
*swirly thing that moves all my writing on so you know that this is no longer the intro*
Ah, there it is. (look kids, I just took that picture, be proud of me. the quality is absolutely awful, it was taken on my laptop) Right. Now to actually begin.
I actually don’t know what tf I’m doing, so I’m going to go Google (YouTube???) and search for people doing introduction videos and shit for the next 15 minutes.
*back from my 2 hour search for these videos with lots of information*
Okay, so I have lots of ideas now. Not really but hey, let’s just do this.
According to all these YouTube videos I need to be wearing a cropped, off the shoulder shirt. I’m wearing that. I also need to be wearing jeans. Which I’m not. But I am sitting on a bed which is good. With that all being said, my favourite video I saw was one of this super cute girl in super cute clothing just doing some fun stuff and being super excited and I loved her. She was fun and enthusiastic like me and I loved that so much. But still, none of that was actually good. Let’s do this from now on.
Hmmm, maybe I need to do another thing and make this a second intro. Let’s do that.
My kids. Welcome.
My name, is Emily. Spelt with an ‘E’ at the start and a ‘y’ at the end. Not an ‘A’ at the start and an ‘ie’ at the end. E-M-I-M-I-M-I-L-Y. That’s out of the way now. So yes.
Bonjour, hola, hi.
I was born in the lovely New Zealand in two-thousanddddddddddd and fourrrrrrrrrrrrr. If you aren’t any good at maths that means I am 15 this year which is freaking scary. Insanely freaking scary. It also means that next year I can get my restricted and I will be able to drive an actual car. Which is extra super scary. So yes, I will be an old human on Juillet 8 this year. (if you speak no language that means July, you idiot. in French) So I grew up in Christchurch in the South Island of New Zealand and when I was eight I moved to Somewhere in the North Island of New Zealand. Somewhere is the place I now live. In all honesty, I live near the bottom of the North Island in the middle and my famdamily aims to move soon. I will continue to keep you all updated on this shit as it happens.
In short, I am 14 and live in the North Island of New Zealand.
But anyway my house and shit and things like that. I live on a random little mini farm thing and we own lots of animals and things that will all need to be sold when we move. Which is all Gucci. So I own some darling animals, I own my beautiful baby bunnies (all 6 of them currently, 3 babies and 3 adults) and I breed them to not be a broke teen and buy a laptop. Their names are Jane[Doe], Talitha and something else for the breeding buns (I have an unnamed male bun, yes) and Kisses, Ice and Spice for the bubba buns. They’re freaking adorable and I NEED YOU TO BUY THEM BECAUSE NO ONE SEEMS TO WANT TO. I also own one kitty cat who’s name is Sparkle Diamond Lovehert Snowflake and y’all can judge all you want because I was 5 when I named her. I own some beautiful cows, I own a beautiful cow creature who is very big and bootiful (my boo) and is called Bamberooni because when she was teeny tiny she was brown with white specks and looked like Bambi from, y’know, Bambi. Then I have Boombi’s calf who’s name is Floozle or Furie and another bubba cow who’s name is Fred. And she’s my favourite thing in the entire world. (yes we completely ruined fucking gender stereotybes and named her Fred) And that’s pretty much all the animals I own. I also do love my little baby Dave who is not so much of a baby but a cow and not mine but I raised him so he’s mine.
In short, we own lots of animals and I love them all.
Hmm, so apparently I really ought to deal with the small matter of family. I really ought to talk to you about my family. So I shall do that right now. Also please note that that was a joke and I really am going to cover my family. So I have two sisterz. two teeny tiny little child sisterz. With a zzzzzzz. They are young children and they are 6 or 7 on Saturday and the other child is 9 and their names are Briar and Tiara Tara and they’re both so incredibly annoying because they’re so young and I’m so olddddddddd. But hey I have siblings and we’re good at fighting and arguing and screaming and it’s all good. I also have parentals who are old and stuff. One parent is my mother and the other is my father and I live with them and stuff. Anyway they don’t want their ages online (lmao why not?) but their names are Andi and Adrian for your information.
In short, I have two sisters called Tara and Briar and two parents called Andi and Adrian.
Now, me. Let’s begin some things with me. I am very boring. I go to an all girls’ school over an hour away from my house in the city that my mother works in which is why we’re moving. So that’s some fun. I’m going into year 10 and if someone can please do some things in the comments to translate this to some different country year/grade things that’d be great. But I’m going into my second year of high school. Now, now. I’m taking the year 11 maths course too because I like maths and stuff and am taking an accelerate maths course which means big exams this year. I’m a nerd. I might do a post at some point about my school + school life and that’ll happen then and you’ll learn about me school.
In short, I go to an all girls’ school, am in my second year and am taking a third year maths course because I’m a nerd.
Some more about me now. I’m a queer teen and have an attraction to girls and feminine non-binary human beans. I haven’t ‘really” dated anyone before and stuff like that and if you want to know more about that comment. I don’t know how else to identify other than that romantic attraction wise. I have a lot of aesthetic and platonic attraction and crushes and I love them a lot and would like to have some internet friends. Please be my friend. I identify gender-wise as non-binary and I use they/them pronouns. I have been doing so for about 6 months now and feel really comfortable with them. Pretty much I don’t identify or feel like I am a girl or a boy so please, please, please don’t call me one. I suffer from a whole lot of chest dysphoria and hate my chest and love wearing huge clothing to hide it *is wearing a tight crop top lmao* and would really like a binder but don’t have the guts to tell my parents. I also don’t have the guts to tell them that I hate them telling me that I’m a daughter, sister, girl, lady etc.. But that’s a fun thing.
In short, I am attracted to feminine people and use they/them pronouns and it’s also confirmed that I’m a very large coward.
More about me lmao. Quick things are that I suffer from a few mental illnesses and sometimes…see a school counsellor and haven’t the guts to tell my parents that I would like to actually see a therapist. I have depression, anxiety and social anxiety, I also have a huge issue with both body image and eating disorders (anorexia mainly) and sleeping which is fun. I post a whole bunch about that on here which is great. I don’t want to do so much.
In short, I have depression, social anxiety, social anxiety, insomnia and anorexia.
We’re going to end this post (mainly because it’s 11.47pm and my mother in in the room behind me and I’m in a motel room) on my ambitions for this blog. Ambitions for this blog and posts I’m going to be doing from now on.
So I would really like to be posting about music more because I love music I also want to be doing some more fun with my story and characters and I want to start doing some fun little tags and stuff with these characters just to you get to know them all a bit better. I want to stop doing so much about mental health and LGBTQ+ stuff because I feel like I post too much about that stuff and I don’t enjoy it much. I might do one or two of those every month which is great. I also want to post more about some reading and books as well as goals and stuff on here. I also want to do some more sorta craft, cooking, bullet journal (because I’m getting one of those), fashion, school and room tours and stuff like that but I think that’s all too much for at least this blog and I’m going to start up a new blog (on this account because I’m awful at other accounts) and I’m going to chuck all of that on here. It will also mean that y’all aren’t going to have a post every two days, rather a post every four days on here and the same on there. But those are my goals for here.
In short, I’m posting about writing, reading, gay, depression, goals and music and starting a new blog for bullet journalling, craft, fashion, school, organisation and cooking shit.
Now please note that I entirely cover my depression and intense emotional wreck in humour and faux comedy. Also sarcasm. SO yes. Love me or leave me.
So that my dears was the end of that. You now know some more about me and I am now going to go and do some editing shit on here and make a cover image, insert some pictures of me, add some fun tags and actually post this thing. Then I might update my fun about page but that might also happen tomorrow. that’s going to happen tomorrow because I’m a lazy bastard and ain’t gonna do that at, oh, oh wait. It’s 12.01. AM. So I’m going to do all this stufff today and do the stuff with my About page sometime in the later stages of the day. The morning.
I’ve just realised how incredibly boring this is and how uncomedic this post is which surprises me. I think it was probably because I was super tired and it was super late when I posted this. But then again today I’m feeling the same way today but it’s early. That’s fun though.
In short, I need to edit and add shit to this and go to bed because it’s early in the morning and I need to do that shit and then I’m going to do everything else later today.
So here’s a fun thing. I’ve worked for four hours to write this post. It is now 12.00 noon the next day and I’m going to do some editing now and that’s a lot of fun. I will spend the next fifteen minutes editing this and then at about 11pm I’ll finish is which is great fun.
Update: it’s 8:40 pm and I’ve just finished this and I’m now going to add some fun tags and then schedule it for the time you’ll see it which is 1 minute past midnight.
Thank you. Thank you for being there, for being a year in my life. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for teaching me so much. Both about myself and the world. Thank you for letting me grow. Thank you for giving me the courage to keep going. Thank you for giving me experiences I will remember forever. Thank you for giving me insight into what is going on in my head. Thank you for everything, 2018.
You made me cry. You made me hurt. You made me not want to go on. But you let me go on. I made it to here, and I didn’t think I would. I didn’t think I would be here now, still breathing, my train still running along its tracks. I didn’t think I would be able to make it to here, because it hurt too much. But you gave me things to get me here. You made me laugh. You made me smile. You made me remember why I was here. I opened myself up to people and made new friends. I didn’t think people would see me as they do, but it would seem they do. I didn’t think I would be able to laugh as I did, because I didn’t think that happiness would be there. But you gave me things to make me happy.
You taught me about myself, about who I was. About what I wanted. You taught me about the world, about how much reality hurt. You taught me about love, about how I don’t need romance to be happy like the movies say. You taught me about people, about how people can be harsh and horrible. You taught me about secrecy, about how secrets can really hurt everyone. You taught me about things that hurt me, about triggers and fears. You taught me to love people, to love the people who matter. You taught me to forget the people who hurt me, to remove them from my life. You taught me to follow my dream, to do the things I want. You taught me to let go of the past, to enjoy what’s coming.
You taught me that it’s okay to hurt, that it’s okay to be in pain. You taught me that it’s okay to ask for help, that it’s okay to be vulnerable. You taught me that there are people out there who will love me, that there are people who care about me. You taught me that smiling is okay, that it’s nice sometimes. You taught me that crying is a human thing, that it’s okay to cry. You taught me that it’s okay to be different, that it’s okay to embrace that. You taught me that people will hurt me, that it’s okay and I will get through. You taught me that it’s okay to tell people that they’re hurting me, that it’s okay to not be able to take what they have to say to you. You taught me that I am not going to be treated the same by everyone, that people will treat me differently. You taught me that it’s okay to open up, that it’s okay to put myself out for criticism. You taught me that it’s okay to talk about my feelings, that it’s okay to talk to people. You taught me that internet friends can support me just as much as friends in real life, that people don’t have to be with me to support me. You taught me that I can be myself and people will love me for it.
You gave me the music that shaped me this year. You gave me tutors to help me grow into what I am now. You gave me friends to never forget. You gave me classes that made me laugh. You gave me people to love with all my heart. You gave me memories to remember forever. You gave me help to improve myself. You gave me courage to express myself as I want. You gave me smiles to stay positive. You gave me sunshine and plants to brighten my life. You gave me love to pass onto those who matter. You gave me hope that the world will be better. You gave me knowledge to share. You gave me sunsets to end beautiful days. You gave me places to keep my memories safe forever. You gave me things to always remember, and people to never forget.
The sunsets over the hills. The walks through the shops. The photos in the park. The hours in the sun. The paintings on the walls. The jogs through the streets. The words on the pages. The meals by the water. The smiles with friends. The home stretch sprints. The flowers on the trees. The balls over the net. The quizzes in class. The split competitions. The ‘ballroom’ dancing. The birds over my head. The goals met. The dreams kept. The hope to keep going. The love to spread. The colours to mix. The people to love me. The music in the car. The tears in offices. The lights of the city. The stars over the water. The paint on skins. The moon at 3am. The songs on the stage. The snow in Spring. The cupcakes and chats. The cats over Instagram. The numbers in books. The calls into the morning. The handstands in skirts. The celebrations of awards. The times spent together. The friends I made. The things I will take into 2019. The memories, the joy, the emotion. The love.
The memories made. The promises kept. The secrets told.