Two Years of Being Elm

If you’d have told me two years ago, after I wrote potentially the worst first post ever (did I think I was being cool or something?) that I’d still be sticking with blogging two years later, I would have blinked in confusion and burst out laughing. Really, it astounds me how I’ve kept up with this whole thing: maybe some (failed) breaks and breakdowns but I’m still here.

So many things about my life have changed: I’ve come to conclusions about my personality that I don’t like; I’ve gone through four relationship-type things (bloody hell); I’ve cried more times than I can count; I’ve screwed up majorly but also been the happiest I’ve ever been. Through all this, I’ve had this blog: maybe I couldn’t talk about a few things but my blog’s been a stable thing in my life when everything was spinning around me. Constantly there, it and the people I’ve met have been the things that have kept me going.

To me, my blog’s a way to be myself. It’s not just a bunch of posts, comments or pages; it’s a way to hold myself together. When I think about it, it’s one of the only things that I’ve properly kept to: it symbolises my dedication or the threads of it. I can’t bloody believe that I’m still here after so many have left, that my blog hasn’t decreased in meaning for me (quite the opposite).

I know I say this a lot but I can’t thank you enough. Thanks for sticking it out through my posts: I know there are certain types of posts, like positive ones or situations that have happened to me that you guys like more, but I’ll still be posting how I usually do. The reason I love this place so much is because I don’t restrict myself or hide behind another thing’s shadow; I’m as genuine as I can be and I take pride in that.

I didn’t want to just be like “Sup bitches, been around for two years and LOOK AT ME NOW!” because honestly, this is nothing special. It’s just me, sentimenal as ever, marking the anniversary of something that pretty much means the world to me. Maybe it won’t to other people but I’ve remained true to my blog, to myself on here and even when I couldn’t say the full story, I could get my emotions out.

I’ve got this far. I’ve met so many amazing people, met bloggers, fallen in and out of love and held the hands of people that have hurt me. If I’ve already done so much, who’s to say I can’t keep going? Who’s to say that in a year I won’t have met more bloggers, gained feelings for someone which β€²I truly want – how do I know what’s going to happen?

I’m going to carry on because blogging’s now more important to me than anything I’ve ever done. Not much could get me to suddenly leave or say, “This was nice but bye!”

Thanks for 2 years; your support has shown me that people do care and that I’m not going to be dropped in the middle of an ocean on my own. Through my bad mental health and awful feelings, various people have been there that I needed; how the hell could I have got through everything without you?

I doo’t understand, still, why people follow me – I’ve almost got 2500 of them. How did that happen? I genuinely never set out to be some kind of ‘known’ person but for some reason, people know my name and people respect my words. Why? What is it about me that lets people read my stuff – in whatever capacity? I hope you know how much that means to me because it makes me feel so appreciated. Ugh, I sound so arrogant; I’m just surprised I guess.

I love you all. Here’s to more years to come of laughter, tears and too many strange situations to think about. Honestly, I can’t wait.

I’ve been Elm for 2 years but I sulpose the “Elm” part of my identity was always there. It just took this blog for it to surface, after the two other “blogs” I had. I grew into the Elm you have now because of this. I’d safely say: being Elm makes me so, so happy.

Love from Elm πŸ™‚

I Can be A Horrible Person

Over the last 2 weeks, I’ve fucked up totally, upset multiple people and most likely ruined two of the best friendships I’ve ever had. I want to put that out there first without any sugar-coating.

Up until too recently than I’m comfortable with, when I used to spectacularly screw up, I denied it: I locked myself into a loop of violently blaming myself but actually refused to admit I’d done wrong or to think about it. It’s a flaw that I was aware of but not enough; I’ve come to the realisation that I need to really think about who I want to be. The former I still have but the latter? I’m thinking about what I’ve done. I’m owning up to it; I almost want people to know what a shit person I’ve been so that they don’t have any illusions about me. Will it make people respect me less? Most likely. Do I care? Absolutely but if I fuck up, I have to face the consequences.’

I won’t justify what I did because I don’t deserve it: I won’t go into detail but I neglected friends and exchanged lasting things for things that may be fleeting.

Things have got complicated inside my head. It’s a twist of confusion, strange feelings and attempting to balance my happiness with making other people happy. It’s selfishness versus selflessness and I don’t know what to do; I feel cold, angry with myself but mostly so, so guilty.

I never mean to hurt people. It’s always that something happens, it runs away with me; I panic, start to tell people different things, get so paranoid that I can’t think and then everything goes to hell. If I had just talked to people about things, then the situations wouldn’t have happened but if those hadn’t had happened, I wouldn’t learn. I wouldn’t have come to some realisations about my feelings that are scary but that I have to think about. However, there’s no excuse to upset people even if I had no idea what I was doing or if I thought that people knew things they didn’t know: I should have been more aware, but ‘should have’ didn’t happen and all I can do is just own up to it and face up to what I did.

Unlike this morning, I don’t feel violent with myself. Earlier I wanted to smash everything, to hurt my body like I’d hurt other people’s minds and to just teach myself a lesson. At some points, I have to put my hands behind my back to remind myself that I’m still here and that causing myself to hurt more than I already do would solve nothing. I stayed up for a long time last night thinking, the vicious anger crawling up my spine as I remembered how unfair it was of me to treat people terribly.

Now, I have to think carefully about where I go from here. It’s no longer just my feelings: other people are involved and how I act, how I think and who I trust will shape the current friendships I have. It’s terrifying but all I know is that I want people to be happy. All I want is for no one to get hurt and for everyone to communicate properly so that there is no more backstabbing, no more lies, no more secrets and fears and worries. I won’t get that – especially from myself – and I know that, but I’ll try. I’ll do my bloody best to try.

This isn’t me asking for pity, or for you to tell me that I didn’t mess up or make people angry. I know I did and I’ll freely admit that; I feel absolutely atrocious about it. Even if no one believes me, I’ll say it here so it’s here forever; I’ll say it because it’s one of the things I know.

I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry for hurting people; I’m sorry for lying; I’m sorry that I wasn’t honest about how I felt. I’m sorry that I can be a god-awful friend and that I avoid my problems, that I could have prevented the situations that are now making me feel this way because I was too worried that everyone would hate me. I’m sorry I was just never there like I should have been and that I try to fix things but make it worse.

I want to become a better person. I want to be happy. Most of all, though, I want you all to understand that I’m human, I do stupid things and make bad decisions. I’m admitting that, though.

Don’t beat yourself up for doing something bad like I’m doing now. Just remember – like I should – that when you explain a situation to someone, make sure you think about both sides or however many there are. Don’t make people turn against one another because you’ve only talked about one side, shown one text or presented a distorted view of things. Tell them that it’s your side and let them form their own opinions. X’the one thing I’ve done about this that I’m proud of; I’m so done with only explaining one perspective.

I can be better. I just have to make a conscious effort to try. At least I’m writing this here so that there’s a permanent record: I was horrible; I am horrible; I will be horrible but at least I know that. I won’t hide it.

Love from Elm πŸ™‚

Small Confessions I Want to Make

Sometimes, all it takes to say something is a sentence; that’s okay because having short little thought explosions can help get my mind in order. Here are a few things I want to get off my chest, but writing a post about each one is too exhausting.

I feel like I don’t fit in anywhere and that nobody wants me in a group enough for me to stick with it.

I’m really bad at talking to people one-on-one, because I think I’m not interesting enough and that I have no real personality.

I’m terrified of being left behind and whenever someone becomes great friends with one of my best friends, I’m scared they’ll forget about me and I’ll be nothing to them.

I’m just scared in general that I was never enough for a person, that replacing me wouldn’t even be replacing to them because I don’t cross their mind enough times for me to be worth replacing.

I don’t eat enough and I’m hungry a lot of the time but sometimes, I don’t want to put the effort in to eat something.

I have a friend or two that I think I have feelings for, but I’m refusing to admit it because it might hurt me in the long run.

Being swept up in someone from my past is probably a bad idea, but I don’t know if I can help it or if I want to.

I’ve had feelings for a blogger – I suppose you’d call it that – and no one knew, knows or will know because it’s too embarrassing, stupid and would cause a whole lot of shit.

I’m paranoid that said blogger thinks I’m weird or hates me, but I’m illogically paranoid that many people do.

The most alive I’ve ever felt is when I’m disconnected from anyone that hurt me, but the happiest I’ve ever felt is being with someone that then did.

I’m known for accidentally spreading stuff I shouldn’t and I’m petrified that if I get too close to people, I’ll find things out and hurt them by accident, or cause a cycle of lies.

I don’t know what to do that will make me feel happier, or more connected with my emotions, that won’t result in confusion and pain.

I want to be happy, and I’m willing to try and let myself.

I haven’t had a real “crush” since July and I’ve forgotten what feelings without a dash of worry and pain feel like.

I want to fall in love but I’m trying to not hate myself first.

I’m worried that if I make people wait for me to be okay, they won’t move on and I’ll feel terrible and break people’s hearts.

I’m insecure about my appearance; I can become aggressive and I don’t know how to take compliments.

This is the most honest I’ve been on my blog for months, because right now I have no filter and I like it.

I feel like if I meet too many new people, I’ll be overwhelmed and forget about the old, but I want to get to know people and make as many people happy as possible.

I’m starting to help and care about myself, but in the process I think I’m neglecting everyone else.

There’s not one person who knows every single thing I’ve done because if there were, I’d end up hurting people by the things I say.

I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve ever physically done (if you catch my drift WOW).

However, if people knew everything they might be ashamed of me which is why I don’t tell them.

I love so many people – platonically – and I want them to know that.

To be honest, I overthink.

From Elm πŸ™‚

Slowly Moving Along

Ever since I dropped French – which was finalised on Tuesday – I’ve noticed a marked change in my behaviour.

To put it simply, the last time I cried with any measure of seriousness was Tuesday, but that was out of relief when my head of year told me I never had to do French again. Before that, I’d been so scared about going to the lesson that I was shaking, my face was pale and I was doing my infamous “stick-insecting” – rubbing my hands together. Naturally, when I found out I was French-free, I sobbed on my head of year and spent the rest of the day trembling out of a strange sense of happiness.

My body’s still getting used to not stressing constantly, every day; I’m still tense as hell but that’s because I’m working on relaxing myself. There was a brief moment of terror when I was told that my French teachers wanted to speak to me; I was in the middle of doing Peer Mentoring and so had to pause in order to get myself under control.

I spoke to the girls in my French class – my old French class – and they were all so amazing about it. Laurel – the girl who sat next to me – also wants to drop it and yesterday, I sat with her. We talked, we hugged and at one point, I could barely breathe with sadness because I’ll miss her. Yes, I can see her out of class any time, but it’s not the same; we don’t share the understanding of hating French any more, which is kind of a good thing. I hope she can drop it, though it’s likely they won’t let her: it’s not fair though, because she’s as miserable as I was. God, it’s weird to say that in the past tense.

In terms of speaking to the French teachers, I’m dreading it. I was too scared to tell them what was happening with me, how low I was feeling, because I thought they may convince me to carry on and then I’d get worse. However, I understand why they’d want to talk to me: I can’t just leave it like this, where I bugger off and don’t say goodbye. I’ve got no idea how terrified I’ll be when I actually have to go to them because apparently they’re really sad I left, but we’ll just see what happens. The other three girls in the class were just as nice as Laurel, and understand my fears about the subject. The lesson on Tuesday, according to my other friend in french, was attrocious because the teacher went on a rant about how you shouldn’t drop it as it would be an awful idea, and Laurel was sat there with the saddest look on her face.

It surprises me how well everything else is going. I got an A in my English mock, and supposedly did well in my History (or so my teacher says). When I found out about the english result, I almost cried, and then almost cried again out of annoyance because a girl next to me refused to understand why I was so shocked “Because you always do well anyway,” she said in a patronising voice. I won’t think about that though.

I got a real emergence of motivation for my History coursework and for psychology revision. At the removal of a stressful thing, everything else has taken on a life of its own and just seems more vibrant, and more worthwhile. Even the effort I put into talking to people has increased.

This post was just a way to let you know how I’m doing. Everything is looking up; I’m going to go and do revision now. Proper revision, and reading, and maybe even talk to friends later on.

I may not be entirely happy, but I’m getting there. French isn’t the only reason why I felt – and feel – bad when it comes to mental health, but removing one of the key components means that I can, for the first time since I started hating myself again, concentrate on myself and to let my mind understand that I am slowly wending my way to loving life again.

From Elm πŸ™‚

Small Ways to Get Your Life Back on Track

For the first time ever, I applied a little bit of makeup – myself – before going to school. You can start laughing now, because even I was shocked: despite going shopping on Saturday for “beauty” items, I never thought I’d have the guts to go through with it. To actually say, “Oi! You don’t look shit when you do this!”

That’s what inspired me to make this post, because today I felt positive and like I could do something worthwhile. The makeup doesn’t make me feel more secure in myself; it’s a little extra thing that is new, and the fact that I could apply it without help gave me the boost of confidence I needed.

If you’re like me and your life is spinning out of control, and you feel overwhelmed, then here are a few things that have helped me – and may help you – to pick yourself up again. They’re just little things, but can make a world of difference to you if all you want to do is cry.

Sort out your room

I don’t know about you, but there’s something calming about organising something so personal as your room. When my room gets in a clutter and I get pissed off at life, a way to calm myself down is to tidy up, reshuffle everything or just make sure you know where things actually are. Being blind, it’s essential to me that I’m aware of where things are in my room, and so I like to check every now and then that it’s all in order. Try it and you may see that doing something productive helps you relax.

Make a list of people who care about you

This seems stupid, but you often forget who’s there for you. In a moment of fear or paranoia, I have to remind myself of who’s there and why they’re there. You have more people on your side, looking out for you, than you think: acknowledge it, as best as you can, by noting down everyone. It makes me feel more secure in myself, and so I know that next time I’m terrified, I can refer back to the list and remember: I’m not alone. Neither are you.

Do something creative for a while

If you’re swamped by essays, writing and screaming balls of fire – erm, I mean work – a way to combat that is to do something else. Don’t feel guilty; you’re not a failure or a piece of crap for doing something you love! Mine’s singing and creatively writing; yours could be dance, sport, artwork and drawing, or anything like that. Step away from the homework and keep in mind that you’re not some work machine fiend superhero invincible human. Anyway, doing something you like to do can make you feel better, and so you can approach the bitch that is life with a positive mindset.

Talk and laugh with people

This one’s especially good with people you don’t see every day; it can be refreshing. Sometimes, I feel stifled and so lose all motivation to do anying, but it doesn’t HAVE to be that way (yeah Elm, take your own bloody advice!). A huge mood-booster (THAT is not a word shh) for me is Skyping bloggers, and just laughing with them until my sides hurt, or talking to random people in class.

Take care of yourself

Yes, that includes hygene and cleaning. Being female, I enjoy having routines that I stick to when it comes to skincare: cleansing my face, using moisuriser, all of that which you should do anyway. It gives me something to stick to, and makes me feel healthy; even eating healthily can improve your mood. I love chocolate to a scary degree, but if I eat it all the time, it makes me feel upset, and so little things like remembering to eat a balanced diet are so important. For anyone that knows me, I’ve become rather… Involved with looking after my skin and my way of living recently, as evidenced by my constant need to make sure I’m not over or underdoing things. Looking after how you live and yourself can just make you go outside and not want to crawl into a hole and howl for 20 years.

These seem like obvious things, but trust me when I say that I sometimes (all the time, whoops) forget to do them. Slowly, over the past 6 months, I’ve been implementing them more in my life and they’ve helped me to feel a little more grounded, stable and together in my mind.

What kinds of things do you do to make sure that you’re helping yourself as much as possible?

From Elm πŸ™‚

I Actually Enjoyed Shopping?

In my younger years (I sound like an old woman) I was notorious for hating shopping, scorning the thought of myself wearing makeup, and not wanting to go to the effort of going outside to do something for myself – entirely for me. Today, I flipped that on its head, and realised some parts of my personality have changed drastically.

When I’m at my dad’s house, I’m often happier and strive to be independent. Such was the case when my dad asked me on Thursday, “Elm, want to do anything at the weekend? Maybe we could go out on a walk or learn some routes, like going on the bus or something.” I’m blind and so my independence means a lot to me, as it’s abismally low, which meant that I jumped on the opportunity.

“Actually,” I said yesterday when I was transferring from my mum’s to my dad’s, “Can I go out and get some makeup brushes and makeup?” No one was more surprised than I was (except most likely my mum). Over the last year and a half, I’ve steadily warmed to the idea of makeup: I don’t think I’d wear it all the time, but I know it makes me feel confident. Not because of my appearance because I can’t see myself, but it’s a new thing, an extra little add-on that – if I apply it myself – gives me faith in my own abilities, if that makes sense?

After having stayed up until 4 (I still have a pretend grudge against the bloggers I skyped until then) I was exhausted; I woke up at 11, relaxed, had a shower, brushed my hair and made myself feel as relaxed and happy as possible because I knew if I went out today with a bad mindset I’d give up and not want to do what would make me feel better: taking control of myself. I took the first steps to do that by putting perfume on, and wearing clothes that I actually like; it’s little things like these which make me feel secure.

At my stepmother’s insistance, I wasn’t guided by my dad and I walked the (short) distance to the bus stop. I embarrassed myself by not being able to find the card reader thing (I live near London) and getting pissed off, stepping aggressively down the bus and then losing contact with my dad, meaning that I couldn’t find a seat and nearly sat on someone… That was great.

When I arrived at the shops, I got stressed: I knew what I wanted, but I was paranoid I wasn’t getting the right thing. Rapunzel, a close friend of mine, has helped me because I’m literally terrible at everything to do with beauty. I asked her for advice, and used my (limited) skills to find out what I liked.

I bought:
Four brushes from Real Techniques:
β€’ A foundation brush
β€’ Concealer brush
β€’ Shadow brush (for eyeshadow I think
β€’ Powder brush
β€’ Foundation from Bare Minerals
β€’ Perfecting Veil from Bare Minerals
β€’ Two packs of makeup wipes from Boots
β€’ I’m not turning into a beauty blogger; that would be hilarious because me +beauty =disaster

In the midst of shopping, I had to deal with some, errm, emotional panic, so that wasn’t great, but I soon looked over it because I was happy as I was being independent with my actions. Not once did I feel bored, or frustrated at not being able to decide; I spoke to three shop assistants and didn’t feel out of place. They didn’t make me feel like a child.

This afternoon, I learned that it’s okay to change your opinions. It’s alright to go out there, ‘do what you want, and not judge yourself for it. I’ve accepted that I’m intrigued by the thought of makeup, of making myself look a certain way and being able to manipulate that.

All in all? Finding myself makes me feel like I can truly do this. That I can truly express my own personality without screaming at myself for it. You can, too.

From Elm πŸ™‚

I’m Too Sentimental for My Own Good

Call it coincidence, but the 24th seems to have it out for me.

By “having it out for me”, I don’t mean it’s personally attacked me with its… Numberness, but on the 24th of various months, things – recently/in the last 1 and a half years – have seemed to happen in terms of my “love life”, which means that I now have an entirely unfair grudge on the number, and the grudge – which I only realised existed today – is most likely going to surface in a bitter mutter on certain dates, because I seem to have a habit of attaching importance to things like that and then getting involved in a self-fulfilling prophecy of irritation.

It’s not like I mean things to happen on this day, or that I even realised they did until now: I was thinking earlier (shocking I know) and I came to the thought that, completely by accident, a few things have happened on this day in different months. It made me laugh, and then made me feel rather too sad, so I decided to make a post about it. You don’t rule me, 24th, you bastard!

My hilarious failure of a two-week internet relationship on the 24th ended. That isn’t exactly ground-breaking, but a day later, I had what I consider my first kiss, and so of course the day prior would mean something because the latter day will always stick in my mind. Palm meant nothing to me in the long run: S, on the other hand, did and does. Convoluted? Oh, it makes sense in my head; the past’s a weird thing in that it reminds you of things, but this section of the past doesn’t hurt. It’s nice to remember.

On the 24th of February (last year because I’m not a time traveller, sadly) I took a huge step in realising that my feelings were important, and that I didn’t have to do something just because it was right for someone else. I understood that not having feelings for someone and being in a relationship with them is a bad idea, and only causes hurt; it made me grow up and finally accept that what I was feeling was alright to feel. That relationship ended amicably, and stayed friendly, which is great.

The 24th marks the start of something that was beautiful to me, and something that got me through a lot of pain in my life; I started on the road to falling in love that day, and though that’s faded now, it’s alright because again, I grew as a person. It also marks an ending, of what I shan’t say, but that ending was incredibly bittersweet. With the person in question, after that “ending”, I was never quite sure if I’d break what we had, or if it would turn into something lovely. It represented the fleeting kind of love you have, before complications get in the way of it.

This “day” is also one where I made some, um, morally questionable choices. Then again, I don’t regret a thing because it was a huge reality check; I sincerely doubt it’d even occur to anyone else what this particular instance was, but for me it was a wake-up call. I was happy for a short time, but at the expense of others, and it only increased my paranoia despite the closure I received. It wasn’t fair, really, though I’ve put it behind me as best as I can.

Oh, and coincidentally, the 24th of an unnamed month is Ash’s birthday. Ash was previously one of my best friends, who I fell in love with, and I find it quite funny how this day also links to him. Weird, in fact; it’s all total accidental happenstance, but it still shocks me a bit.

If I had, this morning, woken up and thought “Well FUCK, it’s the 24th!” I would have been in a horrendous mood all day. As it was, I only realised the supposed significance of the number a little before I wrote this post, when I was contemplating love and literature. It was then that the thought of “Ohh hell” popped into my head, but it only lasted a short while because I immediately got to writing.

Yes, it’s just another day and I want you guys to remember that too. Say you have a horrible event that happened to you, and it’s a year since then. Let this new day make you remember why you’re still living, and that a year ago it may have been awful, but this is a new year, month, day and you’re not ruled by numbers.

Sometimes, though, it’s good to have a bit of sentimentality. As long as it doesn’t stray into upsetting you, it’s lovely to remember the nostalgically happy times.

Luckily, for all its sad connotations, the 24th is a good number for me. Do you have any days like this?

From Elm πŸ™‚

I Should have Known This Would Happen

Right. I’ve had it up to here with my bullshit.

When I started to feel bad at the beginning of the week, I should have suspected that things would go downhill, and so should have prepared for the fallout of my thoughts. In the time when I was more okay, I should have done more work, in preparation for the time when I just couldn’t. That time has come, I haven’t done enough, and I’ve realised that this could easily have been prevented. Or… Could it?

Today, I had horrendous stomach pains, and was so physically and mentally exhausted that when I woke up, I felt hopeless and awful and like I couldn’t face the day. So, I took the day off school, exaggerating my stomach ache and downplaying my mental exhaustion because I was just too tired to explain it. I felt – and feel – ashamed, and angry at myself, as if I’d given up – which of course I haven’t, but it felt like at the first sign of weakness, I’d just… Stopped.

When I woke up again after four hours of sleep, in the weird darkness of my room that felt wrong because it was so late, I felt… Okay. Still not good, but more okay, not as if I was about to break into pieces like I had this morning.

I took time for myself, relaxing as best as I could, trying desperately not to panic or hate myself to a large degree. After taking care of my skin a little, eating and listening to music, I did some work. Not enough, but it was a little victory.

I got lost in the reading of Jane Eyre, where words just flowed over me. They were beautiful, and when I read, I go into a quiet space where only the descriptions and I exist. Though I didn’t read much more of Othello, I looked over my notes on it, remembering about all the characters. I don’t even want to think about the disaster that is my notes for The Great Gatsby, which I wrote last term in my phase which I like to call “Elm Wreckage 2.0.”

That, unfortunately, was it. I emailed my history teacher to sort out the work, cried a bit when I thought about my French essay, and shed some further tears on the fact that I felt I was useless. It feels like a never-ending spiral, and if I tried hard enough, I could just get out of it. I could do more work, could get the motivation – because I’m doing less than is even required by the class teacher.

It sickens me that it’s taken me this long to even start to smash myself back together. This has nothing to do with the state of my love life, or anything to that effect: this is just me, all me, and my mental health which is becoming unchecked and wild. However, I think I’m blowing this up in my head to be worse than it is, as I tend to do; if I just TRIED, I could do this.

I don’t try enough. I become overwhelmed, get distracted, and then do nothing. It breaks me when I remember that I can’t help the girl I’m mentoring tomorrow, because I won’t be there as I have an annual review about my statement (disability thing) and she, someone who needs me and wants me to help her, is one of the people who holds it all together in her own little way. I need to do something, to get help or to figure out my thoughts before they run away with me.

It starts tomorrow. I don’t give a shit if I feel crap tomorrow: this has gone on long enough. Healing starts with me, and it’ll only start if I truly want to get entirely better. I’ve been languidly floating along until now, shoved along by a vague purpose, but that purpose snapped and broke and so I have aro create a new one.

Though it upsets me that I’ll have to do ! so much just to get my crap together and even more to succeed, I have to do it. Where will I be if I don’t? Today wasn’t me giving up; I realise that now.

Today was me giving myself a break, whilst simultaneously coming to the conclusion that I’m very lonely and sad and will remain so for a long time, the only thing changing being my motivation levels. It was almost me accepting that I’ve got to a state that’s separate to my crisis of mental health over the last three months – which wasn’t even that serious. Oh, it’s linked and caused by the low mood I was already in, and the lack of motivation goes back very far, but this time I know it’s me.

Because it’s me, I have to sort it out. I have to be brave enough to tell myself that enough is enough, I’m able to do this, and existing isn’t just enough any more. For my own sake, and for the sakes of people who I’m not sure even care about me any more. For those people, I’ll prove I can be closer to the person I was – filled with the true will to live.

Now, I just need to take my own advice, and put things into action. How, when I feel so panicky? The state of my notes is atrocious, I’m finding it hard to organise myself, and that’s all from before Christmas; I kicked myself into shape over the holiday, then regressed back to this. How am I supposed to clear up the myriad of crap from before then?

I’ll do it. I’ll stand the fuck up and try, try, try, and even if I fall again I’ll get up; even if people don’t understand what I’m doing, I’ll get up, because this is for me.

If you’re going through something similar, don’t forget that you can’t get better in a night. It takes time, and yes it’s hard, but I’ll be struggling right alongside you. There’ll be times when we’ll give up, and cry, and scream because we just don’t want to do it any more. I’m getting scared just thinking about those times, and I’m trying to stop one of those from approaching right now.

I knew this would happen, but after writing this, I know that I couldn’t have done anything. Being too emotionally sick to go to school was the spark that caused this: without that, I’m sure I would have got worse. Maybe I still will, but maybe I won’t.

From Elm πŸ™‚

Letters to a Memory

Dear you,
Perhaps writing these will give me a better form of closure than what I had, though I’m beginning to think that how it ended wasn’t closure at all. This most certainly won’t be the last “letter” I write to you, because my emotions can’t be summarised in one sitting. It would take far longer than that, and it makes it easier that I’m writing it here because there’s no fear attached.

Can I really call it a letter, when you’ll never read it? Even if you do, you’d never realise it was you, or you’d think it was you when it wasn’t. I wouldn’t make it easy for you, simply because I don’t want you to know. I want to speak as freely as I’ll let myself.

I still don’t blame you, despite being told I have every right to, because you broke my heart. You taught me what friendship was like, what it was like to make awful and stupid mistakes, but then what it was to forgive. Then, that all shattered and I was left – but there’s something important that’s missing there. The shattering, the ending, isn’t what should define how you thought of something. The journey to that ending, the things you experience along the way that make you grow as a person, should.

The simple reason I can’t blame you is that I know that it wasn’t your fault. If I were a different person, I would have cut off contact the minute you said those awful words – but I wasn’t. I’m me, and you know that I forgave you a long time ago, because there wasn’t anything to forgive: I fucked up, and you returned that sentiment in kind. I can’t help but think it’s a sort of karma, despite the fact I’m finally admitting I didn’t deserve it. That I wasn’t somehow to blame.

You’d find me pathetic if you saw me now, seeming as I still cry quite a fair bit – not just over you, mind; there are plenty of things – not only from years ago – that make me cry. Strangely, though, whether you find me pathetic or not is something I don’t care much about any more; I hope I’m not lying to myself when I say that, because I’ve done that a lot recently. However, my tears are my own and not yours to shed, and I’ve suppressed them around other people so the only outlet I have is this, and my own thoughts now. How times have changed.

One of the main things that scares me is something ending. The missed opportunities, the things that will never happen, and I can’t breathe from the pain of it sometimes. I realise how small I was in comparison to everything, and it makes me question whether I was worth it to anyone that came before or after you. I miss it, you, everything; it’s comforting that you’d never think to ask because I don’t think that either you or I would want to hear the truth coming out of my mouth.

I don’t think that you ever loved me; I was just deluding myself into thinking I had a chance with that level of emotion. That started a whole spiral of self-worthlessness, something I’m still surrounded by; it can’t go away with the flick of a switch. I think that people underestimate just how little I think of myself now, and no: it isn’t just because of you. In fact, it existed so long before you came along that I wonder if it all started when I realised I couldn’t see like the rest of my classmates could, or if it just grew and grew until it turned into the leech it is today.

You never took anything away from me, and I hope you know that. You turned things into other things, security into paranoia – but no, that wasn’t you; it was my mind that did that. I absolutely can’t blame you for that, because that was far outside your control. You didn’t twist my ideas of who you were, not really – I always knew who you were, and who you are is not and never has been a bad person.

I’m not crying whilst I write this. I’m in control of my emotions, unlike yesterday and the day before, and so many days before that. Finally getting some of this out has helped a little, I suppose.

I’m very removed from the person I was when we were close, because as much as you said that you would always be there, you aren’t. You aren’t here now, and you haven’t been for so long; it’s understandable because I’m pretty sure I irritated you, annoyed you and exasperated you. I certainly did myself. But you broke a promise – one I knew, in the back of my mind, couldn’t be kept – and I find it so difficult to get past that, from an unwavering set of morals I used to have.

I can’t forget what was once so precious to me. If I do, I’ll forget why I can call myself a good person in the first place: because I understand why people did things, and I accept it.

The person who you used to know is still me. There are a few more layers now, a few more walls, but I still cry for help and I still need somebody to hold me together. That somebody isn’t you any more, and will never be again because I know you would never want that. It’s just that I don’t know where I stand with anybody; I’m scared and worried, so that’s why I’m writing this because I want to get some of my hurt out.

I don’t know where you are now, who you are, or if you’re happy. I hope that you are; you deserve to be. I’ve never said that I hated you, not once – though I suppose I hated how you treated everything for a short while, but that feeling’s been reasoned out of me by my own mind. I’ve not felt bitter, even though I joke that I do; life is just life, you are just you and I’ll be the me I want to be at some point.

Hope’s what I cling onto. It’s not like I’m drowning, or like I’m lost; it’s more that I’m trying to find my footing when the rug’s been dragged out from under me. I know you understand that, and I can just imagine you sighing in that way you did before, or laughing as if you were surprised by it. I always found that beautiful.

If, for some reason, you’re reading this, I wonder if you’ll figure out it’s you. To anyone, it might seem obvious, but read between the lines. This “letter” could refer to a myriad of people, and one thing that I can keep to myself is the fact that the only person who truly knows who this is about is me.

Hold onto your morals, okay? Whatever you’re doing, if you’re laughing now or crying, just remember a little segment of the past for a second. You know which one I mean. It’s doubtful that I’ll see you again, or when I do, it won’t be with much significance attached; it might just be a passing word or a nostalgic “Hey, remember the old days?” Do you?

Yes, I remember; sometimes I wish you could forget it. Never let the memory of a girl you used to call a close friend tarnish any memories you might make in the future. Let me just be something old, something safe. I’m content with that.

You were the possibility in the midst of a rainstorm, something that grew with every cloud and kept my tears from becoming an ocean. Now, you’re the echo of that, but you’ll still remain in the back of my thoughts. A reminder: all things come to an end, but you can bloody well find true happiness whilst those things are on their way.

From me πŸ™‚

Jealousy is a Green-Eyed Monster, Except My Eyes are Brown

A fair few of my friends either “like” people, or are in relationships and my instinctive reaction is to be happy for them – in fact, it’s the reaction I always feel, because I just want people to be happy.

However, I’m the type of person who’s honest about how they feel, and so it horrified me to realise that I also feel a sick sense of sadness whenever I’m “faced” with it. Whenever I’m told, or whenever I see them together, I feel this muted and nasty envy, this shaky and awful reaction that crawls up my throat and turns my thoughts in on themselves. I hate it, and I almost hate myself for feeling it. I feel guilty, worried that my friends will see and misinterpret it as upset, and then never tell me anything.

I don’t quite hate myself, though: I know where it comes from, and so the energy spent hating myself isn’t worth it; I have far better things to do and there are worse parts of my personality than this. This one is almost understandable.

Today, I came to this realisation when I was doing my History work in my Psychology lesson (I was a rebel and hadn’t been given the Psych textbook). I immediately felt disgusted, asking myself:
“Is that how you feel about your friends? You’d be bloody jealous instead of accepting that they’re blissful, you’re not, and get over it? Is that who you really are, Elm – or do you like either of them? Is that it?”

I began to panic, thoughts whirling in a jumble of confusion, until I came to the conclusion that I was being stupid. I don’t like anyone; I don’t want a relationship, and that’s precisely why the answer is much more simple and causes much less angst than I originally thought.

I miss it. That’s all.

Ever since… Well, ever since I broke up with Aspen (my ex-boyfriend, NOT the blogger) almost a year ago now, “liking” somebody has always been tinged with a kind of fear, or worry. Of course, I’m happy when I do – like with Rapunzel and S – but with both of them, I was always paranoid, and it was broken up by the brief spells of euphoric happiness.

I miss liking someone with carefree innocence. The leaping feeling in my chest, hanging onto their words, looking forward to talking to them, and just feeling like I was in the clouds when I thought of all the things that made them up as a person. It was my heart racing, simply with anticipation, not clouded with any form of terror, and not wondering when it’ll end, when that pocket of beautiful prelude would shatter: when complexities weren’t part of the rulebook.

I no longer have that, and that sad reality is making me feel pretentious and too forlornly poetic to put any thought into solving it.

Since the end of my relationship with S, god, almost three months ago, it feels like I’ve been unable to “like” someone properly. Laurel (a girl who sits next to me in French) is just a passing thing, someone I respect and admire, a fleeting feeling of steadiness mixed with something new, but I can’t see it amounting to anything. I don’t really want it to, because “liking” somebody would be much too damaging for my own mental health.

My self-worth is still abismally low, underlined by the fact that I’ve been feeling awful recently. The whole relationship debacle just increased that to such a point that I can’t, at the moment, get over it and so I can’t have feelings for anybody. It hurts too much, the thought of letting my thoughts run away and tying themselves to someone – “liking” someone isn’t a calculated thing; it just happens, but letting it happen now would pretty much destroy me in the least dramatic way.

I know all this, and I also know that falling in love, having someone’s hand to hold or sharing myself with someone will happen eventually, but not now. I do miss it, though.

I’m not jealous of my friends. I’m more wishing for a feeling that’ right now, is out of reach and that’s alright. It’s not their feelings or relationship that hurts – it’s the fact that I’m incapable of having that. For now.

If you feel jealous of someone, analyse that jealousy. Don’t dismiss yourself as awful, but most times, there’s a lot more to simple jealousy than you’d think. You’re not a bad person for wanting something, but don’t let it consume you, and always remember: you’ll be alright one day. You aren’t alone. Take a step forward, and feel what feelings you want to feel.

From Elm πŸ™‚