I Hate This

There are some days where I can put up a facade of functioning. I’ll be able to complete most regular, easy tasks; I’ll speak animatedly and tell people things aren’t that bad. However, it’s often just a disguise, a false front that I don’t even realise is false until I’m back by myself. Of course, there are days where I genuinely feel okay or even positive but most times, there’s something that feels really wrong beneath the surface.

Then, there are days where I can’t even pretend to function properly. There are days where, like yesterday and today, I walk around in this daze of upset and sad and lonely. My voice will have no inflection in it – it’ll sound like I just don’t care about anything. On particularly bad ones, I will snap at people that I don’t feel well enough to talk or do anything and then spend hours afterwards feeling so guilty about it that I shut myself off. I’ll talk to people in a bid to distract myself from this awful feeling but it’ll never work. It just comes across as desperation.

Today is going especially unpleasantly. I had to make a really horrible decision yesterday that has left me feeling terrible, even though I knew it was the right thing to do for everyone involved. My skin feels awful and I’ve been purposefully trying to avoid talking to the family when I never usually do that. Even though I told my mum I feel mentally unwell, she blamed it on the change in the weather and the fact that we’ve all been feeling shitty. It just reinforces in my head that no one will believe me because usually I can function enough to get up and get out the house.

I’m so tired. I hate having to pretend that this bone-deep weariness is from just lack of sleep or being just a little bit sad when everything feels a bit unhinged and heavy. I haven’t been able to explain my thoughts to people around me, leading to misunderstandings which make me feel even worse.

There’s also this thought in the back of my head that I’m really fine, that I’m being dramatic and that I should just get up and try. But I have been trying. I’ve been trying so hard that I have no try left. I keep on getting bursts of crying because I can’t bare that my mind is working against me to tell me I’m a liar and a faker and not worth anybody’s time.

I don’t want to feel like this anymore. God, I hate it so much; it’s like the moment I take a few steps forward, my brain pulls me back. This time, I can’t even properly blame myself because feeling like this isn’t my fault. It’s just so horrible and even though I know it won’t last forever, it feels like it’ll never end.

How do you admit that you don’t feel well without making it seem like a cry for attention? Because I refuse to self-diagnose, I don’t want to say I have anything but then it just feels like people don’t care. It’s just a “spell” or a “phase”, according to so many members of my family. I feel trapped and shut in my own head, when so many people expect me to hold it all together. It seems like there’s no time for my unhappiness or breakdowns. Fuck, is that needy to say?

I just want to feel well but I know that can’t happen for a few days or even weeks. Talking to people has helped and I’m just trying to reconcile with myself that people care. This mountain isn’t impossible to scale – it’ll just take a while to climb. I guess, you can’t climb a mountain without support.

If you need help, I’m always a message, email or comment away. Here’s my contact page, if you need it. You deserve to have a voice.

I’m really sorry for how negative and disjointed this post is. Thanks for always supporting me through it, though. Blogging is part of the reason why I haven’t totally broken down. I appreciate that more than I can say. I just feel so awful at this current moment that I can’t do much apart from yell it onto a screen in the hopes that someone will understand.

Love from Elm πŸ™‚

I Am Not

Writing a post whilst upset and hurt is never a good idea but perhaps it can be as I need to let these emotions out. Excuse any confusing sentences or strong language.

I am not a slut if I do things that other people find “questionable”. My body is my own and if I feel comfortable doing something, I’ll do it: the consequences may be difficult to deal with but that’s okay. I don’t need people who don’t even know me questioning my decisions and thinking that I have no morals, just because I did something I wanted to do a while ago.

Conversely, I’m not a prude if I don’t want to talk about things. Sometimes I feel fine discussing everything, sometimes I don’t; with some people I’m okay with it and with others, I’m not. One day I may be perfectly fine talking about everything that happened and another I’ll feel unpleasant about it and just not want to. If someone asks me a question and I don’t want to answer, that’s alright because I still have boundaries.

I’m not oversensitive if I get upset because of a situation. I may portray that I’m not bothered by anything but that’s a complete fucking lie; I’m still human and still have feelings. I don’t know how I feel the majority of the time so if I stop talking, it’s usually because I just don’t want to talk; it’s nothing against the person, it’s just because I want to get out.

I am not disgusting for being a liar. I think that about myself every single day and so others thinking that of me just reaffirms it. There are many reasons why I might lie: I don’t know what other people know, I don’t know if I’m about to be made fun of, I don’t trust the person or I don’t want to talk or think about it. Lying is not a good thing but sometimes it’s necessary, except when you get caught out and want to scream because you’re panicking too much to breathe.

I am not pathetic for being paranoid that information is going to get out to everyone. It makes me feel ill because I’ve told different people different things and yes, that’s awful, but some things I really need to stay private because everyone will know what goes on in my life, including people who just could not understand and who have never spoken to me. I’m not in the slightest okay with that so I shut myself off to everything.

I’m not over-reacting if I feel dirty, disgusting or sick. Occasionally, I want to wash all of it away; I stood there shaking earlier because I didn’t want to face the reality of everything. I felt horrible, like things were crawling on my skin, like I was something to be despised and someone to be disgusted at. In my head, the thoughts were screaming and I couldn’t catch my breath but I just. Felt. Awful. Some people would say that’s blowing things out of proportion but when you feel that creeping dread, you know that you can’t shake it.

I am not a coward for wanting to run away from everything. Avoiding your problems won’t solve anything but I want to try sometimes. I’m tired of potentially getting judged and of feeling like that people believe I’m nothing but a slut. I’m tired of refusing to defend my actions and I’m exhausted at the possibility of conflict.

If people call me these things, I’ll tell them that I’ve already called myself them more times than they can count. People’s opinions and actions towards you should never influence your self-worth. No matter how many times people twist it, your thoughts are yours.

Thinking positively about yourself is so hard, I know, especially is you believe people are making assumptions about you. If you’ve been in a situation which makes you hate yourself, remember this: you can always learn and if people judge you on one thing you did, it’s them that can’t understand you. Only you truly know what you’re thinking and don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

When things start to get too much, tell yourself this: I’m strong. I am not a terrible person.

I’m not what they say I am.

From Elm πŸ™‚

I’m Scared Of Losing My Virginity

In the traditional sense of the word, I am a virgin.

I’m not ashamed to say it; I don’t want to hide the fact and I’m perfectly willing to be open about it. You may wonder why I would write a post on this topic if the fact of it doesn’t bother me so much. It’s simple: I’m scared of the idea of “losing” it.

I’ve spoken about sex with my friends before: S recently because he’s listened to my ramblings about the subject, Robin on holiday and at Christmas (she’s been my main source of information and I love her for it), Rapunzel, Wren and Red but there are few people who have heard me plainly say that the thought of having sex for the first time, of losing my virginity if you will, scares the living shit out of me. With friends and with advice, I’ll be as open as I like and I’m not afraid to talk about that kind of thing but the reality is, I have no clue what I’m doing. It’s time I truly admit to myself that I’m nervous of it and that it’s okay to be.

Searching for articles online, watching videos from Youtube and talking to people about my worries has helped me to figure it out but it still doesn’t make sense. I don’t really care about the pain: it doesn’t necessarily have to hurt. I’m only mildly paranoid about pregnancy because I’m aware of birth control – have a look at this if you’re unsure. With the practicalities, I’m not too fussed: you can get good advice with that and also, I know that it – of course – won’t be perfect the first time. Nothing ever is, usually, and that’s okay.

However, the absolute terror comes from my emotions. Or rather, the messed-up confusion that they’ve become. I don’t understand it: what I want, what I’d be comfortable with and who I’d be comfortable doing things with but I’ll have a go at explaining it. I’m so glad I have this platform to express this kind of thing.

Recently or maybe since October, I haven’t trusted anyone really with the idea of physical intimacy. Even now, when I’m over the situations that have happened to me, I have a wariness I can’t shake. Whether I’m in a relationship or not, I feel like to “lose” my virginity, I’d have to trust the person a lot. That trust would be in the sense of being fine around them if something went “wrong”, being able to tell them I didn’t want to do something or trusting them enough that they wouldn’t tell people what happened if I didn’t want them to. They would also have to know me quite well because I have a few personality traits, like paranoia over very very small things, that they’d have to understand to get why I might be scared. With this kind of thing – that goes for physical and emotional relationships – it’s so important to communicate well with the person or people you’re involved with. If they don’t know how you feel, then you could wind up being scared of something and not being able to tell them or they wouldn’t understand.

To gain that trust would take a while for me; I’d be too nervous and would question everything they thought of me because I’m that sort of person. Just to say: if you find that you don’t have to trust the person then that’s completely fine: everyone has their own expectations and thoughts about sex or not having sex. Personally, the idea of letting someone in enough for me to feel comfortable in my body around me makes me scared simply because when I become capable of that, I won’t be able to rush into things which may prolong the nerves. Previously, I rushed into things a lot so I’m almost “used” to that feeling but I need to remember that not everything is about getting Experiences; sometimes, you have to take a step back to examine and figure out your feelings before you do anything.

As of yet, I haven’t been treated like a child for being a virgin except by one person and they don’t count because they treated me like a child in a lot of respects. I’m not necessarily worried about what age I “lose” it: I’m 17 now and as much as some days I’d like to have that experience now so I know what it’s like, building up that trust first is important because if I didn’t, I would feel sick with myself afterwards and I never ever want to feel like that again. I know I would be safe; it’s not about that: it’s about how I may react after.

Often, I call myself “prickly” or “worried” as a general rule. I’m able to get close to people but unlike before, it doesn’t come easily and I don’t always trust that they would actually be there for me. In terms of virginity, leading up to it or after, I have a feeling that I may then block everything out out of fear. This is why I need to have that trust so that if that happens, the person – whatever gender they happen to be – will understand.

Basically, it’s all about trust. I’m scared of myself, of people’s reactions and of that trust disappearing. I don’t know if I would be able to tell one singular person everything that has happened for fear of being judged but I suppose people don’t need to know everything because no one does currently apart from, I think, myself. I know that I will find that person but it’ll take time, time I don’t know how to invest properly.

Whenever I think about the act itself, I get really nervous because of this. I laugh when anyone suggests it because I find it hilarious but beneath that, there’s a lingering terror that it’ll never happen or when it does, I’ll feel wrong or I’ll do something stupid. I suppose, though, that it won’t go perfectly right but that just means that I have something to compare other experiences to. It’s okay for things not to go perfectly. I need to remember that.

How do you feel about losing your virginity if you haven’t, or how did you feel when you lost it? I’m not asking you to comment if you’re not comfortable because this can be a very Personal topic to some people. Just think about it and if you ever need to talk about anything, like your fears and worries, you can email me. I may not be able to necessarily help but I’ll always listen and do my best to give you advice.

Don’t be worried about talking about this. Originally I was scared of posting this because I thought it’d be too mature but for those interested in having sex, this can be an important topic and for those not, it can be interesting to read about. If you want to lose it then that’s fine; if you don’t, it’s also fine. What you feel is personal to you because it’s your and no one should control it, or your emotions, but you.

From Elm πŸ™‚

Sceptical Love

Yesterday, a friend told me that ever since October – AKA ever since this whole thing happened – I’ve started to make more sensible decisions. After thinking back over the stupid shit I’ve done recently that people don’t know about, I disagreed but then realised that in a way, it’s true. I’ve done things that screw with people’s feelings and make me less confused but in the process, I’ve become almost cynnical to the idea of love.

Funny that – how decisions that were supposed to bring my mind back to a restful state have in fact clouded my mind to the very thing that I hoped would return to me. That’s the magical aspect of love – that leaping feeling you get in your heart, the smiles and the lack of worry.

My reaction to being cheated on was quite out of the ordinary, now that I think about it. I wasn’t angry; I didn’t shout; you’d expect me to hate them both and to never want to speak to them again. In fact, my reaction was so opposite to that that I now don’t really know how to react angrily to much. I’ve become a little numb to everything but the other option was to be filled with unfair anger that wasn’t deserved; I prefer this.

However, it did affect my self-worth. I’d say it affected my view of relationships – the stuff that happened after more so, but it contributed to it. I can no longer think of being in a relationship without being intensely paranoid; physical experiences or the idea of them make me feel anxious but still, I’m so lonely sometimes I could cry. It has made me do a lot of things I shouldn’t have done because I thought that it was the right thing to do: have I always been like this? Was Jasmine just a way for me to feel something?

Occasionally, I wish I’d never done some of the stuff I did but then I remember that lessons were learnt by doing that and that it’s okay to utterly screw up sometimes. I’ve become almost disconnected from it; it’s got to the point where when people call me a slut as a joke, I wholeheartedly agree with them and then question who I am. Was I really that stupid or was it alright to do everything? Fuck, I wish I could talk about it but I can’t and it breaks me: is not being able to talk to you guys the reason why my view of love’s become a bit… Warped?

Whenever anyone tells me that I’d be a good girlfriend, that I’m loyal or that I can love well, I laugh inside my head. I no longer trust relationships or I don’t trust people not to hurt me, to cheat on me, to find me too high-maintenance or to just get pissed off or bored of me. I think myself so uninteresting, so unappealing physically and emotionally that when I imagine anyone wanting to be with me or being attracted to me, it’s so alien that it makes me scoff.

It’s not anger that I feel. Rather, it’s an utter lack of faith in falling in love; it’s the piece short of a puzzle that would make me truly happy in a relationship. After the “October incident”, I was so miserable that I closed myself off to the idea of loving anyone and having them love me in return; I had no idea what to do with feelings that crept up on me. As a result, I threw them away and panicked so viciously that I both broke myself and someone else. That should give you an idea of just how little I believe in myself.

I’m being honest with you – or as honest as I can be – because I haven’t been. I haven’t had a true crush since July; anything after that was ruined by paranoia and a need to prove to myself that I was fine when I so obviously wasn’t. Now that I think I have feelings for someone, I’m trying to smash them down because it would only screw me over. My view is that it’s not worth getting hurt; nobody would be interested in me so what’s the point in trying; any feelings I’ve had recently have been tinged with pain and I feel like I’m running on a road to nowhere and the road isn’t even really a road – it’s more of a shitty kind of track. I know that’s all wrong but what else can I feel?

I got so unblinded to love that I now don’t know how to see it for the beautiful thing it can be. I know that relationships, that crushes can be great but to me, it’s all dark, terrifying and I’d always think about the ending. I miss the carefree part of it – like with S the first time or even the time when I first realised I was in love with Ash.

Let’s see where I go from here. Maybe I’ll have that back again: maybe the person I have in mind will be the person who lets me feel that unfiltered happiness. I know that worries can be good but mine would be so huge that I wouldn’t be able to see the positives: I’m naturally wary of my feelings now. I don’t know if they’re real, if I deserve to have them or if they will ever amount to anything (doubtful). I also feel guilty at the idea of falling in love because I miss the love I had, though I can’t hold onto it.

I’m cynical, sad and suspicious of love but that doesn’t mean I’m not worthy of it. I will be one day but I think I’d have to jump over a thousand hurdles before I get to them. I sincerely doubt anyone would be willing to be with me along that journey and wait for me at the end.

How do you feel towards love?

From Elm πŸ™‚

Oh, Love…

I loved you once, in the autumn when you took the form of a solid bar of gold, then when you dulled to a wrong bronze in the winter; when you crumbled to missed chances in the spring and when you were new as a winged possibility in the summer. They say that spring is the time of new beginnings, but you were the time of new endings then, collapsing in on yourself as I bloomed, and then wilted.

Missing you is something I do frequently, when I compare you to the eighth of love I feel now, the diminished thought of a memory. I miss your beauty, the way my heart would skip and jolt, happiness lancing through my veins one second and then the presence of you, calming. “I love you,” you said, too many times, but was that you, Love? Perhaps you only descended once, twice, in the wreck of infatuation and the splinters of half-love that could not quite coalesce into you.

I feel sorry for you, for all the ways you could have been formed, but where you were never quite able to be seen. In a way I resent you for it, all of the running up of hills only to fall back, never cresting the peak. Where were you then, at my failings – though how can I blame you? You are love, nothing more. You filled me with temporary whimsicality, your antibodies still present to prevent the intrusion of your next attack, but never quite working. Should I thank you, I wonder?

You were secret, once, stolen away in droplets of tears, never said nor heard. You were a thread of happiness, tangled, until I could not distinguish you from the echo of a song you left. Where have you gone? Because you flew away, another golden feather clutched in your hands.

Your emotion is something I could never forget. In the quiet nights, the shining days, tampered down with the rationality of paranoia and swellings of affection for friends, family and strangers on the street. Still, you consumed me, opening rivers of thought I never knew I had.

I still love you, I suppose, but I ask myself which version? The version of you that held me with quiet certainty, or that was so soft and new I could barely breathe, or perhaps the you that glowed with your own familiar light until it moved, beaming to another star. Maybe all of you is still there, curled in my heart, a dormant dragon waiting to rise. Would I still love you, then, in the dulled sense I do now, or would the flames and silver scales heal the cracks? You neither know, nor care – do you, Love? You are just a person, or an idea, or a blend of both rolled into spun silk, ripped.

When you come back, don’t break my heart as you did before. Don’t be warped, twisted, turning my heart into a receptor for expectant pain; on my toes until the catch comes, just waiting to be proved wrong and for you to vanish into shadows. Don’t make false promises, that you’ll always be there; never say you can hold me forever. Don’t do the things that burn me, and I’m begging you, don’t show me you exist until I’m sure I have the strength to match you.

I can’t do it otherwise.

Please?

From Elm πŸ™‚

My Utterly Boring Life Update

“I’m a generic child and so I’m going to painfully update you on all the not-so-exciting happenings of my life,” she says, as she has said a thousand times before.

My curiosity about Laurel – the new girl in my French class who I sit next to, who is awesome – is growing. It’s a muted sort of fascination, a thread of something I could reach out and grab, though I’m not sure if I want to. As I’m losing the magic of that subject, the only thing keeping me motivated are the girls in my class and how lovely they are. I made a vague joke about my sexuality today, saying “Hah well I wouldn’t have that problem,” in reference to the film we’re watching where a gay girl says to a man that she wishes he was a woman so that she could love him like that. Laurel nudged me, laughing, and my mind flitted back to Pine’s house and how we so casually traded stories about our, ermmm, romantic preferences.

See, it could grow into more, but I know that I’m much too unstable currently both in terms of emotion and in terms of work ethic. I’ve been trying, but not hard enough; I completed a french mindmap today which made me feel accomplished, but apart from that, I haven’t done much. The history essay can go to hell, and so can the three English ones I haven’t done; I’m so very tired that I can’t cope with things and it’s not just because I’ve not been sleeping as much.

However, I do have something motivating me. I signed up for a campaign opportunity, and I’m going to be interviewed for it tomorrow. I won’t give much away because of anonymity, but I want to at least try. I hope that it’ll spur me into action. That, plus the fact I’m going to talk to my History teacher tomorrow, makes me feel better about things. Just let that sink in: ME, asking for help?! I’m shocked too.

I need to catch up on the Blogger Awards nominations; I’m rather behind. Tomorrow night, I’ll devote time to doing that. I should be less stressed by then, I hope. Thanks to everyone who’s submitted nominations – remember that voting closes on the 30th!

Whenever I actually dwell on my emotional state, I feel a bit blurry as I’m never sure how I’ll be. I can go from feeling slightly motivated – translating a french passage, writing up an essay – to not wanting to do anything. Productivity will help; if I don’t make those first steps, I won’t be able to do anything.

My romantic life is still shit; I’m not going to count Laurel into that just yet because I can’t deal with that. I’m cascading between opportunities, never taking them, always remembering the truly terrifying feeling of getting my heart smashed again and again at the mere thought of my lack of happiness in contrast to their happiness. It’s stupid, I know; I’m not clinging on necessarily but it’s rather an inability to move on as the rest of my mental health is low besides that. That’s a whole other post, but all I know right now is that I’m living despite it and I’m holding onto that. I hate nobody and I think that everyone involved, now or peviously, in my “love life” are fantastic people.

I’m going volunteering with Poppy and Rose at the weekend, which will make me so much happier because I love them both so much. It’ll make me more able to do work, too, and I’ll be out in the cold – laughing and joking and screaming – and I’ll love it. Later, we’re going to decorate the Christmas tree if they agree to come round, because I want to get in the festive spirit rather than being surrounded by darkness.

Yeah, my mental health may be rather dulled recently; I may not feel secure in my friendships or relationships with anyone; I may be so tired that I’m too exhausted to do much but I’m still living and I’m still here. I’ve got ways to help myself because I am so fucking sick of feeling like this.

From Elm πŸ™‚

A Letter to 14-Year-Old Me

Dear 14-year-old Elm,
I spoke about how I was two years ago today, and it made me think about you. Or me. Or the me that was you, I suppose; I’m not a separate person but I’ve gone through so many changes that I don’t consider the qualities that you have to be all the ones that I have, and I don’t think we have the same outlook on life.

If I could warn you of all the things that are going to happen, and if I could go back and change them, I wouldn’t. If you knew how I was now, how sad I was but also the amount of happy shit that’s gone on, I don’t think you’d understand and you wouldn’t believe it, for sure. Then again, maybe I’m not giving you enough credit, but the character development I had to go through to become the me I am now, you haven’t had yet. Identity’s a weird thing, because it’s almost like I’m separating myself from you, but where does the line blur? We are the same, but I’m fundamentally different from you in how I think.

I won’t think about that, because I want to explain something that I wish you’d known. I don’t know when I started to respect myself, but it certainly wasn’t 2 years ago: yes, you’re a good person, but you have also and will also be awful. Back when you didn’t know who you were, you were just becoming the person I am, I I guess, but before that was two years ago and that was just shy of the turning point.

In December 2014, I was in love. You are, and you think that he is amazing, and back then he was. But tell me this: when he ignores you for days, when he tells you that his mental health is so bad that he can’t talk – do you deserve that? You think you do, but you don’t, and it makes me so sad that you – I – couldn’t see that. Ash, though you won’t know him as that for at least four months, isn’t your world and you are not his.

It’s so hard to realise that he’s not the centre of everything. It feels like he is and I get that; I won’t deny that at this time, you need him. He brought you one of the best friendships you’ve ever had, but he brought and is bringing you pain, and feelings of panic and paranoia. That’s not healthy, because you aren’t just alive when he messages you, and your heart shouldn’t just beat for him. He is human, and has awful parts to his personality; you may know that but you don’t know that enough.

You’ll blame yourself for so long after. If you knew that he would break friends with you in a horrible way, maybe you’d take stock of things more, prepare yourself for eventual heartbreak. It’s lucky you didn’t, though, because it’ll make you realise a terrible flaw in your personality: you expose people’s privacy, and it’s not cured by a pledge in the dark.

I think that now is one of the periods that he’s ignoring you, and you let it get to you. No, I don’t blame you, but you should realise there’s life outside him. You once compared him to a part in your machine that was so specific that you couldn’t replace it with any old part, but sometimes, you can live without a part. You find new parts that works better, more fluidly, helping you run rather than sapping away all your energy. Even now, I don’t blame him, because I can’t get swallowed up by anger. It’s been 2 years, after all, but remember that you have the right to be angry.

When I look on it, you were consumed by him. You had your friends, and they were and still are brilliant people, but you were always worried about Ash. Maybe the future has distorted the past, but I clearly remember cold days where you’d feel more freezing than the temperature saw fit. It’s not that you couldn’t have an independent thought, because you were happy – remember in lessons? But even then, your mind was a web of Ash and confusion and worry.

You’ll make mistakes, and you have. If I told you you’d kiss S that summer, you’d sob with laughter; if I told you the first time you kissed a girl was over a year ahead, you’d question me but not realise that it was a possibility. It is, and she’s a great person; none of the people you will ever have feelings for are disgusting people. It’s good that you don’t know the future, because though it brought me so much self-hatred, I needed to go through it so that I could grow up.

I need you to know that Ash’s secret is not an excuse for why he’s ignoring you. These late night conversations will be in your mind, that time you were on the phone in the cold with him which must have been just a month ago. All of that: the lovely words, the trust, the heart-stopping feelings you have for him – doesn’t make it okay for him to treat you like that. At that point, nothing is your fault, but if I told you that you wouldn’t listen. We are similar, after all.

I’m you, but I’m a you that’s had her heart broken three times, whereas you’re a you that doesn’t know how that feels. Getting rejected 8 months ago was nothing compared to what will happen, but whenever you’re going through pain, remember this:

You’re fucking beautiful and don’t let anyone tell you you aren’t. Your body is your own, and don’t do something just because you think it’s right for them, and not for you. Hold your friends close, and look to the future with hope; nothing’s as dark as you think because there will always be hope. Ash isn’t the end, your heart isn’t unbreakable, and all of the happy memories will get you through.

I love you, in a way, because you ARE thoughtful despite your apparent carelessness. You know what qualities you have, why people like you, so grip onto that and don’t let go. I may not respect some of the things you did, like telling people about your and Ash’s messages, but I understand.

You’ll start a blog, and love people and cry, but you’ll also laugh. You’ll find some beautiful friendships, lose them, and find them again. You already have them, and they will be there for you.

You aren’t alone and you aren’t a terrible person. I’m not, either. The one thing that’s definitively the same about you and I is that we will always help people when they need it. I’m proud of you for that.

Love from Elm πŸ™‚

A Myriad of Possibilities

I have got myself into a few situations, and got myself mixed up with a lot of weird feelings, that some may call unwise. Others may say, “Elm, you are a fucking moron,” and they’d be right. I am absolutely exasperated with myself but I’ll also half-laughing because this is precisely the kind of thing I usually do. Sigh.

To cut a long story short: I wrote a post a few days ago which pretty much said that I didn’t want to get involved romantically with anyone for a long time. That still applies because I feel unbelievably sick when I think of feelings, but because I’m undoubtedly stupid, I may or may not have started to think that possibilities – in terms of physical ones – is a good idea. Oh my GOD, what am I doing???

There is a girl in my french class, who I’ve talked about in quite a few posts – most notably this one. I’ll give her a name now, simply because I can tell that whatever happens, she’ll be important to my life – perhaps Laurel would fit. She always fascinated me, in a strange sort of way, maybe because she’s knew but maybe because she plays the cello, sings, swims, talks to me like I’m interesting, and jumped into the life of french and friends and laughter with more enthusiasm than I ever could.

Last night, I went to Pine’s party – a girl who I’ve been friends with for 5 years. There, I had the most amazing time, watching a film (which was described to me) and laughing with everyone. Swan was there, and she and I had beautiful conversations; she’s such an amazing friend and I think we got closer that evening. Both she, another new girl and I had talks about philosophy, society and people, which meant we missed about 15 minutes of the film, but god it was worth it. After the film was finished, we playg Never Have I Ever, and it was then that my fascination came to the forefront of my mind.

“Never have I ever dated a girl,” someone said, and Swan and I put one of our fingers down. I’m not sure why but I was being very open with my sexuality, so much so that it was pissing me off; it was like I was trying to prove something to someone, to show them “HEY! I like girls too, do you, okay cool!” which, looking back, made me look like an over-eager idiot. This “fascination” with Laurel, coupled with the fact that my current emotions in terms of love/affection make me want to sob, meant that I was putting myself out there more than I felt comfortable with.

She came over to sit by us, once a few people had gone home. I irritated myself in how I was almost magnetised towards her, because my head was so confused and frustrated; as our game progressed and the laughter swelled, I remember feeling this fog, detachment, as if Laurel was unlucky for being the source of my not-even-attraction. Close with Pine, and Swan besides, it wasn’t as if I felt “starved”, but I absolutely refused to think of the possibility that she could be a possibility as I assumed she was straight.

Pine: “Never have I accidentally licked someone.”
Me: “Ermmmm we do NOT talk about that!” (Not that Pine knew what I was referring to)
Laurel: “Well, I’ve never accidentally done that. I mean I’ve french-kissed and that – oooh actually, I’ve kissed more girls than boys.”

I went a bit funny, then. It felt good, that she’d openly admitted she liked girls, because it shows that people are becoming so much less guarded about it and that’s great. Also, and to my annoyance, a seedling of possibility started to grow, and I wanted to kick myself for it. I know barely anything about Laurel, though I admire her, and know her so much more than some people I’ve known since year 7. Still, that doesn’t warrant any kind of screwed up ‘affection’ for her to happen, especially because I’m still so miserable.

When I asked, she told me that she’d never gone out with anyone, but that she’d kissed plenty of people including friends. Something I’d been meaning to say just came out then: “Kissing doesn’t have to be necessarily romantic,” and she agreed. Talking to her was refreshing, and I eventually slid rebelliously onto the floor. Maybe that’s a way for people to notice me, so I should stop doing it; I don’t know what I was trying to achieve, but now it makes me cringe because I think I must have made her uncomfortable with my weird behaviour.

I’m naturally a curious person; I always have been. Though I flat-out don’t want romantic feelings to develop, I was thrilled by the thought of kissing her, or of getting physically close in a platonic way to her. Is that weird? When I spoke to Swan and another girl afterwards, Ow reiterated:
“At the moment I can’t really have crushes, because I’m recently single. But I get fascinated by people, and I get fascinated by the possibility – of being with them, of being near them, but not of being in a relationship with them.” They understood, but I never really said that to Laurel, except to hint that I had been single for not a long enough time for it to be okay to want something like that.

If that wasn’t confusing enough, a boy is what you might call “flirting” with me, though that just made me burst out laughing, and nearly choke on my dinner. He’s the type of person who half-pisses me off and half-makes me laugh, but he’s been surprisingly supportive over the last month or so. It’s not like I’ve shared intimate details of my feelings, but he’s called me up a couple of times to tell me highly offensive yet funny jokes to cheer me up.

Our friendship is strange, I suppose. I say that I’m exasperated with him, but secretly I don’t find him bad. I would never have anything with him, because 1) He goes to the same school as S and Pansy which I can’t deal with and 2) he was absolutely awful to Pansy back in year 8, and it would be morally wrong in a friend perspective to get involved, in whatever capacity, with him. Also, he can be a prick and he’s not someone who cares overly, and not someone who I’d jump over the moon for.

Even though it would be shit, I’m curious yet again. Like with Laurel, it’s not an active thought, but whenever he makes a slightly suggestive comment, my immediate reaction isn’t disgust. Yes, there’s humour there because I find it hilarious that anyone would compliment me, and I always say “Poor you!” or “Hah, I don’t believe you,” when he says anything like that. He said I was hot earlier, and I’ve never laughed so hard. But I suppose I want to be wanted – don’t we all? In one of his supportive moments he said we should meet up because he finds me “cool”, but I’m scared that when we meet up I’ll get that burning curiosity. I’m nervous that, in my “This is myBasically, my head is a mess currently. Kissing someone, or leaning into them, is no way to deal with a breakup, but I no longer interpret it as dealing with it. I can deal with the breakup on my own terms, without using physicality as a distraction. Any so-called ‘physicality’ would be as a result of me wanting it – not for romantic purposes but just because. Laurel and that boy aren’t people I fancy, and though it could grow, I don’t want it to; maybe having curiosity for a number of people is bad, but it’s like wanting experiences and there’s nothing flawed in that unless it causes people harm.

I want to show you that you can be open with these things. Unless you’re not ready for anything, or unless you’re not pressuring yourself, you should know that you can do with your body what the hell you want. It’s not ‘too grown-up’ or shameful – though please don’t do anything too outrageous if you’re younger. I was told by my mum and other adults that I shouldn’t do anything ever unless I was in a relationship, but you know what? I can talk about it; I can show others that talking about it or not talking about it if you aren’t comfortable is totally fine.

If I get fascinated by something, and if both me and any person involved are totally okay with it not progressing to ‘romance’, then there’s no issue. The issues start to happen when complicated and unreturned feelings start happening, or when someone gets hurt. I don’t want either, and so if anything happens in the near future (which it won’t because I’m me), then I’m going to make sure that people explicitly know what I do not want. That’s why I’m being so open about this.

I’m nervous of seeing Laurel tomorrow, not least because I think I acted like an obsessive moron. I’ll just have to deal with it, keep up with lessons and live a little in the process.

Your body is yours; don’t be ashamed of it. I spent enough time calling myself some awful names, telling myself I was a ‘bitch’, ‘slut’, and someone who ‘played around with emotions’. I’m not. You aren’t either.

From Elm πŸ™‚

I Cry for What We Had

I sat down to write this post and just burst into tears.

It’s partly because I don’t know how to express the depth of awful feelings I’m holding, because I shut myself off from it. It feels like it’s too much, so that I have no idea where to start. It’s also because of relief: I can finally release them – not that I’ve held myself back before, but over the last week, it’s been ripping at a wall inside my mind, and I’m crying because I’m letting myself talk about it.

There was this time in Thailand where I was kind of scared because it was late, my dad and stepmother had gone out and I was in a village on my own with people I didn’t know very well. S – my ex-boyfriend – stayed on the phone with me for 2 hours. He was there, all throughout it, listening to me get slightly hysterical. That was before we properly went out, but it was a possibility then; it was before he cheated on me, and the one thing that has emained constant is that I don’t blame him for anything. He was always there and the thing that kills me is that I felt like I took him for granted, took it all for granted, and now that I don’t have it any more I’m realising how incredibly happy I was. Despite my stress at the beginning of the school year, despite my paranoia, I was happy.

All of the late night conversations are replaying in my mind: the laughter, the way he understood me, and it’s making my tears fall faster than they have in a while. There were just little things: me jokingly referring to myself as his “bitch”, the way he spoke, the knowledge that we’d still be there despite anything, his reassurances that Pansy was a good friend of his and that was it – which was true up until the day we broke up. I remember our first kiss – I suppose the pain made it come to the forefront of my mind. God, that was well over a year ago.

After I bailed on him, back in October of last year, I’d contacted him and he (rightly) hadn’t had the best response because I broke stuff off with no explanation. Then, we started speaking again and it was beautiful because I could confide in him, and he’s known me for so long that it didn’t feel forced. That simple reality – that I’ve lost that, too, though god knows if he meant for it to be lost or not – makes me remember how it was after Ash and I broke friends. I hate losing people; I hate having my trust destroyed, and I also hate not being able to blame anything. I don’t want him to feel guilty, because if he felt what I was feeling now he wouldn’t be able to be happy with Pansy and that would be awful.

In the summer, it seemed so lovely, and it was. After a year of me being a dick, I’d finally come to my senses – because he’d been there, through so much, supporting me as I did him. But like with every fairytale, this one shattered, sooner than I thought. But it’s fucking over and yes, I’m sobbing, so that I can barely breathe, but what’s the point in hoping?

The thing is, I regret none of it. I’m cherishing the good memories we had, locking them away and holding them close, not revealing what exactly happened as I did with Ash. I learned my lesson there, but still, the sharp and raw sting of rejection of worn out promises burns.

At the heart of it, I miss what we had. I don’t care when people say that one day it’ll stop hurting, because that day is not today and I want to feel this utter misery for now, because it reminds me I’m human and I’m able to deal with it. Everything has accumulated itself: I heard a song earlier that we both love, and saw his name on Facebook, and saw her name too and it just killed. Because right now, I guarantee, they are laughing with each other, or will have today. Me? I’m crying. How stupid is that?

I feel wounded, is the best description for it, because they have forgotten. For good reason: I wanted them to; they should be happy, and not worry about me because I’m a bitter little snowflake. Nobody should have to deal with my tears, the pathetic ones I cry in the dark, because I’m becoming furious with my own mind. In the end, who cares? There are much more important things to deal with, and I’ll just exist until it all passes, until I can love without wanting to die.

It is just not fucking fair. All of it. The fact that I got cheated on, that I’m so unhappy, that I’m unmotivated. The fact that it was so nice before, that I felt secure because he’s a wonderful person, whereas now I’m a wreck in a storm with an ocean that could break me into tiny pieces. Whenever I feel sad, I feel guilty and even worse because of it, because I remember our conversation when he told me they were officially together, nearly 2 weeks ago. Ever since then, I’ve been disgustingly clingy, feeling terrible when I both don’t receive replies from people and don’t reply to them myself.

I sounded so awful. He seemed exasperated, but perhaps that was my mind recreating emotions that weren’t there. I have a habit of doing that. I told him that my thoughts were “irritating”, because if I’d told him the truth – which I then did – I would cry for hours – which I then did. Come to think of it, I think that everyone is irritated with me. Either that or they’ve had enough, as I’ve had enough with myself. My pain’s getting old, and I don’t want people to have time for me because they need to move on with their lives.

I dislike myself, and you may be asking “What’s there to dislike – this isn’t your fault!” It isn’t my fault, or his or hers, because life happens and someone was going to get hurt anyway: better me than her and I still stand by that. As with everything, I’ve somehow convinced myself that I’m not good enough in the slightest. I feel worthless, so much less than second best; if he liked me so much, then why did he cheat on me, and so that means that he didn’t like me much after all. That, coupled with the memories and together with my general feeling that people shouldn’t bother with me as all I’ll do is become possessive and sad, has grown into a terrifying blend of shit.

What’s holding me together? I don’t know. If he talks to me about my emotions again, it’ll probably make him feel bad or tired or guilty, and I don’t want that. I hope he uses the logic of his own mental well-being as to why he realistically shouldn’t talk to me because I care about him and I don’t want to ruin anything. But I hate things coming to an end, knowing that there’s nothing I can do.

I’m hurt. I’m so damn hurt and the worst thing is that this will happen over and over, to me and to everyone else. That brings me back: what makes me so special? What makes me worthy of any attention besides the average? Nothing because I’m just one broken girl in a sky of millions.

Breakdowns are going to happen to me for a long while, but the likelihood is I won’t advertise them. If I pretend to be okay, maybe I will be; if I tell myself that people are tired of my shit, perhaps that’ll make me stop feeling like this. I can’t, though. I have no energy.

I miss him, and I miss Pansy. I want to know how they are, but at the same time I want to scream and tear at myself, to cry but to not worry anybody. However, the sheer fact that I’m posting this shows me that I want people to notice, which is so screwed up.

This is the most disjointed thing I’ve written; I’m sorry for the nonsensical ramblings. I’m extremely done with myself, so drained, and all I want is for me to care about me. I know that a lot of you care about me, which is one of the things that helps.

No more hoping, or wishing, or thinking “What if…?” Because the what ifs are smashed and the hopes burned and the wishes were all wasted on a star that is no longer in my galaxy.

From Elm πŸ™‚

Positive Things that Have Happened

Recently, I feel like I’ve been drowning in a sea of painful thoughts, tears and too much chocolate (I like eating it – what can I say?). I kicked myself today when I thought that everything was terrible and that nothing positive had happened, because that’s a complete lie. With every shitty cloud comes the sliver of a silver lining.

I caught up with Pine today as we walked down to assembly. She’s a really old friend of mine; we became friends in year 7. I’ve missed her immensely, and within 20 minutes or so we had updated each other on everything, and how we felt. With her, I can state things in a matter of fact way and not cry about it, and she can tell how I’m feeling without me having to say it. Talking to her helped, because all I had to say was “Everything is shit inside my head” and she understood. She’s one of the people who can cheer me up just with a simple comment, and I felt closer with her than I have in a long time.

The four other girls in French are lovelier than ever. Last Friday, we worked on a presentation together which was broken up with laughter and general confusion over vbers. What remained constant was the companionship, and the joint goal of getting it done: we worked as a cohesive group, none of us taking over as leader because we all knew’ instinctually, how to work together, despite being so different. To be included like that, when I’m used to working on my own, was amazing: we sat together, laughed without worrying about judgement from others, and social groups didn’t matter then because we were working. My heart filled up with so much love for them because they make me feel welcome, not clunky and awkward in the things that I say.

My Critical Thinking class is pretty amazing. I sit next to Swan – someone I’ve got much closer with, from my friendship group – and around me are people I’d never ordinarily speak to. In the lesson, we have debates about politics – or rather one guy insulting the Labour party’s ideology constantly and me getting angry – and our teacher rarely gets pissed off when we get sidetracked, because she then brings what we’re talking about into the lesson as an example. I love working like that – having my thoughts listened to by a teacher, and being able to speak without feeling stupid, even if my arguments are usually bullshit. A boy that I had the largest and most superficial crush on ever in year 8 sits in front of me, and we’ve been speaking a bit more – just a comment here and there – and I think he finally sees me as a human rather than that blind girl. I laugh at myself whenever I talk to him because it’s so surreal; 13-year-old Elm wouldn’t have been able to string a sentence together.

For the first time ever this year, I got an A in an essay that I’d written. It was for English, on The Great Gatsby; I finished it last night, and worked so incredibly hard on it. I may have taken longer than you were supposed to, but my confidence had taken a hit when I realised that my essays for the poetry section were well below standard, and so I put extra effort into this one. It payed off; when my teacher told me that she was blown away by the way I expressed my arguments, I was nearly in tears. I’ll update my poetry essays, and work on practicing ones for French and History too. Perhaps this will give me the push I need to get properly motivated.

By no means are my thoughts amazing right now, but it’s not all bad. There’s sunshine somewhere, even if it’s just a dot of it. I’ll take all I can get right now.

Hold onto the positives. Through the slight tears I’m inevitably going to cry tonight, I’ll remember the laughter and smiles” There are so many more positive memories, little snapshots of images, but I’ll leave you with these for now.

My heart still hurts but it isn’t all filled up with misery. I’ve got a chamber for happiness, too, and I’ll keep adding to it until the echoing void I feel doesn’t seem quite so insurmountable.

From Elm πŸ™‚