May 23, 2008 I've got half an hour to write before my bus arrives. God, i've not been here in so long. The content of my journals is staggering, spanning years of ups and downs, relationships, drug abuse, isolation and old connections. These things are such a huge part of me, maps of my life as seen from the only one experienced enough to understand it. Even then though, i don't think i do. Perhaps that's the point of the endless entries that i always knew nobody would read. Maybe it just needed to come out. I don't talk so much anymore. I don't seem like who i used to be. I told Lily how different i am off my meds, maybe i was mistaken: maybe it's not the meds that have changed me, maybe the influences of life have. It's not the drugs, i've been off them since the start of Alison. Maybe it was her? Maybe this is the effect of hundreds of repetitive nights of complacent companionship? Her idea of a conversation was... what? I don't know. She seemed to talk to her friends more than me, but then she'd talk to them about me. If i witnessed conversations i'd be amazed by how little she would say, i could never understand the dynamics of it all. All i ever wanted to do was gush, empathise, understand, connect... while she would be content to simply be in the company of accepting friends. I miss the old me. I used to be so full of energy, what happened? I never let a moment of silence fall, now i seem to revel in it as though bathing in warm ocean water on a lazy day, letting it wash over me with little care of future or past. I like Lily. I should wrte about her because i'll want to read it later, and all i've written so far is a brief entry in one of many written journals the night after i first encountered her: "i met a girl, she really listened, but i can't really remember her". How embarrasing. That stage has passed now. I don't know what to say here. She's captivating, compelling. After i met her for the first time sober, i remember telling people: she's amazing. When she looks at me it's as if nothing else exists, i just want to be inside her head and understand, but i don't care that i'm not, and it's all ok. I love hearing her talk, especially now that i don't so much! She introduced me to crispie cream donuts, i'll want to remembe that. We went on a tourist date, that was painful on the legs but unique and refreshing. There's so much more i need to put down before i forget, but i'm well aware that i should be departing now. Fuck. I've typed up a CV for Snappy Snaps. I will miss the people from WHSmiths dearly, but after 4 years of service and nothing but distrust from my superiors to show for it, it's time to move on. I think i need something smaller, something easier to manage at one go. Soemthing less distracting. Uni planning is going well. Ok, it's not really going at all. Human Biology is a potential threat,m i got 53% in my last paper, my usual grade is 70. This one fucking stupid pointless subject could prevent me attaining to the one goal i have in the next 3 years of me life. And i suppose i have to end it there.

June 9, 2007 (This was a letter i was going to send to M., but current circumstances seem to indicate that it won't ever be sent. So it's open information. There are references to the reader; these are to M.) I wrote this when i was about 17, it was directed at my mum, who, at the time, was largely absent from the house, preferring the company of her lover-at-the-time over her family. Being brought up by her alone meant our father figures were whichever man had been selected to fill the hole at the time. It was clear from her choices that she considered the candidates in respect to how they could satisfy her, instead of who would make a suitable father figure. I do not hold that against her though. Considering the situation now, it was made so much worse by the fact that despite her bringing us up by herself, feeding off of only what she gave us and becoming the children she'd made, we seemed to be a huge disappoint to her. Being so much younger, we blamed ourselves for what we thought - and were told - was an inability to please our mother, instead of considering that perhaps it was the fault of her own inadequacy in teaching us what she expected us to know, or that perhaps she simply didn't care as much as she should have. It was a difficult ordeal to face, and an experience i thought perhaps you could relate to. I wanted to let you know that you really are not alone in enduring what you go through; for me, one of the hardest and most hurtful factors was the feeling of loneliness and the thought that nobody understood. As i said, i wrote the following while dealing with my mother in a painful and unforgettable stage. The indications of inflicted damage in the short but personal poem relate to her placing the blame for everything - from trouble in her relationship to family disputes, even to the state of -her- house. She eventually threw me out, under encouragement from her (now ex-)fiance. In the end, though, i think the message is clear that i allowed this to go on just because, well, she's my mum, and i love her... I think the musings can be applied to anyone accepting abuse in some form in the name of love, dedication, and, to a degree, hope (that you're helping, that they'll feel better, that one day they'll stop...). I'm only another, On a bleak, poisoned earth, But i guess there's no feeling, So what am i worth? Tread down my body, Burn out my heart I'll smile, don't worry Just tear me apart It's not like i feel Not with my wall I'm just here to help Pick you up when you fall It's not perfect but i think the meaning is effective. The opening lines depict my frame of mind at that time, when i was experiencing intense feelings of dissassociation from everything, horrible amounts of self loathing and general feelings of hopelessess. It was around this period in time when a lot of my self-harming occured, and, sat with the doctor patching up a wound, her words "i hope it hurts" were burned into my mind. The first line is actually where i got the name for my first journal (another). The references to earth as 'bleak' and 'poisoned' indicate feelings that nothing was going to get better; that my world had been poisoned and was slowly dying. The next two lines serve in a few ways. Firstly, as a rhetorical question, stating that there's no feeling from her, that she didn't care what she was doing, so asking what, if anything, i was worth to her for her to do this without consideration (the answer, she told me every time she blamed me for something new, was nothing). The "no feeling" line also serves, together with the later sarcastic repitition "it's not like i feel" (blatantly repeated to reinforce her ignorance), to reference the act of trying to making myself numb, which is what she seemed to want, in defense to her inflictions of spite. The lines also serve as a means to admit my own worthlessness. Finally, "what am i worth" acts as an upfront demand to know just what she saw me as, what she really thought of me. Despite the sarcasm though, i DID feel, it DID hurt, but i had to pretend it was all ok (which is pretty much what this poem's about). "Tread down my body" is meant to conjure images of being walked all over, and is supposed to sound similar to "beat down". To burn out means to be overwork from mental exhaustion - my mind was working overtime trying to find some sense in all of it - and i felt as though my heart strings were being pulled to breaking point. "Burn" was intentionally used, since fire is something i could relate to feeling: fire scars, scathes, causes unquestionable pain, and the metaphor was used to represent my unhappiness in a physical, more understandable way. The next two lines i think speak for themselves, but I'll elaborate a little as they are more intertwined than they might seem. "i'll smile" references a lot of things: my natural, core self being optimistic; the best tactic i'd found for dealing with what she was doing; and the everyday concept of smiling to hide the pain you're going through (ie. putting on a brave face, itself a reference to masks and split identity). "Don't worry" references her lack of empathy and other feelings normal people feel. "Just tear me apart" again references an internal splitting of who i was, and uses very violent, graphic imagery in an attempt to capture the animalistic savagery of her behaviour. The last section of the poem is a mix of bitter sarcasm and truths i felt forced to accept. Looking back at the reference to "my wall" is strange, because while i certainly did build a wall, the only effect it ever had was tp keep everyone else outside, while she always had a backdoor. i think this is one of the coldest tricks people like her use, to trap people into isolation. The final line, "pick you up when you fall", references lots of things: her "suicide attempts" (which made any anger i felt turn into guilt, and in hindsight i have to wonder if that was their entire purpose); having to rebuild what she'd destroy (in myself, too); recognition her "fallings" into anger and spite were the reason behind all the pain i was feeling; and the sisyphean cycle i was trapped within. It feels strange admitting all this. Do you feel a different response now, to my words, when you read them and understand the personal reasons for every choice of word? I hope, though, that you don't feel distanced - i write like i do not only to hide what i really feel and compress my emotions into something digestable, but also so others can fill in the gaps and 'paint their own pictures' for each poem: This interpretation is mine, yours can be different.

im going to the doctor on the 10th. i'd like to emerge different. i'd like to stop ticking. i'd like to think clearly. i'd like to be new. that'd be nice. people go through their entire lives trying to find something that's not there. some turn to god or drugs, and think they've found it. theres nothing i can do but express myself and hope i feel better afterwards for it.