Archive for emo


Posted in Mind Ramblings with tags , , , , on March 20, 2009 by starstripe

Ever get the feeling your life is slipping slowly out of your hands? I’ve been feeling that way pretty much all the time recently. Since January. It always leaves eventually, whether through a boyfriend or more medication or both. Although previous times were far longer than this bout, but with every phase I slip into, it wears down just a little bit deeper and deeper and I hope soon there won’t be anything left.

A good friend of mine described this as ‘everything just goes grey’. I couldn’t agree more. The orange wall in front of me isn’t filled with all the usual bright, happy and hopeful associations. It’s just orange.

I’m spending more time by myself. I don’t want to see anyone anymore.

A big part of me absolutely loves this constant pressure on my chest and lack of breath in my throat. It utterly thrives on it. Misery has a thick, syrupy texture and it sticks just as easily. Like warm, thick milk in a way – but not warm in the usual context. I’m talking about unclear, hazy, compacting and submerging warmth.

Misery is MY world and mine alone. I don’t want to share it with anyone and it gives me a damn good excuse to push people away, as violently as I want. Then just as soon I cannot be without one or other person.
I know when I am going down because I spend 90% of my time in my head and 10% processing normal everyday functions when a normal person would have it the other way around. In my head is the life I want though. The person I want to be lives in there and I love watching her, experiencing her every day interactions with her, knowing that if I really put my mind to it, I will become her. And living in that world, driving around in her car with her, seeing my friends and family interact with her, that is enough for me to be alright. Because she is me. A different me, a much much better me, but still me.

That is the only place that I have a motivation to be present in. Not this orange wall I am staring at. Because as I said already, the things around me right now are slipping quickly away from me and I can’t seem to stop it.

And no, I am not some skull wearing, emo retard fuckwit who thinks it is fashionable to be depressed. Emo’s can all go and set themselves on fucking fire. Once they have been locked up on a psyche ward over and over for weeks at a fucking time, fed pills like smarties and then they can come and talk to me. And cutting themselves? What the fuck – I doubt one of those striped legging wearing cunts has ever really enjoyed doing it. They just do it to show their friends. I doubt they have ever had the pleasure of experiencing the total nothingness it gives you just when you need it most. Seriously – they are taking advantage of something that is not funny, not pleasant and not for kiddies, and for what? To look good? Fucking retards.


He’s called an ‘ex’ for a reason

Posted in Random Randoms with tags , , , , , , , , , on November 6, 2008 by starstripe
John really regretted buying too much of the teracotta paint for the lounge

John really regretted buying too much of the teracotta paint for the lounge

of course not, but spray painting the car definately was.

of course not, but spray painting the car definately was.

I really loathe some of my exes.

They are all fantastic guys (or I wouldn’t have dated them right?). But really, most of them need some therapy. Especially after dating me.

It’s strange; I have always been advised that after a break up, you should try and remain in good terms with an ex. Obviously one needs to allow a bit of healing time, but once the tendency to call them at 4am and cry down the phone asking them if they have slept with someone else yet has passed, it is best to let bygones be bygones.

My first real heart ache came at the age of 21 when my knight in shining armour dumped me and then proceeded to date my best friend a few weeks later.
They are now married.
And she is not my best friend anymore.

It took a week in a clinic, two months of illegal drug use, some varied promiscuous behaviour and a LOT of therapy to get the pain to go away. To tell you the truth, the moment when the pain left my stomach was when I went through the process of forgiving him and I realized that he was not a bad person at all and that I had also made some big mistakes in our relationship. Since then we have been on great terms. I was genuinely happy for him when he got hitched. That is, until a week ago when I discovered to my dismay, that the ultimate social rejection and public humiliation had been issued to me. He had deleted me as a friend on FaceBook.

Now a month ago, we were chatting happily, sending messages and keeping in contact. Ok,  he was on his honeymoon but still, there was nothing dodgy behind our communication so I was very perplexed as to why, with no reason or explanation, I had been dumped again, this time as a friend. I have my suspicions that a certain third party was involved in ‘persuading’ his finger to hit the ‘remove friend’ button, but as was explained to me by my very wise sister – I am not more important than his wife, so I decided to leave it there.

But some more perplexing behaviour on behalf of my exes recently has left me stumped.

Firstly, there is one ex whom I have not spoken to in five months. He is going on 26 and quite the charmer. A decent guy with many issues. But I made a decision five months ago that he was not really meant to be a part of my future (i.e. he got a new girlfriend, who to be honest is actually a very lovely girl) and moved on with my life, carrying a fat bag of resentments with me.

Anyone who knows me is very aware that mentioning the ‘S’ word will result in my rattling off about his behaviour until I look like I have just run 100 meters. In fact, when I heard that the day after he bought his new motorbike he had been run over and it had been written off, I was mildly pleased. Well, elated, but still, I have moved on.

Yet I accidentally forwarded him a chain email which prompted a nasty reply from him, then rounded off with the comment “I meant to tell you, you look really good”. Now if he had been nasty and just refrained from the latter comment, I would have been fine with pretending he did not exist, or at least simply mailing back some witty comments about how I hope his life as a waiter is fulfilling him as much as every other sixteen year old. But somehow the comment enraged me so much that what was one mistake email turned into a slinging match of gargantuan proportions. To me, the last word is worth DYING FOR.

Then to top it all off, today I was on a friend’s profile on FaceBook who is friends with him and up popped his photo. With him and his new girlfriend in a classic embrace that you see in many other teenage photo albums. Another good friend of mine was very cool about it, saying men with pictures of themselves and their other half as profile pictures are very lame, because men should be photographed doing something manly, like holding a fish. Thanks T  

Then my ex fiancé… yes, the one who I got engaged to after a rave and called my mother at 4am to tell her I was now someone’s fiancé, whilst not in any frame of mind to be making phone calls, let alone accepting marriage proposals.

I got into a slinging match with this one too. Granted, I cheated on him and then broke up with him to run off with the other guy, who dumped me three months later, only for me to run back to the ex, and repeat, plus running off with yet another guy. So for the past four years I have been trying to make this up to him. I call him once a month and he tells me what a sad life I have in a very manipulatively sweet way. But yesterday, I deleted him as friend on FaceBook. I figure that after four years of putting up with his nastiness (and two years of it when we were dating), I have paid my dues and can go back to hating him.

I was upset with him for teasing me about Mob Wars – a game I feel very seriously about. He  wrote, on my wall (in caps lock too, so it looks like the moron is shouting), for everyone to gawk at: “Touchy touchy. Go eat a doughnut. You know how much pastries love you”.

Now for a man who knows that the one thing to reduce me to a rock bottom state of emo is my weight, makes him a real tosser. He has had the plug pulled.

As dear Bubbles of Little Britain would say, “I am so ovaaa you, it’s unbelieeeeeeevable!!!”

I think my lesson is learned thought. My tastes in the male department seem to be for troubled, alternative grungers, with no father and a substance abuse problem. And three of them seem to have been left handed. And it is highly likely that they will be either Libra, Scorpio or Sagittarius. Really, these themes truly present when I look at all the features of my exes. So from now on, I am going for right handed Cancerians who have never even smoked pot, who have a fantastic relationship with their father, no tattoos or fondness of grunge and are fully self supporting of their own contributions.

Sad thing is, that is rarely possible – most men fitting that description are either

a.    Gay
b.    Taken


c.    Just not appealing.

For those of you that know me, if I ever settle for anything less than these points again though, slap me. And do it harder this time, the last four times have not worked.

Chatting with same friend who mentioned the manly fish holding photo, I came to a conclusion I have been aware of for a while – when men treat me like shit, I become utterly besotted. When they are nice, I could not care less because there is zero challenge. Oh man, am I one sick puppy.

So this realisation seems to present a major problem: I am not attracted to men that are healthy and kind individuals who will never hurt me. That throws marriage out in the gutter.

I think I am just going to stay single forever.

And slap me if I don’t stick to that above statement. Actually, whack me with a tyre iron, because the last ten times haven’t worked.