Sister I'm a..

Usually I might write about how fed I am about certain things or people or really anything at all. A petal that slightly obscured my vision, a spot of rain that ruined the curve of my hair and so on.
Today, no.
Today I am less morose than I have been at other points in the week but still terribly.. well lost at sea is perhaps the phrase that is best suited. Of course not physically, that would be impossible, but in my mind. Oh what a barren wasteland that is. Sometimes I feel full to the brim of life and excitement and hope and possibility. I argue with myself, "you're too young! you have time to catch up!", "you're still young" whilst all around me things are starting to wither away, getting so old. There is grace and dignity in the old but there is the sense of time melting away; you should be married by now, thinking about a family, a career. And still everyone is flying backwards and forwards after one thing or another and surviving on pipe dream after pipe dream. But the same thing that repells me I am hopelessly and unforgivingly enraptured with.

I'd like to think I was somehow different, how I haven't got myself lost in this constant turning on time and the bitching and the gaudy faces. I'd like to think I am not a lot of things, and I am often wrong.
As is common of me at these periods I look back on past times. I remember this time last year I was a hideous wreck. I rarely went to school, I spent day after day clambering from friend to friend, home to bed and out to the beach again. That's all we did. And god it feels like an age ago now. I honestly felt like I was living in a black hole, thoughts and memories of Gene came hurtling towards me getting sucked in the rush and forgotten, spinning through days like there was no stopping. Of course it did.
Early June. I thought, as do those in the idiocy of a broken heart, that I could sit around playing Ludo and deciding I was alright really and that would be the end of it, like a light switch I could turn off and on as I wished, a bathroom tap. The most amazing thing for me is thinking back on this time and how I waited and I waited and I waited to move out of Thanet as if some miracle might occur overnight! Like moving me and all my things to somewhere slightly different might make it all go away. And the older I get and the more I think about it I begin to know
It was less about them and more about me
My agony is rarely the cause of anyone else! My life doesn't feel like it is falling apart because of anyone else's wrongs! Of course there are times when I find it a lot easier to blame others, its like a rotting plague to me- people, the talking, the snarling, the in-jokes, the smell of alcohol on another. It sickens me. But most of all I sicken myself. How, at my age, I would rather lock myself away in the top of my room surrounded by clothes and books and pieces of paper because I wake up in the morning and know they will never deceive me. They won't leave for anything else, they belong to me. And if I must be selfish then selfish I shall be.
All in all I am not ashamed of who I am. The way I approach things is that it is fine for me to be disappointed with myself but if many feel this resentment towards me then frankly I find it difficult to care. Of course I live with exceptions, there are some (who surely know exactly who they are) who's opinions are sacred to me and I would never want to argue with this view. Oh I am going on so awfully much..



...I think I have Sylvia Plath effect