i'm in purgatory because of him. it's been over two years and drinking, snorting, fucking, shooting, screaming, fighting and crying the pain out obviously didn't work, it just made things worse. of all the people to give this kind of control over my psyche to, i gave it to him. Sugar Bear is the type of person who could work in a fucking gas chamber and then manage to escape nuremberg 2.0. sometimes i genuinely wonder if i'm dead. if i was, it's likely it would have been by my own hands. between all the shit i've had to wade through for eight years, any number of events could have pushed me over the edge. it's surprising i've managed to hang on this long. there's one last annoying, niggling bit of hope left in me and i wish it would fuck off and leave me alone. there's something inside me that still wants to make a go of this 'life' nonsense.
i was actually happy for a part of today, for the first time in years, doing something i really fucking love. while sober. crazy thought right. A messed with me all morning but early afternoon meant spending time with G. i got absolutely soaked jetwashing the yard, the artifical grass, proceeding to carry a fuck off massive roll of wet artifical grass, lifted a million planters that weighed more than me, got covered in mud. i felt like me again. the me that grandad brought up. the me who gets dirty and wet and stuck in and passionate about all things exciting and gross. i'm so content. was supposed to go to the pub tonight. i'm like, over 270 days sober but all i wanted after all that heavy lifitng and hard work was a nice cold pint of kronenbourg. G wants to hook me up with people. it's nice of him to think of me, but i don't think i'm ready for that yet. i'm just not confident enough. i lost more than just my independence and Sugar Bear. haven't heard from my brother for two days. i feel like a half of me is missing for some reason. maybe it's the whole 'irish twins' thing. the ISFJ-ESFJ power couple are in york and having a really good time. i'm so happy to be able to back off and let them be selfish for a few days. they deserve it after bringing me up for so long.
i should really stick to my rules and compulsions and my type A bullshit. it makes life a shit ton easier. it would even have avoided my agonising attack this morning. my protocols make everything OK, i let go of them once and boom, everything implodes. well not everything. but you get the idea. it's probably the withdrawals talking. it's had me fucked up for a good 6 months and five withdrawal attempts. i expected to be under 100mg by this week but here we are but i'm only 25mg off it. got through the horrific halfway point though and i'm hoping it'll all be daisies now until the last 25mg. everything is setting me off. i don't think i've had withdrawals make me this volatile before. only thing making my life go quickly is my favourite show every sunday - how depressing. hopefully it's as sunny tomorrow as it was yesterday. i'll be able to chain smoke and sunbathe all day since G and A have made me fully aware they own the day and want nothing to do with me, so much that they want to arrange for someone to come and see me in case i get 'lonely'.
J and i had a long chat about our faith, morality, happiness, and our favourite police drama. even though i was discarded a bit i'm still pretty happy. A wants me to take over my brother's place and he's only been gone for a fortnight. i think it would be kind of fucked to push all his furniture and clothes and monitors etc out of somewhere he loved and enjoyed so much this quickly. i'm happy where i am even though A can't comprehend how i can live my entire life somewhere so shitty and small i have all sorts of MALM shit from Ikea, a nice bathroom, a bed to lay my head, a place to make my food. i'm ok. i don't need anything bigger. i'm really content with my life right now. persueing geriatric nursing, finding out about the things in life i've never had to deal with, all that jazz. i want to live like someone i've never had to live like before. not for all that poverty porn, poverty chic bullshit, but because i've seen the worst, seen the best, and now i need to see the 'only just getting by' side of life to truly understand what matters. i refuse to be ignorant.
shared yesterday. i feel pretty good about it, once i get past the whole 'admitting that i'm a selfish narcissistic asshole who blames her problems on Sugar Bear and dead poets and music men, her own father, the dog, etc' thing. that's why so many alcoholics struggle to work the steps. i sucked at it for a long time until i became this aware of myself. the hardest part about alcoholism is admitting how fucking horrible you are. it really is a case of confessing your sins and being saved. i shared solely because it's getting to the time of year i usually baptise in alcohol and i'm scared of not making it to a year sober. so, another selfish thing i'm doing. not getting sober for those i care about, or to make my family proud. it's solely so i can rub it in Sugar Bear's face. J and i went to starbucks. i paid. i fucking hate paying. it makes you realise why so many people hate starbucks. took my new license photo, thinking nothing could possibly be worse than the one on my expired license. 16, drunk and covered in facial sores with jet black hair. i was wrong. i can look way, way worse. £6 wasted. and using a four year old fucked up picture.
i'm fucking sick of getting older and becoming more aware of death and it's sheer element of pot luck. and the guilt of thinking that because we got to keep someone we loved, we might lose someone else. i feel like time is running out and my life's slipping through my fingers. i refuse to accept this might be as good as it gets, because if i do, that takes the possibility off the table that i could make a full recovery. i still don't believe i will, but i don't want to let go of hope. this isn't as good as it fucking gets.
i used to have roots, i put them down for sixteen years, in the exact same town. i knew everyone and they knew me. and subconciously, i began to shake those roots free when i got unwell. i didn't want to do it. first dropping out of school, then refusing to be in the yearbook or on the hoody, then everything else just began slipping through my fingers. now i haven't been back for a year, haven't put new roots down anywhere i've been. i'm transient. and translusent. nobody sees me anymore, i just float from place to place with nobody to recognise me or ask how i'm doing. i'm not who i was anymore, and i don't know who the girl writing this is. and i don't know how to just suddenly become somebody who died a long time ago. she's long dead and everyone who knew and loved her has also moved on. what is there to go back to? when a new family has put down roots in your house, there is nothing in your schools but dusty old records pushing a decade old and a few class photos nobody has seen for at least five years, the shops have all closed down, none of your old graffiti is still there. the only thing that says 'i was here' is the street art on a large concrete wall next to the dual carriageway. a school friend who has long since forgotten me, her sister has long since forgotten my brother, and i rigged a ballot determining what will make that wall less of an eyesore. that is all that's left of me now. and my friends, and my life.
it's a fucking weird feeling, being one of the pioneers of the internet. being from the generation who had no idea that the internet never forgets nor forgives. it's such a beautiful, incredible, terrifying, damaging tool that can't be used for anything but chaos, whether it be good, neutral or evil. everything is chaotic when the internet is involved. things people would never say or do in real life, things people do without thinking about the consequences. and this brings us back to the internet never forgiving nor forgetting. i managed to scrub most of my internet presence from age four when i was sixteen. i was safe. until i made some bad decisions. and now i can't get rid of them no matter how hard i try. that's just life, i guess. in many areas you take a leap of faith, it goes fucky, and you have to remember and deal with the reactions for life. it's a bitter pill.
you can't always get what you want. it's a sad lesson to learn in life, but if it's too good to be true, if you're so unbelievably satisfied in areas you shouldn't be, then it's not going to happen for you. that person is in your life not forever, but to teach you a lesson. they are not meant for you. he satisfied the areas of my life i needed a partner in crime to support me in, the chaos, the turbulance. i'm a chaos junkie, a hedonist, was a trainwreck. the difference with me, as opposed to him, is that something still ties me down to earth. i can be chaotic but logical, impulsive and spontanous but methodical. i could shrug off his turbulance, because who was i to judge? i could be turbulant at times. i was such a fucking stable option, a perfect option, because i indulged everything he needed without being too off the wall. i was a safe option. i was always there. i'm stubborn and loyal. when you have that sexual chemistry we had, you know it's going to be bad news in the long run. when such a violent, raw, chaotic connection entwines you both, there will be trouble when one of you isn't as faithful or as committed to the cause. i was so open, i'm still an open book. always have been. he loved that. he needed that. there were many secrets to hide with him, and i gently teased out the tangles, managed to wade through the untruths. i knew who he was. he was not a particularly good person. but i was stubborn. faithful. loyal. always have been. always will be. and that was my downfall. i love too deeply, i attract all the wrong people, because i'm the perfect mix. stable but unstable, faithful but wild, loyal and fierce. i want to fuck shit up, but not too much to ruin my life, and if i do, i always correct it. i'm a fucking wildfire. always will be. and he will rue the day he did me wrong to the point where there was no return.
one bad day. one single bad day and it feels like the world is imploding. for a week i was on top of the world, and as soon as i dropped another dosage, i was fucked and i'm going to be out of action for a good few days doped up on valium or blowing up at everyone and every thing. i'm 20 in 13 days. and that's terrifying. i'm quite happy where i am in life right now, i have a clear sense of my ambitions, sense of self, those around me, my plans for the future. i'm getting better. i'm cutting the crap here, tying up the loose ends, breaking out of this shitty fucking cycle. looking at the bare bones of things, i'm lucky. i'm really lucky. but i certainly don't feel that way. i feel like my brain has melted and is leaking itself all out of my ears. or it's like an old football slowly deflating.
as a teenager i used to want to work for the security services. mostly because i wanted to torture people into giving up information. i'd be the fucking best 'intelligence officer' this country has ever seen, particularly on islamic men. i've tortured people before simply to piss them off. loudly singing and saying things that will offend or send them crazy for an hour or two, skipping around them giggling on a fucking loop. if i was torturing an islamic terrorist informant, i'd scream the words to jeruselem and god save the queen over and over. eat a giant bacon sandwich in front of them, lay it all over their hands, show them porn etc etc. i'd be amazing. alas, too mentally fucked to be trusted, and over here in britain we don't tend to undertake the torture techniques they do in the US. i'm down to the lowest dose of lyrica i can get now when it comes to capsules. it's funny how my family have collectively paid over two or three million in tax since the 50s but i can't get a £100 bottle of medicine. you wouldn't look at and laugh at a heroin addict withdrawing and begging to go on maintenence. so why do that to me. people are like, oh, you can afford to buy the lyrica, so why are you upset? i'll tell you why i'm upset. we've paid more tax in the last 60 years than many people collectively earn in a lifetime. the NHS is funded by tax. it is lauded as the best health system in the world, free at the point of use. it's the premise. it's the lies. we pay tax. i fucking deserve one little bottle of lyrica.
being out of action is so disabling and it's making me increasingly more paranoid. i'd love to be able to post more about myself, pictures of myself and my friends and family, my name, my work, but i can't discuss my work nor can i identify myself on the internet as much these days. i have been scrubbed. no instagram, no snapchat accounts active any more recently than 3-5 years ago, no personal facebook, no nothing. i've had a lot of help with the scrubbing and it makes me a lot more comfortable but at the same time, more paranoid knowing how much is at stake, thinking about things people may have missed regarding my internet presence of 15/16 years. but it's best for all involved if i stick to the rules from now on. we live in a digital age, the kind of digital age that if you had notified me at 10, 11, 12, 13 etc what would now be upon us and how the internet could be used against previously unknown individuals, i would have been shocked, absolutely gobsmacked. my work probably know i keep this website judging by the fact it's still up. it's not like i'm hiding it under the layers of the onion, is it. i'm sick of these withdrawals. i need it to be over. this is the worst drop so far. i've been out of action for days. my whole body is broken. all i'm eating is chocolate and pure fat and it's gross. i just need my strength back up again and my life back. having limbs strong enough to knock a grown man out with a single blow was a speciality of mine. i'm managing to debunk, work through and shred diagnoses as we speak. a clean record is needed this year. then in eight years, everything is scrubbed. i can work to the next level. nobody will have any reason not to propell me to where i should be. vetting is so fucking gay, yo. so. if you wanna know about me, here goes. energetic. determined. lover of heavy machinery and powerful weapons. rule and law breaker. sexually ambiguous. painted nails. chronic migraines. seeker and lover of mentors whom i will always be loyal to. difficult to get and difficult to get rid of. fierce, strong, a fucking cockroach. i just. won't. die.
why i always seek older, male mentors i will never know. it's not some bullshit about absent fathers, because i have a father. and no father is perfect, just like no mother is. but we never call women deadbeat mothers for doing one thing that seems out of line. and it's not some daddy issues bullshit either where i want to have sex with them. i just work with them better. i need rational, strong, male guidance, i work best under those conditions, i always have, whether it's doctors, psychiatrists, tutors and teachers, bosses, friends. when i was younger and more turbulant, i needed that rational male guidance to cancel out my emotional whirlwinds. but now i'm grown. my sense of self has leveled out, and now i find myself increasingly more on the same page as my mentors. i find them not getting exhausted by me. i'm a pleasure for them to spend their time with, and work aside. and i'm pretty proud of that. i do my best work, under men. no pun intended. i need a team to survive. the muscle, rationality and sense behind no nonsense intelligent men who don't bring feelings into shit, and me, well, whatever i am. i just seek out the men i find an affinity with. and it helps i share a lot of male qualities and tendencies where it counts, and where it doesn't? that's when i just gel perfectly. i'm no longer malleable either, i stand strong. i can be bent, but not shattered and rebuilt in the image of some narcissist fuck out for blood. it just works. anyway. we're on the home stretch, people. from this morning i am lyrica-free. the past few days have been hellish. wouldn't wish it on many people. that's for sure. but i'm sure the next few days will be even worse. i'm smoking pretty heavily again. good job i have access to tax free cigarettes. 40 packs of marlboro golds for £60? yes please. that shit would cost over £600 here. i just can't stand sin tax. what would you rather have, a pack of cigarettes cost £11, or one costing £1.50. i know which one i choose. this fucking country. god damn.
exercises really put everything into persepctive. obviously i never had the full taste. i got through basic until they delved deeper into my background. but here i am again. and it just makes you fucking rack your brains, wondering how the middle eastern crisis fought in the way it was could possibly be justified. many incredibly adademic and diplomatic individuals have found way better strategies and pathways we could have taken to ensure our operations could have limited the loss of life much, much more. because it could have happened. but it was a fucking crazy time. i just hope to god we learned from our mistakes. because it just wasn't right. the pretext was, but we created the problem we then had a duty as public servants/protectors to rectify. as swiftly and cleanly as possible. i'm very conflicted. i'm just glad i'm not a soldier per sae. i want to say, oh, i'm so glad i'm actually valuable, as if i have low self esteem or some shit.because that's bullshit. i have pretty expansive knowledge on very pressing and current subjects, very in depth, multilingual, have had basic. i want to change something. even if it's just something little. i want to make a difference. and i can't when i still have that tiny bit of doubt in me. or maybe thats what's going to keep me grounded. there's no way i will specifically know what kind of role i could take in the future conclusively until i can get my case closed and eight years have passed. still having that doubt in me will allow me to be good. and that's all i ever wanted to be. i had a real shitter of a dream last night. some guy sexually assaulted me, then for some reason i was on a crashing plane, bracing and i put my life mask on in order to help others afterwards. i went into shock in my dream and forgot to put the life masks of my friends on. maybe i'm getting a sign from god.
i wish i never started being a good person because i was such a bad person for so long that it now feels foreign to do nice things and not control people through generosity, for example. because it's very easy to hold that above someone, without so much as speaking a word. some people think that being human is a qualitity. it's used as a synonym has good, flawed, humble. not as what it truly is. simply to be a human. 'being human' and 'being a human' are such fucking different things. polar opposites. i was a bad, bad human for 18 years. in the sense of human used as a synonym, i wasn't human. i don't even know if that makes sense. either way, i was forced into taking on the quality of 'being human' by my circumstances in life between 2017 and 2019. now, not so much. i'm back to plain old wildfire girl. ruthless little bitch. look at me. i don't even want to go into more detail on that. this is why being a good person, being human for a while fucked me right up. because i saw every single little shitty thing and qualitity i have. assets, not friends. wallets, not parents. mine, not theirs. control, not kindness. i'm a narcissist. whatever. at least i'm aware of it, i guess.
bonobos are so fucking COOL. they're an endangered chimp. some people consider them to be an almost entirely different species to chimpanzees. but for all purposes right now, i will be calling bonobos 'chimps'. they fuck to initiate and end fights, to greet, to bless their food and toast their drinks, they fuck whatever whenever and are the sluttiest animals ever. and so sexually ambiguous. the only thing they really abstain from is incest, which is a hard line most would never cross, well, incest within 2 direct generations, anyway. maybe 3. not that i'd condone incest. but i'd probably fuck a third or fourth cousin. stepfamily (bar parents) is fair game too. i feel like a bonobo. except not ugly. i never cared for monkeys. i find them terrifying. saw some at a zoo once. all i could think about is the possibility one would eat my entire face. also saw one wanking once. that was pretty funny. apparently when pit against actual chimps, bonobos are super peaceful. where chimps would almost certainly attack and kill, bonobos just fuck. they have massive clits. oh and they french kiss. we should all be more like bonobos.
20 in two days. if i can get my case closed this year, i can get out of this state of purgatory and be in the field full time by 28. all the records erased. either way, i should be fully on the frontline by 30 and not just be a civvie with clearance. so. in honour of my second decade on earth, you may learn a bit more about me. i'm a heavy smoker, i like my imported tax free marlboro golds. used to smoke reds at the school gates to look cool. fucked up my chest. i'm sexually ambiguous but i wouldn't call myself a slut these days. i see sex as art. i hate the whole 'weed is completely safe!!11' crowd. it's like alcohol. should be legal, for adults, and should carry health warnings. you never know what kind of mental health problems drugs can bring to a head. i was so mentally fucked for a few years that i was misdiagnosed with physical health problems. i was fucked off after basic because they found out i had used Clenil in the two years beforehand. not my fault i almost died. i have really long feet, like flippers. my parents divorced when i was like 13. i spent a lot of time listening to stay together for the kids while crying in my closet. i have dyke hair after frying the fuck out of my beautiful long brunette locks when i was 17 - i had to shear it off. end justified the means. i was an addict for a few years but i'm a strong girl with a fighting chance. i genuinely don't need anyone. i'm socially capable and very confident, i just prefer not to be. i have an eating disorder i've managed to keep off the books. i'm a really happy person with a loving brother and grandparents. i have two unfused fractures. i'm a genetic anomaly with many recessive alleles - widows peak, lobeless ears, astigmatism, hetrochromia (blue, green, hazel), hitchhikers thumb, bone straight hair. my first love was a girl. i have shoulders like a linebacker. i'm a fiend for football, rugby, hockey. i used to have stretched ears, a pierced septum, six piercings in each ear, a nipple piercing, both of my nostrils pierced twice and my tongue. i grew up. i now have three holes in each ear and a nostril piercing. i've had red, copper, bleach blonde, dirty blonde, ash brown, dark brown, auburn, magenta, pastel pink, pastel purple, deep purple, deep blue, green hair. most people know me as a bleach blonde. i'm artistic. i was considered a child prodigy. i drink a lot of black coffee and cold brew. i can't tolerate red meat. i sleep 4am-9am/12pm because i like the peace during the night. i'm always cold. i'm a slut for lotions and potions. i use BHA/AHA, niacinamide, caffeine, retinol, spf. i don't wear makeup other than light mascara and my wings. i've worn my wings every day since i was 12 and can draw them without a mirror. my dad is 40 years older than me. i have a large paternal family i don't see or know much about. i'm mostly french and irish with a sprinkling of swedish. my brother and uncle got the swedish. i only looked like hitler youth until i was about eight. i love to read but haven't much since seroquel melted my brain. i speak english as a native, fluent french, semi fluent german, basic spanish, arabic, conversational hindi. i'm a thinkpad fan. i love theology. i'm a roman catholic and was also brought up as a methodist. prod-catholic mongrel. the only kind of quackery i like is reflexology. i was a part of a performing arts school for a number of years. i was a clasically trained singer before i started smoking heavily, lost my beautiful voice but will still screech until you want to hit me. i'm a fantastic fighter. great binge drinker. sang in a hole tribute band once.