Part III – Shame

I hate the bit just after you’ve put the slice in, waiting for it to pop out again. I always set my toaster to two minutes (I only found out those numbers were minutes and not a heat thing a few months ago, my whole life’s a lie, I swear!). You can go through everything from the night before in two minutes. I just want to hide in the house for a week, is that too much to ask?

If I write this down I can’t forget it because it will be physical and tangible, does that make sense? Even if I burn this page, it’ll be written into the ashes for all eternity. 

Bloody hell, that was pretentious.

Alright, here goes, my disgusting confession: I got off with Stephen. In my defence, it was his birthday and I was drunk and…fine. I’m a “slutty drunk”. Whatever. I just regret letting down a mate. Poor Paige, I didn’t even notice her leave. I left her on her own all night, the poor sod. I was meant to be her wing-woman.

And now I’ve burnt my toast. For fuck’s sake.

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Part II – Blank Canvas

I’m not sure why I’m sat here in the dark, the lights work perfectly – not all of them, the bulb in the kitchen’s bust but otherwise there’s no real excuse. I’ve got painter’s block, you see (is that a thing?), and to get rid of painter’s block you’ve got to sit in the dark, apparently.
Tom’s making a right racket upstairs putting all his stuff in the drawers I called dibs on, probably, and I’m sitting here, in the lounge, in the dark, writing out my thoughts like they’re worth anything to anyone.

There’s a nasty orange light coming in from the streetlamp; it’s not nice at all but it’s the only thing stopping the room being pitch black. I appreciate street lamps more than most people. I find myself in this situation far too often. I suppose you think I’m a nutter, “just get up and turn the light on”, but I don’t want to, honestly. I don’t want to move at all. All I want is this bloody barrier between my thoughts and all my creative bits, wherever they are, to piss off so I can just get on with it.
Tom’s coming downstairs now, I know how this is going to go “why are you sitting in the dark, Jen?”, I don’t know, Tom, why am I sitting in the dark? Does anyone know why I’m sitting in the dark, because I certainly don’t. All I know is that I don’t want to be the one to turn the light on, I wouldn’t mind if you switched it on, Tom, but I can’t do it myself. For now, I suppose the streetlamp will have to do.

Part I – Pillock

She is like the music she’s dancing to. Soft and elegant yet moving something deep within her – igniting something primitive in me. No, not like that, you perv. I just mean that I really, really like her but there’s nothing I can do about it. I watch her all the time, not in a creepy way (at least I hope it’s not creepy), I just like to look at her, the way she moves and smiles, the way she makes huge gestures with her hands when explaining the simplest thing and misuses the word ‘literally’. I just love everything about her.

I didn’t know she was going to be here tonight, I didn’t think she even knew Stephen but here she is, at his party. She’s at my best mate’s party, and she knows who I am, that’s got to count for something, right? 

Who am I kidding? She’d never go for me, she would want someone tall and muscular and…manly. She would want a man. I can’t be that.

There she goes again, hands in the air, waving about while her seemingly soft lips part and meet again, allowing the sounds of her mind to pour out.

I can see that glint in her eyes, she likes him. He leans in to her, getting closer, she looks up at him, drink in one hand, the back of his neck in the other. They kiss. They’re still kissing. They’re not stopping. I can’t watch this. I need to leave. Why do I always do this to myself?

So I curl up in my bed and stare at the wall, like an utter pillock. Knowing that I’m going to repeat this cycle again, of falling for a straight girl, having to watch her with some guy and deal with only ever being her friend. Maybe not even that, but never anything more.

Skin

Lethargy begets more lethargy,

I’ve been told a thousand times

And though I know this, I can’t help but feel this is all

I want to do.

This skull, the constant domed prison, with my mind stretched to the bone.

This skin, its ever changing hue, marketed as security, stretched over me.

This bed, the comfort of the four corners, with striped canvases stretched across me.

It’s all I want to do.

This room, the confines of the four walls, with faces stretched around me.

It’s all I want to do.

Want is a funny word for it

In all honesty, I don’t want at all

But it’s all I can bear to do.

This house, the rooms devoid of life, with myself etched into its every corner, stretched over what used to be.

Bloom

I was always a daddy’s girl.
Sitting on your shoulders
I was a princess
Ruling, under you
A sea of faces smiling
Up at the electric sky
And I was so excited
After all,
The sky was on fire.

I was always a daddy’s girl.
One day I grew up,
There were things you couldn’t protect
Me from, heartbreak
And bad decisions.
You were fading
While I was blooming
But neither of us noticed that
To each other, we were timeless.

On Being Friends With Your Exes

So, I like to think I’m a bit of an expert on how to deal with being friends with your ex, because when I broke up with the first person I’d ever been in a long-term relationship with, I then had to go to school with them for a further 3 years or so…yeah. Sure it was painful at first, especially because they moved on before I did but it got easier and we were civil, but still, we didn’t really speak for three entire years.
Truth is, I’m not an expert at all – I merely remained civil with these people, there’s only one ex that I truly remained friends with and even we don’t really talk.

I attended my ‘graduation’ ceremony yesterday (in quotation marks because I am yet to sit the exams which decide whether or not I really graduate), so it’s safe to say that this would be the last time I ever saw that particular ex again and I felt really fuckin’ weird about it because apart from the occasional smile or hello in the corridor and common room, we had not had a conversation in three years.

It wasn’t until about midnight that I decided I should probably say something, even if only for old times sake, I mean we were best friends before we ruined that friendship so I just didn’t want to leave on a bad note, you know? So I messaged her. I very simply stated that I didn’t want to go our separate ways without knowing that we were okay, and she said that we were indeed okay.

Now you’re expecting me to tell you that this simple exchange made it better and all my feelings of awkwardness have gone away.
They have not. The same goes for my other previous partners, I can have as many conversations as I like, all positive with no tension but for me at least, the feeling of unfinished business or unspoken words never goes away. It seems to me like I never got closure on any of my past relationships and it’s an awful feeling.

So here’s my advice to you: let go of your reservations, the sooner the better. If someone hurt you, you should fucking scream at them and tell them how you feel before three years pass and it’s too late otherwise it makes you seem like a crazy person who can’t let go.
If you feel like you need to apologize or explain yourself to someone, then do it.

For the love of all that is good, do it or you will be holding on to those feelings for a stupidly long time. I still have someone that I feel like I need to apologize to and I still have someone that I feel owes me an apology; I also know that it’s never going to happen because we’ve all supposedly moved on, and that makes me feel lost and trapped and not very good at all.
Please avoid feeling like me and just say what you need to say before it’s too late (and try not to date anyone you go to school with, maybe).