Peter Pan

I've been growing up lately. Not to say that I'm in any way mature or anything, I'm a few months into fourteen, and as young and stupid as the rest of them. But life has been going along merrily for me for quite a while. I started this thing in year seven, just because I could, and it's helped me through wanting to cut and kill myself, pulling out my hair and cutting it all off and god knows what else. But I'm alright now. I still pull out my eyebrows when I'm bored or stressed, but my hair hair is fine, and everything else seems to be in this disgustingly dull state. It's alright though, I'm alright. I don't think I need this anymore. Me and my first kiss have been over for too long for it to have any effect on me (not that it did in the first place) and I've got stuff to worry about but I can handle it and I've got people telling me I'm good at stuff all of a sudden and my Christmas haul is perfect, it's got almost everything I need to carve out the new me that I've been inside my head for about a year, and let it run loose. I've at least got enough to start. The point is that I'm not sure what I'll become and I'm not sure when it's gonna happen, but it's gonna be good, and I'm going to do well and have fun doing it. This blog is full of my pains, but all I have now is boredom and hope. Hope will win out, I've got two best friends to guarantee that. Didn't I tell you? They've been here all along. And they're brilliant.

Life

It's been ages since I last posted on this thing. No-one knows it's here, so it's nice for me to tell secrets. I have one now. It's not really a proper secret, but hey, I can't tell anyone else.

I had my first kiss yesterday. It was with a boy I'd met that morning, and generally a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but when it was over I wanted to kiss him again. I'm not sure how to feel about it because I barely know the guy, but at the same time I really really like him and we spent the majority of the afternoon holding hands or with our arms around each other or just sitting close, and it was nice.

His name is Charlie and he's naturally a ginger but he's died his hair brown (only it's mostly faded now so he looks a bit ginger) and he's one year older than me and has a lisp and is maybe a head taller than me and he thinks he's fat but he's not (he used to be, I've seen photos), and his eyes are blue and he has one ear pierced and I was his first kiss (three kisses) too which means that he likes me which is bizarre for me because I've never had someone like me before and it's a bit wonderful and I feel all innocent when I think about it and I get the warm fuzzies.

I'm seeing him tomorrow. I think I'm going to change the rule I try to live by, or add to it: 'This is me, if you don't like it I don't care', And 'Forever is composed of nows'. Because it is and I keep forgetting. I'll remember soon enough. I'm ready to take on year nine, and all the social implications that come along with it. I might even be excited for it. :D

P.S. The secret kisses are secret because I don't quite know where we stand, if we're dating or what, so I've not told anyone. A few people may or may not have guessed though. *cough cough*

Hair

I cut off most of my hair today. It had been annoying me, and today wasn't really a good day. It had been annoying me because I had let it grow long so I could tie it up for an athletics trip, and my mum hadn't booked me a hairdressers appointment yet despite my constant reminders over the past few weeks since I got back. I've been having a lot of problems with my hair recently. I tend to tug at the hairs on my temple when I get stressed, and at the beginning of this week I pulled out half of my right eyebrow while I was reading. I didn't notice while I was doing it, but it took my mum two days to notice.

When I told her about me cutting my hair I called her up to come see it without telling her what it was. It took me pointing it out to her to notice. Sometimes it feels like she doesn't care. And maybe I'm just being teenager-y and annoying, but it still fucking hurts.

On the bright side, me and my sister have been getting on much better than we used to, due to the fact that we both now pretty much hate mum.

Dreams vs. Reality

I dream a lot. Most nights actually. I talk and shout and roll around in my sleep and wake up anyone who is near enough. But most of the time I don't remember any of it.

Sometimes, though, I do. And those are always the best dreams. They start when I'm not quite awake enough to realise I'm asleep, but awake enough to remember them. Then I wake up properly, but because I always wake up gradually and the dream is so nice I just go back to sleep. Except I can't properly, I'm still mostly awake, so I can control the dream. When I finally wake up and start to do all the boring daytime things, the dream keeps me all muffled and fuzzy and happy. Of course, my little bubble is soon broken by some stupid person or another, but the dream lingers in the back of my mind so I don't get angry at them.

I didn't have a dream like that last night, but I did wake up very happy this morning. It wasn't too early or too late, and my computer was full of charge for me to use. When I went downstairs for breakfast I was greeted by my mother cooking, and therefore in a good mood, and Easter Chocolate. I returned upstairs and enjoyed a random creative streak before spending about an hour talking to some new friends over the internet, and generally getting to know them better. Then my mum called me down to lay the table. That's when things began to go wrong.

She successfully managed to annoy me to the point of screaming my frustration in under five minutes, a new record for her, before telling me off for being annoyed. How did she manage this feat? By telling me to do about sixteen things at once. I've been getting mad at her for doing that since I was five. Then, she began to criticise me on how I'd been doing those things. Luckily we got the table set before I blew, and I was allowed back upstairs for the next half hour while lunch was finished. This allowed me to cool off a bit, and I got changed out of my pyjamas and into some clothes.

I then returned downstairs and had a surprisingly pleasant lunch, and my previous anger seemed like a mere hiccup in the day. However, it was not to last. We began to clear up, and me and my sister had a small argument because we're sisters and that's what we do. There were no raised voices, just snipes and some violently phrased disagreement. This lasted about five minutes before my mum cut in. She was outraged. How dare we have a small argument! We haven't even been told off for not enjoying ourselves and being bad company when we went out to dinner last night! I shouted right back at her about half my points when she cut me off. She was in turn cut off by my sister, and I was forgotten. Again. Never mind that I was also being a bit grumpy last night, my sister is the misbehaving child, and the one with the loudest voice, so she deserves to get to have her argument. Never mind what I have to say on the matter, I'm the good girl who just lets everything roll off her back.

Except I'm not. I was upset. I was angry. I was a little bit confused, and generally overwhelmed. I ran away. In my shorts and tank top with no shoes, phone or keys. No-one noticed when I stepped outside. I was gone for about an hour. I always intended to come back. When I walked down the road leading to mine, my mum was there in the car. She was furious.

"Where have you been?! Get in this car now!"

Not worried about why I ran away for an hour in my bare feet. Not at all bothered about the fact that all the evidence suggests it was because of her fight. Just. Plain. Angry.

My mum's boyfriend was also out looking for me, but on foot. He was also quite close to my home. This suggested to me that they hadn't been looking long. I had been gone for an hour.

I went and hid in my room and refused to come out until my sister's baptism that evening. Walking to the church, my mum fell behind, because she's a fat, unfit, unhealthy person, and her boyfriend (who is very nice and kind to me and my sister) put and arm around me. He said that they were worried when I ran away, but that he understood why I did it, as it wasn't very pleasant to see my family argue. He also said that my mum loves me, and that all that matters really. I outwardly agreed, but inside I denied it. Sure, my mum may love me, but that's not all that matters. How she treats me matters. How she handles me matters. How she reacts to my more extreme reactions matters. Everything matters. And now I think I hate my mum. And I don't love her underneath that.

My sister I do love though, even when I'm fighting with her, even when I hate her. The service was boring and, to me pointless, but I enjoyed the songs, because the other people's faith was shown so clearly. Mine was shattered a while ago, but my older sister's has somehow remained intact. And she sealed it today. She accepted her religion with the words 'I do' repeated a few times, to a few questions I can't remember, and the the words 'Jesus is Lord' I believe is what she said next to another unremembered question. Then she was dunked, and then she dried off and said hello to all the people there that she knows, and then she spent the evening hanging out with her friends in our garden. They had all come along to support her, even though not all of them shared her faith. I don't, but I went and sat in a church for two hours without complaint. So did my dad and my aunt, although she is a Christian of a different kind.

My mum didn't. She came alright, but not after much umming and ahhing and 'I really just don't do churches' and 'I think Ian is having a party on that day so I might not be able to come.' If she doesn't quite approve of what me and my sister are doing, she can be an unsupportive bitch. But it's okay, because I was supportive instead, and then I got to hang with my sis and her friends who I know most of anyway. And it was fun.

Family

I don't like having dinner with my family. Scratch that. I absolutely loathe having dinner with my family. I dread it. And I have to do it every night. Every single freaking night. I shouldn't hate it this much, but there isn't anything that I like about it. I very rarely really like the food, so it's just refuelling to me, I have to help set the table and clean up afterwards, and I have to make conversation, or listen to other people make conversation. I have tried to block them out but I always sit next to my mum, and she is far to loud to block out, even with the aid of earphones, which I'm not allowed to wear at the table anyway. So basically, the whole thing is torture. I have to sit there for half an hour listening to my mum complain about work, and my sister complain about school, and then my mum give my sister the third degree about doing stuff other than studying at school, and then my sister lie to get around whatever my mum is trying to accuse her of. At that point I'm about ready to slit my wrists with my knife. They're just so annoying! And they aren't even doing anything annoying! They're just sitting there, making pointless conversation for the sake of talking. I don't like it when people do that. In my opinion the person who first came up with the idea of small talk to fill a silence deserves to be tortured and murdered brutally and then rot in hell. I don't see the point in small talk. No-one cares about what we're talking about, they just want to talk because they can't appreciate silence. I like silence. Sometimes I wonder why I talk to people at all, but then I go hang out with my two best friends. Also, people tend to talk to me more than the other way around. I just try to dodge their questions and use as short answers as possible so that they'll stop talking. And I know, I know, that's really unsociable, but I am an unsociable person and that's the way I like it. The less people who bug me with small talk, the better in my opinion. Unfortunately I have to put up with at the very half an hour of small talk a day during the torture called dinner with my family. My mum tries to talk to me at breakfast too. I wouldn't mind, except it's six twenty five in the morning when I have breakfast, and I am not awake enough to walk down the stairs with my eyes open, let alone put up with making small talk! Sometimes I think she's trying to kill me.

Scared

I'm afraid of the dark. Well, not exactly. It's a bit more complicated and weird than that, because I'm a pretty complicated and weird person. It's like as soon as the sun goes down and other people go to sleep, everything is ten times more frightening than it should be. I don't know why. As a result of my increasing fear of the dark I have started staying up really late reading or on the Internet, because I want to put of the moment when I switch the lights out and abandon my distractions. It works quite well, because I only start trying to sleep when I'm absolutely exhausted, so it doesn't take that long for me to fall asleep. Even then I manage to freak myself out a little bit. I think that if I didn't have to sleep, I wouldn't. Sometimes I don't.
When I do sleep, if I have to go to the bathroom then I end up spending about five minutes taking the three steps to the bathroom door. when I get really scared I freeze up. Most of the time I try to avoid drinking too much before I go to bed.
I'm not really sure what to do about all this, but I think that I might have to get a night light. I'm 12. I'm not really sure how I'm gonna explain that one to my mother.

I wish I didn't have to sleep.

Suff That's Happening In My Head

Do you ever feel like life is lapping you? I do sometimes. I have a sister who is 18 months older than me so I've spent my whole life trying to be 18 months older than I actually am. It isn't working too well. I'm worrying about stuff like what I'm gonna do with my life, and what's gonna happen, and when, and trying to be a teenager before I even reach 13, but at the same time I'm only 12, and part of me, and a large part at that, wants to be a little kid still. I don't really want to grow up, I just want to be independent and go out and do stuff on my own, or with my friends or be able to sit in my room and be able to spend however long I want without any noise at all. Like that's gonna happen in my house. I also want to be able to have more control over my life. For example, I'm moving house because the one we live in now is to expensive, and the new house is nice and all, but my room is gonna be smaller and I don't have a windowsill and I have all this stuff that I have no idea what to do with. Plus, I have to take all the awesome crap off my walls and stick it back up in the new house, and rearrange my furniture so it will fit, and go back to having beige walls, which is one of my pet peeves. I don't know where I'm going with this, it's just sorta something that I needed to get out of my system. I guess what I mean to say, is I'm gonna be in year 8 come September and I'm freaking terrified. I mean, I spend so much time trying to grow up and be cool, and the rest of my time trying not to forget what it's like to be a little kid. It makes my head hurt.