It Takes Two to Tango

To you, it may seem as though it has been a long time since my last blog. In truth, it is. But to me, it has been an age.


I have been through so much, I need to put it into two blogs. It's a bit like a television programme that gets your attention with a dramatic two-part series starter, before settling back in to regular programmes.
I'm sorry I can't be more regular, but you can't really rush  life.


I am going to dedicate this blog to getting partially over somebody. I went through hell to get there, but I did it and I feel much better because of it. I'm safer, legally, also.


So I liked my teacher. Quite a lot. To the point I may just have loved them. My heart fluttered every time I saw them and I felt as though my life revolved around him. In a sense, it did. Every time I saw him I forgot what I was doing and had to watch him. I thought we would be good together and I should try and be flirty (the flirty I know which basically means go red and avoid eye-contact when he looks at me) around him.


That was what part of me said I should do. The part of me that is like a miniature Agony Aunt told me that it was ridiculous. He could have a girlfriend. He could be married! He could have a child!
It was insane and the only trouble was that my heart refused to give him up.


He was (and still is) pretty good-looking. He was my ideal man in looks. I've always been a sucker for the guy that is too old for me, and there was one just... there...
It probably didn't help he was the only one of two male teachers I had at the time. The other one was also good-looking, but not the type that 'appeals' to me.
I think you need male teachers in your life. This has taught me- not what I was supposed to learn, it is true, but taught me nonetheless- that you will meet someone that you simply cannot have. You can love them until the cows come home, but just no. I learnt that the storm will pass, but you will have to go through the storm first. And, to be honest, this is one of those lessons I will actually use in later life.


The process of 'getting over' him is one of the most difficult things I have ever done. It's not as though I can simply avoid him. If he handy already of guessed he would have done by that time. One day I was blushing and almost gawping whenever I saw him, the next I was looking down or trying too hard to stage a conversation with whoever I was walking with.
It took time. Months even. Almost half a year. But I am so close to being over him. He had only rejected my heart, and all I had to do was find it again. And that I did. I found it with another person. And so the whole process began again. Great.


All I feel when I see Mr Perfect is a distant feeling of longing. I will never fully be over him whilst I see him this often. I still imagine that we could be together, but now it is only when I see him. I can sleep without lying there thinking about what a mess my life is. At least, when he's a part of it. Or not, depending on your angle.
In case you haven't guessed, there is now someone else in my life. It's taken me so long to get round to writing this that I have also had other person join the rather awkward party.


I will update you with the events of this seemingly never-ending party as soon as I can.
Thank you for your patience!

A Scouting for Girls Quote

I have gone and done it again. Another celebrity crush has formulated in me. This time, it's my second American. Darren Criss is the name he goes by, and every time I see it, my mind slips into the endless fantasies that have made themselves known these last few days.

You see, I never really knew about him. Yeah, I watched A Very Potter Musical last year, but I didn't see him really. I was really looking at the whole thing. Then, my heart didn't run wild. It was a tame thing, really. Now I have to try and lock it up- and watch all my defences break down in mere seconds. However, now I have got into watching Glee and looking at all the actors and actresses in it and their lives, I realise how much I like him. True, I am not as obsessed as some other fans (cue the video of him getting pulled off stage during a live performance by a fan), but I could get so much worse. I haven't got a poster of him stuck on the back of my door (that is reserved for Mr. Tennant and his TARDIS, my GoApe certificates and artwork), mainly due to me not finding a shop in which they sell them. Any help would be greatly appreciated.

Having now got into graphic making, I find myself making more wallpapers. I thereby made one of all the lovely men I have fallen for. I had to have six so there weren't any blank spaces. That was a real struggle. I had to be a REALLY big fan of them for them to go on my wallpaper. I got four. Then I ran out of ideas. Alex Pettyfer- yup, like him, Tom Felton- *faint*, Tyger Drew-Honey- gorgeous and the latest addition of Darren Criss. I then got stuck. I racked my memory and pulled out Chord Overstreet. That still left one more. I couldn't put in a picture of Mr. Cute as I possess no pictures of him. Mr. Completely Adorable- the same issue. Mr. Right... Oh... I know where there are pictures of him, but I don't think I could cope with looking at him every day. So I was left with a picture of Mr. Tennant and his TARDIS. Why? I have absolutely no idea. I liked him at one stage in my life, but not now. So I had my six men- but six seemed so many. Then I remembered it was only really five. Five isn't such a bad number. I will just suffer heartache five more times then your average person. And why is that so bad if your heart skips a beat five times more than that of your average person?

So I am lying awake the day after I lay down. I have been lying here for hours- more than I care to count. The silence is occasionally broken by the passing car. The song is still playing through my mind on a seemingly endless loop. The song that is my new favourite song. The song that is my new emotional song. The song that reduces me to tears by the end. In a way, when I listen to it, I don't want it to end. It is such a beautiful song that I fell in love with it before the singing even began. It fills my heart with an instant burst of warmness. I can't help but sing along. And me singing along makes it personal. And making it personal makes it even harder to resist the tears. Not that it was easy in the first place.

I am one of life's criers.

I will break down when the little things stack up. I will cry when I injure myself. I will cry when I think too much about Mr Right. I will cry when I remember how much of my life I have spent in love and how I felt when I realised they had found their love- and it wasn't me. I cry because it is never me. I cry because I think it never will be me. I cry because it reminds me I am full of emotion and human. I can't think now. I have started again.

And I have heard a rumour going around part of my year that I 'play for the other team'. I have really nothing to say to these people. They haven't read this blog and I have no intention for them to. They have no idea what I go through every day. They have no idea -at all- what it means to be me. If I talk to the source (and I know who it is), then what good will that do? It will probably just enhance the rumours. If I back myself up, it will just be twisted and used against me. So I just cannot be bothered with them. It is a stupid rumour. Everyone that knows me knows that I am definetely not. I am pretty sure of my sexuality at the moment -but you never know- it may change. Whatever. They clearly have no hope of a love life and so choose to try and put down someone else's potential. They are just sad. A sad person that preys on other people to ignore the fact that no-one likes them in a loving way. And I know who I am. I am me. I am still hopelessly in love with Mr. Right. It hurting me and tearing me apart, but I love the feeling after this. It reminds me I am more alive then The Source. My heart still beats with something other than spite.

I love how it hurts.

The weight blob -sorry- blog

I have been told that I am not fat and to stop saying that I am. By a boy telling you that, it doesn't make you any more confident in yourself. At least, it doesn't for me. He has no idea what size means nowadays. It basically says: if you want what I define as a good-looking guy, you need to be a twiglet. A twiglet in skinny jeans and a low cut top, or basically a dress with very little fabric used where the pounds needed to buy it is higher than the amount of pounds that makes up you. 

I went into Hollister recently. This may not seem that big if you have never been anywhere near that kind of shop. They need to rethink their USP. It should be "Seriously anoexic? You will manage to fit into a S in our shop! But not an XS. You have to be a skeleton to reach that level.". I managed -just about- to fit into a large. Thinking back, I realise how optimistic I was to think I would fit into a so-called 'Medium'. I queued for about 45 minutes to be served by this tall, skinny man in his early twenties in a shirt and trousers. I spotted a female colluege of his in VERY short shorts and a strappy top, showing off their flat stomach. A very sexist shop. Or maybe just focused on its image? Either way, it makes me think that women need to focus on their appearance to get noticed. Makeup is part of it, but I think that size is everything.

Imagine you are in a fight, with one side trying to destroy the other. If it is between two average males in my area, they will fight until the end. If it is between two average females in my area, they will throw insults at eachother, until the final, destroying blow is dealt.
"Fat!"
That word can kill.
Either emotionally it can break them down to tears, or force them to starve themselves.

Note, when people say "Wow! You look great!", they are normally going to finish that by saying "Have you lost weight?"
It is never
"Well done! You've put on a bit since we last met, great job!"
Why not? Why can't we praise people for not jumping with their pencil legs on the bandwagon?

I read in a newspaper a while back that we are getting fatter as a nation.  Alongside and article about how a girl got a letter that she was overweight, and when you look at her, she doesn't look it. I hope they did BMI as opposed to weight alone. But muscle weighs more than fat. So very fit people are branded 'heavier' than people that are the opposite. I would hate to get that letter. Just to get told that by a load of text... It sounds horrible. No wonder they complained. Don't tell people that they're overweight. Teach them what it means (but don't exaggerate it for the considering anorexic person) and let them do anything if they want. Have tastier, healthier food in canteens. They don't want rabbit food. Potato salad with a salad for dessert and fruit juice? That's mad.

I looked into some celebrity wives. Models. Skinny models is what came up most. The celebrity may not even be that good-looking but they have got a girlfriend that seems to equal the couple out as 'average looking'. I have no chance of being a model. I lost a load of weight when I was away and got wolf-whistled at, but they just help my point. No one looks twice at you when you are a size 10 or above. If you dip below that, you are suddenly popular. Well sorry. I'm not going to sacrifice my health for my modelling career.

If you're on the average side- good for you! If you exercise as well- fab! If you eat sensibly without being obsessed- take a gold star sticker and give yourself a pat on the back. Don't listen to the media. Listen to your health and you. Balance the two and you will feel great. I assure you. I've tried to do that all my life. 

Another Letter, Another Love

To You,

Great news! I got over you after all this time. You have transformed yourself from a perfect, sensitive boy into a complete idiot and an embarassment to yourself. You radiate idiocy to anyone you associate yourself with and I want to stay as far away from that little mine field as possible.

Now. The only reason I say I have got over you is because I have given my heart away to someone else. And this time it is someone I literally CANNOT have. And the age gap is scary. Really scary. But this time, it isn't a celebrity. This person knows me, knows more about me than I know about them. Now, it isn't a case of that person liking me back, it is a case of any feelings being forbidden.

I am confused.

My stupid heart. My stupid, bloody irritating heart. It runs off with who it wants without my consent. I can't stop it. It has this attraction to what it can't have. I shrug my shoulders and wonder when it goes away. Only when I know where it is do I want it back and I cry. I am so over-emotional. I think I just have one of the worst love-lifes ever. Or, more, the absence of one. It does annoy me. But it causes me more pain than anything else.

I am relieved I got over you though. It caused me so much pain over the years. But now it is over. And now it has started again. I hope this isn't as serious as you and I. Not that there ever was a 'you and I'. It is just three words that happen to go together in a sentence..

Now there is Mr. Right. He is a Mr. Wrong to everyone else in perspective of the two of us, but he is my Mr. Right. I seem to have this urge to show-off around him. I have NEVER, ever had that before. And I temporarily forget how to breathe. That has happened before, and I think my lungs must have extreme short-term memory on their bodily function. It reminds me I still like him. It is useful to know, because hopefully -one day- I will get over him, and I hope it will be short and swift. Not last time which was like cycling up a foggy hill. It is a struggle all the way and you get easily tired and wish you could turn back. But then you can free-wheel down. Only then I found that the hill had a ramp that threw me into limbo, suspended in the air like a rag doll, at the mercy of whatever lay at the bottom of the drop. I crashed, what seemed like badly at the time, but I managed to pick myself up and walk home.

In danger of sounding like an Apprentice candidate with all these metaphors, I will move on.

If you are reading this: thank you. It means a lot to me, I never really thought of doing this before. I have a few friends out there that read my blogs, but for those others, it makes me feel very appreciated. So thanks for reading, and no matter what time zone you are in, have a wonderful day/night.

Anyway Mr. Right, I do highly doubt you will read this. I hope you don't, but in case of all eventualities, I am sorry. I didn't choose to fall in love with you. My heart is a free spirit. I try to tether it back but it escapes. If in an even rarer case you know it's you, I hope we can still get on the best we can. But I feel this post is just going to be a voice that is lost in the wind.

Experienced?

I haven't done a blog in a long time, and for that I am sorry. We've had exams after exams with more on the way. Today brought two more ridiculously unnecessary pieces of evidence I really don't care. I couldn't revise as the subject area let my book out of their site so now it has gone AWOL. I cared a little, until my teacher said that I didn't need to revise.

I made a mental note to keep that in my head forever.

Another feeling of deep loss has come over me again. I apologise for another 'code-name', so to speak, but I do like using them. Mr Completely Adorable left three weeks ago. I don't mean left, as in left school. I mean left, as in moved country. I only liked him for a few months and didn't know him that well. In fact I don't think I knew him at all. I never knew his full name. I never knew about him. All I know is I met him occasionally, and that was all.

And he was (and still is) VERY cute.

I thought I didn't like him, my brain was telling me it was ridiculous. But then he said he was leaving, moving to Spain. Adios senõr (I apologise again for my abismal Spanish). I managed to hold it in, wish him luck and get on with my journey. But when I got home I found tears down my face, with no recollection of having passed them. Does that mean I love him? If I know nothing of him but cry about him? If I still wish he would come back? If I wish I could have told him outright that I liked him?

That's the point though. We don't know the future. We don't know what we really feel. Other people know us better than we know ourselves. And that isn't really what I want.

I have got to get a hold of myself. I can't stop myself falling in love, but I have to learn that love isn't worth my tears. As I was told a few years ago "You will meet your perfect person soon enough, and you will know it when you meet them."

I've had four false alarms then. Four totally brilliant, yet heartbreaking, false alarms. Making me more anxious to get to the real thing. It's like exams that matter. You are so mock-test-ed to death you want to get the real thing done so there is no need for another mock. I'm getting impatient. I hate being denied what I want.
Everyone I know has had a boyfriend.  Everyone I know has has had their heart broken. Not many people I know, in fact none, have had their heart broken as often or as painfully as me. Still, at least the most broken valuables seem to be worth more than a whole an unbroken valuable.

Why does this keep happening to me. Experience makes you wiser? Hell no! It makes you angry and upset. Experience is a fatal word in a relationship. Or a track record. People don't want players. They want you and know they will have your heart, and you want to know that they will look after it. So don't think going out with as many people as possible is cool or makes you look good. It makes you look like an idiot, and in the end, everyone will hate you.

As I am growing to do. Thank you Mr Cute.

(I have had this stashed away, so it is a little out of date!)

A letter to no-one

To You,

I really do not know how to say this. I loved you. And I still do. Even if you want to pretend I don't exist, please just talk to me. I can still survive, just, if you respect what we could have had and show me your grace and care which made me fall in love with you in the first place.

But you don't know I love you. You don't care about me. You don't give a damn. You just ignore me. I am special, and not in the good way, I know. But the mere fact I am writing this shows that I do care and don't care whether you like it or not. I dream. 

In fact, I had a dream recently. That was when I thought I had got over you. I had managed not to think about you for days and I felt happier with myself. But then you appeared in the only place you would. In my dreams. And that is where you and I will stay. Where they will never exist. This dream made me fall head-over-heels in love again. I knew that I never had got my heart back.

So that is why, Yellow Jane, I know you never will get your heart back when you give it away. I gave my heart and what I didn't have, and now I can't cope that he hasn't given me his in return. I want it back. But I know I will not ever get it. You are cute, gorgeous, witty and popular. I am me. And that is why it will never work.

I can't go on kidding myself. I am going mad. The only thing that is escaping my chasm of madness are the tears. They run away from me too. Just like everyone else. No-one can stay with me. They think I am some crazy idiot that talks rubbish. I am not crazy. I am confused and trying to take it all in. I am not coping. And I don't know what to do.

I want help. I want you. Please help me. You don't want me. But I want me. Whatever anyone says, I am still me. I am proud of myself, but I am no longer whole. I want it back. So please give it back to its rightful owner. You will never use it. So why not give it to someone who can?

Never and forever yours,
Phoenix
x

P.S. I know you will not read this. If you do, you won't know it's for you. But I want to tell you after all these years. I am beyond caring. So before I delve deeper into madness, I need you to pull me out. 

It isn't just me

Finally, something that I am passionate about that other people are also passionate about. I have started collecting money for the Comic Relief in two years time. I will only put money in the tin, and the only time it goes out will be when I donate it at the next Comic Relief. I am quite proud of myself. I have steered away from saving up my spare money to buy a laptop or Wii game etc, and instead want to use it to change someone's life.

Then I move onto the raising money part. I have no clue how to raise it, myself being quite a shy person. I was thinking of temporarily dying my hair, in the holidays naturally, to get money, but who would pay to not see that? Most people only do a sponsered silence for a day. I was thinking of doing the full Monty and going for a week. Now that will be fun. Especially during school. And on the phone.

So what can I do to help? This is always what annoys me; I'm not old enough. I want to go out to Africa and meet and help some people there. I want to help a person that has injured themselves in the street, rather than have to walk by, not knowing what to do. I have done about seven first aid courses, but they are rather boring, and never prepare you for the full impact of actually witnessing an injured person. It's all "Elevate the limb" and "Reassure the casualty". How do you reassure the 'casualty'? What if they have numerous injuries? What if they have spinal damage? Do I really put them in the recovery position? And they aren't a casualty. They are a human being, still human, just injured. They don't want a very focused person that tells them nothing and gives them little reassurance. They want you to be human too.

Why not give part of the course on handling with their emotions? That's why I loved one of the courses. True, it did take me a year-and-a-half of weekly sessions, but I learnt loads. Plus I learned how to reassure them. Slightly anyways.

Back to age. They don't want me helping them. They would just take one look at me and go "What do you know, huh?". I want to help. I need to help for my own good. I HATE having to force myself to walk on because I can't help. Please, just accept that. I do want to help. My heart wants to help too. But my brain can't. And unfortunately, my brain controls this whole operation. What it says, I do. Sorry.