Poison and a Meal

Finally (although it may be the penultimate one by the time I actually finish this blog!) I will move onto quite possibly the most confusing yet brilliant last few months of my life.

Around the same time I realised my feelings for the person in my previous blog, I was introduced to a new person. I shall call him Hemlock, as that is the nickname that Yellow Jane gave him, and it is the one I have grown used to. No "Mr" something- they're a bit cheesy and I've grown out of them.

Hemlock- a highly poisonous European plant of the parsley family ... ,used medicinally as a powerful sedative.
It's also a heavy metal band, but I don't think YJ had that in mind.

He said that he came up with the word himself and Diamond Heart said that it was a real thing, then went on to describe it. YJ was shocked but said it fitted still. YJ now claims that he knew all along the meaning of 'hemlock' and that's why he chose it. But that is another story. The point is, that YJ thought 'Hemlock' was a suitable nickname because "he is poisonous to me".


I wasn't quite sure how to take that. Do I take it in the way that once I've taken a bite I will have the taste in my mouth until I die? Or that he will be the breaking of me and I should stay away? Or that he is intoxicating me and I have completely fallen for him? Or all of them?

I don't know.

Having successfully rambled for over three paragraphs, I should probably return to the little story I started that you have probably forgotten in all the time I did spend rambling. So on with the story!

Over the next two months, I never really got the opportunity to talk to him much. We were in the same art class, and he was the only one of a few boys in the class. He didn't really get on with the more popular group of boys, so talked with YJ, another male friend of ours who is in his form, another incredibly annoying "friend" of mine who I am relived that he does not get on with, and me.

At the end of those two months, we had an art activity. In groups. And there are no prizes for who I was in a group with. I don't even need to consult my diary to know what happened, despite it being about 6 months ago. We did well in the presentation. Only after we did ours, we had nothing to do but listen to the other groups' as we were first. He didn't want to turn around (probably because it would take effort) and I was sitting facing the front. If you haven't worked it out, we were sitting opposite each-other. We couldn't help but make eye contact. And I am pretty sure I blushed and looked down each time he did. But we managed to talk when the chance was there. I pretty much ignored the rest of the group in the last hour. We had done all the group work in the first hour, the gaps now would just be conversation opportunities.

We talked a bit more before art lessons then. And a little more during the other lessons I share with him, which is actually a fair few. Doing the maths quickly, I have 60% of my lessons with him. That's quite a lot... But we gradually got more confident, but we still lacked a proper opportunity to just... talk.

And that opportunity presented itself in the month after the group art project. An art trip. 3 days of nothing but supposed to be doing work but really chatting and actually looking around the place. Or avoiding flares as was the case at the Eiffel Tower where a protest was taking place.

But we talked like there was no tomorrow. I actually got told off for talking which isn't exactly something that happens to me very often! We talked on the coach, walking to places, walking around places, whilst drawing and in the restaurants.
What embarrassed me most was the restaurants. To say I am a fussy eater is a bit of an under-statement. So I sat there the first meal time looking at continually at the mashed potato, salad, creme brûlée, beans and tomatoes that were put down and taken away. And I cried at one point. I wanted to eat, but this wasn't home. For one moment the desire that has been with me for over half of my life overcame me. The problem was just staring at me in food form. I wished I could have been normal and have been able to have eaten that food in front of me. I was starving, and I couldn't eat it. It wasn't for trying, but there was only so much I could take.
The fragility of my emotional state from being away from home, in a place where the only bit of the language I knew was "je joue au foot" and being faced with a quite honestly daemonic teacher who came up at the end of each course to check I had eaten, and then having to pretend I was enjoying it, was too much. I broke down.

The next day was a little better. This trip I was actually illness-free (on my previous school trip I had a bug which meant I could eat nothing anyway, which was actually good as I wouldn't have eaten any of the food served to us anyway) and I was feeling seriously hungry. I managed to eat breakfast, but the lunches were too much. They were pretty disgusting even for my able-dieted friends. So I went without lunch too. By dinner, I was praying it was not a repeat of the previous night.

It wasn't. It was pizza- a thing I have recently got into (thank goodness). I wasn't sitting with the boys on this meal, but I did have a friendly face with me. I avoided the mushroom landmines in the first pizza, and said I was fine when the salad-on-a-pizza was offered to me. Dessert was something I hadn't tried before. Chocolate on a pizza. And I tried it. And I actually rather liked it. So I had two pieces of it It was pretty sickening at the same time; it was just sugar in a savoury dish and the two do not really mix.

But I had been provided with some energy, and I felt a lot better because of it.

On the way back, I was given an origami penguin by him, which is named Pingu for some reason. But it became a conversation starter for our mad little conversations.
On the ferry, we exchanged numbers. And it all went from there.
We pretty much texted all the way back. And as we had done on the way there, we had a rave to the music on his iPod. Music was the thing that united us.

I continued to text him over the next few months. We sent several thousand in those months, which required a new phone contract! It was worth it.
He chose to talk to me a lot more voluntarily. We even worked together in lessons when he had the option to go with friends. But most importantly, he started walking out with me. It was only for 5 minutes until he got his lift home, but it was a great chance just to talk one on one.


Have you noticed all this was in the past tense? I most certainly have.

I don't actually know what happened. The texting died down until it stopped completely. I felt like when I talked to him to was less relaxed and flowing. He looked less comfortable around me. And I felt almost stalkerish. I just wanted to talk to him all the time.

I don't know how we got out of that situation. But now we do get on more than in those cursed months. He chooses to talk to me more over his friends. And we started texting again. True, it was very short lived, but it happened. If he didn't have a certain apt for losing his phone it may be a bit more frequent and I may care less about what I write. Now I feel I have to plan what I want to say and then write it. So it's not exactly back to normal. The thing that got me is that we don't put the 'x' on the end of texts any more. I miss it.

I wish I had asked him out when I had the chance. I was being nagged like there was no tomorrow, until there wasn't going to be that chance tomorrow. Now it is the summer holidays, and he appears to have lost his phone. Great.

Apparently he had a crush on a girl and he asked her out last year. She turned him down. She is incredibly popular, and I deeply admire his courage to ask in the first place. I don't know whether that means he could ask me? But I don't want to just put it down to him to ask, however I just can't bring up the question. I'm scared of potentially losing that friendship. I'm worried about what to do if he says yes!


I think I've covered it. For now, anyway. If you've read this far, you are amazing- love ya! :)
If you are wondering why this was put up at about 2am, I meant to start it when I lay down about to go to sleep at 11. I got kinda in the zone and just couldn't stop. Ow my thumbs hurt!

Thank you for reading! :)

The Boy Next Door

And now I am going to move on to my second situation. It's going to be more of a summary of the time over which I fell for him.


I don't simply have crushes. When I fall in love, the rest of the world can dissolve away into nothing for all I care, so long as I'm with them.

But he confused me so badly. I had never met him for three years. Then suddenly I sit next to him in just about every lesson. I get on okay with him for the first few months. We don't talk much, but we can work together. And as we begin to get more confident around each-other, we begin to get to know the other a lot better.

I told him everything about me. My private life. The side I wouldn't want to tell anyone. But I trust him. Even if you only have ten minutes after meeting him, you will trust him. For he is the kindest and most friendly guy I know.
He is physically impossible.
How can somebody be that lovely?
I can think about it as much as I want but he is still there. Still his friendly, rather athletic (*grin*) self.

I don't know when it was I realised. It was not love at first sight, I am certain of that. It was more of a gradual progression of emotions, so that I could have looked back a month and been amazed that I could hold a vaguely normal conversation with him without secretly wishing the next line he said was the one line that every lovesick person wants to hear. Those were the "good old days".

It had been about two months when I was first aware that something had changed. I wasn't sure whether it was me, him or just the atmosphere of the class that day. But the next day I knew it was me.

I thought I stood a chance as I didn't think he was very popular.

Oh how wrong I was. Almost the whole school knows who he is. Everyone is friendly to him, and in return, he is super friendly to them.
Except one girl that just went beyond friendly and stepped into the flirting zone. She said she didn't like him, but I know enough about body language now to tell that she is lying!

The popular girl flirting with the popular boy. Well that doesn't surprise me. School is pretty much a status game.

I got my friend to ask (discretely!) if you liked me about five or six months later. The answer was that I was not his type. I may have broken down at the time, but it was short-lived. It helped me begin to get over him. As usual, I'm still not fully over him, but now I've accepted his opinion, and the alternative love life he could have. And the one I could have...
There was practically no recovery period.

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!)