Lost in Wonderland

It’s been almost three months since my last post and if I were to apologise and go on about how much I’ve missed it, it wouldn’t be genuine. So I won’t. The truth is, I really haven’t wanted to update people about my life. I haven’t felt like my life has been worth reporting about and without unburdening all my emotional deficiencies onto you, my virtual friends, I’ve felt quite lost over the past few months.

This will sound melodramatic which ever way I say it but I really felt like I had stopped living, stopped being, stopped breathing. The only reason I was still alive was because my body wouldn’t give out on me. That sounds like a miserable existence, it sounds like depression, but it wasn’t. What with leaving University, not having a job and not having any close friends here in Edinburgh it’s been hard. To be living in a society that is so quick to label people, it’s not surprising to me that I have long struggled with who I am as a person. The ‘what’ I know, my likes, my dislikes… that’s all easy, but sit me down with pen and paper, ask me ‘Who are you?’ and I will falter. You only have to look at any profile I have with ‘myspace’ or the like to see that my descriptions of myself are awash with contradictions, inconsistencies and vagueness. I have long feared that the parts of me that I have closed off, the parts that hurt to think of have crippled me as a person.

As a child my father penned me a letter; a letter that I would not fully understand for many years. Something he said that has always stuck with me is this, “… I bury these feelings inside myself and refuse to look at them but I ignore them at the expense of knowing myself and finding wholeness. My lack of wholeness hurts my family. You are hurt by me out of my deficiencies as a person”. I don’t want to be that person. There are things in my past that I have buried since childhood. Despite being open about my past there are some things that are ingrained so deep in my character and in my memories that I refuse to admit that they even exist. The past few months have been a time of reflection, meditation and realisation. I can’t begin to explain how much more at peace I feel and the book I’m reading at the moment – ‘Nothing Special: Living Zen’ by Beck’ has been both an insight and an inspiration.

We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts, we make our world.

Buddha

This last week has been amazing and Victoria and I have finally got enough money together to afford our move to Belfast. We hope to be moved by mid October and to pass the time my little brother is coming over for a visit tomorrow. We plan on sight seeing around Edinburgh, something that I have never really done in all my four years of being here, visiting Edinburgh dungeons, getting new tattoos and enjoying the fringe festival.

I’ll write more soon.

 

The last battle

Yesterday I cursed gay rights… It was the “last battle” with the arsehole of bureaucracy, the day I was finally due to get some money from the Government. If you’ve read my previous posts, you will already be well aware of the problems that I’ve had with them. From lying to me on the telephone, messing up interview appointments and losing documentation to passing the buck to an absent colleague when they bugger it all up and I eventually get angry. After all that, and with the money situation getting pretty desperate, I was quite anxious about my appointment yesterday. I tried to say positive, I told myself that they couldn’t possibly fuck it up again. There was three things that I could possibly claim for:

1) Job Seekers Allowance (contributed) – as it was explained to me this is based on whatever National Insurance contributions that you have made while you have been working. I took this to mean that the Government will give you money if you’ve actually been working and if you’ve made a contribution to society (ie: the pension scheme).
2) Income Support – this is based on the total income of the household (ie: my partner and I) and the household must be bringing in very little to qualify for this.
3) Housing benefit – same as income support, your household income needs to be very low if you are to get anything in way of payments towards rent etc.

So, I was told months ago by the social security office (ie: the arsehole of bureaucracy) that I would qualify for Job seekers allowance and housing benefit. I’ll be honest; I don’t like applying for these sorts of things. I have my pride and I’m a firm believer that you make your own success and to do that must work very hard. For me to “sign-on the dole” was crushing, it felt like I had been defeated and that all my education, all my hard work to get somewhere in life, was all for nothing. I’ve struggled so much to get work here in Edinburgh. I’ve been in full-time education since I was four years old, I don’t have the experience to land a great ‘cushy’ office job and I haven’t yet finished my Psychology degree, never mind starting my required Masters and finishing a three-year stint as a trainee psychologist.

As an example of just how radically un-important education is becoming in this country, especially compared to professional experience, let me rant a little further. My partner, Victoria, dropped out of school and college many times because she simply didn’t enjoy it, she has six GCSEs (mostly C grades) and she just scraped through in her A-Levels, which I by the way, I basically begged her to sit because I thought it was important. In terms of experience, she has an excellent CV. She didn’t go to University so she has been working full-time since she was eight-teen. She’s worked on the switch-board at a busy hospital; she’s worked for the DVLA, a major American Pharmaceutical company and now for the Inland Revenue. Whatever job she applies for, she gets. She’s well paid, well appreciated and respected. For me, it’s a very different story. I have nine GCSEs (mostly A’s and B’s) and I have the equivalent of four A-Levels; two in ICT and the other two in History and Politics. I worked bloody hard and I went to University where I studied for three years, one in I.T and two in Applied Psychology. Because of that I’ve only ever had part-time jobs, the crappy minimum wage jobs that they give to all students. My education and grades clearly count for nothing, my enthusiasm counts for nothing and while Victoria is happy to just do a job (any well-paid job), I have goals, ambitions and dreams. I’ll say it again, if only for my own benefit; education counts for nothing.

Anyway, back to the matter in hand, the ‘dole office’. I sat down with a man, who according to be letter was called Fiona. It seems, yet again they passed me off to someone else. I ask him if his name is Fiona and I laugh. He informs me that it’s merely just his stage name and I (un-fortunately) instantly warm to him. He then goes on to tell me that I (a) can’t get job seekers allowance because I haven’t paid enough National Insurance contributions – well yeah, don’t be stupid, that’s why I’m here, because I haven’t been working and thus obviously haven’t been paying National Insurance. What a stupid fucking policy to begin with, don’t even get me started on that one. (b) I also can’t get income support because my “partner” is earning and the combined income (which by the way is only around 14K a year) of the household is above the threshold – this is thanks to new legalisation for gay partners who live together. Victoria’s wages wouldn’t even have come into it before this new law was passed in November. So, I curse gay rights and I make a point of saying that with one hand they give.. and one hand they take away. (c) Bottom line, I can’t get housing benefit either because my partner is earning.

Four months of calls, letters and appointments; this is how long it takes the job centre to tell you that they don’t give a stuff for your situation and that you’re not going to get a penny. I couldn’t bring myself to get angry with this man; he was understanding, critised the legalisation himself and was really apologetic. So it seems that the Government believes that two people can survive on one salary and an income of just 14,000 a year. That saddens me ethically and personally - I have debt collectors on my back, loans to pay off, a student over-draft that’s been sitting there since I left University and two credit cards that are completely maxed out. Victoria has been both gracious and giving by supporting me this last year, but she can’t do it anymore.. she simply doesn’t have the money and I simply don’t have the heart to keep taking from her.

Be positive. Be positive Emma. I have a few meetings with agency staff next week to talk about temporary work (ugh – not again), an open evening with a newspaper concerning a possible journalist job and a telephone interview with Scottish Widows Bank about a Customer Sales job. Lets just hope my luck changes, and soon.

 

A little update.

So, I’ve been a way for a while. I don’t know whether I’ve had complete writers block or if I’ve just been avoiding the ‘net for a while. Either way things have been, well, ‘sparsely’ hectic for the last few weeks. What have I been doing with myself? Well, nothing too exciting I’m afraid. I seem to be having an identity crisis. Am I a free-speaking and strongly opinionated writer or am I a rule-following upcoming clinical psychologist?! The two jobs/lifestyles couldn’t be any more different. I can choose a stable well-paid job helping others; a job which requires further education, namely a master’s degree and a three year apprenticeship, a job that will legally strip me of personal opinion and true individuality. Or on the other hand I can be a servant to creativity and not the system. As a writer I can express myself, I can search my soul, pour my heart out and touch other people’s life’s with only words.. Or is that what Psychologist’s do?! When I think of myself in a white coat, sitting in a stuffy office that smells of hospital and old people, with a name above my door that says ‘Doctor’, I get scared. I’m afraid that I’ll lose myself, lose who I really am. Do Psychologists listen to ‘Peaches’, smoke weed and like fucking other young women?! Up until a hundred (actually its less) years ago, homosexuality was classed as a mental disorder.. do I really want to associate myself with a an organization like that? Or have the times really changed? The next time my GP refers me to a psychologist for drug use, will my young lesbian psychologist turn around and say, “heh smoking weed is fine in moderation, your GP is an arsehole, how else are you supposed to relax”? Hah. That’ll be the day.

With regard to the real world and not my over-working mind, we’ve been house hunting for a place in Belfast, I’ve been arguing with the “arsehole of bureaucracy” again and I’ve applied for an Irish passport because I’m sick of carrying around a British one that claims that I am a “subject to the Queen” - plus I’d rather like to not get blown up anytime soon. I Jest, I jest! Oh and I have been the jealous green monster many times this week as my little sister and her boyfriend sunned themselves in Gran Canaria, went on safari and swam with dolphins. Although I must say, stuff the dolphins, stuff the “lets sit on a beach and top up our tan for two weeks then drink copious amounts of cheap alcohol” tourist traps. I just want to go on holiday, as our trip to NY isn’t till next summer and that’s seems like an eternity away.

I’ll leave you with this; two of my favourite things - ‘weeds’ and weed. Namaste.

 

From ape to er, ape

I got a message today on facebook from an old school friend. He was a senior at my school, a rather large kind of guy that was quite popular with everyone thanks to his cheeky sense of humour and (slight) charm. We got the same bus home from school every evening and it was on one of these days that we shared a shy awkward, very innocent type kiss. There was no spark there, it was just one of those things that you did at fifteen and I got ribbed for it for several weeks after. I hadn’t spoken to him in several years, until today. Our conversation went like this:

Jason: Hey stranger - seems ages since our snog down by the chapel!! How are things going? What you up to these days?

Me: I know, such a long time ago. Things are going good thanks. I’ve been living in Edinburgh for the past four years and have just left Uni where I was studying ‘Applied Psychology’. Currently I am working freelance, writing for various magazines and office temping till I sort myself out and eventually move back to Ireland - with the girlfriend in tow. What have you been doing with yourself? Good to hear from you stranger.

Jason: You with a girlfriend!? Hope that wasn’t anything to do with me kissing you?! Any pictures? x

(Oh my God. Why do straight men always have to say that?! It’s almost as if its been built into them as an automatic response to someone proclaiming their lesbianism)

Me: Yeah I’ve been with her for over six years now. Uh no, my sexuality didn’t come about because of one random kiss like ten years ago, funnily. “Any pictures?” That’s a bit sleazy isn’t it?

Jason: I am male afterall.

(‘I have a penis therefore I am a prick’?!)

Me: Thankfully not every man is a complete sleaze. Thankfully we (mostly) live in a society that respects lesbian relationships for what they are and not for the ultimate male fantasy. Do I want to see pictures of you and your girlfriend? - No, why would I?! Why would you want to see pictures just because I happen to love someone of the same sex? Have some fucking respect, please.

Jason: Hey was only messin. Chill out love.

(Firstly I fucking hate it when people drop letters in words just to save time on the keyboard. Secondly, don’t call me love, moron).

Me: You weren’t only messing Jason and it’s the attitude. That kind of attitude belongs with narrow-minded nethanderal men. Congratulations you passed, now fuck off.

Was I too harsh? I don’t think so. I couldn’t tell you the amount of times that I have come across this kind of attitude among straight men. It’s always their first response. ‘Do you have pictures?’, ‘Threesome?’, or my personal asshole best – “Lesbians don’t have real sex. You need a penis for that”. I’m so sick of hearing that shit. Why is it that gay men are taken seriously and lesbians aren’t? What is it about our society that has taught our straight men to think that two women being together is hot? In fact no, more than that – what is it that has taught them to believe that two women being together is less about connection and love and more about trying to turn men on or trying to tease them? Do I need to have a penis to be taken seriously?!

Personally I believe that the majority of straight men don’t understand the word lesbian. They don’t understand that the world does not revolve around their, or for that matter, any other mans dick. They have nurtured, idolised and indeed stroked their (tiny) little weiner from an early age and truly believe that it is the best thing ever. They clearly can’t grasp that some women do not need a penis to be sexually fulfilled. Gay men on the scene are generally the same, its all about cock and sex (even if there is more emotional depth there). Perhaps that’s why gay men are stereotypically seen as more promiscuous, while the lesbian is generally seen as the settling down type. We all know the lesbian jokes about moving in on the third date right? The lesbian seems to be more interested in the woman as a person, even if it is a purely physical affair. I’ve yet to hear a woman, straight or gay, to go on and on about how wonderful their pussy is. If I had a few years to research, perhaps I would have an answer as to why women and men are so vastly different in terms of sexuality.

“Penis: A body organ used for urination, sexual pleasure, and for making important life decisions.” - Randy L. Pendleton.

Jason Ward you have been named and shamed. One more thing; you’re an idiot.

 

A letter -Daddy

 

Continuing with my slightly over personal, but honest stories, I decided to upload this; a letter I wrote to my abusive and absent father a couple of years ago. I haven’t seen my father for over eight years now, by choice. These were my thoughts, my feelings, my pain at this time. To this day, I haven’t sent this letter and I probably never will.

Picture above: My Dad and I in Dublin 1989

Dad,

I don’t know where to start, I don’t know where to end; I don’t even know what to say or how but for some reason I feel I need to do this, if at least to understand myself. I truly hope that you don’t hold this against me, use this against me even, and that you have the maturity and honesty to just except that this is your daughter being open with you for the first time in six years. Whether or not you are able to do that, I do not know for I do not know where you are in life, yet I suspect that it is not where you envisioned you would be.

If I wasn’t writing this to you now I would probably be tucked up in bed with a cigarette, watching DVDs such as ‘Six feet under’ or ‘French and Saunders’. It’s funny and also slightly sad that I’ve probably become a lot of the things you hate about the world. I smoke, I drink occasionally and I probably swear too much. I also have a partner who I have been with for nearly five years now, who is indeed female. I have fought with myself for many years because of this, not because I view it as wrong, but because the bible does, because my mother did, because society makes it clear that it’s not “the norm”. I feel assured though when I see relationships other than my own, perhaps even my own parents relationship and then realise that I have never known two people to be so close in all my life and I have never had someone love me so much or love someone so much in return. I don’t expect you to like the fact that I am with a woman, but I’m not seeking approval (I never have been the sort of person to need that) and I know that deep down somewhere you know how amazing and life changing a love like that can be. That is the important thing here. I also just want to make it clear that this is not Mum’s fault in any way, it is not something she has encouraged me into and it has taken her many years to even accept the fact that I love someone who is female. To me, love isn’t about gender and therefore I would never label myself into a corner and call myself “gay” or “straight”. I am neither; I am just a girl who is in love with another person. Love, like sexuality is fluid and it cannot be categorised and I do not wish it to be. I pray that you can at least understand this, even if you do not agree with it as I am sure you do not. Regardless of understanding, you’re right to disagree is certain, everyone deserves this right, but you’re vocalisation of what may be “disgust” or “disappointment” is not, you lost that right when you claimed disownment. Simply put, I don’t want to hear you’re negativity or narrow-mindedness on this matter. The world has come a long way since I was a child; the world no longer views same-sex relationships as “wrong”-In fact, it’s not something I keep from anyone, not from my University mates and not from my work colleagues. If my honesty and openness isolates people or makes these people feel un-comfortable then that is their issue, not my own-I will not live a lie for anyone.

I don’t want to talk about xxxxxx, xxxxxxxxx or Mum here because this letter is not about them and I would feel dis-loyal to them by giving an insight into their lives when you are not in touch with them anymore. Please except that I am not doing this to hurt you, but to save their hurt, for my family means everything to me. All I can say is that everything has changed. I am not the person you once knew, I am not the naïve little girl who thought she was so tough anymore, I am not the “happy go lucky” optimist that I once was. I have grown up, I have learnt about life the hard way; a lot of which I learnt from my father. To say my childhood screwed me up is an understatement to say the least, there’s not a day goes by where I don’t feel sad for the childhood I lost. The happy memories that I do have are sparse to say the least but there are a few. Namely, trips to the custom houses in xxxxxxx, to the museums that I visited at an early age and to late night sessions of ‘Star Trek’ re-runs in the living room. All of these I am thankful for, even though I would never dream of doing any of those things now.

I don’t know how to convey my feelings for you; I don’t even know what those feelings are. Anger, disappointment, fear and resentment for sure; but also a love and longing that can never be shifted no matter how much I try to suppress it. I was always “daddy’s little girl” no matter how close I was to Mum and even though I am extremely close to Mum now, I guess I always will be your daughter and I am like you in many ways. I guess this is why I understand; it is why I can live my life to an extent anyway, in happiness and not bitterness. It is why I feel a twinge of disloyalty to you when I feel anger towards you, to what you did; to the person you were throughout my childhood. I don’t think anyone else will ever understand why you were like you were, quite like I do; because I feel so many of the things you once did and maybe still do. Not the anger, not the violence, not the simple disregard for human life that you showed so much while I was growing up but the discontentment, the sadness, the loneliness, the desperation for truth, for understanding, for knowledge and the simple feeling that this life is not “real enough” for me. Everything seems so relative and meaningless when it comes to the crunch. I think so much of this internal pain and discontentment is because life is what you make it, and when you do not truly believe in pure and everlasting happiness, how you can be truly happy. I don’t think I have ever been truly happy and I honestly don’t think I am capable of such an emotion. Who is? What is true happiness anyway? Does anyone know? Happiness is relative to the person and therefore deeply personal and not easily understood.

I have battled for many years with clinical depression, I have been prescribed pills upon pills to help me cope with the feelings I have inside of me yet I refuse to become a slave to a “happy” chemical they say will take all the pain away. I am of the opinion that my bad experiences and the pain that I feel, makes me who I am and has moulded me into the person I am today. I don’t wish to get rid of the pain, for pain is what makes me alive, human, and real. I am, probably like you, a walking contradiction. I am still very much the happy-go-lucky confident and strong person that I was when I was growing up, yet I am also a broken person. A person who on days finds it hard to leave her flat and go out into the “big scary world” for fear of rejection, of pain, of hurt, of just “living”.

I am a person of mixed emotions, of mixed opinions, of mixed ideas, of thoughts and of character. There are no words to describe who I am, and even if there were, I would not know the words to tell you for I am still changing and learning more about myself everyday. These mixed emotions also relate to how I feel about my childhood, how I feel about you, my father. There are days that I wish I had had as a child, a better father, a father who could love me the way I wanted him too, a father who would not hurt me like mine did, a father who was not hurting so much himself and was therefore able to save me from the hurt. There is though, a lot of compassion and understanding in this and I would never say I hated you; just that I hated what you did. I see only too clearly from my own experiences and mistakes how easy it is to lose yourself and to become something you do not want to be. I do not wish un-happiness upon you like so many others may do, all I wish for you is that you could really truly see how wrong you were and that you could be more of the person you could have been.

I am always reminded of a school assembly I attended when the school teacher at xxxxxx held up a white A4 piece of paper with a tiny black dot on it and asked what we saw. Of course, everyone saw only a black dot and did not comment on the fact that we actually saw a large piece of white paper with a small black dot on it. The black dot represented the bad things we did, the mistakes. No-body noticed the white of the paper; only the black dot that lay upon it. I think his point was that mistakes can’t be changed and people only too easily forget the good stuff and can only focus only the “bad”, the mistakes. This is most people’s memory of the things that you did. The good stuff is somehow erased from the un-conscious and nothing but mistakes are left. This is not how I view you and perhaps that makes me a little naive but I prefer to think of a father who did love me and who did do things right, but sometimes got it very, very wrong. Un-fortunately the black spot cannot be forgotten or forgiven or even justified, but it can be understood and you are lucky enough to have a daughter who can see the bigger picture and who can relate to how easily it is to screw up.

I don’t know what else to say except that I am happy with who I am and the person I have become and a lot of that is to do with my childhood. I had rules, I had an education and I had two parents who I do feel loved and still do love me even if they didn’t always show that to me. There is no self pity involved where my childhood is concerned. A lot of people would probably view my childhood as a tragedy, but I do not. The emotional hurt that was inflicted upon me at an early age has made me into the strong and self asserted person that I am today. Many people have had it far worse than I did and I thank God that I have been able to learn from my parents mistakes and come through the other side, with lessons learnt. For I know that I will never make the same mistakes with my own children when I have them, and that they will benefit from the lessons I have learned because of my own childhood. Although I am a person with ongoing issues and hurts, I have become a person that is respected for my opinions, for my character and for my honesty.

At seventeen I fell in love and experienced the best thing that has ever happened to me. At twenty I became a published writer of poetry and experienced an amazing sense of self achievement and happiness because I was understood, no matter how messed up I may be. Most of all, I have to be thankful for the ambition that you instilled in me at a very early age, for this drive has helped me through so many things not to mention passing my a-levels, getting into an amazing university and studying the things I enjoy so much. I started off down the route that probably won’t surprise you, ‘Information Technology’, but much to my own amazement I have now been given the opportunity to study the things that are far more important, Philosophy and Psychology. I have just finished my second year of an honours degree in ‘Applied Psychology’ which is a lot of hard work but is also very gratifying and interesting. I have no particular aim in life; only that I can fulfil my dreams, be loved and love in return. All of which, I am doing and hopefully I will continue to do. Of course, this is all most people can ever hope to achieve and I feel completely blessed to have a mother that supports me in everything I do; without her I would be nothing.

I wish you knew me Dad, I wish you had the opportunity to be proud of me as I hope you would be. There is not a day that goes by where I don’t regret the fact that we do not have a relationship because deep down I am still a scared little girl who so desperately wants the love of not only her mother, but her father; I’m just not sure that you are able right now (or ever will be) to give me the kind of love that I so deeply crave or the kind of relationship that every child should have the right too with their father. I trust that you understand what I am saying here; you yourself have suffered because of your relationship or non-relationship with your father. I just hope that you can once and for all take what I am saying here onboard and take it in the context and manner that it is intended, even if I perhaps do not completely understand it myself. I must also add that it saddens me deeply that I never received a card for my 18th or for my 21st birthday but I can understand the hurt and rejection you must have felt when I stated that I never wanted to have any contact with you. I’m not sure if I would have reacted in the same way you did if the roles were reversed, for I know only too well how much it hurt. However, that cannot be un-done now and in all honesty; it would take a lot more than that to break me for I know that I am of value even if you do not believe that to be true.

I do not know where you are in life, where you are as a person or if you even think of me at all but I am re-assured by the knowledge that you did once love me, that I am loved now by others and that I can remember times where you were the father that I wanted you to be. I don’t want to hurt anymore and I wish the same for you. I hope you have tasted a least a drop of happiness in our time apart and I pray that we both do in the future.

Emma

 

University, love, drugs and suicide

Apart from my new Wii obsession (we bought one this week – my arms hurt!!), I have been playing a lot of ‘The Sims 2’, the University and the Open Business edition. Besides staying up very late working at getting my Sims on track to discovering their true potential, I couldn’t help but wish that it really was just that simple. Click > Do Assignment, Click > Study Mechanical, Click > Write term paper. >> Fast forward >> Done. Que Announcement – Your Sim has passed their exam and has achieved a grade of A+. Time for a party. Blah Blah. You get the general idea. Only, in real life it really isn’t that easy to juggle your commitments alongside cooking for yourself, cleaning, going out, paying your bills.. your taxes.. your council tax.. your water rates… the list is endless and most of us spend two-thirds of the day in work sat at our desks wishing that we could go home, even though we realise that if we did go home it would probably be to take care of the rising pile of ironing that would be by now taking over the bedroom.

I also wish that I could have fast forwarded my University days. I had this notion before I moved away that University would be the best days of my life.. a journey of discovery about myself and of life, a lot of hard work sure but at the same time a hell of a lot of fun. Much to my disappointment I didn’t find any of those to be true. I remember very clearly my first day. I had been shown by enthusiastic “fresher helpers” to my small, concrete room which contained nothing but a bed, a small cramped wooden desk with graffiti all over it and a window which peered out into some other poor sods miserable room. Sitting on my bed, which I’m not even sure you could call a ‘single’, I opened my ‘fresher pack’; a collection of leaflets about all the pop-fueled ‘get me laid’ events that the union was offering. Oh and a bible. I disposed of the bible (in the bin, if you must ask) and lay on my bed wondering what I should do next. In true movie-esq. fashion (you know those really bad American teen films where the socially retarded geek goes to college) I decided to venture out and knock on the three doors beside mine. Perhaps God had cursed me after I’d un-ashamedly thrown out his ‘good book’ because my neighbours were one air-headed blonde, one non-English speaking French man and one non-English speaking German man. Ha. That night I attended the union for the freshers week events and met a curly haired guy from Carlisle who proceeded to try his luck with me, even after I repeatedly stated that I was in fact a lesbian.

Needless to say, I never went back. Perhaps that was rather defeatist of me, but the pop music gave me a headache and the atmosphere wasn’t much better than a high-school party full of teenagers trying desperately to (a) sip Wkd’s (with a straw) and get as pissed as they physically could in the least time and, (b) pull, whoever they possibly could. I just didn’t fit in. Salvation came in an un-likely place when I started dating a closeted English girl from Loughborough Uni. Victoria and I (my long-term g’f of almost seven years) had split after three years of an extremely strained, almost manipulative, online relationship. I did what any good lesbian does after a break up; I found a new girlfriend with whom I could heal my growing feelings of neglect and social abandonment.

What a mistake that was. Not only did I ostracize myself from my class mates but I was spending every other week with my new girlfriend in gay-friendly Loughborough and therefore missing a hell of a lot of classes. Worse still, I met a 4th year student at my Uni a couple of months later and quickly realised that I wasn’t attracted to my girlfriend at all. I had craved the safety that she had offered me – I was her first and she lived miles away. Close enough though that I could travel there whenever I wanted and instantly have friends – her friends. She was a sweet intelligent girl, but there was no spark there for me. This however had made me feel secure – I was detached, I could walk away at any point un-scathed. That wasn’t something that I had felt before, Victoria had always been able to push my buttons and our breakup had left me heart-broken even if I wasn’t ready to admit it, even to myself.

A couple of months later and I had moved myself from one hell straight into another. I hadn’t the guts to break it off with Loughborough girl and as I spent less and less time down there with her, escaping Uni life (my Uni life), I started spending more and more time with the 4th year student – a metal head from Camden London. She was the president of an alternative music society that ran gigs at the union, playing anything from metal to techno. I quickly became the vice president and we used that as an excuse to go out almost every night. It was the start of an extremely destructive and dangerous relationship. We would use or take anything that we could get our hands on – huge amounts of weed and alcohol, ecstasy, speed and magic mushrooms.. sometimes all of these in one night. It was all the same; it numbed me. It made life colour-less and safe.

Only a few weeks had gone by and I couldn’t sleep without her with me and without a fix of something. I had stopped visiting Loughborough girl and she really had no clue what was going on, even though I really wanted her to find out and finish things with me. I even told her one night, “I’m sleeping with someone else and I have been for some time”. Instead of freeing herself from the one-sided relationship, she forgave me. She came up to Edinburgh the following weekend and instead of spending time with her, I spent it with Camden girl. I was addicted – addicted to how she made feel, addicted to the security that she made me feel because she was older and mentally stronger, addicted to the things we did when we were together. The sex was destructive, angry, passionate and full of hurt on both sides. We had both struggled with our abusive childhoods and I had felt that she understood me. I returned from her house one evening to find my girlfriend packing. I had asked her what was going on (as if I didn’t already know) and no reply came. She left without saying a word. A few weeks later I heard from a mutual friend that she had hurt herself, badly. She had taken a kitchen knife to her arm and had been admitted to the psychiatric ward, where she would be staying for the foreseeable future. I tried to contact her but her friends blew me off (.. I don’t blame them really) and I never heard from her again.

My first year of University was over and I had attended, apparently, all off three classes. Somehow I managed to scrape through with all of my exams and had consequently passed the year, but I wasn’t happy. I didn’t even know if I knew how to be happy. January came and I had started to speak to Victoria again. Camden girl knew the situation, she knew our history and she had never been anything but understanding and supportive about it. My discontentment grew with the relationship and even though she claimed she loved me, we both knew different. It had served a purpose; our upbringings, our past, had finally come to the surface. We had destroyed ourselves in search for freedom from pain, yet all we had done was hurt ourselves and each other. I had been self-harming for months, but it all came to a climax on the night that I took a piece of telephone cable, made it into a noose and tied it to the top of a metal pipe that ran up my wall. Now let’s not get dramatic. It was nothing more than a cry for help. I had tried, twice, but I couldn’t do it. I had also known that Camden girl (I’m getting really sick of calling her that) was going to be round within the hour. I knew that if I was going to do it, I would need to do it soon, before she arrived, but I couldn’t. Pain withstanding, I knew I wasn’t a quitter. I knew that I couldn’t do that to my family and I knew that despite the pain, it would get better, eventually.

True salvation came after I had a long conversation with Victoria on the phone that night (no I didn’t retrieve the bible from the bin). I poured my heart out to her. I sobbed. I questioned my strengths and my weaknesses and I decided to make a fresh start. That fresh start saw me boarding a plane to Wales to go visit Victoria. Camden girl had agreed that it was for the best; that I needed to do it and that if it didn’t work out that she would still be there for me. I anxiously boarded the plane – it was the biggest day of my life. You’ve got to understand that Toria and I had dated for three years, but only online. We were young, naive and completely in the closet at that time. We had been too scared what our parents would say. We had been scared that it would really be ‘real’, and that the safety and security of an online relationship, safe from real rejection and disappointment would be gone. You get rejected in ‘The Sims’ and you feel sad for a nano second, shake your head, say something that sounds remarkably like Dutch to me, then you go shoot some pool and you’re happy again. If only, I hear you mutter.

I stayed at her folks for a week, all the time sharing a single bed. It felt right between us from the second I laid my eyes on her. I knew instantly that those three years that we had spent online, saving ourselves for each other, wasn’t in vain. I knew it meant something. I knew it meant everything and I knew that we had a very long future ahead of us. If I remember rightly we lay in bed together that first night and watched ‘The Secretary’– the story of a dysfunctional cutter who is released from hospital and enters a sadistic relationship with her boss who likes to spank her when she makes typing errors. The perfect romantic film I hear you say… oh yes… Actually it’s a really lovely and touching film, you should rent it… Anyway; we fell in love.. again. She moved to Edinburgh three years ago and we have been living together ever since. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that she saved me – she certainly saved me from myself. I hate to think where I could be in life if it wasn’t for her, if it wasn’t for that complete turn-around. She makes me feel happy and healthy and loved. I don’t need to escape anymore.

I dropped out of University last year, after only completing half my ‘Applied Psychology’ degree. It just wasn’t for me. Heh, it works for some people and not others right? It wasn’t productive for me. I felt lost and I’d rather focus on my life with Victoria anyway. My long-term plans include finishing my degree at home, in my spare time with the ‘Open University’.. Oh and, being happy.

 

Blog musings

Looking through my blog stats, here are my current top five:

1. “Do ginger kids have souls(?)”.

- I blogged about ginger kids having souls when I talked about the South Park episode where Kenny and his mates try to kill off all the ginger children because they think that they’re evil (and have no souls). Fabulous episode - especially good when high - and I must add that I sincerely hope that ‘Z’ person was searching for info. on the South Park episode, not posing a serious question!

2. “Peaches lyrics impeach my crush”.

- A spotty prepubescent teenager searching for lyrics to a song that his or her parents probably wouldn’t let them listen to? Oh and it’s ‘Impeach my bush’. Doh.

3. Bette. Helen Stewart. Lesbian. Kiss.

Perv. Plus, Bette and Helen Stewart? - Grose.

4. “Gingervitus”.

Lots of hits for this one.. pretty amusing. See above (no. 1)

5. “Bureaucracy arseholes”.

- I think I like this one the best.

I’ll blog properly tomorrow… it’s time for bed and I have a hectic day tomorrow.

 

The arsehole of Bureaucracy

Good news first; we got a Wii. My girlfriend rang me from work mid-day to tell me that she’d got a Wii plus four or so games from eBay; at a price of course.

Everywhere around the UK is completely sold out and since we obviously have no patience, I think it was a good buy. Although Victoria got her yearly bonus, which funded our impulsive buy, its not like we are rolling in money. Quite the opposite… which leads me to the bad news: The “dole” office and their “Jobseekers allowance”,ie: the arsehole of bureaucracy.

I’ve never claimed before.. well actually that’s a lie, I’ve tried un-successfully to claim before, back in October when I couldn’t afford to buy a pack of smokes, never mind pay off my huge student debt and pay my rent. The dole office completely fucked it up however. They messed my claim up, messed my appointment up and got me so angry that I eventually gave up trying - or you could say - I decided to save myself all the emotional turmoil and therefore rescued myself from an impending nervous breakdown.

Hah – okay, slight exaggeration perhaps. Still, these people are idiots.

This time around I decided to fill the endlessly monotonous forms in online, therefore sparing myself the ordeal of having to have an actual conversation with a person/android from their office… right? Wrong. I got a call back yesterday from a very slow talking welsh woman who sounded almost as bored with the words coming out of her mouth as I was. ‘What does your girlfriend earn a year?’, ‘What’s her phone number?’ and ‘What’s her National Insurance number?’. Now I’m sorry, but what has my partners details got to do with anything? We live together sure, but we’re not in a civil partnership and heh, it really shouldn’t be her responsibility to support me financially – even if she’d like too. Anyway, whatever, I give her the information and can’t believe my luck when she tells me that there’s an interview slot available the next morning. Last time I had to wait over a month, only to find out that they hadn’t booked me in correctly. Are they brain-dead? Quite possibly.

I sit across from her small mediocre table and answer her questions the best I can. I sign a Jobseekers form that states that I will actively look for work and that I won’t turn down any reasonable job offer. (I don’t think weed dealer would count). She smiles insincerely, I shake her hand insincerely, and I get the hell out of there. I wander to the nearest park that isn’t crawling with businessmen out on their lunch break and roll a big fat spliff, revelling in the jobs centres achievement, in that they didn’t fuck it up this time. My thoughts are clouded by my mobile ringing, “fuck the pain away, fuck the pain away” it sings. I answer. It’s the job centre informing me that they accidentally forgot to get me to sign some (pointless) form. I sigh as I take a long drag from my ‘special cigarette’. Then they inform me that I will have to come back in to sign it, but that I will need to wait for a call from ‘Z’ soul-destroyer to arrange another interview. Oh-my-God.

Fuck the jobcentre – I’m getting my Wii tomorrow. *smirk*.

 

Gingervitus occurs because ginger kids have no soul

Got back from a week in Ireland with my family late on Friday night; I’m still recovering despite an extremely lazy weekend with the mrs - catching up on all the Lost, L Word, 24, Dirt and Greys Anatomy episodes that we missed while I was away. It’s a sad existence when you have to live life by watching others fake it. Still; Bette is hot and if Locke hadn’t blown up the losties only chance of escape from the Island - the submarine, we may well have had a happy ending and I’m a sucker for them. Of course by that I mean that we would finally have an ending, a solution, and we could all stop watching this stupid frigging program that poses more un-answerable questions every single episode. Oh well, its something to do, something to casually occupy my little mind for a while…we also tried desperately to get a Nintendo Wii today. Stop laughing you smug bastards! Yes, yes you already own one and have also been informed that they are out of stock all over the UK. Bollocks to you all! I also discovered mid-flight (yes I had left my mobile on) that I had left my Sims 2 disk at home and now won’t have it in time for the arrival of my amazon order – Sims 2 Open for Business. Life imitates art? Rubbish! They obviously hadn’t played Sims 2.

Anyway, my stay at home was great, if a little short. Spent a couple of days with my best friend and her mrs in Belfast, drinking corona, smoking her outta house and home, playing poker and watching the “ginger” episode of South Park (if you’ve seen the new season, you’ll know which one I mean). Needless to say I was extremely high and consequently passed out on the sofa, in front of the fire, half un-dressed.

Here’s to taking your mother out for mothers day, getting so high you forget where you are, getting off at the wrong train station and ending up in an area you really rather wish you hadn’t, late night poker, sleeping in your brothers bed as he kips on the sofa, naughty late night phone calls to the woman you love and to the family members who over-hear those conversations.

PS: The Tenacious D film is so bad, don’t bother seeing it.

 

Five things to do with a ballot paper

You could vote.

Presidental elections are looming and while I may not be able to vote from over here in the U.K, I’m taking the responsibility that every person should - I”m doing my research. I’m asking questions and I’m taking an interest in these candidates; one of whom will be the leader of the worlds’ greatest super-power. [ I use the word "greatest" loosely]. From Clinton’s [thats Bill - not his Mrs] policy of “don’t ask, don’t tell”, to Bush’s call of the amendment that banned Gay marriage all together; America hasn’t had a very good run of gay supporters in the white house.

As I trolled the ‘net this morning, visiting all my favourite lesbian haunts, I was shocked to see dozens of strong lesbian and gay sites displaying banners of support for none other than, white wash - appeal to the masses - Hillary Clinton. Okay okay, credit where credit is due - the woman has balls. Her husband lied through his teeth during his presidency, smoked but didn’t inhale, sexed but didn’t sexualise and then got himself impeached. The woman has guts but surely the only reason she is putting herself through all of this is so she can get into power - hardly the most selfless objective.

Hillary Clinton; the woman who during husband’s presidency supported the Defence of Marriage Act, a law preventing the federal recognition of same - sex marriage. So you can see why I’m a little confused as to why so many gay guys and gals are flaunting their support for her all the shop. Of course now she’s realised that she also needs to appease the lesbian and gay community by showing some support for them, even if that is by simply supporting the union of two homosexual people. She walks the tight-rope of inclusion for inclusions sake, and prays to her bible perfect God that she will have done enough to prove to the public that she is very different than her shit-head husband. Surely there are better candidates? - Those that actually give a toss about gay or indeed, equal rights for all despite their sexual orientation..?

Well let’s see. We have Barack Obama, a young energetic liberal who sponsored legislation in Illinois that would ban discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation. Well that’s great and I commend him, but that law probably should have been passed years ago anyway. But yeah, decent guy who has a few good things to say about the health service and education but erm yeah then his says this -

“I’m a Christian. And so, although I try not to have my religious beliefs dominate or determine my political views on this issue, I do believe that tradition, and my religious beliefs say that marriage is something sanctified between a man and a woman.”And this; “Giving them a set of basic rights would allow them to experience their relationship and live their lives in a way that doesn’t cause discrimination”.

Oh fuck off - really?! Are you serious?

Heh they weren’t lying when they said that politics was ‘dog eat dog’ - Give the socially outcast dog a bone just so he will stop hounding you, jumping up on your clean trousers and mudding them all up. Give him a bone so he will get out of your face, thank you graciously for your fairness and go play with his tail. Basic rights? – oh you are too kind.

Honestly; it really doesn’t matter who you vote for. War is Peace. Peace is War. Liberal is Democrat – it’s all the same. Whoever wins the election, and I have a feeling that it will be Hillary; they will merely be a puppet to the world bankers and major corporations that control everything. In fact, instead of voting next year why not try out some of my alternative suggestions on what to do with your ballot paper.

1) Save a toilet roll to use. Cut your ballot paper accordingly. Use the roll and paper to create a ramp, lean it over a small bucket or empty can and heh presto – a rat trap – perfect for vermin. If it had a logo, it would read “Don’t vote it - catch it”. Nice.

2) Steal your entire families ballot papers, scrunching up a few and rolling the others like stands – thus creating excellent fake awards to give out because you really feel that ‘Blood Diamond’ should have won a ‘freakin award at the Oscars this year.

3) Make paper planes!

4) Draft a letter to your newly sworn in President explaining your dismay at them being voted in – even though you never bothered to vote.

 

Your suggestions are welcome. Good luck Hillary. *cough*.