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Self Indulgence

You know that video in Baby Reindeer? Telling all that shame and pain to a crowd and still existing thereafter? It appeals to me, like muck sticking to bones. I think Donny was right. You become a sticking plaster for others pain. That’s what happened with my step-father. It started when I was six, what’s still there muddling about in the brain, the hugs and the holding and the pressing of my body into his naked one of a morning. I don’t know the depths, I don’t remember anymore, I just remember that feeling and wanting to run. I think it was far more like I was a ragdoll, or a puppy, with a rapid heartbeat and accepting eyes. There’ll be days where I think it was okay, that that was something that just existed and maybe it’s me being prudish and it was all platonic, or maybe what came after tainted all that came before, but the not knowing leaves me like a pendulum on a string pressing send at one peak and blocking calls on the other. When they announced the divorce and

Doctor

Two and a half failed relationships and now I'm 23. You know what made me stop the constant search for stability and distraction? Doctor Who. I remember the first episode of NewWho in 2005. I remember my mother dragging me out every Monday night to watch the weekly episodes as they released. I remember falling in love with Eccleston, the genuine grief I felt at his loss. I remember the tears at it all. I won't rehash, because you know-- spoilers. Doctor Who was the program that taught me what love was, what a good life should look like and the nuance in which we approach and run from our pain and our joy. There's so much media that influenced who I am and what I want, but none moreso than Doctor Who. It taught me that not only was intelligence something that could make the people in your life proud, but it was desirable, admirable. It taught me strength in kindness, and self-indulgence. I wanted a love like Rose, like Rory, I wanted a friend like Donna, like Amy. I needed t

Wolf

I read my blog sometimes. When I forget. I forget a lot these days. I’ve forgotten more than I’ve learnt, I’m sure. My grandmother used to tell me stories of her life and at some point during the seven years I lived with her, she began to repeat them. I saw on Facebook once this dumb story about a wolf and a father. Something about him repeating stories to his son, and when his son complained he said I washed you, clothed you, listened to you say the same things again and again as a child and you can’t listen to this? I used to think about that a lot. I would tell myself to be patient, but I would still snap and tell my grandmother, ‘I know’. Eventually she’d say, ‘well, you know everything, don’t you?’. It would make me so angry, and I couldn’t fathom why. I think now it’s because she was calling me out on my lack of patience, and I didn’t like it. Of course, when you lose someone all you want is more time. More time to know, and to ask questions and to hear the same stories aga

Christmas

I'm going to the UK this Christmas. I went last Christmas to see relatives after my grandmother passed. That trip was a lot of things, some I really enjoyed and some I didn't. I didn't like spending time with my father. I did like spending time with my grandmother's sister, however I'm worried I made a bad impression. I spoke to her like I spoke to my grandmother and she was hurt because she felt I argued with everything she said. I worry that because she has now met me she pities my gran more for having to deal with me. I worry that I hurt my grandmother in the same way. My aunt says you can't blame a child for acting like a child, and it's the adult's responsibility to make their happiness where they can. She also says that the actions of children always appear different when looking back on them with an adult's perspective. It makes me feel like I should view my progression from child to adult like a switch, whereas it feels more like an evolutio

August

So. August 12 th , the date of my last post and the day before my birthday. I just want to say my birthday was fantastic. I didn’t do much. First, let me tell you something. My Grandmother, who I live with, and I were at the shops a few days before. She was moaning about what to get me and I was giving the usual helpful response, of ‘nothing, you don’t have to get me anything’, and she was giving me this look, you know? The one that’s like an exasperated shut up kind of thing. Side note: enjoy this picture of the pigface she looks at every time she goes for a smoke (if anyone asks, she doesn't smoke) Anyway, we walked past this jewellery place and my Gran saw these earrings. My ears are pretty sensitive, so I kept saying I needed to get proper ones, silver or gold. Nothing fancy or expensive. Just something that wouldn’t irritate me. I like silver. I think it goes with my tan a little better. So, we saw these tiny star ones in silver, super pretty, and my Gr