A Tea Party Shall Be Held

I'm wide awake, it's morning. It's 1.29am, I must leave for work in four hours.

It is very important to hold tea parties, and bake cakes and dress well.

This shall take place on Saturday, before Lovecats, when two of my friends are coming over. I shall bake a divine cake, brew fruit tea and dress like perfection personified.

This thought entered my head around two hours ago and has yet to leave. It has woken me, motivated me to work towards something.

Now I just have to think of something to say. That's always been my problem. I set the table, I bake the souffle, I mail invitations... but then I don't know how to act the part. So I turn into a conscious, paranoid, awkward mess who talks the way she's seen teenagers on the train talk.

I am terrified.

I feel very, very alone.

There once was a time where I made an effort to distance myself from everyone; where I consciously felt uncomfortable with someone knowing what I was thinking. I fought to hide myself very, very completely.

And now I am alone. No-one knows me. No-one realises there is anything to me. And no-one is at all curious.

I wish I could just look at just one person and have them know every single thing.

I feel so sick, my tears are unstopable and are interpreted as a sign of grumpiness or a tantrum by everyone who sees them. My mother, my sister. Both people who seem so far away and cold.

I wish I could tell you why I felt so down, I would have to start at the beginning but even then, my memory isn't brilliant and it's so difficult to think straight. And I'm terrible at retelling stories. And nearly everything I say is miscommunicated.


I feel like I am trying to describe a new colour no-one has ever seen before.

Gone today, here tomorrow.

I arrived home from work last night around 2.15am. So I suppose it would be more fitting for me to call it morning. I found that three CDs I had been awaiting from ebay had arrived which made me jump oh merry, with joy and thrill. I made a milo and burnt the top just perfectly, like a Crème Brulee and I put Letting Off the Happiness on and melted into the sound of confusion and desperation. I adore Bright Eyes. I can listen to Conor's stories, his painful retellings of moments I can relate to and if I don't feel like I can cope, I can just shut off. It's so easy to shut off from what is being said and to indulge in the beat and the melody that fools one into thinking the song is one of joy. Except in the first song on that particular CD, mind you. Because it's hard to miss "I give myself three days to feel better, or else I swear I'll drive right off a fucking cliff".

But it's okay to pretend he's joking and that people don't actually do that. Ever.

If anything is okay.

Which is perfectly possible.



I found a bag full of clothing in my room left by my mother from her friend.

I looked through that bag to find dresses, tops, skirts in perfect condition, mostly in size six...

I couldn't figure out who would give away so much of their wardrobe at once especially since most of the collection appeared to be brand new. I even imagined the owner to have been in some tragic accident which made 3am a very creepy moment in the Happenin' Hut that I live in.

Mother, this morning, told me though that they belonged to a girl who moved overseas and put on a lot of weight whilst she was there. And so she is out buying new clothes in a different size.

Like that, like it was that simple for her to do that.

Will you ever feel okay?

Do you ever find yourself looking at a situation which seems impossible, only to realise that the solution is visible if you take a step back... and do exactly what confirms your downfall?


I do believe this is currently my situation. I took a step, long ago, onto a boat that I can no longer depart with any certainty for it has long set sail. I am on this vessel, trapped, confused, bipola and lost in the middle of this expansive ocean of everything, all the while juggling my ponders and problems and beautiful treasures. I never meant to be grasping onto this final string. But I couldn't just drop this treasure, it would have shattered; you understand. I can't let go now, I keep juggling. Delaying the moment when I drop something, you, everything. Because as painful and confusing and oh god, incomprehensibly detrimental to my health this is... how my sanity is fading, how my mind is disappearing, how I cannot sleep.... I can't let go. I can't face the possibility of seeing you with eyes that don't fear the loss of you. Because I don't trust myself. And you need me. And I need to be needed by you.

Let's keep dancing the dance that keeps you coming back, that keeps me like a yoyo.

I opened my laptop this morning for the first time in a long time. So long I can't really remember the last time I did. I am listening to Make War by Bright Eyes and breathing in every word Conor says like a holy script.
I have to stop leaving the key to my bedroom cabinet in the lock. Some day someone is going to waltz right into my bedroom, spy the key and open the cabinet.

I don't think I'm subconsciously trying to live life on the edge... though I say that all the time.
I don't know why I say that.

My compter password is my friend's fiance's name. I created the password before I realised they would be dating. And I think I thought I was in love with him.

In hindsight, all feelings were real but they weren't for him... I imagined that everything wonderful I had ever dreamed of in a boy was exactly what he was. Now I know him, I see he isn't what I had hoped and is nothing like the magical, poetic soul I pictured. Though it appears he makes my friend very happy.

Now those awful feelings just fly around in the nothingness.

But evenso, my password is still his name. I suppose I must like to live life on the edge. Or perhaps I'm just lazy.

At the moment all I can think of is my great desire to make someone happy.