Tying Up Loose Ends

Okay, okay. This is it this time. The number of drafts I’ve written and scrapped is unreal. This time I’m writing it by hand first so I can’t delete it on a whim. The irony of struggling to write a blog post about why there will be no more blog posts isn’t lost on me, don’t worry.

I’ve had this particular blog for 5 years (almost 6!) now, since I was 14 years old. This year I’m going to be 20. Before that, I had a different one on a different platform for 3 years. The first one, I deleted all trace of it; I’d written it like a diary but wasn’t careful enough, so needless to say, there was some bullying. This one… Well, it’s a little more complicated.

I was not in a good place when I started writing this blog. I tried to pretend I was, but it was clear within a couple of posts that that wasn’t the case? It felt like I was getting trouble from all angles; the truth is, I was so wrapped up in my home life that every little thing felt like a huge weight. I had health issues – dear god, so many health issues – that were all working together to make my life hell. I was diagnosed with Anxiety at the age of 9 but was considered too young for medicated until years and years later. I was developing what has since been diagnosed as Chronic Migraines & Cluster Headaches on the NHS Most Painful Conditions List) and I think it would come as no shock to anyone to hear I was depressed. 

A couple of months ago I had a bit of a heart to heart with one of my old secondary school friends and he confirmed what I already knew – they hated me. He put emphasis on the past tense, saying that there was this long period of time where he disliked me, but didn’t have a reason why, other than ‘because everyone else did’. It was a vicious cycle, because I knew I wasn’t wanted so got increasingly sensitive, and the more sensitive I got, the less they wanted me. Since leaving college, a couple of my old friends have reached out, and while I appreciate how nice it is of them, I’m not sure we can get past everything that happened.

Another thing he mentioned was that they all thought I was self-centered in the last year of secondary – which is fair enough, because I was. But what what I need people to understand is, I grew up being told not to talk about my home life; it was private and so help me if I ‘aired our dirty laundry to the world’. I literally could not vocalise what I was feeling and why, so I had no support network. The only one looking out for me was me, so yeah, my world did revolve around me. I was so terrified that wall I had built would break that I just pulled away from everyone and lied about being okay. Even now, I struggle to talk about it. I explained this to him (and cried, whoops) and it was almost like I could see his perspective change. I’m glad we talked, I’ve missed him. I miss all of them at one point or another, but that’s life.

I am not the person I was back then. Everything about me has changed. Since I started the blog, I have come out as asexual, and later, biromantic- but I never felt comfortable enough to talk about it on here. I’d like to think old me would be proud, but the truth is, she’d hate me. I became everything the old me resented, and nothing could make me happier than that. This change has taken a long time, and over that time, I’ve tried to change what I write about. But it just got harder and harder to write a post I was happy with. Writing personal things was a huge no no, given that I was aware of who was reading, and I didn’t feel comfortable broadcasting this kind of thing to them anymore. My audience had faces, and they weren’t particularly friendly ones. On the other hand, I didn’t want to write about my friends and happier experiences, because it felt like being next to the bad memories would taint them somehow. So, what did that leave me? Well, leaving.

I have another blog, it’s not like I’m giving up on writing. How can I, when it’s my career choice? I love it. I’m just giving my writing the fresh start I gave myself two years ago. Needless to say, it has a better name than ‘KikiWantsHerCookie’. 

At the end of the day, my life can be difficult sometimes, but I love it, and I don’t want to miss out on documenting the good times because of old baggage.

See ya later pals,

Kit x

Personas

Well here’s something I didn’t think I would be writing at 2am on a Monday morning. Shows what plays on my mind when I can’t sleep, huh?

Long time, no see, WordPress. You’ve given me so much more trouble than you’re worth, if I’m honest. I find it hard to post to you anymore, because I know who reads my blog and I know what they think of me. Still, I’m a stubborn bitch, and I refuse to delete years of my life again. It just means I have about 40-50 drafts that need uploading because I was too scared of what people think.

This isn’t the first time this blog has given me issues either. I wrote a post for an estranged family member a long long time ago, for his birthday. I didn’t use his name, because you read about weird “twists of fate” online and even though rationally I knew it would never happen, I didn’t want to risk him seeing it. That was a big mistake. See, this post was really vague, for the reason I mentioned above. I mentioned loving this person despite the fact they didn’t know I existed, how much I wanted to be at the moment where I could hug them and get to know them, and then I wished them happy birthday. The thing is, a (male) friend of mine shares that birthday, and his girlfriend at the time assumed it was about him. Yeah, that didn’t go down nicely. I understood why she would think so, but I explained the situation to her, and she said we were fine. We were not fine. What originally was just a simple misunderstanding became paranoia, jealousy, and a whole load of anxiety. I used to post about it a lot, in little chunks, hoping that she’d read all of my little disclaimers and finally believe me. You can probably find them if you can be bothered to wade through the pit that is my blog.

Anyway, since then, I stopped using my life as inspiration for blog posts. Here and there you may find something, like my post on living with someone with PDA syndrome, or one about an old friend of mine cutting me out of his life (a.k.a an unnecessarily bitchy post written by a hurting teenage girl in an attempt to feel better). But for the most part, my posts -and poems especially – are written with the use of personas. For anyone unfamiliar with the term, a persona is basically a character or situation that isn’t your own, but you write it as if it was. For example when a book is in first person, the use of a persona (the protagonist) allows the author to write and think as feel as though they were the character without actually experiencing their hardships. But I digress.

I don’t write from experience very often anymore. I write from prompts sent to me by internet friends and random readers and tumblr followers. I write from fairy tales and myths and lore (pretty much anything to do with the ocean or sunshine has come from this really great book about sirens I read as a kid, I’ll have to dig it up and share the name). I write from random little ideas that pop into my head to see how fluent it would be to write a book about; 9 times out of 10 it’s nothing ever comes of it.

So here is my final disclaimer before I hopefully swing back to normal on my blog.

Most of my blog posts are not about actual people or events, and if they are, they probably aren’t about people you know. My life has changed a lot in a year. I’m not the same person I was back at secondary. I have a completely different set of friends, and while I miss my old ones, I get that people change and drift apart. I’m not as bitter about old events anymore. Old grudges I had before I came to college are gone, because honestly, life is too short to carry hormone-fuelled arguments around with you all the time. Humans are messy and unpredictable and we all have feelings and we all screw up. I was going through a lot back then. I had family drama that I’m not going to go into, and I was mourning a friend that sadly passed away. I was in pain and struggling and I blamed my friends for leaving me. They didn’t, for the most part. I pushed them away, and I was too deep in my despair to see it was happening. It was a mistake I made, and I regret it but I can’t change it. I didn’t tell them what was going on inside my head but I expected them to understand what I was going through, and that was unfair. I know a couple of them read my blog from time to time, and I’m sorry for everything I did back then. I obviously was looking at my life subjectively and didn’t understand what was going on, but I’ve taken a step back since then and seen things how they really were. I’m sorry for all the times I expected you to be there for me despite me not being there for you,  and I’m sorry for all the times I thought being a good friend meant  giving one person my undivided attention. I was in the wrong, and while I know I can’t change the things I said or did,  I hope we can move past then one day.  I needed some time by myself to get myself together, and I really am sorry that I couldn’t explain that, because at the time I didn’t understand it myself. I must have made it seem like I wanted to get away fron you, when in reality I needed to get away from the person I was, and I guess I couldn’t do that with you guys around to remind me of all of the shitty things I went through. That wasn’t your fault, but I was in such a horrible messy state that I pushed you away anyway. You couldn’t have helped me even if you tried when I was like that, I’m sure you noticed I wasn’t exactly a well functioning human being. Like I  said, I was changing. Off came the hair, more and more for each bad event I faced, each time a different colour when I wanted to escape the person I was at the time. I found that if you change the way you look, and you don’t recognise yourself in the mirror, it’s easier to make a change in your personality. It’s like playing a character until they become you. Of course, you can never escape your own life, and I wasn’t trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. But it’s easier to accept what’s going on if it feels like it isn’t happening to you. I don’t know, I can’t explain it very well. All I know is, I’m a different person, and I wanted to apologise for the people I hurt while I was focusing on myself. They say you need to crack a few eggs to make an omelette but there’s no need to smash the entire box.

Wow, that post was just meant to be a disclaimer to end rumours. I guess that’s what late night posting does to you. I really do hope that this clears stuff up and you can forgive me- but if not, I understand, and I hope you’re doing well.

An Open Letter To An Old Friend.

You’ll never read this, you’re just a stranger now. Well, I don’t know, maybe you forgot to unfollow.

Anyway, this is my way of saying goodbye; closure, if you will. It hurt me, so much, when you disappeared. To have someone so important to you decide you’re not worthy of their time… it is gut-wrenching, soul-sucking, whatever you want to call it- at the end of the day it hurts like nothings else. But the worst part was that you didn’t tell me.

You talked to me, texted me, ate lunch with me, and then cut me out on the same day. 

You didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me why. After four years, do I not at least deserve that much? It drove me crazy, trying to work out what I did that was so bad that you made me Public Enemy #1. I would call people up at random hours of the day asking if you’d mentioned anything, if I’d accidentally said something to offend you, or insulted you in some way without knowing? I lost my mind, pulling my hair out, sobbing into my pillow at night because I missed you and I hated myself for making you hate me.

But now I realise that it’s not my fault. It’s yours. They told me that you didn’t actually have a reason, that you did it because your girlfriend told you to. I mean, it’s common knowledge that she doesn’t like me, she doesn’t exactly hide it- I tried for three years to make her like me, and for what? Lies and rumours spread about me (Which I have since been told, so you can thank her for me). Luckily I don’t have to deal with her anymore. I realise now that I don’t actually want her to like me, I just don’t care (which, by the way, feels awesome)! So if you want to live under your girlfriend’s thumb, good for you! I’m sure you can find some friends that will put up with it.

They don’t believe me, you know. They think that this is ‘just one of our arguments’ and we’ll be ‘back to normal in no time’. But not this time. This time I’m done. What they don’t know is that I’ve deleted your number, your texts; I’ve unfollowed and unsubscribed; deleted all of the pictures on my phone and laptop. I can’t keep doing this again and again, and I don’t think I want to. What’s the point of staying loyal to someone who can’t decide if they like you or not? It’s like keeping a pet dog that keeps biting you and biting you, again and again. I’d say I don’t resent you for changing, but I do. it cut deep, what you did. It tore me apart completely. My family became so tired of me being upset all the time that any time they hear your name, they fly into a it of rage. The same goes for a few of my friends too; well, our friends I suppose. I get so anxious that you’ll say something nasty to me in front of them and they won’t know what to do.

The chances are, when I make a few more friends, I won’t stick around for long. I won’t make a fuss, I won’t try to bring anyone with me; they’ll probably want to stick with you anyway. But I’ll be okay. Because the thought of you doesn’t hurt me anymore. At most it makes me want to sigh and shake my head.

So that’s closure, yeah?

Awesome.

See ya sucker.

“What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned in life?”

Recently I discovered that someone I cared about had passed away. Life is really bloody short. He didn’t even get to become an adult, and it’s not fair, it’s really really not fair.

So you take that person you love and you treat them like god damned royalty, you hear me? You might be angry at them, or upset with them, or hurt by them, but in hindsight, does any of it really matter? You are so lucky to have them, and one day you might not, so be thankful for every precious second you have with them. Take every smile, and laugh, and tear, and angry word you can lay your hands on and cherish every single one like it’s your last. Because one day you can’t get any more, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Poof, gone. That’s life. I understand it now, and Jesus Christ I wish I didn’t.

Shaun, you didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to be unhappy, you didn’t deserve for your life to bee so short.

I won’t forget, okay?

I promise.

I promise I won’t forget the way you treated my brother and I exactly the same way you treated Hayden and Lewis; or the way you protected me like a little sister; or sneaked food from the kitchen for Lewis and I when I stayed for dinner. I won’t forget the way you showed me how to climb trees; or how you taught me how to abseil after I was too scared to do it at Calshot; or how you made me face my fears because otherwise “life wasn’t any fun”. I won’t forget the time you cleaned up my elbow when I fell in the playground; or when we made you get your face painted at the petting zoo and you came back with camouflage paint; or the days out to Intech when you taught Lewis and I about gravity and suction and tornadoes and  photosynthesis.

I was always a tiny bit afraid of you, if I’m honest. You did things the second the idea came into your head, and you never waited around. You had confidence and bravery, and that terrified me. You were the living embodiment of a “glint in the eye”. When you jumped from one tree branch to another one well over four feet away and somehow manage to land it, or build a conservatory for your house “just because”, or swung upside down from the opening of your attic to make us jump- you were always doing things and not just saying them, and I was always in awe.

I think my favourite memories of you will always be the journeys to Intech in my dad’s burgundy seven-seater. It was the only thing that really belonged to us, the family car. There was always my dad and your mum in the front, then it alternated between you, Keelan and Hayden in the normal seats with Lewis and me in the back; or you, me and Lewis in the normal seats and Hayden and Keelan in the back. That was the thing about you. Even though we all wanted to sit in the “super awesome secret” back seats, you always sat in the middle and never caused a fuss. You were literally ‘The Middle Kid’. Hayden was in Keelan’s year, Lewis was in my year, and you were in the year between. But, see, you were never the odd one out. Most kids like that would be on their own, but you managed to be both mine and Keelan’s friend. I have so much respect for you for that. You never picked one or the other, you always treated us both equally.

But anyway.

We would always go to Intech in the summer holidays. There was no question about it. “Intech With The Howcrofts” became a yearly event and I loved it. So much. We had ice poles on the journey over; the blue ones to make our tongues change colour. D’you remember that time Hayden asked if you could eat plastic and we all tried to eat the ice pole wrappers? We were so stupid… but we were kids. Happy kids, too.

What went wrong?

We would get to Intech and clamber out of the car, whooping and screaming. Then we all climbed up onto the car roof and dangled our legs in front of the windshield while our parents paid for the parking. Looking back now, I don’t see how all five of us fit up there; if I remember rightly, I sat on Keelan’s lap and Lew sat on Hayden’s, with you in the middle (see my point?).

I’m never going to have the chance to go to Intech with the Howcroft trio again.

There are so many memories formulating in my mind right now, and they have been since I found out. But while trying to write this post, I realised that I didn’t want to talk about them anymore. I don’t want them to be written in words; Words could never give the feelings and the sensations and the friendship justice. I want them to stay preserved inside my head until my turn comes. Because it’s not right. It’s not right that our memories should stay after we do. I used to want to make a mark on the Earth and be remembered, but now I’m not so sure.

People like Shakespeare and Socrates and Da Vinci- we say we remember them but we don’t. We don’t remember them at all. We never saw their work, or told them to keep going when they were giving up. We appreciate them, sure, but they are not remembered. There’s no-one left to remember them. You see, when people die, they don’t just become dust in the Earth. They become legends, fables, stories of adventures and life lessons to be learned.

And that’s okay.

I miss you, Shaun. I promise I won’t forget.

Your ol’ Buddy,

Khiana x

Life After Death

A post just for Tilly, who can stop worrying because I’ve finally updated 😉

Something I’ve always wondered about, is what happens to the ones we leave behind when we die. I’m fortunate enough to say that I’ve never lost anyone I was particularly close to. Recently my aunt passed away, but I never met her. I did see my mother grieve, however, and how it affected her.

She didn’t eat, or sleep; or even talk. She lost a small patch of her hair to stress, and she was constantly cleaning, just for something to do.
My mum and her sister had never really gotten on. But once my aunt was gone, my mum’s perspective of things changed. She was still my mum’s sister- she loved her, she lost her, and she missed her.

So now, while I’m sat at home feeling sorry for myself, (chest infection, very painful), I’m wondering what would happen if I died.

No, really.

If I died right now, how would you feel? I mean, some of you might feel that it was a shame and move on to the next blog post; which is to be expected as almost none of you know me personally.
To the people that do know me:

Would you be shocked at the news?
Would you believe it?
Would you care?
Would you miss me?
Would you cry?
Would you have any regrets?
Would you have anything you wish you’d said to me?
Would you go to my funeral?

It’s morbid to think about, but the point is that it’s good to think about things like this. Because if you doubt the answers that you’re given, you get to see who really cares about you.

So if you’re reading this, I ask you to think about it. If I died tomorrow, what would you say to me today?
Is there anything that you’d like to get cleared up- whether it’s an argument we swept under the rug or I owe you a chocolate bar- but never really felt like it was the right time?
Because now I’m asking. Now is the right time to do so.

None of us know how much time we have, so don’t put off things you want to say or do- or you might find that your life will end before you get a chance to say/do them.

Nobody should die with regrets.

We only have one chance to live this life, so do everything in your power to make yourself happy.

Surround yourself with people that make you happy- and if they don’t make you happy, then cast all ties with them away. You don’t owe anybody anything.
Do things that make you happy, and don’t worry about things that don’t. That subject you hate and plan to do nothing with in the future? Don’t stress about exams, they will literally never come up again in your lifetime.

So I beg you, anything you’ve been holding in, let it out. Bottling up emotions will only make things worse.
But most importantly?

Be happy while you can 🙂

A Battle With Myself: Part 1

Part two is here!: https://kikiwantshercookie.wordpress.com/2014/10/14/battle-with-myself-part-2/ 🙂

Eyes ducked down as I pass it,
The mirror hanging on my bedroom wall.
As if eye contact with my reflection would draw me in
Sucking out the last of my confidence

And churning out self-loathing.
Launching hate-seeking missiles
In a search and destroy mission
Where the target is my self-esteem.

When the missile strikes, it
Leaves an impact, cutting deep
But I bleed tears instead of blood
And the wounds never heal.

I must brace myself for the upcoming battle
Getting ready for school in the morning.
Every second staring into my own eyes is
A life lost in this twisted game I play

Praying that the mist gathering within is just an illusion.
The ice cold shivers tickle my spine as my focus moves away
To my round cheeks spattered with spots,
And the labyrinth that is my hair.

Each brushstroke feels like lightning,
Sizzling my already frazzled mind,
The crackle of the static
Only making the situation worse.

But the wail of the siren
Breaks me out of my fight,
Warning me that the time has almost come
For my last stand.

Memories

It’s strange how steadily you can get used to something
and you think back to how it was before
but was it really there at all?
was it a memory?
or simply a dream?

you try to talk about the past with other people,
but the two stories don’t match up at all.
you feel as if something’s missing,
where has it vanished to?
You feel incomplete,

As remembering the past will always define us,
and it will shape us towards our future.
so what do we do without it?
the memory is vague,
the photo is hazy.

it’s odd how the memories you think of most transform,
and yet things we can’t remember are safe.
they’re left unspoiled in our minds,
locked away forever,
until we perish.

what happens to our memories when we die?
are they gathered or  Do they float away?
do they wither and die with us?
can others still see them?
will they grow fainter?

I think that they are preserved in the minds of others,
the people who cherish and remember.
although the memory will change,
it will become sweeter,
forever alive.

It’s strange how steadily you can get used to something,
and you think back to how it was before.
it may have changed since it was born,
it’s still a memory,
and now it’s a dream.

Canvases

we are all born as desolate canvases
purer than fresh water, blank
our finished portraits determined by others,
for they are the artists

and they hold the brushes that control the paint
the words that can stain our souls
and yet they can just as easily cleanse us
removing the blotches

compliments are subtle highlights, pale shades
they are layered to appear
but negativity is a black splatter
it will smother all else

once there, almost impossible to cover
casting it’s sinister tone
you think the painting is ruined forever,
but then the paint dries out

you are now able to cover the black smear
with the help of your loved ones
and together you can make a masterpiece
an array of colour

and although the black paint is still underneath
it is forgotten about
we are all born as desolate canvases
we end as full portraits