I ad my final mats GCSE exam today. I'm really nervous. :
But at least tey are all out of te way now.
I got in from scoool, to find tat my mum was at te doctor's. me & my sis were listening to music & cilling instead of tidying our room & we kept getting weird ponecalls from a prankcaller. Ten we realised tey were from my mum. Instead of being at te doc's like we tougt, se was actually sat in our wardrobe iding from us and listening to every word we said.
I almost wee'd myself wen i opened my wardrobe to find er.
Just so you know my button as broken. So broken, infact tat I can't even type it to tell you wic it is, toug it's blatantly obvious.
I tink I ad someting important to mention, but fuck, iv forgotten :/
P.S Anyone know ow to stop google coming up wit my blog?
& P.S.S Anonymous lurker, we sould totally meet up in Paris. :D
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hey, I've never talked to you or anything, but I just want to say that I admire you so much for writing here, even though it's anonymously here.
ReplyDeleteI think you're stronger than you think, way stronger. :)
(..And about the google thing, if you go into settings, basic, and then click "no" on the "Add your blog to our listings?" and "Let search engines find your blog?" it should be fixed.)
You are the second British girl capable of completely stealing my heart. The last one had black hair, small dry hands and OCD. I loved her with mind-blowing intensity for two years of my life. This summer I ended up in the West Midlands drinking extremely much Yorkshire tea with glitter below my eyes and a heart that always felt too much. It’s been months now since I spoke to this British girl in question and my English has suddenly become a somewhat superfluous talent. The girl with small dry hands and I are not friends anymore and she is further away than she has ever been, but despite of this I wish you could’ve met her. She is much like you, but still not really. I am fully convinced that you would’ve been great friends.
ReplyDeleteYou don’t know who I am (yes, yet another Scandinavian lurker, this is your lucky day) but isn’t that also the wonderful thing about the internet? I would want like to take this opportunity to tell you how much I admire you for writing so open heartedly about your life on here. In my opinion, giving out your name is not necessarily a braver thing to do than being completely honest about your thoughts, sexuality and love. I see myself in you and reading your blog posts has made me realize how far I’ve actually come this past year and how thankful I should be about my current life.
I have also been struggling with self injury and have, like you, found TH to be my escapism. People that see my left arm (unlike you I’m right handed and have never tried to hide my scars) and know I listen to TH always think there is a connection between the music and the scar tissue, though they couldn’t be more wrong. To me, TH has always represented all the hope, beauty and creativity I know I can change the world with, absolutely not the dark years of my life when hateful people taught me I had no human worth. To know these amazing German boys gives you piece of mind when you need it the most just like they have done for me so many times makes me feel oddly proud. I’m proud of them and me, but most importantly of _you_ for being such a strong and inspiring human being. And I do realize that this has begun to sound like a cheesy thank you speech now which wasn’t my intention. (I often find writing about my feelings in English makes me sound like someone who has just won a beauty pageant… But then again, finding your blog is probably better than winning Little Miss Sunshine.)
After having read your blog yesterday I felt the urge to write again, something I used to love but haven’t done for months now. Thank you for giving me a teaspoon of inspiration, whoever kind God there may be out there truly knows I need it. I think of you and wish you all the best. I’ll continue reading and writing a comment at times.
Your mum sounds like the best mum there is.
Hugs from your private little rain cloud in Sweden,
Mariana.