Michael

Sorry for not writing before but a girl got business to take care of plus it's exam season now so you understand....don't you?



It's now exam season. Again. Which means that all my friends in upper sixth shall be off to that great exciting unknown called college. And I'll still be here with my memories of them and things said and unsaid. Things I wish I had said.

It may not be obvious, given that I'm prone to rambling, but I find it extremely hard to say things that matter. So if I hurt you, I'll beat around the bush, and rationalize, and avoid. I can't say I'm sorry. Even harder for me to say that dreaded L word.

Even when I do mean it with every fiber of my being.
No I am not talking about Iceburg. That's something I need a week or four to contemplate. I'm talking about people like Excelsior.

Excelsior....this one is yours.

I met him when I started 6th form at Chesta.
And I hated him. Hated his guts. My first impression? "Jesus ee nuff sah!" The guy came up to a friend and me one lunchtime and was introducing himself and expressing his good wishes for our lower sixth year. (Incidentally, he and my friend's elder sister are friends.)

We both disliked him. I mean, come on. Who wouldn't dislike this male they dunno from Adam who just randomly comes up and starts talking?

Fast-forward a couple of days. We saw each other around the school and it progressed from "Hey, what's your name?" to "What subjects do you do?" and eventually us realizing that we had Carib class together and consequently sitting next to each other at the....wait for it.... back of the class.

Whenever I skipped class and hung out on the gazebo, he was always there. First came the days when he'd be like "Shari yuh need fi gah class enuh" and then those days when he just said "Shari....ah fuck it yah man"

All this time I didn't trust him as far as I could push him, which isn't very far. He always saw me in my depressed states and asked what was wrong. He understood what I meant when I shook my head silently without looking at him. He understood I meant "Leave me alone. I don't wish to talk about it." And he did as I requested. He left me alone until I came around.


My nickname, after he found out I was 15 at the time, was "Jailbait". We eventually let the rest of our friends in on it because that was one in-joke that killed us every time. "Jailbait."
My private nickname for him is "Drama King" but let's not go there... and I'm rambling. Dammit.

On my 16th birthday (I celebrated it at school, in Carib class for heaven's sake) he officially rechristened me as "The Girl Formerly Known as 'Jailbait'".

Yes. Et cetera, et cetera. Or, as Iceburg would say, "And some other shit."

Now? I can't imagine Chesta without him. Who am I gonna idle with now? Who am I gonna be inseparable from? Who's gonna listen to me and give me good advice that I don't wanna hear?

Who's going to be the best friend I've ever had in a school setting?

And I'll bet he'll have some smartass response for that.

But the purpose of this rambling was just to say I do love the boy/man. I really do.

Remember how I said earlier that I'd hated him the very first time I met him? I never learn. It's always those people who end up meaning the most to me.

But I'll miss him. And the thought of going through another year of stress and problems without him to destress and kick back with...frankly, it's making me shed a hella lot of tears. And that, for those of you who don't know me, is something I rarely, if ever do.

Anyway, Excelsior.....good luck. Keep writing.

Not used to expressing feelings like this but I'm sure he understands,

@Jaye_Eccentriq

[Untitled]

Can we go back to that moment
When that night was the night?
We didn't stop till it was over
We kept putting our hands up
Because the ceiling couldn't hold us.

The ceiling couldn't hold us.

@Jaye_Eccentriq

16 years

Thanatos

So a friend of mine celebrated his birthday last Friday. At first I was like "Mehh it's his birthday today" but after a while I got to thinking: for the past 19 years he's celebrated an anniversary of life, but for each of those 4th of April milestones, someone dies. Someone breathes their last. Someone's soul finds out the degree of verity in all those statements about the afterlife. Someone's mortality catches up to them and spirits them off to posterity.

For the whole day, death was uppermost in my mind. Now I am not usually a morbid person, so it must be hella serious when I get to contemplating death. Especially in the abstract.

As a child, I was never afraid of death. Growing up in an extremely religious household, I was taught that, if you live right and love God, when you die you go to Heaven. Now apparently Heaven is a place where the streets are lined with gold, there are mansions for you to live in (I assume they too are made of gold), you get milk and honey to eat AND you wear white robes all the time and go around playing harps made of....yep, you guessed it. Gold.

Why would I fear death after hearing all that? Come on! I was about 4 or 5, a perfect angel at the time, a good Christian (those were the days I got sad if I didn't go to church) and I adored God and little baby Jesus. So I figured, in my angelic mind, if I died, I'd get all that, including and especially honey (yes, I have an 11-year-old sweet tooth). In my own way I kinda wanted to die, 'cause paradise, honey, gold, honey, music, HONEY...you get the idea.

But now, as an adolescent, full of questions and doubts (and I won't lie, fears), I'm not so sure. It all seems too good to be true. I keep seeking answers and finding none. It's like dangling, but being unable to see what's holding you up.

Once upon a time, 2 or 3 years ago, I hit rock bottom. I was depressed to the point of self-mutilation. I still feel the urge sometimes, but I just can't find my scalpel. I was depressed to the point of wanting to commit suicide. But being the true and complete bibliophile that I am, I remembered a quote from Hamlet:

"Death, to sleep; to sleep, perchance, to dream..."

And I realized that I'm not at all sure what would happen to my poor messed-up soul were it to be evicted from my body.

Ah, fuck this "not sure" shit. I just don't know a rassclaat. No one does.

Which has me scared as fuck. I've even started asking dead people to come back and dream to me, tell me what it's like because I CAN'T BEAR NOT KNOWING. What murders me even  more is that there is one and only one way to find out. Go die. Evict your soul from your body.

Dawg I'm too scared to try. What if I do try, and all those stories that preachers shout at me over the microphone every Sunday or so about Hell are true? I'm honest enough to admit that, if they are true and I die right now, I'd go straight to the lowest, dankest, most awful, fiery pit of Hell. The pit with the most smoke and scorpions and venomous snakes and....ugh...

AND I DON'T WANNA GO 'CAUSE I GOT SINUSITIS AND I HATE SCORPIONS ALTHOUGH THEY'RE MY STAR SIGN AND I'M TERRIFIED OF THOSE CRAWLING THINGS AND I DON'T LIKE BEING HOT AND I DON'T WANNA GET POKED IN THE ASS WITH A PITCHFORK BY SOME EVIL DUDE WITH HORNS AND A TAIL AND HAVE ALL THAT HAPPEN TO ME FOR ETERNITY 'CAUSE I'D SCREAM AND BURN AND SCREAM AND BURN AND EVEN WHEN I GET HOARSE AMMA STILL BE BURNING AND I AIN'T BOUT THAT LIFE!!!!

Sorry about shouting, but that was all real.

They have a word for this. Thanatophobia.

Thanatos: death. Phobos: fear.

I guess that's yet another of my fears. Right up there with snakes [shudders] and God [cowers with Bible atop head].

I can't keep living this way. But I also can't die this way. What a problem I'm in, I'm in.

I have thoroughly frightened myself with the vehemence of my emotions. So next time ole Thanatos sneaks up behind me and whispers "I'm here, waiting patiently for you," I think I'll run away screaming.

Yours thanatophobically,

@Jaye_Eccentriq

What-ifs and Futility: Why do I even waste my time?

So it's the last day of March.......the day before April.
And.......it just occurred to me how much different my life could have been had I made other decisions.

For example: My current best friend. Let's call him......Mario. Like the video game character. He'll get it and he'll laugh, never fear.
So we have been friends for circa 2 years now, through thick and thin, including a very serious thin that involved my parents and us being scared shitless to link each other for about 2 months....it's hilarious.
But it came out in a conversation we had recently that, a year into the friendship, we had a serious mutual crush. Then it just died out because, on his part, he was SCARED. TO. DEATH. Of my father. And he had a girlfriend so...that was that.

But I got to thinking, what if I at least had womanned up, put my big-girl push-up bra on, and said to him "Hey Mario, you know I really like you though..."?
Chances are he would have responded to the tune of "I like you too" a relationship would have happened (regardless of the fact that he says now that I would have gotten some serious bun-- translation: some serious cheating would have taken place) and I'd have been a lot happier in that one than I am in my current (yeah, yeah, Iceburg isn't gonna see this, hopefully), would have been in a waaaaaayyyyyyyyy longer one (year plus as opposed to five months and counting) and......I'd just have been happier overall, because, come on. Your best friend being your boyfriend? Sheer bliss.

I brought up the whole scene of how we became friends and remained friends, asking a load of what-ifs. His response:
I don't think it matters. The fact is we're friends and that's what matters.
It's obvious that he's not a what-if kind of guy.
One of MANY, many reasons I love him, but that's a post for another time.




The other decision I wonder at sometimes.....deciding to go to the school I'm currently attending.
I could have gone to the party central or the rich kids school but....nope.
I chose Manchester High, the alleged "Home of Champions" (have yet to see any but whatever). Why? I heard constantly that their science program is was excellent. The campus itself apparently was amazing. A lot of good things.
Oh, and vibes apparently did "tun up."

But now I'm here and.....none of the above have been proven to me. I was told by Excelsior (who, incidentally, is right beside me as I type this on his laptop) that I came a "tad late". And damn, do I agree!

Why am I even doing advanced subjects? Ambition

Ok, joke time. Before I sin even more in this bright day.
Excelsior: At least you get me out of all this. I'm not worth it [fi real sah] but...you know [I don't actually] small consolation. At least you have more sarcasm and puns in your life [this is true].





I guess what I'm getting at is.....I'm the type of person who thinks on the past very heavily and wonders at the courses life could have taken had other decisions been made. And yes, I am a shitty decision-maker (viz: Ah fuck which one do I loud up....ah, yes. viz: In a relationship I didn't particularly want with a guy I hated the first day I met him, and who isn't really loved by my parents.)

So,I have a lot to think about in those nights when my body refuses to have mercy on me and allow me to go to sleep. No wonder I'm a depressed teen 70% of the time and a complete bitch the other 30%. How do people deal with me?

I think that's it for now. I feel myself getting the beginnings of a mind-ache.

Wanting a book to read now and having none :"(,

@Jaye_Eccentriq

Misinterpreted Signals (Decode)

I had a lot to say to you
Yes...lots.
I kept noticing: you were always watching me.
Your eyes were always glued to me and
It made no sense to me at all until I realized after I let them take you that

They taped over your mouth, scribbled out our truth with their lies
Those little spies!

Was that what you were trying to communicate to me?
I'm sorry for not listening.
It probably makes my questions null and void.
The ones like

"How did we get here
When I used to know you so well?"
How did we get here?
I think I know now...

Misinterpreted signals.
I read them all wrong.
Maybe if I'd known before that

They taped over your mouth, scribbled out our truth with their lies
(Those little spies)

I would have read them right.

How did we get here? I used to know you so well.
I decoded your messages wrong.

I don't know you as well as I thought.

@Jaye_Eccentriq

16 years

Burnout

As I write this my eyes are droopy.
So I'll keep it short and to the point.
Haven't even edited this. Don't intend to.

I don't know what this is going to turn out to be
Maybe a poem, maybe not....
But I'm tired.
SO
SO
TIRED.

What is this?
I've switched eyes with a panda.
I'm weak.
I'm (more) moody.
I don't eat.
All I can do is complain about how tired I am.

I pretty much give up.
On school, on life, on everything.


Is this what they call...
Burnout?

@Jaye_Eccentriq

16 years

Why I am a Writer: Applications of My Genius

It's painfully simple, really. I write because I can't don't can't don't draw. I express myself better through words than pictures. I use drawing when I want to make fun of people. (Yes, I'm a bit of a caricaturist.)
Yes, I draw. But I'm more likely to come up with a killer punchline for a cartoon or a caption for a picture than...you know, draw. Not that I don't like drawing. I do. A lot. I just like writing more.
At nights, when I can't won't can't sleep, I'm just there in bed composing poems like hell......I feel like a Mozart, except, y'know, for the early death and being a prodigy. I'm talented--- or so people tell me--- but I don't think I'm a prodigy.
But writing is just... I cant describe it properly. It's like my very own religious experience. When I write, it's almost as if I can see God, like God is writing through me. Don't mean to blaspheme but...maybe that's why I don't write perfect poems in one go. I write, reread, mumble "Aw dammit", edit, reread and discard it in frustration and start over. Then it's lather, rinse and repeat.
And repeat.
And repeat.
AND REPEAT.
It's frustrating as HELL.
Is this what great writers like Shakespeare, Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky had to go through to produce masterpieces such as Romeo and Juliet, Anna Karenina and my favorite, The Brothers Karamazov?

It continues to be simple, but now there's a hint of complexity.
I write because I read.
I'm a bibliophile UNDERSTATEMENT OF ALL TIME I live and breathe books. I eat, sleep and think books. Doesn't matter what type of book it is, I'll read it. It's this that got me to read shit stuff like Fifty Shades of Grey while hating girl porn and fan fiction, both of which it is....
In light of all this (and more but I won't bore you) it means that I write because I'm running out of reading material...
Yes, this happens when one has been reading since the age of one and continues to do so at the ripe old age of 16 years and 4 months. I am more well-read than most people twice my age....
And due to how I know what I like, I write what I like so I can read more of what I like.
Get it?

And.....I write because I need an outlet for these depressing thoughts of mine. Self-explanatory.

Going to class (and gonna write more than notes),

@Jaye_Eccentriq