Thursday, 27 December 2007

Susie is regretting placing any importance in anything

Don’t you just hate it when you really look forward to something, and long for something for absolutely ages; and then when it comes to it, it’s just an utter disappointment?

I love you. I really do. But you don’t make it easy do you.

Monday, 24 December 2007

Susie is consoled

It doesn't take a genius to work out from reading this blog that I haven't been exactly happy recently. I find myself constantly dwelling on my unhappiness, and yet nothing really seems to happen about it. Even when I’m with people and enjoying myself, if I stop to think even for a moment, I’m reminded and convinced that I’m still not happy.

A lot of times, I’ve heard people trying to explain the idea of hearing God talk to you. As soon as anyone hears that that’s what is supposed to happen, I find they are discouraged by the fact they haven’t heard a booming voice, or seen an angel, or flicked open the Bible onto a random page, and looked straight at a verse that applies exactly to them. Personally, I’ve never really been bothered that I haven’t had those sorts of things. God and I have our own way of communicating, which I won’t go into. But today, I had one of those moments. And I’m still in a little shock from it.

Having spent a night at Fran’s and stayed up til the early hours of the morning, I was obviously tired, so I had a nap this afternoon. It wasn’t one of those deep naps where you are plunged into regular sleep, it was one of those naps where you’re never really sure if you’re awake or asleep. Thoughts were constantly in my head, and I had semi-dreams for a few hours. And as I lay there, a Bible verse literally popped into my head from nowhere; Philippians 1:19. I didn’t know where it came from, but every time I stirred a little, it popped into my head again, and I made sure that I remembered to look it up.

Some people believe in coincidences. I can’t. I find it horribly difficult to believe that a verse like this, popping into my head completely randomly, could be anything less than a message for me.

'Yes, and I will continue to rejoice, for I know that through your prayers and the help given by the Spirit of Jesus Christ, what has happened to me will turn out for my salvation.'

Things might not be so great at the moment, and I don’t really know why, but I think it’s pretty clear that God has it under control, and I can rejoice, because all this is working out for good in the end. Thanks God. You really are awesome.

Saturday, 22 December 2007

Susie is hanging her head

I’m one of those people who can’t stand when things aren’t said. If I like a guy, I’ll tell him; if I think someone needs cheering up, I’ll try; if I think someone needs a kick up the ass, I’ll give it to them. In general, I can’t stand when things are all secret, because secrets always get out and it always turns out wrong. But if things are immediately out in the open, then you don’t get the bitching and the bickering. It sound pretty hypocritical me saying this, because I do bitch quite a lot; but if something’s important enough, I’ll always talk to the person in question instead. The whole idea of tension and secrets really does irritate me, and I’ll sacrifice most friendships, I’ll sacrifice being liked by most people to ease tension among my friends or just in myself.

I’ve made an arse of myself so many times doing this, but I’ve always been glad I did it in the end. Things often go wrong, word gets out to all sorts of people I never thought it would, but it works out in the end. I’ve gotten so much closer to some people just by going ahead and bloody saying what I want to say; whether it’s how much I love them, how worried I am about them, or asking them a question that needs asking. I’m known for speaking my mind, and some people dislike it, other people respect me for being honest.

Today, I was blunt with someone. I finally said something which a few of us had been deliberating whether or not to say for ages. And it was horrible; being desperate to say it, knowing that it should be said, knowing that it could potentially make someone happier.

This time, there was a lot riding on it; by sharing this, I was possibly sacrificing one of the few relationships I have that is truly precious to me. And it pretty much blew up in my face. I can’t say I wasn’t expecting it; perhaps I was overstepping the mark this time. So far, things aren’t looking up, and I am worried that I might have ruined this for a very long time.

Susie is quite probably about to cry.

I don’t know whether I regret saying this one or not. I think I more regret just being the person I am. I regret being the person that ends up in arguments. I regret being the only person who has the balls to say what needs saying. I regret not being kind and conscientious enough to know when to keep my mouth shut instead. I regret not caring what other people think of me, to the extent that I'll just do anything and cope with the consequences.

I regret that it's always me that comes out as the bad guy. Almost all my friends would rather keep this kind of thing to themselves. I have no idea how they cope with that. But they’re bloody lucky they don’t have to cope with this.

I've fucked up, I know. I just wish that I could make this better.

Susie is so sorry.

Sunday, 16 December 2007

Susie is letting her little light shine

'No one lights a lamp and hides it in a jar or puts it under a bed. Instead, he puts it on a stand, so that those who come in can see the light.'
Luke 8:16

We had a children’s talk based on that verse today. By good ol’ Barbara Clark, who insists on bringing her fairly irritating son up to assist her every time she does one. Today was no exception; however, it was slightly different, in that today I didn’t completely zone out and start thinking about anything other than the talk. She was ‘demonstrating’ the verse - as is always done to marvellous effect in a children’s talk – with a candle, which was supposedly some sort of heirloom, with a nice picture of the nativity on it. It was quite obvious that it had never really been lit and was never going to be. But she ‘decided she was going to light it’, and Theo (son) did, then she quickly covered it up with a jar, saying about how she wanted to protect it and keep it safe and the such. Obviously when she lifted the jar up, the candle had gone out because it had run out of oxygen (which Theo proceeded to explain to us and was met with gasps of amazement at such insane intelligence from a 10 year old. Whatever.). Anyway, even though she went on to talk about shining your light for everyone to see and not hiding it away; it was actually this ‘scientific revelation’ which got me thinking.

The verse talks about allowing our ‘light’ to shine out, letting others see that we have God in our hearts, and not being embarrassed or ashamed to let people know. We should not put it in a jar or under a bed, because then no one will be able to see it. But actually, in practise, it turns out there’s another, more scary reason not to hide the candle/lamp in a jar: because eventually, it goes out. I think there’s a pretty powerful warning in there, that if we keep our faiths to ourselves, if we refuse to share it, if we don’t let it ‘shine out’, then eventually it will just burn out. A faith won’t fuel itself, it needs more than just the wick of ourselves and the initial spark of the holy spirit, it needs oxygen, stimulation, fellowship, worship. In no way am I saying that God is finite, or will change or will ever leave us. But it doesn’t take a genius to realise that we are capable of moving away from Him. We can change; we can hide our faith away and starve ourselves so much of what we need, that eventually we allow our faith to simply burn out.

Susie is beginning to wish she hadn’t given up English, so she’d be able to write a little more coherently.

Wednesday, 12 December 2007

Susie is smiling

Tonight was the final performance for Living With Lady Macbeth, the play that my drama class decided to put on because we love acting just a little bit too much. And it actually went really well. I screwed up some lines and missed some bits out, but I don’t even care. The audience didn’t notice, and everyone said it was great, and that’s all I could ever ask for.

One thing I’ve realised from this is just how very much I love performing. I noticed it after the anniversary supper, with ‘Soul Sisters’; it genuinely makes me happy. So many people dread standing up in front of people, they struggle to be out there and confident and the thought of acting scares upsets them. But what has been made so clear is that I’m such the opposite of that. Being on stage, making people laugh, giving people enjoyment, being someone else for once, is what really does make me happy. I don’t know if it’s just the adrenaline or the endorphins or what, but how I feel now, an hour after the performance has finished, is infinitely better than I’ve felt in a long time.

I wish there was some way I could do this forever. I wish I could change all my plans, switch to acting and actually have a hope in hell of getting anywhere with it.

Susie is going to stop wishing, and start enjoying her brief, but very welcome happiness.

Monday, 10 December 2007

Susie is pissed off.

Today has just put me in a really bad mood. That’s a lie. This evening has just put me in a really bad mood. About 2 years ago I started helping out at XS, and when Ruth and Lizzie started hating it, I really didn’t understand why, because I loved it. But now, I dread every single Monday; it pisses me off, upsets me, and just always puts me in moods like this. The girls are at horrible ages where they start complaining and being mouthy and taking the piss, and I know that I can’t do anything, because the slightest thing I do I’ll get complaints about. I can’t shout at them, I can’t swear at them, I can’t put them in detention or stop them doing the stuff they want to, because I don’t actually have the authority for something like that.

That’s the thing with this place you see, they’re not friendly with me, because I’m a leader, but they don’t respect me, because I’m not a teacher. They reckon that because they’re not at school, they can do whatever the hell they like and I can’t do anything about it. And they’re right, I can’t do anything. And it bloody annoys me.

And it annoys me how stupid parents are. As soon as their little darling comes into the world, they suddenly can’t do anything wrong; their word is truth. And it’s a load of bull. Because then you get kids going home and complaining to their mummies about stuff that never fucking happened, getting attention for it and just making my life difficult.

And they have no right to make my life difficult. I don’t do this for money, I don’t do this for the thanks, I sure as hell don’t do it because I enjoy it. It takes up my time, which frankly, I could be using for much better things right in the middle of my ASs. It takes up my energy; and it really fucking grates on me. Why the hell should I have to come home every Monday night in a foul mood because some shitty child has pissed me off? Why should I have to drag my arse back to that place every week just to hate another hour and a half? Why should I have to get condescending looks from leaders and no thanks from any parent or child; when at the end of the day, I’m fucking good at what I do there, because people come in and tell me so. Why should I have to begin to hate most bloody children, just because I’ve been landed with a shitty bunch? The only reason I have to cope with them is because if I quit, and God knows how tempted I am to quit right now, they wouldn’t be able to run the fucking club. Because I bring 50% of all the leaders: me, and my friends who are willing to do it just because it would help me out.

Is it selfish for me to want some recognition for what I do there? Is it selfish for me to want to shout in the faces of every gullible mother and every attention-seeking child? Is it selfish for me to think that this couldn’t possibly be worth a sentence or two in my personal statement? Is it selfish for me to think that absolutely fucking nothing is worth me feeling this shit over?

Susie is sure that if she could screw the lot of them and enjoy her life instead, she would.

Friday, 30 November 2007

Susie is no good at the important things

I've realised over the last little while just how bad I am at being a person. People talk about being a good person, and so many people try. But I think before I start trying to be a good person, I should try and sort out some of the basics, that it seems like everyone is able to pick up apart from me.

I'm bad at enjoying myself. I'm bad at liking people, no matter how nice they are. I'm bad at being patient with those people I don't like, which somehow ends up being the majority. I'm bad at trying, bad at putting effort into things, whether for someone elses benefit or indeed my own. I'm bad at staying calm. I'm bad at controlling myself. I'm bad at not being selfish. I'm bad at being grateful for everything that I have. And I'm bad at loving the right people the right amount.

Susie is not just feeling sorry for herself. Susie is seriously in need of some change.

Friday, 9 November 2007

Susie is not worth it

It seems that I've quite happily neglected this blog as much as I did my old one. I’m not sure why I bothered making this new one anyway. Today in German Frau Chaudhri was talking about people who plan to do things and think and remember and sort things out in their heads, but never actually get round to doing them. I guess I’m one of those people. I’ve actually had quite a lot to say over the last little while; I’ve half written blogs and then not bothered posting them, then thought about it days later when it’s no longer relevant. I guess I’m just not reliable enough for this sort of thing; never quite motivated enough, even to do something which is purely for my own good and enjoyment.

Susie is never going to get anywhere in life unless she stops being so damn lazy.

I was thinking the other day, as I was walking home on my own, about whether or not I’m actually happy. I mean, when I’m with people, I have a good laugh, I enjoy their company, and all that jazz. But when it’s just me, and I get to thinking, and I don’t have anything to laugh about – I really do find it difficult to find anything to be happy about.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m unhappy; there’s nothing I can think of which makes me particularly displeased with my life – well, in any meaningful capacity anyway. But at the same time, I’m not sure there’s anything which I can think about and know that it makes me happy.

The other day a few of us went to Zoë’s; we all sat around the table and played 21 truths (only for part of the day, that’s not all we did) – it was good fun. Raz got the question ‘what one thing in your life makes you the most happy/you are most happy about/thankful for’ something along those lines. She quite instantly said Max, and it was clear that everyone else was thinking about their answers. And I honestly couldn’t think of anything. Had I been asked the question, I think I would have lied and said ‘my friends’. Obviously, I love my friends to pieces, they make me feel secure, and loved, and I’m glad I have them. But I don’t know if just the knowledge of having them actually makes me happy.

Susie is not sure what happy really means anymore.

Who knows, maybe happiness isn’t about having certain things which make you happy. Maybe just the lack of unhappy things is enough to constitute happiness, perhaps this vague indifference I feel at the moment is what people refer to when they say they are truly happy with their lives.
Maybe I’ll never find anything which will make me ‘truly happy’ anyway, and merely contented will be what I have to live with.

Writing this has annoyed me, because it’s made me sound and feel like a bit of an emo. I know that my life isn’t bad my any means. But sometimes, I just think it must surely be my turn for something truly wonderful to come along, that I will know makes me happy.

Friday, 28 September 2007

Susie is self-discovering

While I was on holiday, I borrowed some books of Ami’s to read. Being Ami’s, they were generally autobiographical, and in most cases, involved self-harm as a pretty prominent theme. Granted, by the end of the holiday I realised what a stupid idea it was to read so many books on the subject; but there was one book ‘Skin Game’ by Caroline Kettlewell, that hit so close to home that it genuinely stunned me. If I’m honest I really didn’t enjoy the book, it was pretty dull and seemed a little pointless, but certain sections, I swear could have been written by me, they are so accurate to my life. And what’s more, they were thing’s I’d never really found words for or understood myself. So I wrote them down, and now I'm going to write them in here.

Susie is aware that is very long and some of it is pretty strange.

‘I wasn’t one of the popular girls; I wasn’t one of the outcasts either. I had always occupied the shifting territory of the middle ground, sunk low by my hopeless ineptitude at all sports involving a ball, raised up by my standing as one of the smart kids. I slid by on smart. I got by on last minute efforts – and what’s worse, I knew I could’

‘My sister, two years older had served as the measure by which my own inadequacies were perpetually thrown into relief. She was better at board games, better at drawing and painting and projects, more musical, more popular and, of course, smarter.
“Oh, you’re Julia’s little sister” her former teachers would say to me the first day I entered their classes at the beginning of a school year, and though I felt a swelling of prove by association, I could already see how there was no hope of proving adequate to all the expectations implied by that statement’

‘The plain fact of it was that I was miserable, I knew how I felt, but I couldn’t come up with a good enough reason why I should feel that way. I believed unhappiness was something you had to earn through a suitable measure of suffering. And what had I ever suffered? Not one damn thing.’

‘I’ll admit that suffering, or rather, the dramatic interest of being One Who Suffered, appealed to me. What I was feeling, anyway – it wasn’t nearly interesting enough to be true and tragic unhappiness. It felt neither romantic nor poetic, but rather grinding and unpleasant. I was highly suspicious of it, thinking it might, after all, be nothing more than a self-indulgent pettishness.
My situation appeared to me like the continuous twisting loop of a Möbius strip: I wanted to be tragic in order to justify simply being unhappy, but knowing that I wanted to be tragic made me the very legitimacy of the unhappiness’

‘“Why were you cutting yourself?” Mrs Warren asked. I did know, but what I knew, I couldn’t explain. I wanted to cut for the cut itself. Imagining the sticky-slick scarlet trails of my own blood soothed me.’

‘I can offer you my little penny-ante repertoire of teenage troubles. Collectively or individually, however, do they constitute sufficient grounds for taking up self-mutilation? Even as I set forth these explanations I want to withdraw them again. I think what I thought when I was twelve and thirteen and fifteen and twenty: None of these is reason enough; none of these is legitimate cause. Well, how many troubles
should equal a legitimate reason for self-mutilation? Ten? Twenty? 100? And how monumental must these troubles be?
We’re always looking for a logical explanation, but some things are too complicated to reduce to a simple equation of why/because. Maybe what drove me to cut doesn’t have any cause I can name.’

‘You might imagine that a person would resort to self-mutilation only under extremes of duress, but once I’d crossed that line the first time, then almost any reason was a good enough reason, almost any provocation was provocation enough. It didn’t take much to make me cut. Frustration, humiliation, insecurity, guilt, remorse, loneliness’

‘My scars ought to be a charm bracelet of memories, each a permanent reminder of it’s precipitation event, but maybe the most disturbing thing I can say about my history of cutting is that for the most part I cant even remember the whens and whys behind the wounds.’

I think I’d never have the bravery to actually write something like that where it would be my own words. I’ve always tried to justify my self-harm with psychological and meaningful reasons, to others and to myself; in the hope that they will somehow make it less stupid. If anything this book has made me face up to the fact that I actually have/had no real groundings or reasons for cutting; that any I do find are either fabricated or so thin that they’re bordering on emo.

But somehow reading these reasons from somebody else, in itself, justifies them to me. If anyone else was to say to me that they thought they were the only person that felt a certain way, I would tell them so shut up, because of course someone else does. But a lot of the time, I think I honestly thought that. Because everyone else I had known to self harm had a ‘serious problem with it’, and I did not. It was unusual, and perversely comforting to find that someone else in the world had as minor and worthless excuses for cutting as I had.

But then appears the question, ‘how many troubles should equal a legitimate reason for self-mutilation?’ – what defence is good enough? When can someone be excused for it, and when will the argument just not stand? Why is it that those with some other ‘serious’ issue are forgiven for self harming where as others without these side issues are looked down on for it?

At one time, I think I was told that I did not have an actual, serious problem with self harm. And from that moment onwards I believed it - that I was not a ‘true’ self-injurer; until I could give a reason for it that others could not dispute. Sometimes that was what caused me to do it; by cutting deeper and more times, I could prove to myself that I did have a genuine problem.

No-body knows the full story of my self-harm, there have always been time’s I’ve done it and told no one; and no one knows how imminent a problem it is for me. It’s taken me three years to work out that it’s a problem, regardless of how mitigating my reasons may or may not be.

Monday, 3 September 2007

Susie is well excited

It's probably strange how very much I'm looking forward to going back to school tomorrow. Normally I'm as gutted as everyone else, even seeing my friends isn't that big an incentive because I’ve seen them so much over the summer. But this year, I’m going into sixth form.

Susie is a big girl now.

I don’t really know how different it’s going to be from the last 5 years at CHS, but I think it’s going to be good. I’m looking forward to only doing subjects I actually want to do (there’s General Studies and P.E. I suppose, but who actually goes to them anyway?); I’m looking forward to having new people in my form and classes, and potentially new friends; I’m looking forward to having frees; I’m looking forward to being better friends with me teachers; I’m looking forward to being in non uniform, even with all the silly rules that have come in; I’m looking forward to pushing in front of small people in the dinner queue, and not having to go to assembly. But most of all, I’m looking forward to the opportunities I’m going to have with my friends. The people I spend my time with over the next two years are going to be the people end up staying in touch with into uni and later life, and I honestly don’t know who it’s going to be.

As much as I love having a huge group of friends who all (on the surface anyway) get on with one another and meet up in huge numbers; what really makes me happy are individual relationships with one or two people - friendships where each provides something special for the other which other friends do not. It sounds really selfish to say that, I think, it sounds like I just want more attention for me, I want to be liked more; but I actually think humans were designed to desire that kind of relationship. After all, without such desires, why would we choose to have boyfriends and girlfriends, and ultimately spouses? Granted, other animals choose life partners, less out of love than for the continuation of the species; but biology and procreation doesn’t explain why we have ‘best friends’, why we bond so closely to one particular person. It’s not that I want to have loads of ‘best friends’, but it’s that kind of thing that I think I’m missing: A mutual respect and love which is not necessarily greater than that for other friends, but is unique to that relationship.

Susie is probably too soppy.

Next year, it is my intention to build those kinds of relationships with people; to set routines which are never broken and hopefully, love even more those people who I love so much already.

Friday, 27 July 2007

Susie is just getting started

So my suitcase is sitting on my bed waiting to be filled with all the new clothes I bought for my holiday in Italy, which starts at 4 tomorrow morning. And I decide to start a new blog, because I could be the queen of the procrastination society, if only I didn’t stop putting off inventing one. I had a nice online diary for about 2 years, until eventually I got bored of it, and now I think the site has shut down. So I fancied a fresh start, at least in the blogging sense.

No doubt you’ll have seen the ‘status’ features on Myspace and Facebook, frustratingly grammatically inflexible applications that allow you to declare what you are thinking or doing, as long as you do so finishing the sentence ‘(your name) is…’. It was when I was wandering around lakeside the other day and I realised that I now actually think in sentences like this that I found my inspiration for this blog title etc.

Susie is a bit of a loon, clearly.

If the posts in this blog are anything like my old one, they may be very boring, and will certainly be full of teenage angst and ramblings. I only have 3 more years to be a teenager; I intend to make the most of them. Along the way there may also be theological musings, and perhaps the odd picture or something, I make sense and say interesting things too, sometimes. Feel free to subscribe :)

Obviously, I wont be posting anything in the next 2 weeks, because I’ll be up some mud-track in a fantastically isolated Italian villa, swimming in my private pool and having no contact with any one or any computer. But I’m sure I’ll be writing when I’m out there, so that’s something to look forward to.

Susie is going to start packing now.