The truth is… I am a
complicated person. I have many flaws. I have many peeves. I have many
insecurities. But I quite like that about myself. I have been blessed with the
daily challenge of figuring out and understanding why I am the way I am. What
made me who I am? Mistakes. Tears. Regrets. Great joys and great failures. The
list could go on but I’m sure mine is quite similar to yours. The nature of
life itself brought me to where I am today. Though in my opinion, it could’ve
written my fate on a nicer path.
The truth is… I
definitely have O.C.D. Maybe not the most extreme form of it, but it is
certainly present in my system. Needing to know precisely what I’m doing and at
what time for the coming week, putting items on in a certain order e.g.
necklace first, then rings, bracelets, etc. , eating my food in a particular
order. Okay you get my point. Is it something of my concern? Not in the
slightest. I also keep a list of everyone who has read my blog and each time I
get another view from someone, I put a smiley face sticker next to their name.
I keep it under my pillow.
I’m joking, obviously. I can’t even see who actually reads
my blog. So calm down, I’m not a fucking stalker.
The truth is… I’m a
self-confessed stalker. On Facebook only though, anywhere else would be
creepy. Oh, and Twitter. And sometimes Bebo, if the mood is right. This
requires extreme cuteness and concentration. No-one should know about the
uncanny amount of time I spend looking through peoples’ old photos. I repeat
no-one.
The truth is… I’m a
good liar. This, my friends, is a talent. Not an admirable one but a talent
nonetheless. It requires credibility and muscular control – one twitch and
you’re out. I try to be as honest as possible, for the most part. Unfortunately
it is not always easy to resist a little white lie here and there. By the way,
calling it a ‘white lie’ does not justify anything. It does not clear my name.
It just makes me a chancing little lying fuck.
The truth is… I want
to run away. Anywhere would do me. I’m not a fussy person. But preferably
somewhere with Starbucks and Americans. I feel that this growing urgency has
arisen from the knowledge that, had I not spent an extra year in school, I
would be starting my life in just over six months. By that I am referring to
college life. I am an impatient person. It is an undeniable flaw of mine. If I
had it my way, I would be living somewhere abroad now, getting paid to write
this shit.
The truth is… I am a
romantic. Yes it may seem unlikely and surprising for those of you that
don’t know me, but I am weak for all things lovey-dovey. Well, most. But come
on, I write poetry. You should have seen this coming. I shan’t go into details
as it is rather hard to explain. Let’s just say I can be quite sentimental and
the finest of details are majorly important to me. See? O.C.Freakin.D.
The truth is… I still
battle depression. Not as often as before, thank God. But it is still
prominent enough to be seen as a characteristic of mine. It doesn’t hit on a
regular basis but when it does, it hits like the Titanic hit the iceberg. I
sink into an unknown darkness and there is no escaping the resulting effects.
Loss of the ability to speak, hysterically crying and/or screaming, isolation –
these are just a few. Luckily it doesn’t last very long – a week at most.
The truth is… I live
for the weekends. As do most socialising teens my age. Not for the nights
out and heavy drinking sessions, however. That’s not my scene. Simply for the
freedom to do as I please (within reason) and go as I please (also within
reason). I don’t think I have had a stay-at-home weekend at all this year,
which is incredible. Thanks to my O.C.D tendencies I always have plans at the
ready.
The truth is… I
prefer girls. Don’t question it, just accept it as all of you did on
hearing that I was bisexual. It doesn’t change anything. Just that I am more
likely to have a girlfriend than a boyfriend. That does not give you the right to call me a lesbian. That
statement was for all you lazy-ass motherfuckers that can’t/couldn’t be
bothered to recollect any other term besides ‘gay’. Yeah, fuck you all. I don’t
have a problem with lesbians or being a lesbian. But if I was a lesbian I
would’ve said it. So it pisses me off that some people decide to alter my
sexuality simply because it rolls off their tongue easier. Also, just because I
am attracted to girls does not mean I am attracted to all girls. “I don’t feel comfortable getting changed in front of
you”. Oh please, don’t flatter yourself. Funny story actually, I once found out
that all of a group of my friends had shifted each other. All of them. The
so-called straight ones. Anyway, one of them actually said to me “We didn’t ask
you because you might’ve liked it”. All I could do was laugh. For those of you
that were a part of that group activity, I would never touch off one of you,
even if it was only “for the laugh”. Just saying.
The truth is… Music
is my life. I could not last a day without it. I wake up to music, get
dressed to it, drive to school with it playing, and then when I get home my
iPod is permanently on in my bedroom. It’s on right now. “Just Give Me a
Reason” by Pink, for those of you that were wondering. Music helps me to find
ways of expressing myself. Though it may not seem it, writing is very closely
linked to music. And I don’t just mean because you write lyrics, obviously.
Music helps me to decide on my emotions; writing allows me to express them. I
listen to a wide variety of artists, ranging from My Chemical Romance to One
Direction. I do not associate by who they are, but rather what they write about.
Lyrics are the most important aspect of a song for me. The song “A Year from
Now” by Across Five Aprils involves no actual singing. The lyrics are spoken,
accompanied by acoustic guitars. The words are so powerful that no melody is
needed. If you are suffering from a broken heart and are longing to find
someone that understands, I would suggest you look it up.
The truth is… I have
self- harmed. As you all know, I have had this blog since the beginning of
September. Since then I have wondered would I ever speak about this. But it’s
the truth. It’s a part of me. When I speak about being “scarred for life” I
mean it literally. At the time I felt it helped me. A few weeks after I started
regretting it. Now I look back and don’t regret it at all. If you lose respect
for me because of that, so be it. When I look at my scars I don’t see failure
or pain. I see the battles that I have been through and the war I have won.
The truth is… I have
amazing friends. Most of them will probably give out to me for writing
that. But yes, I love them. They are the only group of friends that I have ever
had that fully accept me for who I am. And one of the best parts is I know
they’ll be reading this because they support what I do. Guys, I freakin’ love
you. Mwah.
The truth is… Writing
is my passion. My name seems to have been far too associated with sport
growing up. Perhaps because my writing habits have only really surfaced the
past year. But honestly, forget sport. Writing is everything to me. I
physically need writing to survive. I
love the feeling at the end of writing something, especially is you feel it’s
something special. Basically what I’m saying is I’m a writer. Not a soccer
player or a footballer, not a musician – a writer. Anyone that says otherwise
doesn’t understand me. But I have faith that most of you reading this do. After
all, it’s because of you that I have so much inspiration.
