The Truth Is...

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.