Don't even know what the point of writing this was.

The first time I ever performed anything, I knew I'd fallen in love.
It was year five. We had to research a musician from a previous decade, and improvise a way of presenting our information to the class. I got given Jerry Lee Lewis, and did it in the form of an interview. Wrote it and everything, because back when I was younger, a day I didn't try my absolute best in schoolwork was a day left unlived. I memorised it all, my partner read it off the sheet. Still, something that day just clicked, and since then I've tried to become as involved as possible with acting. So much so that I've integrated it into real life pretty heavily. Now I can't always tell the difference between reality and the emotions I put on, and situations I'm in confuse the hell out of me.
Maybe throwing all of your self into something like that isn't such a good idea. I don't care though. It's a huge passion I have, and I know I'm okay at it, which is more than I can say for most other things other people feel a passion for.
I've been involved in a drama class outside of school for coming up to three years now. Twice it's saved my life, three times if you count indirectly.
It's one of the only constants I know.
At the moment, we're working on a play about suicide. When we first started it, I was pretty close to it myself.
There were two things that brought me out of that.
One of them was drama.
I remember the first time we actually sat and talked about suicide and its repercussions. We can't exactly avoid the subject if we're doing a play on it.
A couple of girls in my class brought up something called PostSecret. Someone had posted on this website, anonymously, that they was going to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge. An overwhelming number of people rose up and formed a group against it.
I don't even know why it affected me so much., I mean, it is touching and all, but I've heard so many stories like it... Nevertheless, I started to cry, and couldn't stop for the whole lesson. I told my teacher it was because one of my close friends had attempted it recently, which was true enough, but more it was because I was planning to. I'd actually set it all out, made sure no ends were left untied. I needed it. I had it all organised. A week or so later, I tried. But the thing that stopped me that day was thinking back on everyone in drama being so worried about me on that day, and the fact that I really felt the need to finish what I'd started.
No-one knew what was up, but even so... A girl posted a comment on my Facebook the day after, telling me that I was a beautiful person, etcetera, without even knowing anything near what I was feeling.

I'm actually sick of crying. People complain about not being able to, but so many people have seen me cry that I never would have wanted to.
It's a wonder that people don't know me inside and out, but I've heard from most people I know that I'm hard to.

But yeah. Doing this play has helped me come to a realisation. I don't know what realisation it is, but every time my drama teacher tells us that this play could maybe just change someones life, I think that it already has.

Acting hasn't just saved my life. It's the most important thing in it, other than people. I'd give anything to make it a career.

Irrationality

I need it to be the day.
I need my blinds to be as open as possible.
If I flood my room, if I flood myself with sunlight, I'll be fine, I'll be absolutely fine. I just need there to be a light other than my bedroom light. Not night. Not night. I'd give anything to walk on the beach in the sunlight right now, because then it'd be easier to do it all.
I'm going to have to force myself to think of warm sunbeams and safe hugs tonight, which means I'll wake up early, but I don't mind. It's better than rocking back and forth keeping away tears. Because that's what I've been doing. It hasn't accomplished very much.
Crying isn't an answer to anything, so I won't.
That's the worst day I've had since... I don't know.
I can feel my pulse.
You know, it's odd.
When I was a young girl, one of the best things about the world was my dad coming home. I grew to rely on his hugs more than my mothers, because I got them so rarely.
I've switched dependency utterly. Now there's only two people whose hugs really, absolutely matter.

You know, today is the first time since 2008 that I actually wanted to kill him. If I'd been in the kitchen during that, I actually would have attempted to, without thinking rationally. Most of the time it's just a feeling of not caring whether he lives or dies... it was a goddamn lot stronger today. Why?

Someone. Envelop me. Wrap me up. Keep me safe.

Worry.

All I need at the moment is a good friend.

I feel absolutely insignificant. I am absolutely insignificant.

I disagree that everything happens for a reason.
Some things happen because you choose to make them happen. Not some undefined omniscient reason.
Some things happen absolutely randomly. Gamblers can be lucky or unlucky.

I don't believe in any sort of fate at all. I'm not living my life for some predetermined destiny.
If parallel universes exist at every decision or every occurrence that could have changed someones life in a significant way, then there'd be four universes in which I had died, having been alive.

I'm wondering very much at the moment whether any of those four parallel universes, and their individual separate branches, are better off.
Probably.

My biggest fears are losing control, and not having people think.
I've become heavily intertwined with both of them.
Fuck.

I feel really heavy.

I've just spent the last hour and a half talking to first my father, then my mother, about tax, property ownership, government benefits and legal representation.

I feel like I'm under a lot of responsibility to communicate what they want through each other. If I get something wrong, then I could stuff up a damned lot of everything. Crap.
So my mother is ringing my father later tonight. Or she's going to try.
He just dropped me off back home, and he's going down to the pub straight after.
So I'm anticipating that he will be drunk. He is the most intimidating person I know without alcohol. He is worse when drunk.
They haven't spoken to each other directly for five years, and my father hates my mother as much, if not more than I hated him.

I think the best bet tonight will be to lock the door to my room, turn up my music as loud as possible, and ignore everything that goes on outside my door.

I can't let myself do anything more than be oblivious.

Ah well.

I'm revealing far too much, too soon, too quickly.

Oh shut up Brittany. You're just another whiny teenager. YOU ARE THE SAME AS EVERYONE ELSE.
Don't let yourself think any different.

I'm sorry for the lack of posts of late.
I just don't have anything to say when my mood changes this often. Well, I do, but it is all repetitive shit that means nothing.

I used to be able to manipulate words well. Now I can't write and make sense.

But I'm not in a bad mood.

I'm an idiot.

...

Listlessness and depression.
Not Depression with a capital D. Not slipping back into that again. Well, I damn well hope not.
I sometimes wonder if I fake all of this emotion. Fake it to myself. One person can't go through this much in a day and be called sane.
I guess I might not be.
The lacky band is stretched back as far as it can go.
I need a break, because I'm on my last string.
"And every paper girl needs at least one string, right?"

Here's a lesson.

It's a lot easier to hide emotion when the others around you are exhibiting the opposite to what you are feeling.
Especially when you consider them close.
The closer they are, the easier it gets.

The running away feeling has come back.
I want to pull up all my roots and leave.
Now I'm not certain whether I want to come back.

Perhaps I haven't convinced myself. I don't even know anymore.

I'm just happy.

When I'm happy, I have nothing to say.

I'm enjoying everything so much right now.

It's too good to be reality.
But it is.

I am a sadist.

A conversation with my ex boyfriend, mainly consisting of his excuses and him telling me what a great life he's leading now, and myself being unimpressed, has led to an even better mood.
I'm actually glad that he did what he did, because it means I've had the chance to see what type of person he actually is and that I wasn't entirely disillusioned.
This is why to be friends with someone beforehand is good. I know I haven't made any mistake now. I'm happy.

She was staring from the window for a while before she was aware of him behind her. She unclasped her hands and intertwined her fingers with his as his met her shoulders.
She didn't know what she was searching for, but she knew she didn't want to be where she was.
They remained that way for a few minutes, before she rose, turned and rested the bridge of her nose on the area between his neck and his shoulders. Moisture seeped through the neckline of his shirt, and her back shook.
His hand met the small of her back, and she stiffened.

...

Fuck this, I'm sitting in silence and I hate silence when I'm in moods like this.
I'm not going to remedy it this time. I'm gonna see if slamming some of it into the keyboard will help, and perhaps this mood won't come up again. For a while, at least. Hopefully.
Don't you get frustrated when your words get tangled up among letters they don't belong in?
I can never seem to get my meaning across nowadays. It's all just fucking words that don't say anything. I've relied on them all my life, I've been in love with them since I started to speak.
They aren't enough.
I am seriously considering just taking off somewhere. Just packing a bag of stuff, heading on a train to Perth and getting lost for a couple of days. Not taking my phone, not letting anyone reach me. I suppose it'd be easy enough to track my SmartRider, but by the time they figured to do that and found me I'd have had enough. I don't like tangles, and that's what I've currently got myself caught up in. If I escaped it for a couple of days maybe I'd come back knowing how to unravel it.
There is one person I am not either annoyed at or neutral towards at the moment. Only one person I have positive feelings, and positive feelings only, towards.
I can't seem to feel or think anything else. My mind isn't a blank slate, but only because it has memories living and repeating themselves. I just need to blow up at someone or something. The bottle is all shaken up, but the lid is screwed on too tight. Walls and barriers can be too effective.

I think far too much, and get pissed off all too easily.
I won't end up doing it. Not until at least the holidays. I'm not brave enough for that.
I'm a coward as well. Great.
Coward, realist, individual, someone who is easily angered, someone who hides almost everything. If I'd put that as my self concept I'd have been telling the truth. At least, most of it. None of the happy-go-lucky shit that I put down.
Why can't I just talk?
This is a fucking blog. Not a person.