Filling in gaps.

I've recently gotten addicted to the site Gumtree, which is an Australian site that you can sell unwanted or secondhand goods for. There's a story to be told with so many of the items there, though it might just be my imagination. So many wedding dresses sold to be rid of because they're "never worn." An engagement ring valued at 3000 being sold for 2250 ONO, because the seller "really just wants to get rid of it now!" I fill in the gaps of stories I don't know.
I recently had a trial shift waitressing at a restaurant. My shift was on Saturday, and an elderly man came in, and sat at a table alone, finished his meal, paid, then left. Apparently he's a regular, who comes in every Saturday night and eats the same meal at the same table with the same lack of other people. I feel sorry for him, but in doing so I feel intrusive. Do I have a right to? Maybe he does it to remember his wife, or because he wants to go out without anyone to go out with, or enjoys the restaurant and likes to treat himself... I don't know, I have no right to judge, though what I'm doing isn't judging. My gap filling mind doesn't leave room to the imagination. Sometimes when I'm sitting on a bus or a bench and can see two people conversing I'll make up what they're saying to each other. Once this led to me feeling incredibly guilty, because in my imagination I'd made a boy and a girl break up with each other. The girl half walked, half ran away crying, and the boy sat at the table with his face in his hands. There's no reason I should feel guilty, I don't dictate others lives through imagination, through filling in the gaps. Nonetheless, I do feel guilt and shame.
I become far too emotionally invested in things which should not concern me. But this doesn't really bother me.

Thankyou.

Oh god. I've just spent the past two hours looking through about a year and a halfs worth of posts and comments, the time that spanned the most emotionally exhausting year of my life. It's amazing how much things have changed since the last post I made. I can't remember feeling like what I was expressing in those words, I can't remember crying so often, I can't remember everything that happened to me spurring me towards suicidal ideation and action... I get glimpses of that occasionally now, but everything has changed. Antidepressants have worked, they were what set me on the path to feeling... better. I'd use a more imaginative word then but it probably doesn't need it- it's such a simple change, but it's a complete one. However, I know if I go off them now I might not be able to cope again.
My exams are over, I have the results. My ATAR score was 82.35, which means I can apply to any university with a reasonable hope of getting in- UWA entrance rank is generally 80, Curtin & Murdoch are 70, and ECU is 50. It's a lot better than I ever expected to do. I beat my predicted ATAR, which was around 75, and I beat my own expected ATAR, which would have been 71-72. I'm immensely shocked and feeling just a bit of pride- I mean, I don't know if it was a fluke, but I was studying about 10 hours a day at some points, and studying hard for about three weeks, so maybe, just maybe it wasn't a fluke and I actually managed to do that well legitimately.
I am loving life at the moment, and even better, I'm starting to respect myself. I'm organising a trip away with friends, a kind of leavers without all the alcohol/drugs/sex/rock and roll shitty pop music it's generally known for. There's been a few hiccups with organising, but at the moment everything is running smoothly.
I'm still with Joseph and loving him as much as ever, and because I'm not reliant on him for... well, living, then it leaves me more able to simply love and enjoy his company. I am eternally grateful and thankful to him, without Joe I know I wouldn't have made it through.
I don't regret feeling the way I did, because it's made me a more self aware person. I'm still convinced depression is something I'll continue to battle for the rest of my life, especially if I go off antidepressants, but having faced this and broken through I'm more equipped to deal with it and have more empathy perhaps, with both myself- yes, that does make sense, I'm pretty distant from myself usually- and other people who might be going through the same or a similar thing.

I just wanted to let anyone who reads know that I am okay, I'm living and living well, with not much chance of dying anytime soon. Thankyou guys, so much, for supporting me.

I have you wrapped
around my finger, but
out of choice.

I'm in control,
yet it's you
who dominates me.

I curl up and lie
To you about me,
and it sinks in.

What would I do?
If you were gone,
What is left?

No one to curl up with,
To invest my heart in,
and hope.

Your smile, so rare
I think it's imagined.
Yet I bring it.

Did you know
No matter how close,
Atoms never touch?

We touch. My eardrum finds
the forces of your heartbeat
And moulds.

My eyes seek yours,
Brown vs The State
my mind has been in.

Damages, dividends?
What do I seek?
Love. Is it yours?

Not legal, official, even preliminary.
Emotions aren't defined by bounds.
You lose me and I've lost.

I lose you
Funnily enough,
You see truth.

Joe.

I promise. I promise I promise I promise. I am so in love with you, you don't even realise. I feel so bloody down at the moment, true, but the thought of suicide hasn't even seriously crossed my mind recently. Because I couldn't bear hurting you, I couldn't bear the guilt of that, even if I wouldn't have any feelings after my death. The guilt of knowing I'd do that to you would kill me before any sleeping pills or trains. Doesn't that show I'm feeling better? Doesn't that show you've made that? I love you Joe. I love you too much to hurt you, my heart is literally fucking bursting looking at you sitting on the other end of that computer screen and sobbing. I shouldn't mean that much to you. I'm worth absolutely nothing, you're worth everything. All I am is me. And you're my fucking world. I feel so inflamed by fucking anger at myself right now because I know that what you're feeling is because of me. But I don't even care. I don't care I'm worth nothing, because I know I'm worth more than that to you, and taking anything away from you would kill me, so I won't. I promise, I promise, I promise.

I'm just a girl.

I'm tossing up between being buoyant and free and... flat, worried. It's swinging drastically between the two. I... I wish that I could just stick to an in between. I've finished school. My last day was Friday, my last proper day, Thursday. I have 11 exams ahead of me, 12 if you count my external practical for drama as one. 12 years boils down to this moment and I feel like I'm going to screw up. I don't even fucking know anymore. What am I after school? That was my identity. "Student." I was nothing, nobody else to the big world around. Just some teenager wandering the suburbs on a break from study. My mum seems to hate me, my dad seems to love me, and my whole world has turned topsy turvy and I don't know if I'm making sense. I'm scared shitless of this thing they call the future. I know I should focus on the now... but if I don't focus on the future what if the deep blue of the sky comes to swallow me whole, the sun behind me with nowhere to go. What am I? What are exams?
Our lives are determined around 30 or so hours spread out over a couple of months? It's ridiculous. When in the future are we going to have to sit in a room and cram all we know about a huge broad topic into the space of a few hours? Surrounded by scribbling pens and the waft of whiteout, ink stains on fingers trying to jam a years worth of knowledge into a couple of sheets of paper.
I'm scared as hell.
I don't need this right now.

Myself.

I'm becoming very involved in life of late. I've taken a dominant role in deciding its course, I'm no longer letting depression sweep me along. I am wholly myself. I am in control.
I'm allowing myself to speak up rather than be crippled by guilt about what could happen. My opinions are being voiced, and though the manner in which they are voiced need some work, they are clearly expressed.
I am becoming engaged in my passions again. In Literature, we're studying Ted Hughes' poetry- well to be honest we've finished, and only an essay is left to write- but I feel inflamed by inspiration, it is as if this fire has grown a solid base under me, its warmth is bouyant and I am untouchable. I remember the reason I am so passionate about words and language, and about the meaning they create. I am a force and I will continue until the power within me has subsided. I know why  I want to teach. This passion. This passion drives me, and if there is one thing I'd like to accomplish in life it would be to express and perhaps inspire this passion in others.
And love. Passion and love. If there's one thing I'm not lacking it's love. My relationship with my boyfriend feels as though it is blossoming into another new level. I have once again been thrown into the tumultuous vortex and I am falling again, though this time I'm ready to relinquish all control. Adolescence may be the game I play, but I don't need to abide by its rules. If it tells me I may not fall in love at 16, and particularly in different stages, I argue. Adolescent rules are simply wrong and cynical and I am living proof.
Passion. This is my life at the moment. I am fuelled by my beliefs and values and emotions. I am fully engaged in myself. Christ, I'm smiling more than a few months ago I would have even thought possible.
I am defined by myself. Not my relationship, not my instability, not my reputation, but by myself.

Fuck promises. I've had enough. See you in a long time, everyone.

I didn't get any sleep last night. I'm scared. help me. I've got to write an English essay first up. I can't do it. I've written a couple of paragraphs as practice and they do not make any sense, reading over them. I want to be able to do well and I can't with this lack of sleep and feeling as low as this. I've stopped crying for about ten minutes in the last three hours. when suicide becomes a more feasible option than writing an essay... shit. I'm in trouble. I don't know what to do.

I feel so lost.
I didn't think I'd feel like this again.
I'm scared of what I might do.
help

There is good.

I need to reflect on the good days instead of just giving you a reflection of the bad, and my negative scribblings. And they do exist, though I may not give the most accurate reflection of that.
I mean, this Saturday just passed I had a fantastic day. It started out with a smile and a lift in his arms, and making a public display of affection and foolishness that was directed at each other but rebounded from the walls and filled the whole empty area with love, as well as rolled eyes from cynical observers. I'm a lucky girl to have found this depth of emotion at such a young age, though I've probably sacrificed other areas as a result. Just being able to bury myself in his scent and nuzzle into his body. Ugh, I hate that I'm so corny when I used to be such a cynic. Hypocrisy at its finest. But gosh, if someone like who I used to be can be transformed from a cynic to a believer there's hope for everyone. Even if this relationship ends bitterly - though I doubt it will- I can still manage to look back on these memories and draw a smile from my mind. And that's got to be out there for everyone, this hope in humanity musn't be fostered from nothing, love is real and common, no matter if you feel it young or old, long or short lived. Sometimes you just need to switch your focus.
On the twenty second we have been dating for a year. And it's been the best of my life. Probably coupled with the worst moods, but in general it has been an increasingly positive year and will hopefully have increasingly positive outcomes. I love him and I'm glad to have a physical reminder of that love about my neck and around my finger at all times.
On a wholly different note, I'm learning to drive. I'm really surprised at how supportive my dad has been in relation to that. He;s bought a car which he'll give to me when I turn 17 at the end of the year, and so far he's given me two lessons. He's been pretty sparing in his praise, but he's been praising, saying well done on more than a couple of occasions on the few hours I've spent in the drivers seat with him at my side. And seeing as mum needs to be actively involved in it, he's been talking to her and apparently his praise hasn't been at all sparing in talking to her about me. And my dad, if you can understand this, has very little belief in praising, so when you get praise you know you deserve it. As well, in my second lesson, he let me drive home on a main road with traffic lights and everything, which I suppose signifies some trust in me.

She convulses. Sobs wreck her thin body and her muscles spasm under the influence of what she is no longer a part of. She lives, but barely. Her distorted grin is a reflection of expectations and reality. She is not what she wanted and she is less than everyone hoped for. She clings to her shadows who have ripped and torn at her clothes until her skirt sits about her hips and her lies are the only thing covering her modesty. she has reduced herself to this, and for what? Men who dance an endless dance above her, sweaty, sweaty bodies with guts hanging loose and the stench of cider on their breath, but more importantly, the clink of coins in their pocket and the promise of the sweet sensations that she knows she can get. She's good at this, she knows it, they all know it, that's why they come to her. But she is stretched to her fullest and any idea that this is an act connected with love is gone, gone. 'Fuck 'em. Fuck the lot of 'em, they can rot in hell.' Rot in hell as they rot inside her, as their seed is planted with futility. At least she doesn't have to worry about kids, that concern was dismissed when she first went into the business. One botched abortion and that chance died. She supposes it's a positive thing, but she would have liked the opportunity- what if she sorted herself out, got some blue collar bloke to marry her? What then? But no. Not at all, none left of that now. She's having enough trouble getting the money anymore for her habit. She makes what she needs, she gets a decent amount, but that's only what you get from the streets. You need a bit of class to work the high end. Even in her convulsions she sneers. Class? A whore and class? You wouldn't think so. She cannot raise herself from the ground, she is stuck on the piss stained tiles of a public bathroom and she can hear a mans grunting and a whores moaning in the stall next door, and some sense of decency stirs in her, wants her to get up and hammer on the wood and protest against public indecency. Then she realises, she isn't a schoolgirl anymore, she's one of them and a hypocrite to boot. And mummy and daddy had such high expectations; wasn't she going to be a lawyer, or a doctor? But no, she fell in with the wrong crowd, with the wrong habits, and now with her last convulsion her leg slips into the stall next door just as the whores stilettoed foot stabs into the ground once he's reached his climax. But it's not the ground, it's her leg, and when she feels the heel break her skin she's off into the world she knew she was aimed at since she collapsed in the cubicle.

I exist.

I exist as a human being.
I exist physically. I am an almost physically developed and matured female, perhaps not in the psychosocial sense of the word, but physically. My body is ready for the situations it may be given, though my mind is not.
I exist sexually. I am aware of how people use their body according to needs and desires. I know the power one can have, being in control of their own body, I know the disempowerment one can suffer when difficult or negative choices are made in regards to it. I'm responsible for my sexual self and I'll take full responsibility for anything that happens as a result.
I exist mentally. I'm fully aware of my mental processes and know that I, like most others, possess the capability for intelligence and am attempting to utilise it. However, part of my psyche involves not existing to my full capacity due to the effects my negativity has on my mental capabilities. And I'm trying to change that.
I exist emotionally. I am touched by sadness and love and anger, I react with them explosively, not accordingly. And one can't erase their reactions, nor can they predict, or to an extent, control their actions. And my actions, reactions, and emotions are once again prompting me towards one specific action, though I feel more determined to sway the other way than I used to be.

But I don't exist fully. I don't know who I am. I don't let myself exist. And when other people don't recognise that I do it makes it more difficult.

I was prescribed anti-depressants today. I begin them tomorrow. I can't persuade myself to have hope for them.

That feeling.
Warmth and safety, but hurt and distance created by emotional instability.
The only reason I've stayed this long is that feeling.
It's getting to the point where a day without you brings death closer. This dependency, this fundamental need to be with you is getting to the point I have no control of it anymore. Every other day I feel dwarfed by everything. This depression makes me feel so small, and I don't know how to face anything that lies ahead. I really don't. I'm legitimately looking into options for repeating my final year of school- for anyone who knows me, that's a humongous deal. I've always tried to be really focused on schoolwork, but lately it's completely slipped away from me. I failed two of my exams, and I've had more than one breakdown at school in the last month. I mean, it's good, that teachers know now, that things are being done, but it's too late. I feel like I'm being twisted, you know, wringed out. I'm constantly getting that tight feeling in my chest, throughout my whole body.
The parent interview day, my Literature teacher gave me an essay to do I'd missed out on over the holidays, with my mums supervision. I've tried to do it twice so far; both times I've broken. I've started to go through information about the book I'm studying, discuss how it applies to the general gist of the essay question... And no, I start crying. I feel as though everything I try is going to crash.
And these last few days have maybe been a chance at being happy. Or putting up a temporary happiness. And shit, now with the thought of being away from you for two days- two fucking days, how pathetic- I'm already anticipating sliding back into that pit. It's a constant fucking battle.

But you know, I'm seeing a psychologist, I have a psychiatrist appointment on Monday, I might be prescribed medication, I might actually be helped.
For now I'm just holding on. But fuck, it'd be so much easier with you.

my chest feels like it's caving in on itself.
all the little things are adding up and it's been two fucking days since I started feeling okay.
just why.

sorry sorry sorry
only thing coming out of conversation nowadays huh.
well it's my fault to start with. i'm just gonna stop going on msn, no good ever comes of it. delete it off the computer.
no msn, no credit on phone, nothing that means I'm just gonna make people miserable.
doesn't matter when people don't talk to me anyway. they can't be assed so i won't even try.

I want to get something to make me smile..

Love is as natural as breathing.

I feel like the most pathetically reliant person on this earth.
Yesterday was my heaven. If there's anywhere that exists after we die for the good... I won't be sent there, but if there was and I was good, I'd be where I was yesterday. Not literally, but in the same place mentally with the same person physically. Not overwhelmingly bouncing-off-the-walls happy, but just completely at peace and content.
It's moments like that I live for. Feeling safe and contained within the room of life. The ceiling has never been there, and there's usually a wall or two that's fallen down, and I'm in leaning on one that's in a bad state of disrepair. You renovate that room, or give the illusion of renovating it and I can feel that for as long as my mind is contented with me being content for.
Just talking, and looking into your eyes, and seeing you reflecting the selfsame satisfaction and contentedness that I felt, and holding your body while you held mine. I felt so attached to you then. There's so much that can be said for physicality. Just being able to see you, and hold you, and feel your heart beating and know that my life is in safe hands for another day or so because I can remember that feeling and I want to live for it. And then curled up on a chair that wasn't built for two people. My head on your chest and legs across yours, watching a film that made complete and absolute sense to me and felt so right for the headspace I was in.

I'm in love. If we ever end, and when I'm middle aged I tell a 16 year old that they don't know what love feels like, someone kill me. Because this is the absolute strongest depth of emotion I've ever felt, and for it to beat suicide, or at least fight a very strong battle against it, means it is a lot. And maybe adolescent love is different to middle aged love, but you know, I can't imagine so. You can't give them the same name and call it a homophone. And who knows, maybe I'll be breathing to the world and still loving with each breath I give, and maybe I'll come home to you at night, or you'll come home to me, and maybe we'll stay the centre of each others worlds forever.

I'm not corny, be quiet.

I really don't like being in a good mood. Because after I experience it for long enough, I crash, and the crash is always more than what I expect, and it happens over the course of about 10 minutes. And it means, if I've had it over the day, then I can't sleep all night. Meaning none will happen tonight.
I'm going to do it this time.

I'm following.

I saw truth.