I Think I Love You More, Than You Like Me

Well, that's a line from one of my favourite Streets songs.



It's quite befitting really. I have to ask myself, why do i only ever blog about negative things? Can i not just for once record the amazing, fantastic, miraculous things which go down in my life.

I will tell a story, about a girl.

She was in love, platonic love, with another girl, whom she had been sleeping with for well over a year. This girl had become a lead weight around her neck and as she'd moved to university she could not bear to be with her any more. I remember this girl, staring at me with tears running down her cheeks, on a road in Istanbul. This girl loved me. But i didn't love her in the same way; i think i love you more, than you LIKE me. And she knew it. The beat dropped one day on the tube as they were going home. She asked the girl; "would you die for me?" and the girl replied with no thought of hesitation; "yes." The girl then asked her the same question and that split second passed that should not have passed. I think i love you more, than you like me.

They broke up.

She met another girl whom, months later, she still thinks of. She doesn't know where on earth her heart lies in relation to this girl, she used to love her. I think i love you more; than you like me. She did love her at one point, and i think the girl felt the same. I don't know why i thought this, but..and this is a truth; in no way an arrogant fact but simply a truth about me and who i am; i can read people. I can read them quite well and i know, perhaps 70% of the time what they are thinking. What they are feeling. I don't know how; i just know. So, she thought, also, that the girl loved, or had some sort of feelings for her; but it went tits up.

She thought she was over it. She really did, but then she realised she wasn't.

On the 12th of February she met this Man. She was dancing on the stage, in front of the DJ who just so happened to be Iration Steppa and he was in the crowd. She danced the entire set and he watched her. I have no idea what he was thinking as i was trying not to look at him. The attention made me nervous. I think i love you more, than you like me.

She invited him back for; "Tea, just tea; no sex." She tried to cook some food to acompany the tea but the chips she put in the oven burnt to a cinder. Literally. It was a point of percieved hilarity on his part upon their next meeting. They went to a club night with the best live hip hop she had ever seen. They stayed right until the very end, waiting even for the encore. They had a wonderful time together. She had previously been aprehensive as his grasp of english was..sporadic..but, they managed to overcome the difficulties and language barrier through laughter. She took a picture of him that night, her favourite picture of him she's ever taken.

Their next meeting was to go to the cinama; she met him at the airport and they took the train together into town. They saw 'Vicki Christina Barcelona' and it was perfect. i think i love you more, than you like me..

As they were walking back to her house, inspired by the film, he asked her to join him on his next return to Italy. Her gut feeling told her simply; "Yes." She said no, that she couldn't leave University for 5 days as her workload was too heavy and she regretted it, she knew in her heart she wanted to go.

The next day he asked again and she said; "Yes." She had no idea what would happen or even where in the country they would be going but she said yes anyway, wanting to seize the moment for everything that it could possible hold.

They went to Italy together. All the while the girl whom she had ambiguous feelings for felt 'stressed.' The girl had many an issue in her life at that time but after the main one had subsided she wondered what could be making her stressed. Upon telling her that she was going to Italy she asked; "Are you acutally going to go?" I think..

..i need closure. Not that i want something to happen between us, just to know that she is happy for me. That everything will eventually be alright.

She had a fucking amazing time in Italy. At times it was stressful and there was even an arguement on the way to the airport as the penny dropped on the lack of time and the increasing traffic on the road as they were approaching the airport. The car needed water. The bonnet was opened by him whilst she sat in the passenger seat, waiting. He stood and stared at the engine. She wanted to know what the fuck was taking him so long. She got out of the car and saw the box where the water goes fizzing and bubbling like a rabid dog on crack. She asked him if the water he held in his hand was fizzy. She asked him again. She asked him again. She took the bottle that he held in his hand from him and examined it; "Natural." He took the cap off the fizzy rabid dog and poured the water in. She got back in the car, fuming at being ignored.

"The water was not fizzy. If you put fizzy water in the car will expolde."

"I know, thats why i asked you"

She threw the books she held in her hand; the Communist Manifesto and her diary, at the windscreen.

Whilst in Italy she discovered, via the horrific medium that is facebook, that one of the girls who was in her close circle of friends during secondry school had died. She and others that knew her think it was suicide. It was suicide. She cried in his living room.

They went out the next evening and had the most insanely amazing time in the world. She found the rhythm of life and felt the prescence of God. She also smoked 4 grams of weed. She went to the toilet whilst she knew someone was listening to her. She and the others in the car on the way home had a very strange [but which she thinks was religious] experience. They were controlling the music that came onto the radio, like one insane question and answer. She had smoked 4 grams of weed.

I know sit in my room recanting this and searching for some kind of answer; i think i have found it. And it's not; "I think i love you more; than you like me."

He left a note on my laptop today, after leaving at 4 am, saying;

"SORRYYYYY :) YR BED IS REALLY SMALL
tee hee hee....
I LOVE YOU !!

ps. i left you with a sweet kiss...sleep well"

Signed his name.

I don't think i love anyone..but myself. Which is why i've not been distraught and torn apart by the death of Pb.

Results

The exam results came out today, posted online.

When i arrived to the pharmacology practical everyone had checked and there were no sad faces, thank goodness. I asked if everyone had passed and they had. I specifically asked if everyone had passed as the sharing of results can be turn into a passive aggressive blag fest if the wrong people are present. I wasn't even tempted to check my results, there and then, in front of everyone. If they had been bad it would have been dreadful, i would have broken down in tears in front of my entire PBL group and 4 others, like another girl did after foolishly checking hers. I felt for her, i really did.

I got a satisfactory in the semester 1 test and an honors in the progress test. All others i know passed in various other ways. I am so pleased, when walking out the lab i couldn't stop smiling the widest smile i'd smiled in the past week. It was most definately a stoner smile. I had my grin right on.

It's such a relief, it's as if i've been given a pat on the shoulder, i've been told; "Yes, it's alright. You are good enough to be here." I think everything now seems a lot easier, i feel as though the first thought i ever had when i came here; 'you're not good enough, you don't belong' has been well and truly eradicated. I feel i am well on my way to being a Doctor. I feel now i have [i would have said paper but, we are in the 21st century] online proof that the self belief i derived from somewhere deep inside myself is justified.

I feel as though my boots have reinforced steel heels that will never wear down.

Mentoring

Today i met with the person who has been allocated the duty of mentoring me.

I find it so hard to write now, but i've no idea why. It's like the thoughts just don't flow as easily from my brain..it's as though i have to stop and think, pause, to write what i want. And it completely ruins the rhythm as when i stop to think i get bored [blessed with a very short attention span which i utilise to its maximum potential during periods of relaxation] and end up doing some other form of online activity, usually, inevitably, facebook.

It is becoming rather an irritating factor, an obstacle to blogging. I have no problem writing inane boring bollocks which has no bearing in reality, so perhaps the problem is not that i am unable to write, that i have writers block [if such a phrase can even be applied to a situation in which i write soley about and for myself] but that i can not express fully what is happening in my life. Or, perhaps, that on a subliminal level, i don't want to.

As i have already realised [be patient, i am young] writing about something makes it real, in the same way talking does..writing is just perhaps a more direct way of addressing issues within your life. Perhaps i find it difficult to write about what i've been doing because i want it to remain in a world without critical analysis, which is inevitably what will occur if it discussed here.

When asked, during our hour long conversation, by my [a significant usage of a possesive descriptor] Mentor, what i thought about the whole thing that is happening with ND i became fidgety and spoke about not wanting to think about things, to analyse things. Because if you analyse them they become real, and you are no longer in a warm, secure bubble in which anything beautiful and fantastic can happen. You're in the cold harsh reality of the 'Real World' in which bad things happen, people get raped and murdered and you can be so, so sad.

I suppose what i'm thinking is that blogging has always been, for me, a release of very negative feelings of self hatred and extreme sadness and now that perhaps i'm not sad, or let me phrase that better, perhaps now i'm happy, a rather large element of the release that i used to gain from bloggging has been removed.

I knew that when i made the resolution to re-start, well, i knew i was happier but that some things in my life still caused me much pain, and maybe re-starting was directed at adressing those issues in some form of tangible form. Now..i still need to get my Fathers adress, but i have written a very angry, very..well, the letter was designed to make him cry. So, if there is a word for that, then that is the word i choose. But along with it i will send the story i wrote, about Fairies and understanding. So it's not just going to be BAM in your face you cunt for a face yellow belly, it's going to be BAM in your face you cunt faced yellow belly cry and have this story to let your tears drip onto.

The meeting with my Mentor felt slightly futile, for the first half an hour we went around in circles discussing confidentiality and didn't really get to a concrete conclusion as to when or under what circustances it would be broken..she asked if i could just accept that there perhaps wouldn't be one..she essentially asked me to trust her. I sat there and thought about it, for going on 10 seconds, which is a long lapse in conversation. Eventually i said yes, as i knew that if i didn't that would be the end, there would be no point in continuing. She said something, confirming what i said i presume [as my memory fails here] and i replied "Well, it's either that or i walk out the door." It sounds harsh but i don't think the tone in which i said it was, it was rather a statement of the thought process i had used to come to the conclusion that i did. An explaination.

I suppose it was a good meeting, it was functional, and went as well as first meetings can.

ND is now in Italy, i am joining him on Tuesday. I'm quite looking forward to it actually. It's going to certainly be an adventure.

There was a woman flyering outside the Union who i thought looked very interesting as i observed her from the safety of the cash point. She had a massive stack, at least 20cm tall, of flyers for a night which i plan on going to, hosted by the same people who did a night at the same place in January which was amazing. Seriously, mind blowingly, amazing. So i went over, and asked if there were any early bird tickets left, as they are only £15. The details are slightly fuzzy but in the end, i walked away with her number and she had mine to text me about early bird tickets. I didn't need hers, but somehow i'd got it..and also sensed a vibe of attraction. Obviously i'd spoken to her because i thought she was fit, but i didn't know if she'd think the same. On the off chance, and given that i'd somehow got her number, i thought i'd ask if she wanted to go for lunch or something at the weekend. So i did. She replied saying she was going to spain but that she'd definately want to after she returned.

How brilliant.

I asked someone out. I feel well proud of myself. She's a bit short though, as in, 5 foot 2 short. 10 inches shorter than me. And, the icing on the cake, she said yes.

I Renounce My Faith In The Catholic Church..

As it's Ash Wednesday and there was a massive poster outside the Catholic Chaplincy [think; side of a bus] that is opposite the Students Union i thought i'd go to mass. It was perhaps half full, not a bad turnout for an evening mass on a wednesday. That said, this Church is basically a Cathedral. Actually, it probably is a Cathedral, it is fucking awesomly huge inside.

After i came out, instead of feeling rejuvinated and ready to start lent with a BANG i felt strange, i didn't feel like my usual self, and in hindsight i now know that feeling manifested itself as irritibility but deep down was probably sadness, which i didn't [very cleverly, although subliminaly so i don't know how much credit is due] allow myself to feel. I came back and i used the word 'irritating' perhaps half a dozen times. I couldn't look in the mirror without hating my reflection. I probably looked like a depressed loser sitting in the kebab shop on my own waiting for my veggie burger and chips and i wasn't even nice to the guy who served me. I was a sour faced bitch. Then 3 friends came into the kebab shop as they'd saw me in there, alone [probably giving the window death stares] and i couldn't bring myself to make conversation, it seemed like simply stringing words together to make a scentance was the hardest possible thing you could have asked me to do at that moment; even harder than walking a tightrope suspended over a lake infested with man eating crockodiles.

The Catholic Guilt Complex is not unknown. When i saw seeing Raffaella she mentioned to me the whole Catholic guilt complex but i blew it off as nothing. Now i see what she meant. I felt guilty, when i was younger, for everything, i felt guilty even for being alive, let alone for who i was and what i represented. I've been educated in Catholic schools my whole life, save several years in a C of E primary school [the Catholic one was, aparently, full] and now i've been away from it for a while i've had the opportunity to realise what non-catholic life is like. It's not normal to have a crucifix hanging in every class room, just above the white board. To remind you, just in case you forgot, that Jesus is watching you.

I can't do it anymore; listening to the responses and what you have to repeat is ridiculous; i can't and won't partake in not so literal, but still equally as painful, self flaggelation. I did that for years, sadly, years. And i'm not doing it anymore; there will be no more hatred for myself, no more self harm [although that did stop a while ago] and no more self doubt. All i want to do is spread love, peace and happiness throughout the word. I don't want to have to endure the hurrendous never ending cycle of self hate, forgiveness, and more self hate [because, as you all know, we are, aparently, worthless..hence; 'lord i am not worthy to recieve you, but only say the word and i shall be healed'] because i enjoy life more when i love myself.

I'm not that awful a person.

Mediums..

Writing was the one medium that helped me infinitely when i was very messed up. It might be because i'm not writing regularly enough, or because i'm not being honest with what i'm writing, or maybe because i'm not putting the effort in that is required to fully undergo the catharsis..

Because that is what helps, the catharsis, thinking things through slowly and methodically and then coming to a balanced conclusion as to the thoughts that were previously swilling around my head in no true or tangible order. That is what i need. And that can be sought through conversation, very, admittedly once sided conversation, but conversation none the less. But writing is what i have resolved to do, so i will. I will allocate time to write, each and every day. Because it is good for me.

What am i currently feeling?

A bit blue. In the case last week there were two types of patient who suffered from COPD, 'blue bloaters' and 'pink puffers.' A blue bloater is someone who..let me remember..aka let me read the wikipeadia article..a blue bloater is someone who is cyanosed ie. has a high carbon dioxide concentration in their blood due to the fact that they are hypoventilating and so therefore unable to expire the adequate volumes of carbon dioxide. That, is exactly what i mean.

Even here there is avoidance, i feel as though my course is crushing me with information and learning objectives and standards. Friday is results day. I've not thought about it yet and probably won't until Thursday evening. It's best this way, there's no point crying over spilt milk and all that jazz.

I cried today, because i felt sad inside. It was whilst writing a text to ND, i was just about to type 'you make me smile' and then i just started crying. He does make me smile though. But i felt so sad. I don't know why i feel sad, i don't feel so sad anymore..i just feel sometimes like i can't connect with anyone on a real level; where i can actually talk to them about things that matter. It's almost as if the conversation always manages to float over superfilous issues again and again and never really touches the ground; the cement that holds us all together. It's always..empty. Void of all real human contact. It drains me.

After the love and the passion within a relationship, all that is left is tears. Tears tears everywhere and plenty more to spare. Tears and a toothbrush, for good measure.

PTSD

PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, is a condition which many world war and Vietnam veterans developed after seeing the atrocities of war.

I was at a Medics Curry last night. I met ND for lunch and to book the flights [which i've still not made up my mind in regards to] and then went searching for a friends flat but, alas, i couldn't find it. So i trekked from the city suburbs right back up to the centre [where i live] to have a shower. I needed a shower. I now understand why people take showers in movies are having sex, not that we had sex, but that it all gets very sticky and wet down there making washing afterwards a necessity. So i went home, showered, thought that this curry business was going to be epic, thought about giving up and not going, giving mysef an opportunity to catch up on work instead, and then thought better of it.

So, off i went, after realising how awful my favourite fairy dress looked on me when i wore it with bare legs. Never have i seen such horrific meaty monstrosities in my life. It was dreadful.

But, i arrived at the heaving curry house and immediately realised that it wasn't going to be as calm and sedentry as i had anticipated, it was going to be a rather more debauched affair. However, not quite as debauched as the first one, thank goodness. I walked in and waited i the cue to by a ticket. When i was asked how many and replied 'just one' she looked at me like i was a retard. I do have friends, and made it evidently clear by saying 'upstairs' when she was about to ask me where i'd like to sit. I don't like people who judge, especially those who judge you on silly little things like popularity. Judge me on something that matters for christ's sake.

I have a single dreadlock in my hair, coming from just behind my ear, as i thought it would be a good idea to let ND do it. It looks..like a dredlock. I feel it's a bit of a statement to have made, to have let him do, as dredlocks don't comb themselves out easily, or at all. It's all going a bit fast between he and i and i still don't know if i want to sleep with him. I'm actually incredibly scared of heterosexual sex.

But, whilst at the curry, i was sat in the middle of a very long table, long enough to seat perhaps 26/7 people, between my old PBL group and another PBL group. I was sat next to my clinical partner, a very nice, highly [and i mean highly] motivated guy who subsequently proceeded to tell me, with no preamble, that he had been diagnosed with PTSD and was in therapy because of it.

I know why he told me, i had written a note on Facebook that included the fact that i thought i might have PTSD due to the fact that i used to cut myself rather a lot but i'd never have thought that he would..be..strong enough to tell someone without feeling ashamed. It is a strange concept, why would you feel ashamed for having a condition which is out of your control, but as with a lot of psychological medicine it is intangible, making a scientifically orientated person [such as the many that study medicine] attatch less significance to it that if the condition were to be a myocardial infarction. So it was brave of him to tell me, and i suppose it was also brave of me to write that it down in my note. Admitting a weakness is never easy.

That was just a little thing which i thought was very nice.

If i fly i fly in 13 days.

Productive Porcrastination

I'm in the Library right now, supposed to be working but i know that if i try i won't be able to as i have so many things flitting around in my mind. There is a song, This Way which has the most amazing drop in it, it makes you want to sway your entire body to the beat, and that's why i loved it last night, but tonight, the vocal "Why i feel this way?" spins around and around in my head, taunting me.

The same thing that happened with TF-GF is happening with ND. He, well, at least i think, he is falling in love with me. If i'm wrong i'll be the happiest woman alive, but i doubt i am. I like him, i really do, but..i just can't stand the thought of someone loving me. It's..i was about to write 'it's not what i want' but isn't that what we all want? Somone to love us?

I still have a message, at the very end of my inbox, from Hg which ends in 'love you.' Now, the reason it's still there is not because it says love but because in the preamble beforehand. Something sad had happened with one of her love interests and i'd called her as some things just can't be said through a text message. She didn't answer so i left a voicemail, she replied, via text, to the voicemail ending the message with 'love you.' As i was leaving the voicemail i had the strongest urge to finish with with exactly the same thing, but didn't as if there's any doubt when saying words like that, you simply don't say them.

The point of the story is, we all want to be loved. Some just by the wrong people.

Love is not a concept i can handle at the minute, put it that way. Love scares and terrifies me. And for the moment i don't want it anywhere near me. Or, maybe this is scaring me because you can't love more than one person. If i knew how to draw a line through that last scentance i would. This is scaring me because i want to be in love with someone else, and i am aware of that fact, but every day longer i spend knowing ND the more i know i want to be with someone else. But then that someone else is not good for me! And believe me, 'not good' is the understatement of the century..saying Hg and I's relationship issues were complex is like saying the situation in Palestine was less than friendly.

I don't know why i'm even thinking about this anymore. It's ridiculous. I could cry, i would cry, if i wasn't in a public place. This is actually ridiculous, this whole thing. It's fucking outrageously pathetic. Why am i going to Italy? Why am i not over the fucking moon about going to Italy? Why do i still, STILL after all this fucking time, have feelings for Hg? Why? Why won't they just dissapear? Why, when i don't see her for a while, do i feel sad?

Why can't i just be.

Why is there so much fucking work to do regarding Medicine? It's like it never fucking stops. Literally. Like a fountain of water gushing down and half drowning you, allowing you to regain your breath and be calm for a moment, then drowning you again.