Wuthering Heights and the doomed romance novel

I have attempted to write this piece 5 times now and it keeps deleting itself! So here goes nothing. Wuthering Heights. The love triangle, the bad boy, the good boy, the tragedy. I’m no literary scholar, just a girl who reads, a lot! Some of it classic literature, some of it philosophical works, and a shameless amount of YA vampire romance. Shameless! I really believe that Emilie Bronte did not know how much her novel would change the romance novel, I’m not talking about the really really trashy ones. Just think vampire diaries, the books, and in part the show. #Delena. Two brothers, one good (ish, it’s a little all or nothing), described as a Saint, reference to his hero hair, has a conscience (sometimes, it’s complicated involving a humanity switch). The other brother, black hair, black eyes (in the books, I KNOW), selfish, manipulates people for fun, but loves Elena, his love for Elena is at times his only redeeming quality, but if we’re talking T.V. Damon his physical appearance does that singlehandedly. Girl melts into wet puddle on the floor. At least both the writers on the show and the book series gave us Delena, bad boy wins. It made me happy, but so much of both endings left me devastated and ugly crying, and that was at least partly down to bad decisions made the writers, not to mention the whole L.J Smith thing. Girl, I’m so mad you couldn’t see your vision through officially! I don’t know how Wuthering Heights ends, whether I’ll feel those bittersweet tears stream down my face as I ugly cry, or whether I’ll just feel bitter, and deeply sad. I’ve read that Wuthering Heights is not a tragic love story, it’s a horror story. I believe I’ve read enough to know that is bullshit. Cathy and Heathcliff have already made me cry those strange tasting tears that I love so much. This is too long already, more thoughts later!

Dying dogs, and I hate endings

As you may have ascertained from the title, my  dog is dying. He’s in the hospital, 3500 dollars into what I can only describe as desperate attempts to extend his life. Foxy, 10 pounds of fur, a ginger Pomeranian who’s mom died in child birth, leaving him more human furbaby than dog. I’ve been holding back the tears, stemming the flood, telling myself the doctors will figure it out, he will be fine. I bought him on my birthday 8 years ago, my mom was frantically trying to pull me out of my black hole of bulimia and depression. I was 18 and despondent, I had stopped caring whether I lived or died a year earlier while at our summer house in Germany a close relative had raped me. I hate that word, such an ugly word, worst of all sometimes I wonder whether I deserve to use it at all. He was my friend, but I saw the way he would look at me. Anyways, a dog didn’t cure me, but it was something, something for me to hold on to, a creature with no ill intent. What makes me sad now is that I did not love him enough while I could, I got so wrapped up in my own life that I took him for granted, and now it’s too late an I’m staring down the barrel of an ending. I always cry until I can feel my soul leaking out of my body when I’ve finished a book or a television series. I want everything good to last forever, but I think deep down I’ve always known how fleeting those things are, the things that are good, and happy, that make us feel just right. This is why I am terrified, why I protect myself, guard my heart, it’s not a strong one. Even fiction can break it. But this isn’t fiction, my sweet innocent dog is suffering in pain, all alone at the clinic in what will be one of his last  nights on earth, all because I don’t do endings well. The only comfort I can find in all of this is that all living creatures want to live, I have to believe that he would want to be able to come back home again. I don’t know, my heart feels heavy tonight like it’s pushing my stomach down into my intestines.

Procrastination

My procrastination is a form of avoidance, and in consequence, or maybe subconsciously this in fact is the goal, a form of self sabotage. Whatever the motivation or cause, the outcome is the same regardless, I do not live up to my full potential. Last minute girl. Half assed girl. I don’t want to be any of these. Why am I not working on my paper, I partly don’t even care anymore, accademic success doesn’t hold the allure it once did anymore. That do or die feeling is gone, the rewards aren’t applicable anymore, I don’t know what I want from this life anymore. I want freedom, I think. I think I’ve always wanted freedom, I’m pretty sure that’s what I have been chasing all this time, in all these futile ways. Truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever been free, I can’t recall the taste of freedom, like I can’t recall the the taste of water. Is it an illusion? An oasis up in the distance, a destination this thirsty dessert wanderer will never reach? I don’t know, maybe that’s why the opening monologue of Ride brings tears to my eyes, and tugs at my soul in that strange way only a really great piece of writing can. I think I need to leave this place, this small town that I seem to be chained to in a way that never lets me move on from my past regrets. I’m at half colour here, a faded girl that’s really more a ghost haunting a life that isn’t quite anymore. I need to leave, I’m no fool, the grass isn’t greener someplace else, but I have to stop fading. I want to stop fading.

My whole life is a cringe attack

Well hello there nightowls and fellow vampires  alike. What’s keeping you awake? I broke another loofah, I don’t know how, but I’m looking at it hanging in the shower and it’s one of those small reminders that I destroy everything I touch. Friendships, eyeliners, duvet covers, my life, nice dinnerware, essay questions etc. I’m poison. I swear I don’t try to be, it just happens, each, and every time. I’m an awkward human being, I’m not stealing any of this from Dan Howell, we just happen to have quite a bit in common. I’m like the female, druggie version of Dan, without the gaming and anime addiction. Dear Diary, it’s been over 24 hours since I’ve slept. I think I failed another exam. I abandoned a friend in a bar because I kept starting to spontaneously cry. My professors think I’m crazy. I am crazy, but they shouldn’t know that. I need to start hiding my insanity better. I don’t know what to do next year. I frequently want to die, but I’m pretty sure I’m never going to make it happen. Me struggle to write words. Me tired, but me also binge watching the Vampire Diaries. Me go now.

Major fuck ups, and what is my fucking major?

Hey there reflection, why do you sabotage me so. I’m an infj, what the world sees and who I am are two very different things. I speak like a half wit, if and when I speak, all my thoughts get lost somewhere between my mind and my mouth. I come off as intimidating and weird, I am weird, but not in the way I’m perceived. I’m a kind hearted soul who can also be the biggest asshole on earth, people see me as weak, I am not. I follow my own path, I think my own thoughts, I will never join the crowd just to fit in, ever. Sometimes it’s torturous just to be myself out in the world, so I withdraw into the confines of my mind, preferably in my room. I have an incredibly dark sense of humour that will ensure my entrance into hell if there is such a thing, people see me as naive and innocent. I never know what I’m doing with my life, because I’m always seeking something more. Sometimes I’m fall into an abyss of depression, I lose my mind, I numb my mind, I lash out occasionally and screw myself over in the process, but the reason I fell in the first place is always my heart. I have to strengthen the walls surrounding it, because disappointment with humanity is inevitable. Failure is inevitable. Sometimes I will not be the best, maybe I won’t always get an A or an A-, most importantly not everyone will understand my thoughts, in fact most people won’t, I have to accept this, and if you too are an infj, just accept it, but never let it stop you. If you have dreams, even if no one understands them, or believes in them, know that they are worth pursuing. I’m a mess of unfinished thoughts, I’m a walking talking internal contradiction. I’m okay with being the black sheep. Don’t let the bastards get you down.

Crying over Easter eggs

I lived through another day. My family was over for what seemed like an eternity, we ate food, I managed to not eat as much as them, which is old residual behaviour from my eating disorder days, it separated me from the weak humans and made me feel superior, now it’s just habit, but I mean they do eat a lot and I don’t even consider Easter a holiday. I don’t feel like writing today, but once you stop it’s hard to get back into the swing of things so here goes nothing; I felt like crying while we were looking for our Easter eggs, I couldn’t tell you exactly why, it’s not like we didn’t all find it absurd, a bunch of adult children looking in the bushes for a Kinder Surprise. It should have been as hilarious as it sounds now that I’m writing it down, but I felt like crying. Ugly crying at that, torrential tears puffy eyes snot nosed crying. There’s many reasons for my unhappiness, I wouldn’t call it depression, more like deep sadness, but none of them are really good. I’m missing something in my life, there’s this pull and push motion going on in my soul, an uncomfortableness, an awareness that I am not happy or satisfied with my life. Wanderlust. Fernweh. Call it what you want, whatever is missing isn’t here, it’s out there, somewhere in the world and I think it requires a passport.

Why? You’ll never get a chance to see what comes next, that’s why

Just a few short days ago I was very seriously contemplating suicide. The urge to escape it all, my pain, my mistakes and my past was overwhelming. I’ve never felt so close to it before, death, I could feel the empty void, the nothingness, and most of all, the absence of pain. If I’m being honest with myself that’s what this was really about, the weight of my pain seemed to exceed my personal strength, I did not think I could carry it anymore. If you feel like this now or in the future I urge you to reach out to everyone and anyone, I’m serious. For all the stupid shit I’ve done in my life, this would have been one mistake that I could not have come back from. Death is final. We all die eventually, and we’re dying little by little everyday, why not wait out a few more, and then a few more, and then a few more after that. Keep doing this until life no longer feels like waiting. I’m not going to lie to you ever, I don’t know how many people will even read or follow this blog, but I always want to be honest with you. Am I happy now? Has my life made some drastic turnaround? No. I still have a disaster of a school year behind me, I managed to drop my gpa quite a lot in a short amount of time. I still have to study for an exam in a class where I’ve all but given up. I’m going to get the first D of my life, and I’m terrified I’m not going to get into law school now. The thing is though, I never really wanted to be a lawyer, I just thought that it seemed like an acceptable thing to tell my parents when they asked me wtf I’m doing with my life. I don’t know, I have no fucking idea, I feel lost and like a wanderer who’s been forced into a sedentary life. That’s the thing though, not knowing, maybe someday I will find my calling, feel comfortable in my skin, maybe someday I’ll be happy. And maybe not, but if I had succumbed to my suicidal desire, then I would not have had the chance to find out.

Insomnia

  1. sleep. Just go to fucking sleep. A natural human  function is my enemy. Sleeping pills don’t work anymore unless they’re in handfuls and washed down with some whiskey, but even then they could just as likely lead to sleepwalking through neighbourhoods and climbing on top of signs. That actually happened once. I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about my life, not just life in general. Why am I alone, will I ever find someone who loves me and who I love back? Am I even capable of giving away the trust that is necessary to love? Why did I watch outlander? Man that show fucked me up. It’s all fun and games until a witch trial, or murder, or Jamie gets raped, or dies, but doesn’t die, but the fucking writers make you feel like he’s dead for like three episodes, and then you start believing in true love again and it causes you to cry, but you keep crying because you realize you’ll never find it. Jamie isn’t real, at least not for you. Then you take all the pills and ask for an extension for a paper which is refused because the professor is an android and not really human. Angry, high on head meds emails are sent. They are deeply regrettable, I mean soooo regrets man. In all honesty though, I really don’t want to be here, it’s all too much. I’m feeling things right now that I’ve never felt before, it’s very deep pain that I have not let out of the box. Ever. My impulse is to drive it back down with something, drugs, alcohol, food, tv, social media etc. My addictions are legion. I haven’t yet. I’m just sitting here with it. Do I have any fucking idea how I’m going to move forward? Write my papers and exams? No. I don’t have a plan, nothing to get me through just now, just right now. Having your mind opened to possibilities is the most terrifying thing in the world because it opens your heart to ever more disappointment, possible disappointments that is. It’s not safe, it’s not comfortable. It’s life and I find it harder than most.

Insomnia

  1. sleep. Just go to fucking sleep. A natural human  function is my enemy. Sleeping pills don’t work anymore unless they’re in handfuls and washed down with some whiskey, but even then they could just as likely lead to sleepwalking through neighbourhoods and climbing on top of signs. That actually happened once. I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about my life, not just life in general. Why am I alone, will I ever find someone who loves me and who I love back? Am I even capable of giving away the trust that is necessary to love? Why did I watch outlander? Man that show fucked me up. It’s all fun and games until a witch trial, or murder, or Jamie gets raped, or dies, but doesn’t die, but the fucking writers make you feel like he’s dead for like three episodes, and then you start believing in true love again and it causes you to cry, but you keep crying because you realize you’ll never find it. Jamie isn’t real, at least not for you. Then you take all the pills and ask for an extension for a paper which is refused because the professor is an android and not really human. Angry, high on head meds emails are sent. They are deeply regrettable, I mean soooo regrets man. In all honesty though, I really don’t want to be here, it’s all too much. I’m feeling things right now that I’ve never felt before, it’s very deep pain that I have not let out of the box. Ever. My impulse is to drive it back down with something, drugs, alcohol, food, tv, social media etc. My addictions are legion. I haven’t yet. I’m just sitting here with it. Do I have any fucking idea how I’m going to move forward? Write my papers and exams? No. I don’t have a plan, nothing to get me through just now, just right now. Having your mind opened to possibilities is the most terrifying thing in the world because it opens your heart to ever more disappointment, possible disappointments that is. It’s not safe, it’s not comfortable. It’s life and I find it harder than most.