Here's what I think to you though I bet you never think to me.

And wouldn't if you were here now, when I'm whining over petty things and being so stupid. I need someone to tell me I'm not dismal in every respect. Not that people are telling me that- it seems to be an inevitable conclusion I've reached about my life. I don't care anymore, it's just all bringing me down, Mum is, treating me with cotton wool, I just want everything to be better, people are, my brother, doing so incredibly well, he'll eclipse me in no time and I'm just a grey lump.

Just a grey lump seeping useless tears. Useless useless useless to everyone and everything and who on earth would care?

I saw some pictures of you. I'll maybe next see you in October. I think you're brilliant. In an ideal world, you would look at me and say nothing and just hug me and say I think you're lovely whatever. Which is what Mum says, but I don't want her hugs, and if she thinks I'm lovely whatever then why does she want me to DO and not wait for something better? She wants me to be happy. I think deep down she wants some sort of return or something to say to her friends. That isn't fair and it's not true, she wants me to be happy. Why do I care so much what she wants? Maybe when I think of you I am just thinking of the things I want people to say to me. I want someone to love me no matter what I am and noone does. I want someone to want me forever, or to think they do, and to not care if I'm fat or thin or wearing makeup or anything, and be pleased to introduce me to their friends anyway. I want someone to think I'm cool and clever in a different way. I want someone that thinks my body is lovely. Ideally they'd think it was thin but that's becoming a dwindling possibility.

I think of you all those ways. Blonde hair and shouting mouth and crooked teeth, and the way you laughed and showed Bee your armpit that time, and how you're so kind. And you say something all the time about how I look cool even when I think I look so far from it. Its like you know what I want, but I know that you're just generally kind and this is all fantasy on my part. Warm to everyone.

Does your mother know?

All mine's trying to do is be kind and make me happy. So why is it that every time she talks to me about my career I burst into tears and just end up shouting?

Then I say sorry because she only wants to help, she only wants to be good, and it's good advice she's giving, but it makes me despondent. And why? Because people are in far worse situations than I am and it's so incredibly self indulgent of me to do that.

Here is what I feel:

Frustrated that she's suggesting these things to me when she's no career magnate.
Frustrated that she's possibly right.
That I have failed because someone else has intervened
She wants me to do things that I think will come up with dead ends- agencies and careers advisors. They might be a good idea, but I feel like it's patronising- agencies won't get me a job as a runner or something that goes somewhere interesting. Agencies are for people who are failing to get jobs elsewhere.
And that's me.
And that makes me so angry. I've tried for years and this is my reward.
The way she thinks I should be more realistic. She's told me to aim high all my life and now she wants me to crawl along the floor with everyone else instead of aiming higher. Fuck real. Who wants to live in dreary drudge? I AM realistic, I want what I want and I don't want some shit.
I feel like a loser and when she talks to me and makes me think I'm depressed and failing it compounds that feeling and makes me want to just never leave, and now I feel weak and useless because I cried and because I talked about it and it's making me cry again now, and I just hate her for doing it to me, and I hate myself for feeling like that, it's such a horrible petty way to feel, and I read the above and I can see I look like a grandiose bitch. Well maybe I am. Maybe grandiose is the way to go.

She thinks that because I don't talk about it I'm not doing it. I am doing it, I'm doing it to death but I don't want to talk about failing and the past, I want to move on and up and away from this shitty fucking cunt crap shit time. I want more from life and you don't get more by dwelling on less.

I want people around me that I like

I want to stop feeling angry. I want two dogs two cats a big kitchen and a welcome mat. Not true.

A girl like me
Is ten a penny
A girl like me
Won't give up what she wants
In the face of common sense
And a girl like me
Probably should just settle to data entry.
But a girl like me
Isn't worth much more than a £5.82 salary.

Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh.

Why on earth is life so depressing?

A pep talk doesn't work on me

It just serves to bring me down because it points up the fact that I was in need of a pep talk, and so it's the other person doing the work to bring me up instead of myself. It's them that gets the credit, not me.

Drifting

Mum had a talk to me today about how I am drifting, not getting a job, that is. Well, it's disheartening. What's more disheartening is that someone's noticed you're failing at life miserably. Waking up late going to bed late is one of Mum's main grievances. Oh she must have had so much planned for me and now I feel like I've let them all down and why on earth bother, I'll never get anywhere anyway. She said I should not go to drama school because they can't support me financially- well, I want to support myself financially, I didn't care about them and this is exactly why I didn't tell them about auditioning, I didn't want them to worry and now they're being utterly stupid and refusing aid they can't give and worrying about what I want and don't want. I couldn't care less whether they help or not I'll do it anyway.

She wants me to go to a careers advisor, sign up to some agencies and go on the dole. I don't want any of that crap. This is my reaction because she suggests it. She might be right, but I can't stand another shitty careers advisor going on about this and that. I know what I want to do. Nowhere wants me to do it is all.

Noone cares about me in a professional sense, and why should they, there's noone making them. Girls like me are owed nothing and are ten a penny. I'm not particularly anything enough to make anyone give me a job. I've got to stop being so goddamn self pitiful and get up off my fat arse and do something instead of sitting about. I need to go out and put myself out for yet more rejection. Brilliant.

I have only been successful in getting a list of people who want me to aupair. Mum was all up for this. Now she says she doesn't want me to do it, it's not what I want to do, blah blah blah. One minute I'm not realistic enough, then when I think of a way that I can earn money at the same time as seeing the world I'm not aiming high enough, I'm still not realistic, I'm holding out for drama school which is a silly dream.

Screw what everyone else wants.

It's only that I want the same thing. I don't want a lot. I want to be left alone. I want a job where someone wants me, that I don't hate going to every morning.

After a degree and four work experience placements, I'd have thought that wouldn't be out of my reach.

Apparently,I am simply shit.

It's worse because my University friends haven't been in contact for a bit.

I could make the effort.

I did. They don't care.

I feel like noone does.

Why on earth bother. I want to stick my head under a duvet and never come out until the world's better.

I'm not that crap so I won't.

I try hard to be nice and to do the right thing. I've shared a room with my sister for years and made my parents feel OK about it, I've not overspent my university allowance, I try to be a good friend and it's just not working out. Whine whine whine. It's probably because I'm such a complete and utter pussy. This is piteous and I do deserve what's happened to me- I need to fight back and stop being such a whingy cunt.

Tragic discrepancy.

I read a piece of writing from a friend the other day. The friend is self centred and self conscious. She'd been set the piece to do in a creative writing class. She had to write from the perspective of someone she'd had a disagreement with, and chose an ex-housemate that's equally as self-centred and more attention seeking. However, in her story, she'd made the girl a psychotic freak- the housemate- and she might be, for all I know, though she'd never exhibited it to the extent in the story. That wasn't the strangest thing. The strangest thing was that she'd made herself into a popular member of the company that everyone loved- and she isn't. I like the girl that wrote it. She can be kind, if patronising, and she's good fun a lot of the time. But she's also officious (though she gets things done), bossy, panick-y, emotionally overwrought... she's a talented scriptwriter, but not so much a creative writer. She's manipulative at times. People are kind to her face but mean behind her back... and it just makes me realise that how people see each other and how they actually are entail massive discrepancies.

I wonder how far I differ from my actual opinion, or if I write like that. I once remarked to a friend that the girl in question danced like a ho and dressed like one because she didn't want to be different, though she's cool on her own terms with noone around and doesn't need to do any of the whore dancing with all the regalia. She's a great scriptwriter, a good director, a great comic when she wants to be... but I can see that she sees herself as a pageant queen, and that she ain't. It's a shame. I should acknowledge that people are more than one thing, I suppose, but it just seems like she's landed so far from what she aims for, and that is the tragic discrepancy.

Not just a river in Egypt.

If anything is bad, and I think it's my fault, I far prefer to dig my head under the ground and not think about it than deal with it, which of course makes it a bigger problem to do.