Lottie Woohoo's Secret Blog

I feel fragile today. As if it would take only one word to shatter me. If I let myself go with this song, if I listen too carefully to John Mayer, if I think about impending exams, if I think about my family or being so, so tired, if I stare too hard at the rain pummelling my attic window, I will cry.

A few words from the Ex (and they are always nice words) are almost enough to do it. I switched my mind off as I read the email, not wanting to be face to face with those eyes and that smile, both of which meant so much to me for over two years.

Nor do I want to think of Him (I need to think of a better name. He is not God!). He is too far away. I need right now to be enveloped in someone's arms. A real, immediate hug, not those hugging noises down the phone before we hang up, not the affectionate growls. Hugs are hard to come by when you're boyfriend-less. (Or am I?) I took them for granted for so long. Never again.

I said yesterday, "We have so much catching up to do."
"Yeah," he agreed, "couple-y things."
"Going for walks."
"Holding hands."
"Kissing."
"Lying on each other's stomachs."

There was a silence as we contemplated the catching up we would have to do in the space of five days. Four nights. Leaving him for the second time will be far harder than it was the first time, at the airport. This time I will be crying all the way home.

I really need to go crazy. Get stoned, get drunk. Learn to hold my drink. Smoke. Dye my hair permanently purple. Tattoo. Hair cut, bracelets, no more boring baggy blue jeans. Drink. I started yesterday, with a massive craving I could in no way ignore. Snuck downstairs, found the bottle of Bacardi, almost full, which I opened all those months ago. When guys sat at my dining table doing drugs, and I panicked. Found the bottle, dusted it off, two gulps. Three. Put it back and took the stairs two at a time back up to my room. Eyes smarting, throat burning, lips tingling. And I liked it.

I need to stop eating. Lose weight. Lose that belly. I need eyeliner, tight tops. I need to stop caring about exams. Because who gives a fuck, really, how well I do? It's only a short life you've got, do what you want with it. The words of Steve at work. Steve who failed all his exams, but makes thousands with his eyes closed anyway. Do something you love! You’re too young to get stressed, darling! He made me feel so stupid.

I feel like everything is sort of…spiralling out of control. But also as if this is how it's supposed to be. A lover who I haven't loved yet in that sense of the word - hundreds of miles away. Me here. Cuts, maybe, but then I always regret it the day after, so maybe not. But then tomorrow might be the same as today, I might WANT crazy tomorrow, I might want scars and inner emo and all that. Me here, studying for exams so fucking diligently, and not really having much of a life.

Barely seventeen and barely dressed, is how my dreams all go these days. And He is always in them. On top of me, or underneath me. Fucking me, or me fucking him. I will be barely seventeen, and not dressed at all, probably. I will have to get seriously drunk the first time. I want to not be scared about it not working. I want to not care if it hurts. I want the room to spin, I want to squeeze my eyes shut and think, Fuck yes, at long fucking last.