this girl is an island, let her drift away.

 When I was little, I was crazy about babies.I made a life-size baby out of plasticine at school when I was seven , I got banned from using the plasticine ever again...
I think I cried, who can blame me...no one wants a plasticine ban. At ten, I wasn't sure whether I wanted fifteen or sixteen children, I settled on sixteen as it was an even number... but that was when I was 10.

I realised on the overground the other day, while turning up my music to drown out all the little kids I was surrounded by...(while everyone else seemed to be looking at them in good humour, enjoying their childish enthusiasm for life...oh and did I mention, Bah Humbug...)
My mental conversation went something like... "grrr..."...."fucking kids "..."I never used to hate kids so much...."..."since when have I hated kids so much?!"....  "fuck I feel guilty that I hate kids so much..."
....I turned down my music a little, I looked at the kids...

I don't want to like the little fuckers, then I'll have to have my own...and that's scary.
Because if they break, it will be all my fault. Everything that goes wrong with kids....it's all down to the bloody parents. Do I really want to go around gifting my own amazingly complex anxieties to another generation?
I think of how I was at seven. I was complete, being brave just meant I wasn't afraid of getting stung by the bees I'd pick up in the playground in order to show off.
Getting stung took on a whole new meaning, and being brave got a whole lot scarier. 

I have been a little ignorant lately. I grow impatient and mean, in an attempt to not talk about what I'd rather not talk about...
I dream peculiar dreams, I stay stuck within them all day long while I drift around doing nothing while I'm meant to be working. I've gone from mere procrastination to pure nothingness. A little afraid that I'll let those shadows into my mind to play, if I do nothing for too long.
I sit in silence, I watch too much tv.
I go to bed too late. wondering if my problem is me, or us.I'm sure it's me...I create trouble, I am trouble.
Is my want to escape just because I do not want to grasp what is actually wrong within me- within my make-up.Was it nature or nurture that turned me out this way? I was the same as a child, living inside my own little head.never letting anyone know the whole story.
"did you miss me?" well, of course....what sane person doesn't miss those closest to them when they go away...I always knew what I was meant to say.
I suppose I'm not as honest as I like to think.
I'm only as honest as I believe other people need me to be.

Why is it not ok for me to need to be alone. or,... why is it not ok for me to be ok with being alone?
...But, I never really was like that. I guess it would be overly dishonest of me to try and pass that off as truth.
Perhaps that's why it's not ok. Because it's just too obvious.
I know my need to be alone is not honest.it is more about my need not to be left.
People cannot leave if you were never really there.letting them get close.
My need for seclusion is conditioning. my life long work to be independent to the extreme.
Because dependency is weak, it caused me loss, mind numbing pain. it made me vulnerable.Humiliated.
It got me caught up in things I should never...
I'm meandering again...

Do I wish to run simply because I do not have the guts to say out loud that I do not believe I belong here any more ? that I do not want to be the one causing pain.
I've always made such a huge effort to bare the brunt of any quakes. cushion any blows, dilute any painful truths. I can take it. I take it because I don't want other people to.

I've done it willingly. it makes me special. it makes me good.

I want people to see that I'm good. If only I believed that I was good.

I've hit a nerve, I cannot see clearly. emotion is clouding my view.

I subconsciously end up around people with strong families. People who are not filled with anxiety at the mere thought or mention of their Mothers, Fathers, Brothers....
when asked how they are, they know how they are- they spoke to them just last weekend, last week...yesterday...
they do not squirm. or feel the need to fly off some anecdote about what a "crazy" family they have.
...Yeah, it's so darn funny that my Dad is so eccentric.
So eccentric that I don't even know where he is any more.
I want what they have. but they are never really my family.I am never really theirs. I watch them, wondering how it works. whether they just care more, love more...

I wonder how to fix it all, but to me it's a riddle so ridiculous... I wonder if the answer is in fact, acceptance.
This is how it is, and how it will continue to be.

How alone I end up I cannot blame on my childhood. it's only down to me.
Getting stung is a part of life.

Only a child thinks that avoiding direct contact with bees stops them from stinging you.