Roseblight Zebra-Hooves-Backward's Journal

Ho boy. I have so much I want to say, but I don't think I have the words. You know what I need? I need a dictaphone. That might help.

So, really short:

I now have a tattoo. Pictures to follow. Mum and Dad were surprisingly good - Dad laughed and laughed. Martin was like, "No way, you did that with texta."

I am single again. Seven and a half months, still the longest relationship I've ever had, and probably the only one that counts. I think ... augh. I think it really did need to end (for me, at least), but. I really liked him. I still do.

I'm freaking out so hard about my birthday. I used to see this homeopathy lady - she called me Snow White. But I'm Rapunzel. People probably don't consider that even though there's a quote-unquote happy ending she's a young woman who's spent her entire life in a tower? Even through the wondrous discovery of the outside world ... I don't know how to finish that sentence. Maybe: I can't stop grieving over the fact that I spent my youth in my bedroom, in learning support, in hospital, hiding under tables, barricaded in bathrooms, crying continuously, exhausted, scared, seeing things nobody else could see, throwing up, running and screaming, hating myself, being bullied, being force-fed medication, being shouted at, and always being left by myself.

I'm sorry about that list. I don't like it either. I also don't like the way there's a lot more to cover there - not in the "I have suffered and am a martyr" way, just why I know it did happen and therefore should not need to be sad about it, because it really was ultimately for the best and I'm pretty okay now. But I've been over the stories so many times in my head (and my LJ) that, seriously, Frances, shut up now. Go to sleep.

Good night.

Current Music: Special Needs - Placebo