Do Not Read Beauty Magazines...

...they will only make you feel ugly. Difficult though isn't it? How else will we know how to fit in?

I've only got two days left of being sixteen and I've had such an amazing year of it. So my birthday last year, it wasn't the greatest, it wasn't the worst. It was quite and small and I liked it I suppose. This year I've done so many things. Well maybe not loads but more than I imagined I would.

I finished school.
I passed my exams.
I met new people.
I made new friends.
I started college.
I went to a premiere.
I met Aled, Annie and Grimmy.
I spent far too much time down the beach.
I grew to love more people.
I changed ever so slightly.
I said goodbye to a lot of people.
I got a dog.
I redecorated.
I decided what I want to be like.
I went through a lot of glue.
I cried over laughable things.
I laughed about the upsetting.
I broke habits.
I began adjusting.
I grew.
I learnt to appreciate.
And I missed a lot of people.

A good year for me which I will miss very very much. I hope 17 is going to be just as lovely; if not better. Even if my birthday is crappy.

Dear Mum.

You just said that you don't like seeing me hurt. You said you hate seeing me thing upset. You said you haven't seen me this upset in years. But what if you're the reason that I'm hurt? What if you're why I'm upset? What if you're the whole reason for everything. Everything I've been hiding from you. Everything I've kept locked up and hidden away from your prying eyes? Because I'll tell you, you are the reason and the sole purpose for me crying right now. You're why I hide so much from everyone I meet. You're why I can't tell you why or what or when or how.

It's not that I don't trust you or love you because I do. I trust you. And I love you. Very much. But that doesn't mean I want to tell you everything. I don't tell you because I love you. I don't want to hurt you just like you don't want to hurt me. That's why it's so difficult to tell you these things when the time comes simply because I love you and I trust you and I would hate to see you in any kind of pain.

I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry for the emotions I feeling. For the words that I've said and the many more that are to come. I'm not sorry at all for anything I'm going to do. And I'm not sorry for the fact that I don't want to talk tonight. I just want you to leave me alone for now. Let me sort this out the way I always sort it out. Let me toss and turn and cry and hurt as much as I can because then I know I won't be so hurtful to you. I would have inflicted it all onto myself rather than hurt you in any way.

I'm sorry I'm so much like you and I hate it. I know I'm going to be exactly the same as you and in some ways I already am. I don't drink or do drugs or lose control because I know I'm going o be exactly like you if I do and I hate it. I hate it. Hate hate hate it. I wish I wasn't so much like you. I wish I was my own person and could grow up not knowing what was to come but I can't. I will always be like you. I can't stop or change this no matter how much I wish I could. You have no idea how much I wish I could change this but I can't. I'm trying to learn to live with it but it's hard. It's hard knowing what I'm going to be like. Hard knowing that one day I will be in the exact same position that you are in tonight. I don't want to know.

I'm not sorry and I loved you.

Open Up A Little Happiness Today.

I've figured that at some point in either the near or distant future I'd quite like to give speed dating a go. It seems quite the 'hip' thing to do at the moment; according to Rev Run's two daughters. I thank MTV for this enlightenment.

Plus, with speed dating you don't get stuck with some random at a bar or where ever talking into your ear with their stinking beer breath about things you don't want to hear. You have an excuse to walk away to a more suitable person and everyone in the room will be in the same position as you. And even if you don't end up finding someone you like, at least you know you won't be the only one - there will always be one other person. Unless of course, everyone gives out their numbers apart from you but then, that it's very likely, is it?

But like I said, I don't exactly plan to do this just yet. I'd like to wait until I'm at least at a suitable age before trying this out.

I'd also quite like to give skydiving a go, just for kicks. And maybe for charity - that way there's no way of getting out of it what with people relying on you to raise money for less fortunate people and all. I just want to have that feeling of euphoria and relief and excitement after landing and see if it's as great as everyone else says it is. And if it takes jumping out a plane at 2500ft then what the hell?

Thinking about it I'd probably have to do it for charity, I think I'd chicken out at the last minute otherwise.

I wonder if I can get to my 100th blog post before the end of 2009? I doubt it but it would be fun to see.

It's Time For Us To Take A Chance.

In 7 days my best friend will be 17. In 14 days it'll be Christmas. On the 27th of December I would have had this blog for a year. In 21 days I'll be a whole year older. Numbers numbers numbers. Count count down.

Twenty one. That's almost a month. I've got ages.
But then the winter holidays will be here.
And Christmas will have been.
So I'll have no time at all.

I want a clock for my birthday. An old one that you have to wind up.
And shoelaces. A barbie doll. A packet of tissues. Night nurse. A cup of tea in a proper cup and saucer. A notebook filled with signatures. Albums dedicated to the day. Family and friends. Truths. The moon. A lollipop. More hangers. A good day. Patterns and signs. Books unveiling secrets. A diary that's not mine. Sellotape. Nice wrapping paper. Good health. A rabbit. Feathers. Contact lens. A packet of digestive biscuits. A proper hug. Tissue paper. For my cat to be healthy. Someone new to talk to. A compliment. Handmade birthday cards. A drawing of a person I know. Spoons with the right amount of curve. Badges. A teddy bear. Thrills. A masquerade. A pretty dress. Beautiful people. A haircut. A Christmas jumper complete with reindeer on the front. Class. Hide and seek. Pin the tail on the donkey. A dressing up box. Indie kids. An elephant. Silence. Drums. A banjo player. A new blanket. Gold. Silver. Scarves. Material. A bow tie. A letter. A love.

Tripping Eyes And Flooded Lungs.

I'm never too sure how to start something like this without sounding too cliche but then again, I am very so I shouldn't worry.

What's in a world full of people? Well of course there's animals and plants and plastic and wood and glass and outside and inside and curtains and rain and wind and lights and coffee and misspellings and handwriting and clouds and behaviour and attitudes and bi-polar. But what's in everyone's individual worlds?

My world seems to be made up entirely of other peoples. I laugh because of you, I cry because of you, I sing because of you, I imagine because of you, I change and shape because of you. I could list forever the things that make me because of you but the question still stands; what's individual? I've given up trying by now. It take far too much time to think about.

So what about you? Are you make up completely of what you think is individual about yourself or are you made up of other people's ideas and impressions? And are you helping to mould and create other people's world as yours is shaped also? Do your reactions stay individual or could they also be changed because of the people around you?

I'm sixteen. I'm not excited for my birthday. I think I'm meaningful. I know I'm not. I've been influenced and pushed by you all my life. I speak in this accent because of you. I laugh this way because of you. I smell the glue on my hand because of you. I can't taste because of you. I'm sick because of you.

I want college back and I want a project. I need my taste buds back and I need to be better. I have to finish what I started and I have to tell you something.