It's about time for a post me thinks.

It's been a good three months since I posted. I'm slacking.

I'm probably bored, or miserable or can't sleep. It's usually one of the three. I don't really know which one to pick; I mean, picking isn't compulsory, right?

I don't even know if anyone reads this anymore; I'm not really fussed because regardless of who does or doesn't read it, it's still pretty therapeutic? to write. I think that's the right word, but I know what I mean, on that basis, maybe it is best of nobody reads this.

My life is somewhat disintegrating beneath my feet, that sounds kinda melodramatic - I think that was the desired intention.

I'm going to be honest, I have taken more than the recomended dosage of my pain meds, and a few more. Apologies for any typos, or irrelevant stuff or whatever. And I guess if anybody does read this, that can be my perfect excuse for anything silly I write. Win. I think I am punctuating too often. Oh well.

So, life, disintegration, melodrama. Yaddayadda.

I can't help but feel like I've been left behind, y'know. Like, everyone else has brilliant plans after (their) graduation this summer; jobs, further education, whatever. I'm moving back home. With my mum. And I'm ten times more cynical since last living there; she's totally going to kill me. I'm totally going to kill her. It's going to be awful. I have no job prospects. I have nothing planned. I'm possibly not even graduating; Heaven help me if my mother discovers this fact. Death will be more imminent than initially thought.

Like, what went wrong? And when?

Okay, that's a silly set of questions but still. When did everything get this wrong so quickly?

It's already been as good as it got, and I missed it.

*gah*

I dislike the fact I'm going crazy, or at least think I'm going crazy. I say going; I should probably have used the word "gone" instead.

It's scary.

I dislike the fact I got irrationally angry and yelled at my catalyst last week.

That was even more scary and somewhat confirmed my fear of me losing my sanity.

I dislike the fact that I now don't quite know what I can say to her without making her feel useless.

I wish she didn't have to deal with my bollocks. I wish I could persuade her that it's not her job to try and fix me. But most of all, I wish I wasn't crazy in the first place because that would make everything else disappear.

I dislike the fact I feel like I should be saying all of this to her. I've had a pretty awesome week where stuff has calmed down a Hell of a lot and I didn't want to ruin it by whining about how scared I am, or bitching about how miserable I am, and apologising over and over about how guilty I feel. I wish I had sometihng specific to talk about, it's all too vague. But every time I consider it there's a change in conversation topic and the moment passes.

I need to stop being so melodramatic.

I sometimes miss being fifteen and having no choice but to deal with things on my own. I forgot how. It makes me sad that I miss it. It was a lonely existence, but it was also incredibly simple.

Nothing is simple anymore. And ironically, sometimes it's just as lonely.

12.04.1998 - 29.12.2010

I made the decision to have my dog put to sleep last week. It was the hardest decision I have probably had to ever make; apart from, maybe, when I was seven years old and had to choose which dog I wanted to keep from the litter. I chose the neurotic one with the silly face who liked hugs.

I did good.

She was rubbish at down stays and it stopped us from getting a Bronze obedience award when I was eight, and she ate my dinner once, but she cherished my Pingu plushie that I gave her and she made an awesome Rudolph when we once entered a fancy dress competition. She was awesome.

To slowly watch her get less happy and do less dog things made me sad. She used to enjoy rolling around on her back snorting and then just lying there with her tongue hanging out to the side and her teeth on show where her lips all relaxed. It was the stupidest thing ever but she did it purely for her own enjoyment. And she used to make her strange happy sound when I rubbed her ears, but when I came home for Christmas this year she had stopped doing those things. I could have waited longer before deciding it was time, but I would have only been waiting for her to get worse and that didn't appeal to me at all. She tried to eat my advent calendar the night before she went. She didn't die sad. Not completely.

She may have been a dog but she was most certainly a friend. And I miss her. And I am so desperately trying to keep it together but I am most definitely failing.

I don't quite know what to do without her.

Wtf even is a nerve modulation?

I wish I knew.

My consultant wasn't helpful.

I can't understand him. It's scary.

I did ask him but the response I got was, "Ah, I just stick a probe in your neck, there will be much bruising but the probe will affect your nerves and we experiement and see what happens".

Yeah, doesn't that sound like a fun time.

I'm shitting it a lot. Probing of the neck commences this time next week.

I've been advised not to smoke before the operation. I will be smoking. I have also been advised to sleep before the operation. I wont be sleeping. I have also been told not to worry about it. I am worrying.

I fail.

I really hope the nerve modulation doesn't.

It probably will.

Anyone fancy trading places? I think I've changed my mind.

Pass me the questionnaire.

The one that asks you how you've been feeling the past two weeks.

I can tick all the right boxes and get put on meds which mean I'm -allowed- to be a miserable sod.

I'm fed up.

I know they don't work but codeine wont kill me, and I'm not allowed any stronger meds, and who knows, lithium might come my way at some point.

*smiles hopefully*

Dear God, have I really reached this point again?

Yes.

-sigh-

My head hurts.

I've been thinking too much again. An unhealthy amount. The amount at which I begin to wonder if it really is all mine afterall, or are the crazies giving me a (not so helpful) helping hand again? Or is that just me hoping it's them offering me a hand because I don't like it and don't want it to be mine?

Gah. I can't even tell anymore.

Everything is questioned. Everything ends with a "Why?" and needs a justification. Everything. I don't kid. Everything. What I eat, to what I do, to what I think, to why am I thinking it. It's tedious. It's annoying. And I'm pretty obvious it shows.

But I can deal with that. Sure, it's annoying but it's okay.

I can't deal with the really stupid stuff. The stuff that hits a nerve. The old stuff. The stuff I've tried so ridiculously hard to remove from my head. The stuff that just wont budge. The love. The betrayal. The personal space crap. The question of genuine sanity. Gosh, how dramatic!

I don't want it constantly swimming around my head getting questioned over and over. I want it gone. I almost managed it before, why the fuck can't I do it again?

It's that time of year again.

September. I can't stand September. It's a vile month. It's a mutual thing though, so I guess that makes it okay. And as per usual (and as expected) everything seems to have turned to shit once again. It's an annual thing though, so I guess that makes it okay.

Five years since my oh so wonderful nerve condition began. As of yesterday. Wonderful. And just to rub salt in the wound all has flared up again and still no word on my nerve modulation. Wonderful. I'm quite peeved about this.

My university are also fucking me about. Joy. It's a rather complicated situation, which is equally frustrating. A wonderful Catch 22 scenario to be precise. Not enough credits to enrol for third year, but I need to enrol for third year to pick up extra modules. I was told this was fine last semester but apparently they have now changed their minds and nobody really knows what is going on; least of all me. Idiots.

I'm also considering a frontal lobotomy, so if anybody knows of anywhere good please let me know. It's getting a little silly now.

And just to make things worse, I have no cigs so decided it was time to use to baccy. It's a year old. I didn't care, at least not until half way through when I suddenly noticed a rather pungent smell somewhat similar to mouldy dog fart. A word of warning; avoid year old baccy. It's not great.

What a wonderful post to make having neglected my blog for two months.

My mother and the (somewhat relaxed) Internet King are visiting tomorrow though, I'm quite looking forward to this.

And I have a house. This can only be good.

Nasty grudges over trivial issues.

Apparently that's how things work if you're the Internet King / God? I can't remember which. It might even be both, depending on the mood.

The Internet King? BT? AOL? Tiscali? I hear you ask. No. The Internet King is my ginger sibling. Yes, he knoww much about computers and technology and the like so it is kind of an understandable title. But he gave himself the title. I giggled at fisrt. It amused me. Well, it did until I realised that actually it was a serious superiority thing. THE INTERNET KING MUST HAVE ACCESS TO THE INTERNET (or what!? he dies?) It's not quite so dramatic as that, he just gets very, very moody. Understandable. Nobody likes to go without the internet. But at home we have an awful internet connection, it comes with living in a village, you get over it or used to it or whatever. It's annoying but you deal. Unless you are the all powerful Internet King!

Ways the Internet King ovcomes dodgy internet connection:
-bitch at whoever is online and accuse them of streaming / downloading / being greedy, not taking into consideration that the Internet King himself is actually playing his favourite MMORPG, and downloading at the same time whilst talking to his internet buddies on stream.
-restart the router, not taking into consideration that other people are online and possibly in the middle of something.
-altering the settings of the internet so it requires a password to connect, taking into considering that nobody else knows the password. RESULT! If you are indeed IK (Internet King)

So, the first two I can deal with. They are annoying but like I said earlier, you get over it. But yesterday IK puts the third plan into practice thus disconnecting me, hunter and fleenface from the internet. Happy IK. Grumpy siblings and guest. IK does not see problem with what he has done. According the the IK that is not selfish. Or annoying. Or anything, in fact, it is quite acceptable. Now, it woudld be if IK paid for the internet but it is not his internet, it is actually paid for by my father and is meant to be for the whole family. You see the problem!? Good.

So, I explain my problem to the IK who still continues to see no problem with what he has done. So I do the childish thing and decide that if I can't connect to the internet then my brother shouldn't be able to either. I hide the router. I had nothing to lose. I didn't have the internet, if I can't have it then he shouldn't either! Yeah, I went there - I took away the internet from the Internet King! Maybe I shouldn't have, maybe I don't have the right but then again, what right does the ginger one have to naming himself the Internet King.

And I wish I hadn't. It all got very silly, there were elastic bands pinged into my face (ouch) shortly followed by angry dinosaurs hitting IK (ouch, to my hand) and some very daft insults and whatnot. Followed by my mother getting moody at me for taking the router - which incidently I hid in the kitchen because I am fully aware that the router is not mine so I didn't put it in my room. I thought it was foolproof but according to my mother MY behaviour was selfish and inconsiderate!

Gah. I gave up. I put the router back and a few hours later IK decided to turn the internet back on. Problem solved. Issue over. Or so I thought.

Internet King is still not talking to me. Or rather he is but he is offering me no more than one word answers or insults. And is being highly unhelpful and quite rude.

I fail to understand how somebody can get so worked up about the internet, so much so that he refused to give my friend a lift home because of "my behaviour the previous day" Internet King does not only like control over the internet but he also apparently feels it is his right to punish me for something which ultimately was not my fault!

So, if anybody has any ideas on how we can overrule the Internet King they would be much appreciated!

I am like every other human being in existence.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

I am sure that some people will insist on telling me that I am a lot more worthy than a great number of others, I often find myself thinking I'm less worthy than the majority of people. But at the end of the day all we are is human, and that is all we can ever be. So please, don't bore me with inspirational crap. It really doesn't interest me. Denial is a wonderful thing. Reality is ugly. But truth is probably one of the most beautiful things one can ever experience. My idea of beauty probably differs from yours. Experiencing things in their truest forms appeals to me more than seeing them on a level in which they are disguised, even if this experience proves to be foul. What does one have to gain from an experience when one is perfectly aware it is a charade?

My issue, however, is this; How does one perceive truth?

I have developed a knowledge of the world which exceeds the amount I wish to know, I never treasured being naive. I now realise how wrong I was to resent such a blessing. I have discovered questions which I never knew existed. I'm yet to discover if the answers are to follow. I occasionally think they will, other times I think they're out of reach.

I guess time will only tell. Meanwhile, my patience and tolerance for my surroundings will only continue to be tested. Maybe I'll cave in one day. Maybe one day somebody will pass me a torch to enable me to see where I'm going. Maybe this torch will be literal, maybe metaphorical. I don't know. I have no answers. I have only questions. And far too many thoughts.

This is a human life. This is all it can ever be. Some people will tell me to make the most out of it. But what can I do when I think I've made too much out of it, already? What can I do when I have somehow managed to overfill it with a nasty combination of knowledge and confusion? What can I do when I have somehow created a mind with cannibalistic, self-destructive desires? There is nothing I can do. After all, I am only human.

Something isn't quite right.

And I can't quite figure out what it is.

Funny five minutes are quite acceptable in life, when indeed they are funny five minutes; lasting for five minutes. Funny five days however, are rather annoying; especially when one has no justification for said strange behaviour or indeed, any idea when said strange behaviour will end.

I want my God damn time machine already!

Shouting random words, repeating "that's what she said!" far too many times and generally being oddd is not cool.

I'm being too weird, even for my standards, which is mighty impressive.

I don't like it.

-sulks-

No medication can cure the lost.

So, my doctor was pretty surprised yesterday when I told him that my super duper fancy meds aren't actually working. I wasn't shocked at all, personally; I gave up long ago on the idea that medication can fix me. I have a knack for developing things with no cure. Hell, I was born with one for starters.

Hah. Nimnar the Incurable - that should so be a title you can earn on WoW.

After asking me, "So, how's life? How's life really? Is it worth living at the moment? Answer me honestly." Followed by my simple response of, "I don't live, I exist" He decided to up my dose AGAIN. What happened to variation people? It's obviously not wokring. Change your approach. Seriously. I know it's not going to work but hell, it might make me feel better if you're actually attempting to do something. But oh no, this drug is amazing bla bla bla, it will help you soon enough bla bla bla. Well, not if I kill myself before it does anything, Bellend.

Jesus, what the fuck happened to the NHS.

In other news, my sunburn is peeling like a bitch, my kitchen smells vile, I have too much work to do, my lecturer is failing to get back to me about said work, but my toilet is clean.

I freaking love my life.

The soundtrack to my life.

Music has always been important in my life. It's one of those things which I can experience to exactly the same extent as everybody else, and I like that, but that's not the point I'm trying to make. There is a piece of music suitable for every ocassion of my life - whether I'm having the best fucking day ever, or if I'm having one of those days when re-splodging the toilet duck thing in my toilet is the highlight of my life.

Anyway. I like music, it's something I rely on a lot, not as much as I used to, but a lot - possibly because it can never disappoint. (I'm not referring to the radio here, merely my own collection of music. Terrible as it is, we get on.) There was a time in my life when music was in fact the most important thing I had, or even the only thing I had. I kind of miss those days.

Sometimes I'd listen to a song and be like, "Yeah, I like that song, it's cool, I wanna learn to play that" and I would. I'd sit down, see if I could figure it out for myself - if I couldn't I'd find it online and piss about until I could play it. There was something incredibly simple and satisfying in it. It was also ridiculously fun, more so considering I was a somewhat moody teenager and got a great amount of pleasure from re-tuning my snare when my parents irritated me. Haha. Oh, to be fourteen again.

When that went to shit I bumped into my Green Day CD's and stayed attached to them for a long, long while - I wont mention anymore on those for I think we all know too much already. Green Day, amongst other bands, provided me with something to do - and indeed became my voice for a good two and a half years until I bumped into my current bunch of friends. Or rather until fleenface bumped into me. Regardless, without music I genuinely would have had nothing (nothing I would have regarded with much importance anyway) between the age of 15 and 17, which I think is kind of scary.

It was a very simple, if not miserable existence; nothing changed, nothing moved on, nothing turned around and slapped me in the face, nothing waited until I turned around and kicked me in the arse. It was simple. And I kind of liked it like that.

Music still does play a crucial part in my life (pun not intended). But when I have my time machine I certainly will enjoy going back to a time when I could play some truly awful things on my shitty drum kit of doom.

Aah. What a lovely, nostalgic post.

In other news I have no fags. I miss fleenface. And my quests on Wow are shite. Overall, I'm not very impressed.

Go then, there are other worlds than these..

I want to find a door, just as Jake did.

And when I find it I don't think I'm coming back; unless there's a dead baby stapled to a chicken..

The last month of my life

has been.. interesting?

I believed I was in love with a man. A boy. My firend. Whatever. For a moment of my life I believed I was in love. I refused. Love does bad things to dinosaurs. It screws us over. It's better kept away. And that's cool with me. Dinosaurs are solitary creatures. Being the last remaining dinosaur allows me to create these facts, and I like that, I can define myself and a whole species all at the same time. It's fun. Anyway, I'm straying from the subject. A few weeks ago, I genuinely believed I had fallen into the trap for the second time in my life. I was terrified. I shared this information with nobody, and attempted to keep it away from myself.

After spending a few days with the guy, after having not seen him in over a year, I realised I was wrong. I was in love with the idea of him. With the idea of not being lonley. With the idea of potentially forgetting my many fucked up issues with personal contact. Maybe even with the idea of falling love again. I had fallen in love with an idea. That certainly is a new one.

Maybe I do want to have somebody to share the rest of my life with. I don't know. All I know is currently the part of me who used to win, still does. The part of me adamant to push people away before they choose to leave is still there. I think it might have even grown. I thought it had shurnk, my bad.

Sorry if you're reding this willosaurus, you make a good dinosaur, if I wasn't one I might have even believed you were one.

I'm too fucked up for relationships, because I want to be. At least that's what I tell myself. I might have even convinced myself.

Roads to Safe Places

Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.

First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.

Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying 'time heals all wounds' is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.

Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.

Patrick Rothfuss is nothing short of a legend.

Literature makes me happy.
Fiction holds truth, just as madness holds salvation.

Everyone has a coping mechanism.

What's yours?

And may I temporarily borrow it until I come up with a new one? Mine kinda left me. Or maybe I left it, who knows. Either way, I'm fucked considering that I currently seem to be reverting back into my sixteen year old self.

Ew.

Anyway, Warcraft is calling.

Once again

the dinosaur's life is not going quite as planned.

I don't know why this surprises me, nothing ever goes to plan but there are limits.

I've always told myself I wont let my shoulder dictate my life, I try and get on with stuff. This seems a bit a daft, I know, but it's how I go about attempting to keep myself sane - or at least feeling sane. Normality would be nice, but it's impossible, so instead I attempt to create the illusion of normality - especially when it comes to those who don't know me.

I don't want people to know the full extent of my nerve condition. It only comes with sympathy or disbelief, and these two things have a nasty habit of making me dissolve into a self pitying mass of ick.

This comes with a problem. Particularly when it comes to my university. I miss lectures, inevitably. Some mornings I cannot get myself out of bed, other mornings I get myself out of bed but am unable to remove my t-shirt which I have been wearing for a prolongued period of time. Some mornings showering is too painful - I refuse to go into university smelling like decomposing human i.e. first year student. I am not a first year. I REFUSE to do it to myself, or indeed those around me.

I have been kicked off my module - due to lack of attendance. My lecturer does not understand my nerve condition because a) I look normal, well, when it comes to my shoulder - I do not look physically fucking disabled, b) he thinks I'm a lazy shite - well, I am a student but that's irrelevant and c) I am not willing to explain to him that I am unable to function like a normal human being because I know full well he wouldn't take me seriously. It sounds fucking made up. And I wish it was.

My lecturer is currently experiencing my very rare dinosaur wrath. I am refusing to allow him to kick me off this module. I have done the fucking work. Nearly. It's so nearly done. My deadline isn't for another six weeks. However, not allowing him to kick me off this module is proving diffucult. I keep emailing the bastard - he is very rude and does not reply. So I email him again. And again. I have emailed my course leader - who isn't quite so rude, but she is very unhelpful. I have demanded a meeting with the guy. BUT. He's not replied. And it will mean I have to get to the theatre - this is something that cannot be planned in advance due to my gashy shoulder. Ironic much.

In conclusion. I am fucked.

That is all.

Facebook groups.

On a whole, annoy the living poop out of me.

Admitedly, the ocassional few make me chuckle, so I can admit to having jonied a few. I believe I am in a group full of members who appreciate dinosaurs, or at least claim to appreciate dinosaurs - that's good enough for me. I am in groups relevant to my current location, I am in a few groups which come with a clever title which holds a nice amount of truth. And yes, I am also in a few groups which are completely fucking pointless but make me giggle nonetheless.

So, where is this going I hear you ask - the answer is this - to those people who feel the need to invite me to every single bloody group they join themselves. It's funny, these people wont have spoken to me in months or years and probably have no idea who I actually am, let alone what the hell interests or amuses me, but still they assume I will want to join a group - they assume I give a shit about stuff which really I don't care about one teensie little bit.

I mean seriously, do I really want to join a group about a University that I don't even go to? Or about a TV programme I didn't know existed? Or even better about a TV programme I wish didn't exist. "I love Dundee" - I've never been, I wouldn't know, therefore I'm not going to join. "Team Edward" - Fuck off, I'm already in an anti-Twilight group - hint? Apparently not. "Facebook Rots my Brain" - No it doesn't! Your stupidity does! Gah.

Another good one, is when you're invited to a group about a terrible event or someting that's happened and people join because they think it's terrible, and the title of the group will be something along the lines of, "Stop TERRIBLE EVENT from happening, by joining this group!" No. Joining that fucking group is pointless. Joining a group changes nothing, except encourages people to sit on their arses all day thinking they're making the world a better place. I might give a shit, I might care somewhat about the terrible thing that's happened, but if I really cared that much I'd get off facebook and go do something about it.

Now, I don't mind the ocassional invite from the ocassional person every now and then because they genuinely think I might want to join a group. That's cool with me. I'll get over your poor judgement, or just laugh and go, "Hah, why the hell would I join a group about that?" but odds are, if you think I'll want to join, I probably will. The key word here people is "think". Please do before inviting me to join a group.

Two people on facebook are the cause of this blog entry. Those two people got a rather snotty email from me this morning. This brought some amusement to my day.

I will always be different

not out of choice, but out of necessity.

It would be naive to believe otherwise.

A well sighted human functions differently to a blind man. A man with an open wound must function differently to a healthy man. Sight I have, but not enough. I have the pain of a wounded human yet no marks to show.

By my next birthday I will have spent twenty years hoping there will be some way of overcoming my poor sight and five years hoping for a cure for my unusual nerve condition.

Is it not time I gave up on such things?

Yes.

And I have, not out of choice but out of necessity. I am bored of "what-if's" and silly little waves of optimism - they achieve nothing, yet still I find myself being re-aquainted with my little friend who names himself Hope but he has left me and in his place Reality has stepped in.

Never will I see. Never will I live a day without physical pain.

I feel like I am sixteen years old again except this time I wont allow a pain consultant to raise my hopes with various drugs and strange ideas. I have just wasted three years of my life living under the impression that trifluoperazine will fix everything.

I am angry, angry at my sixteen year old self for believing such things were possible, angry at my seventeen year old self for allowing that belief to carry on - angrier still that at the age of eighteen and nineteen I still allowed that hope to grow stronger. Why did I get my hopes up? Why for one minute did I believe it would be that easy? Was I really that desperate to find a way of reducing the retarded nature of my nerves that I failed to see it was illogical and stupid? Did it really mean that much to me. Why did I allow my own stupidity and naivety to cover logic and sense?

I do not know, all I know is that I never want it to happen again. The disappointment is too painful. And I can only blame myself. It's about time I grew up.

I thought I was cynical before. Apparently I intend to take cynicism to a whole new level.

FML

Fuck my liver, as in, my liver is fucked.

My answer to this somewhat problematic issue? Drink myself silly on a daily basis so I don't have to admit it to myself whilst sober. Wow. Nice logic there Nim. Well, it works for me.

I wish people would offer their views on it and then shut up. Or just say nothing.

I know you care, and I know you give a shit but that doesn't mean I will openly admit to caring and giving a shit myself. Nor does it mean I will go and make my suggested doctors appointment. If I'm ignoring my doctors advice, odds are I'm going to ignore yours also.

I don't want sympathy, nor do I want words of wisdom on the matter. I would prefer it if everybody joined in with me and my beautiful facade of not caring for it does make things so much easier. I don't care if you consider it to be an unhealthy way of looking at it, but that is how I intend to go about dealing with it so either join me or fuck off.

I can no longer be bothered with people.

And just for the record. Just because I am not taking my meds does not mean I am in no pain. Constant cramp in ones shoulder gets tedious. I am moody, if you don't like it sod off.

I have some vodka waiting for me.

Goodbye, all.

Happy fucking Christmas.

(I pray God it's our my last)