Stuck at a Crossroad

It’s Christmas, and I’m home. Is everything perfect? Like hell is it. The last couple of months have been real tough. I turned 21. I got to the end of a two month long battle with my landlords and won. I had a several deadlines, one of which I had to get extended. I have two phones, both of which broke. I’ve had relationship troubles- my relationship has been pretty non existent. I’ve had ongoing worries about the health and relationships within my family. My face has been covered in spots, my scalp dried itself out, I’ve been tired, I’ve been hungry. I’ve had career issues. Pretty much everything that could go wrong has, and it’s slowly working itself out. But it’s Christmas and despite coming home, these things haven’t disappeared. My biggest problem right now is my relationship. The second is my family but right now, I need to wait for more information on that front.

The problem is that I’m in love.  Or that I love.  To love, is complicated. It first of all implies that it is reciprocated. But then, does it? You can love your dinner, but the dinner doesn’t need to love you back for the love to exist. So then, perhaps love is just an unconditional feeling instead, which would make more sense. You don’t require anything for that person, just their existence brings you a certain amount of pleasure. Which would make more sense, but relationships are maintained upon equality, or rather equity. They require more than just love, they require effort, commitment, loyalty, communication, intimacy and affection. They break down when any of these things are missing.

So, I’m at a cross road.  Mental illness is robbing me of the things I need, these things being the basic glue of any decent relationship. It would be foolish for me to think that an illness, invisible or not, cannot overpower a person. I’ve seen it, I’ve felt it. But, can the person overcome it if they want it badly enough? Can that alone fight it? I don’t know.  It seems fitting that the song below should be playing as I write this. I’ve not heard this before but it feels about right. This deliberating seems dangerous for my health and happiness and yet I can’t forget about it. I don’t want to.

The cross road is a hard one. There are two roads, relationship and no relationship. Both could be positive or negative. How does someone decide whether what they’re fighting for is enough? If it’s worth it?

Turning 21

Over the summer, I’d heard peoples plans for their 21 birthday. One girl’s family were taking her abroad, another girls family were buying her a car, ect. ect. Over the summer, I guess my idea on what turning 21 was like, was, in the end, highly inflated. This being the last ‘big’ celebration I’d have until I’m 30. The first big celebration out of my teens. In the states, you’re officially an adult. Here, you’re celebrating three years of surviving as an adult. I had high hopes of holidays and elaborate surprise parties and a meal the size of a banquet. What actually happened was much smaller and much more quiet. It wasn’t awful and it wasn’t really amazing either. It was a calm, content medium. There was some excitement but that was soon snubbed out. Like mot nights out these days, I ended my birthday with my mum and a quiet gratefulness that she will always be there.

Sure, no one had made any plans and I ended up planning my birthday on my birthday and by the time I get the big three-oh, I will only remember that day for getting my first piercings, but it could have been worse. Things can always be worse. One thing that overwhelmed me on my birthday was the idea that the day would be so mediocre, and my imagination had been really let wild, that I would disappoint myself purely on the basis that I had let others convince me that a 21st birthday was supposed to be a grand and special event. It wasn’t really either for me. It was a time for coming home and panicking because between September and December, that was my only break from Falmouth. That was the only time I’d get to see my family and friends, regardless of the fact that I do the chasing.

I woke up to my fiance. I finally, in my old age, got my ears pierced (because apparently piercings are the norm), I saw my family, ate Chinese and had a mate buy me a shot of tequila, ending the night with my fiances best friend saving mine and my mothers asses by driving us both home. It didn’t last long; it ended too soon. And there were tears, and hard decisions. Should I talk about it? Probably. Will I? Possibly . Will I share this for everyone to read? Nope. I know everyone, in their own way tried. Do I want to make a point about the disappointment and frustration I felt on the day, leading up to it, and afterwards? No. Literally just writing for therapy here.

I guess, if these was a tale, there would be a moral and the moral I guess would be along the lines of: Never expect anything, from anyone. If you want something, go get it yourself, but don’t rely on others for your happiness. People are messy creature, unorganised. They’ll never behave in the way you want. Hoping for it to happen,  and staying quiet out of politeness, is futile. If there’s something you want to happen, organise it yourself. Don’t listen to what others have got going on in their lives. Jealousy isn’t going to help and expecting the same will only lead to your being disappointed. If you begin feeling pessimistic from the beginning then maybe you’ll end up pleasantly surprised instead of starting off majorly optimistic and ending bitterly disappointed; not at one particular person, but at yourself.

I’m done here.

Day 1: Cracking Up

I feel stressed. Really fucking stressed. Or rather, distressed. Very distressed. The thought of finding time is always distressing. I can’t function against time. Days aren’t long enough and I’m always tired. I’m tired now as I hurriedly type out this blimin’ paragraph of who knows what. I’m trying to get uni work done, despite having little motivation to do so. The thought of writing something is not even a shadow in my mind. The thought of reading is more objectifiable, but only of Armadale. All my other reading looks relatively dull. Then there’s the pressure that I feel from everyone to get a job, so I decided to go off of my own innovative and become an Avon representative. I’m excited and confident. However, I’m still getting put down for it. As usual, I hear the words: Nothing I ever do is good enough. There are still people trying to push me towards other jobs for the summer. There are still people trying to push me for an answer about what I want to do with my life. I’m lost. I’m always fucking lost. That’s nothing new to me. Then there’s the fact that I’ve been home for nearly three weeks. I have done vary little worth remembering.

I was repeatedly disappointed with the amount of time I got to spend doing things with George. I’m disappointed with how little I saw of my family. I’m disappointed with how little work I have done. However, it’s still a considerable amount more than last Easter, I believe. Although, anything was more than last Easter but I believe I did next to nothing. My nerves are shot and some days I just lie awake hoping for some kind of death to take me. And last night I looked like an absolute idiot, bursting out into tears when George and I were supposed to be going to sleep because of how awful I felt during the day. Feeling like I have no skill, no purpose in this life is awful. I feel absolutely fucking worthless. I don’t want to be a waster. I don’t want my life to be a baron one with nothing worth mentioning in it. George was lovely and comforted me, but even he has prospects. He knows where he wants to go and he’s useful. He’ll earn lots of money and he’ll do what makes him happy, even if I don’t and can’t understand it. He says I’m still learning my trade but no one believes I can do it, no one but him. Or at least I hope he does. I mean, I can’t ever be certain of anything. I’m not a mind reader. I often think that I’m empathetic but I can’t even be sure of my own beliefs. I’m so used to being shot down that I have no confidence in myself and what I can do. ‘Heads in the clouds’, ‘chasing the butterflies and faeries’, I get told. So the moment I come up with ‘real’ suggestions, I get shut down for not having higher hopes. I can’t fucking win in this piece of shit we call life.

I’ve been doing so well. I’ve been happy. I got out with my friends, despite the hideous specimen they still choose to associate themselves with. I still hate her. I hated her two years ago. And I’ll hate her for twenty more. The last thing I need in my life, with all this stress, is a spiteful bitch thinking she claims the time to ‘best friend of the year’. She’s no one’s friend, she’s an asshole. And then she complains and wonders why she has no friends, which in itself is a lie because for some reason, people still invite her out, even though she doesn’t deserve the kindness. George is so supportive of me, bless him. I would have gladly not have gone out and told her to go choke on a dick.

I want to make a difference. I don’t want my suffering to be for nothing. I don’t know how to help though and I don’t even know whom I want to help. I only know that I want to write. I don’t know what to write though. Not when the people that mean the most to mean can’t even be bothered to read my shit. I just don’t understand where I’m meant to get this sudden confidence from. Everyone seems to expect me to, well, I don’t even know what people expect. They expect me not to fail and have pride in myself, but they don’t expect me to do anything notable. They don’t think I can reach the stars. When people are constantly picking faults, how do you look beyond them? I grew up being told from the get go, that I couldn’t sing and would never get to perform like in my dreams. I was told dreaming was bad and that I wouldn’t get further than emptying bins in school by a teacher. An English teacher, funny enough. If I ever become a teacher, I’d encourage it. Maybe when they become an adult, they wouldn’t feel as depressed as I do. Maybe they would feel as though they were actually meant to be on this planet. I was told that I was fat. I was told that I was clumsy. I was told that hurt people. I was told I was too soft. Too emotional. I was told that I was too tall. I was told that I had no friends. I was told that I was ugly. Many times, actually. I was told that I have no common sense. That I can’t think properly. I’ve been told that a person rarely grows beyond their family circumstances. I refused to believe that. I try to refuse to believe a lot of these things and sometimes I win. Today, I am losing.

My head is swimming. I don’t want to go back to Falmouth, although I know I need to. I’ve spent the last three weeks wishing I could go back. I find coming home too stressful. I find being at university too stressful. I find being alive too stressful.

As a kid I was told that I had nothing to stress about. That I was just being silly. I was told this as a teenager too. And now, as an adult, I am still being silly. I’ll probably die of old age and silliness.  You hear of this kind of silliness causing heart attacks but they don’t call it silliness then. They call is stress. But they only call it stress, usually, when you get older. As a child, or a young person, it’s just silliness. However, no matter what age I get to, or was, I could always produce a long list of all the things that I am, or was, stressed about. I never expected someone so unlike myself to understand the stressors. How could they? They aren’t me and they don’t live my life. More often than not, they barely even listen to what it is that is trying to strangle me and most often than not, I can’t produces the sounds to describe it.

I feel a bit better now that I have spouted out all of this nonsense. I should probably see a counsellor again when I get back. It doesn’t so me any favours to have it all locked up in my head, preparing my brain for an explosion. I’m undecided about whether I will post this. It feels far too personal to post to my blog but at the same time people don’t know about your troubles if you don’t talk about them and people won’t talk to you if they don’t know your troubles and you won’t feel better until you have talked so it looks as though that’s my only option. I do think logically, or at least I try to. If you read this, for whatever reason… I don’t even know how to end this. I don’t even know whom I am writing to anymore. Myself, or the hopeless fool that lands their eyes on this page.

Writing for Happiness

Right now,  I’m feeling pretty bloody miserable. As many of ny usual readers may know, this is nothing new in my life. Ever since I was a child, I went through these motions: of sadness, frustration,  distant obliviousness. I’ve felt these things at every awful thing that I’ve seen,  heard and be involved in. Unfortunately,  the fictional often gets confused with reality because I’ve been there. I don’t like to think about it, but I’ve been there. That’s hard for many to understand because they don’t know. I’m jealous of those that have never had to witness the true evil this world has to offer, and no, I’m not referring to the woman that just cut you up on the roundabout or the young man next door that blasts his music up loudly at stupid hours. Real evil.

I recently watched 10 Cloverfield Lane. Hated the first one; thought it was lame. The new one had me quivering and left me shaken for hours after because there are monsters like that in the world. The worst horror movies are the ones based on true life or could pass off as reality. The character of Howard could be your relative, a family friend,  your neighbour. He could be the guy that delivers your pizza. It may seem ridiculous but I’m afraid of men because in my life, women have been my protectors, my comfort and men have been a weapon in so many different ways. Why would anyone want to watch something bad they relate to for entertainment? Why would they choose to be reminded of when moment X actually happened to them?

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I just feel crap and whenever I feel crap, I write. From the age of 10, I wrote to escape my crappy home life. At 15, I wrote to escape my parents crappy divorce. And since then I’ve just wanted to escape this world in general. This isn’t one of those. This is confrontation,  not escapism. Both are apparently meant to work.  I don’t feel any lift though.

I Don’t Know

I really don’t know what I fancy writing about today. I feel like I’ve written about the big issues that I wanted to write about. I don’t fancy dressing up today. None of my article suggestions really match my mood and if I’m totally honest, I feel a bit down heartened by the quickly dropping numbers in my readership. I go back to university this week and while part of me is ecstatic to go back and move into my new home, part of me is also dreading it, again because of how nervous goodbyes make me. I’d feel even worse though if I didn’t get the chance to. So, I’m in limbo. I’ve got lots of different things and projects to do but, I don’t know. Do you ever feel like procrastinating your procrastination? You get so confused over what you want to do and what you could do that you end up doing nothing at all. Just little bits here and there to keep your blood circulating and to stop your limbs going numb. That’s how I feel right now. Could do with a really good motivational boost, to get morale going.

I mean, really, what do you want to read about? What kind of topics and subjects would draw you in? How does one create a loyal readership? From what I’m beginning to understand, it’s all about timing and luck, really. People are more willing to read at a certain time of day, and some subjects are more important in certain moments that others. As for luck, writing is all a game of roulette, and if I’m completely honest I’ve never been particularly good at the game. Any game involving chance never swings my way. It’s like I was created from bad luck.

Actually, that’s a little bit of a lie. I did get lucky when I met my George. Luck was on my side that night. I’d organised a meal for forty of my school and college friends as I was going away and I didn’t expect any of my friends to organise any get-togethers themselves, so I bought it upon myself to do it. Trying to organise that many people was ridiculous and I really wouldn’t recommend it unless it’s totally necessary. I won’t go into all the details off that night, unless requested but a friend bought her ex and his best friend. Some how the ex’s best friend took a shining to me and was unspoiled by how awful I looked in the club after the meal, half way through the night. Looking at the pictures, I still have no idea what he saw, or thought. I barely gave him a sideways glance. I barely got attention on nights out, or ever, and I had accepted that. I didn’t expect George to actually add my on Facebook and ask to meet up a week or so later. Luck had to have been on my side.

Going to keep this one short today in the hope that it might encourage people, and that it’s the length of my articles that is scaring people away. Give me a message on one of the social media platforms if you have questions to be answered, opinions to share or topics to discuss. I’m pretty open to suggestions. Thanks for reading guys, see you soon x

Hello World!

Hi, I’m Sami Wiltshire, the ‘i’ is silent but people still seem to pronounce it. I’ve decided to start blogging because I want to start making Youtube videos but I’m not sure I’m at that level of confidence yet, which probably seems really silly because this is the internet and no one seems to care what they post online. So, I’m going to start off slow and start writing about things I think about while I hope, with my fingers are crossed, that people will actually like what I write and want to read more. You’ve probably guessed by this introduction that I’m a little bit timid. This has come about by years of being told that I’m not good enough. Not as good as my peers, not as good as I think I am, not as good as I should be. However, for what I want in my future, I need to get passed what others think and I need to change how I think. I’ve let people influence my opinion of myself for far too long, and it’s caused so many anxieties, and worries, and doubts in myself, that I will probably write about that quite a bit in the near future.

I was sat in the car with my boyfriend the other day singing as he was breaking speed and my stomach dropped quite suddenly and I though I was going to be sick. That was when I realised what my anxiety was. It’s riding a bike and feeling free until you see an upcoming obstacle in the way. You want to carry on riding and pretend it doesn’t exist, but it does and if you don’t stop, it’s going to hurt you. You think about it more and more but it’s too late now. You’re going to fall. I’ve felt like this my whole life, but I thought it was normal. It was just me. I know it’s ok to be afraid, but I also know that it’s very silly to be afraid of everything and let it hold you back from what you want. This is me not letting it hold me back. Piece by piece, I’m claiming myself back from the ruins that everyone else helped to create.

I’m going to apologise now, my dears because I realise this is an awfully long introduction, and a very deep introduction but in this blog, I want to get deep with you. I want to connect and I want to be able to reach out to those who can relate to at least one thing I write about. I’m 19 and a student living away from home. Home to me means so many different things now. God, I feel like I’m about to write my memoirs. Reign it in, Wiltshire, reign it in. I’m a witch and have been for about 5 years now. I’m a solitary eclectic Wiccan, for anyone that knows the terms but for the past few years, I’ve felt out-of-touch with my faith and I know that when I start practising again, it’ll do me the world of good.

I’m going to cut the introduction there. All my links are on this site, so feel free to have a little nosy around my work and feel free to get in touch. I apologise if this has been really boring or depressing or any of that jazz. I just want to keep it real with you. See you around!