I Have just had an extra-ordinarily bad day

and this leads me to want to say thank you.

One of the things that gets me through the day is DA. Before you feel sorry for me, I am not a nice person, I have to try quite hard to even be an OK persom. But sometimes even vicious vindictive ******* ******** like me have bad days

I fear this year has been mine for this.

I will not list the mistakes i have made this year partly becacuse it would take to long (i would run out of type space) and partly because I really like the people I have had contact with on DA and it seems unfair on them - DA is my light at then end of the tunnel.

so thank you, DA in general, and specifically you that have added me as a Watch (am too tired to find the emocon thingy) because it is you especially that has helped me get through. So Thanks.

Many people know the song: I Love myself I want you to Love me. Mine goes: I hate myself i want you to hate me.

Emo's hate themselves. Goth's hate everyone equally.

It appears that i owe some people an apology. I started out listing all the various incidents in my life starting when i was younger. Due to events in my life now i stopped doing this. I am vaugly shocked that anyone noticed my lapse enough to object but to them i offer apology.

When i left off i had just reached secondry school, i shall pick up from that point.

In an all boys school never, ever, be anything that could look, act, appear or be construde as being different. Young boys, in all probability, will not know the meaning of any of those words but will know how to pumell you into the dust for being any of the above. Added to that if you have the audacity to be better at beating the shite out of them then they are at attempting to do the same to you their innumerable friends will come along and redress their error.

So, in the first years of school what did i learn: the weaknesses and general ground speed of the average 12 year old and that i was rubbish at french. Sometimes I wish someone had just sat me down and told me that, to be honest most 12 year olds don't like it when they get punched, gangs of them should be avoided (for a more eloquent account about avoiding gangs of young people go here; [link]) and the meaning of fils de putain.

it would have saved so much time

when i say a..i mean several...but that is not the point

A short list of the injuries so far would include, a fractured leg, broken arm and a broken skull, and then I went to secondary school

at which point all my injuries became mostly surface level....the only point this was not the case was when I accidentally knocked myself out by falling onto my head (it’s skill....really it is – you try to ‘accidentally’ fall on your head, it’s quite hard). However, after those comparatively blissful 7 years when the worst thing to happen to me was two concussions and a punch in the face I went to uni. Prior to this point alcohol had no influence

that was 5 years ago.

Now it gets....complicated.

of broken arms, broken legs and swords

When people hurt themselves (i am told) usually they atop doing whatever it was that caused them to have an accident. it took me awhile to learn that :S When i was nine i tried to learn how to rollerskate - I totally failed at this. Instead i, through repeatedly falling over, managed to break both bones in my right wrist and move the entire hand two inches to the left the odd, and slightly ridiculos thing about this is that, rather than after falling over a couple of times deciding maybe i should give up on the whole wheels on feet thing i just kept going, or rather kept stopping abuptly and more importantly, i kept falling in the same way! i think young people should all be taught how to fall properly, afterall they usually do it more often than everybody else. of course at the time i thought it was marveolous - no more maths lessons, and they gave me a glow in the dark cast

about 4 months later, my arm mostly better i contrived to be run over by a horse, this is a surprisingly easy thing to do, basically find a hungry horse and then stand between it and it's feed bucket, the final step is to try not to scream as that might scare the horse into running over you again, just in case it makes you shut up. luckily for me, all the horse in question trod on was the back of my left leg fracturing the bone and brusing the muscles (or rather the bit of leg where my mucles whould have been if i had had any, as a nine year old was rather scrawny). Again, as a nine year old i thought this was great because 1) i got a crutch and 2) meant in the school play i could be a pirate (as i already had the dodgy limp down)so was then permitted, nigh on encouraged, to hobble rampage with a wooden sword while shouting incomprehensible, high pitched vagugly piratical threats curses, and basically anything else that popped into my nine-year old mind. Strangly i thought that marvelous, and really liked the horse after that

it's a funny old world

Along time ago.......

Throughout people’s lives, starting at Junior School and carrying on to a lesser degree though the rest of their lives is the question: “what is your first memory?” to further the original plan of this (the many and varied ways I have hurt myself) I do not actually intend to talk about my first memory, instead my third.
My first memory is not wanting to give the headphones back on a plane (Singapore airlines Heathrow to Singapore 1988). My second memory is being stuck in a lift because I was too small to reach the buttons (Singapore 1988). My third memory is cracking open my skull on a door-handle with a jumper rapped round my head (UK 989). There are two things that have always stuck with me from this (excluding the pain factor) the first is seeing my own hand covering in my blood after putting it inside my head . The second is the impression that they stuck my head together with super-glue. I’m fairly sure they used something more sophisticated and medial (although super-glue was invented as a method of stopping bleeding in wounded soldiers in Vietnam [or so I am told])
The odd thing about these memories is that what I remember is not the pain, or how it affected me, it is how my parents reacted. I have come across a lot of people with abandonment issues etc. From situations similar to the first (being left in a lift) but other than the battered knees of the pair of blue work trousers worn by the man who returned me. The main thing remember is the happiness in my mother’s face when she got me back – that and being smothered by her as she tried to hug me to death. And my second memory ended with my dad driving me to hospital because i had hurt myself...to be fair in hindsight I would have preferred it if he had called an ambulance but, although I hate the phase and mock it a lot.....sometime the thought really does count.