wildseven

Now, *cracks knuckles in a frighteningly arrogant fashion*, let's give this another shot. Things have been happening. A lot of things. And to me. Where did I last leave off... Hmmm... I'm not sure, and I couldn't be arsed to read my own blog again. Plus, I think it's easier to just rethink everything from the base level. If that makes any sense. Where the fuck do I start... For a long time, my plans have been to visit England, of my own accord, to finally break out and establish a modicum of personal independence. Originally, I had intended to visit London, and, if I could work up the nerve, to possibly meet some new people who I could call friend. I've been to England, and now I'm back again! Over the past few months, I haven't faired very well. Needless to say, the offending medications didn't cease their interference as promptly as I would have hoped. Like Alice falling into the rabbit hole, except instead of Alice it's me and instead of a rabbit hole it's a (we don't have them over here, so I'll use the American terminology) garbage disposal. I shall say no more, other than that, for I hope to defeat my own reputation as a spurious rambler. I've maintained contact with a few people, through various alternative means, as the internet became a source of great turmoil for me. I focused heavily on writing letters, and with one friend, who I met almost a year ago, we both have habits of sending ridiculously huge ones, sometimes taking months to write. Mostly, this is for cathartic purposes, so, in that way, writing them can sometimes dredge up dark things that would otherwise have remained hidden. During the writing of this particular letter, a lot of issues from both child and early adulthood came to light, and the letter evolved into a tome, the likes of which could never be repeated, haha.When this letter was finally sent, and later received, the nature of my trip to England shifted gear. I established my plans to visit England in April, set to stay in Harrow for 8 days in mid-July, but the angle of approach had now changed. While I was setting this up, my ideas shifted considerably as to the nature of my trip. With a change in my thought patterns, the agorophobic leanings I have multiplied, and I deemed the original trip an impossible absurdity. It changed, and now the emphasis was on one person, well, technically two, instead of my naive ideas of becoming the social dynamo I've never been. And, it just so happens, that the friend to whom my oh-so-personal correspondence was delivered also lived in Northwest London. The two months leading up to the trip were torture. A haze of anticipation, fear and various other ups and downs. When the 13th of July came around, I wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be on the day. Had to get up at half six, but I still kept a level head, and for the first time ever... I wasn't nervous. I should have been. Heading to another country to spend time with someone I'd sent letters to, spoken with through MSN and, later, by phone. The big event was the following day, after one day to get used to my new surroundings. Though the journey over was easy enough, the finality of the meetup hit me like a tabasco enema. That night was hell. When it comes to nerves, the worst thing is to be by yourself, with the full arsenal of self doubt and imagination. But I went through with it. I came back on the 21st after the greatest week of my life, the majority of which shan't be revealed. And when I came back, I no longer had a friend, but a girlfriend. Who I spent every day in England with. And I mean every day. Sometimes up to twelve hours at a time. It gradually evolved over the course of my stay. In each other's company we started holding hands as a mere friendly gesture. And on my 5th day there I shared a first kiss with the most beautiful woman in existence. And several more subsequent ones before I returned home again. Okay... first thing. Despite what the traditional male stereotype might lead you to believe, sex has never been a real priority for me. Yes, it did lead the charge on a good bit of my depression, but as an actual thing, I've never really sought it out. Yeah, okay, that sounds a bit confusing, but I think it makes sense... While sex, or lack thereof, was a huge factor in my darker moods, the thought of it was far too immense to consider a real possibility. For a whole host of complicated reasons that I'm not even sure of. And now, would you believe, I, the self-proclaimed crankiest, most-jealous bastard in all existence... has a girlfriend. I said ages ago that if I ever achieved happiness, I wouldn't flaunt it, so I won't. I will, however, explain a bit about her. I met her on this here site! I met my girlfriend on a fucking porn site. A tale for the ages, to be sure. I didn't really want to embarrass her, but, fuck it, she's English (obviously), she's a huge fan of my exact types of music, even down to individual bands and albums. She has ridiculously long hair; I love long hair. She's covered in tattoos; I love tattoos. And, the best of all, she takes charge (in every aspect). I have a thing for powerful women, so she even fits that bill too! If I don't want to go out, if I'm nervous or panicking over anything, she'll fucking make me do it. She gives me the kick in the backside that I sorely need, when I need it. She made me follow her into an old hospital when normally I'd never have gone. She has this unique thing of making me want to do things. The antidote to my inclinations of staying in my room. And did I mention? She's fucking gorgeous too. Small and dainty, but fucking strong (hehe), with a thing for purple and a brain just as devious as my own. Her brain works the same as mine. Separately, we've both come to conclusions and deduced things that are identical. Her brain is fucking gorgeous too, is essentially what I'm saying. It's very hard to try and explain it... We went on the London Eye together and held hands while wondering what would happen if there was a natural disaster, or if a boat sank (I pointed out the bridge from 28 Days Later). She's perfect, in a manner of speaking. But. There's always a fucking but, isn't there. Here's the kicker. You didn't think all this came without a catch, did you? I have to wait an entire year before seeing her again. An entire fucking year. Until she finishes her degree. Leaving her on that last day was nearly impossible. The most difficult fucking thing I've ever done. One last, probably socially unsuitable, kiss and she left. I'm counting the days until next June, when I visit her again. So, in a way, it's both a good and a bad thing. Two sides of the kharmic coin. I've now read Flowers for Algernon, so I can make this analogy. I was in the dark until that 8 day trip. During it, the sun burst through the clouds and the whole world was bathed in light, an otherwise mundane existence brightened with a supernovic flash. And I'm back in the dark once more. But it's not as dark. There's a tiny, nearly imperceptible light illuminating the entire world, and it's gradually increasing as the next trip comes closer. Tiny, little steps until she brightens me again. And, the most important thing. She feels the exact same way. As much as I'll miss her, she'll miss me. It's not something I've read too far into and woven an intricate tapestry around, she feels the same way. While under her wing, I got myself my first tattoo. I wanted it the entire time, but only with her resolve did I manage to go through with it. It looks twice as brilliant as I hoped it would. And with far less pain that I feared. She's the Bruce Campbell to my Evil Dead. Essential, needed, fucked up and willing to hack the limbs off people for entertainment... Wait......

Alright, I wussed out and am writing this almost two weeks after that bit, hehe. Which happens ridiculously often... The wait might not be until next June, so here's hoping that January's open I think I'll post this tomorrow... Nah, fuck it, I'll do it now.