storiesfromamess

[storiesfromamess]

Getting with (too many?) girls

I’ve returned to uni TOTALLY single. Now, arguably last term I was just as single but in reality there was SOMEONE I was seeing, that I kept seeing and kept shagging and kept building up this inexplicable connection whilst I definitely wasn’t supposed to be falling in love... and now we have the aftermath. Now I am rather unsure of how I feel, I just know I think about this girl far too much and it is greatly interfering with my existence. Of course, I have attempted to find a solution to this problem, multiple solutions in fact, solutions in the form of REBOUNDS... lots of them. 

Now, I’m still a little baby dyke and unsure whether I have it in me to have casual sex, so I haven’t been sleeping around as such but what I have been doing is getting with girls, getting with lots of them; here is a brief rundown of the girls I have got with this term:

1. A girl from my English lectures on whom I’ve been crushing since the beginning of the year, I even invited her out for coffee but it turned out to have a more friendly vibe to it

2. A third year maths student who I dubiously abandoned to go get pizza with my ex... uh oh

3. A girl who I’ve bumped into twice now and decided to get with 

4. A girl from the Canary Islands 

5. A girl from Chicago who got my number but never used it and proceeded to neglect my friend request on facebook 

6. A girl with whom my ex has slept! I met her whilst very drunk using the opening line of ‘I THINK WE’VE SLEPT WITH THE SAME PERSON’. For some reason, this seemed to charm her and we ended getting off that week AND the next week when I saw her again and maintained ambiguous eye contact... is this inappropriately incestuous? I’m not sure...

7. A girl with pink hair 

An eclectic range of women yes. The trouble is that I go to a reasonably small university which is attended by approximately 3 lesbians so I should probably be careful that I don’t end the year having waded my way through ALL of them. Furthermore, all this ‘getting with’ has done nothing to fill the void which has been left by the absence of my sort-of-ex in my life. I still feel myself magnetically drawn to her when sloshed enough which is rather unproductive. I think I might be more of a monogamy gal than I like to think. I’m not sure I could bring myself to sex with anyone unless we had enough of a connection. It’s inconvenient but I’ll get by and see how the future proceeds, the love of my life could be just around the corner...

Pff, not bloody likely

[storiesfromamess]

Losing one’s virginity

I am very swiftly approaching the end of my first term of university. It’s been an intense few weeks. I believe I have adequately thrusted myself into all required areas of the uni experience; I have excessively drank, stayed fashionably absent from the odd seminar, neglected many readings, eaten pot noodles for lunch four days in a row, had some wistful romantic turmoil AND lost my virginity. 

The latter one is the one I shall be dwelling on today. Yes, your gal is no longer a virgin... except she totally is if you’re gonna be Biblical about it. No, my cherry has not been popped and my poor sheath has not been penetrated by a big fat sword, my maidenhead is still pretty in tact. Because I did not have sex with a penis; I had sex with a hot communist lesbian!

Sounds like the stuff of fiction doesn’t it? Well, it was. I met her about a month and a half ago through a friend and when she decided to pull me at this club I was perplexed. We made out a lot, in many locations and I even brought her back to my college. In my university, some of us have roommates in our first year; quite unfortunately, the both of us had a roommate so we were left to fumble about in the bathroom adjacent to my room. 

Our idiosyncratic partnership proceeded from there with an innocent meet up for coffee two days later; the sexual chemistry was still rife despite the sobriety. We first tried to have sex on halloween night. She had been dressed as slutty Karl Marx equipped with fishnets, a fake beard and a lavishly large communist flag wrapped around her (yes, I was the little baby dyke getting off with slutty Karl Marx in a club on Halloween). We got backed to her room in a fairly inebriated state but I felt ready to do the deed. Most unfortunately, we were caught in media res by her unsuspecting roommate, meaning that I had to hurtle myself off her bed like a flying fucking fox. Her roommate didn’t see anything, I’m just proper stealthy. 

So the night of the actual first time came a couple of weeks later. My roommate was out on a date with a lad she had just started courting who was the head of the CU of another college. I fully exploited her absence for very non-Christian activity. I invited the girl round and we did it. It was nice and tender; I felt safe and cared for, and when we lay naked in bed afterwards I felt at peace. I was far from in love, but I still felt some sort of connection, which made it all an extremely positive experience. 

We went on to have not just a second but also a third time before ‘breaking it off’. I still ponder in confusion about what it was that we broke off; it was far from a relationship but seemed somehow more than a frivolous friends with benefits situation. She feels like a friend, but like I’m her subordinate. I was always her bitch and I liked that dynamic. I was always there to be summoned by her on a night out, to buy her a subway when she felt sick, I was a little fucking idiot. 

I talk about this like it’s in total retrospect, but it was actually only last week that we last hooked up. We weren’t strictly allowed to be hooking up this time because we’d already ‘broken it off’, but the drunken bewilderment and emotional fragility of the night led us to each other. In a turn of events that seemed to proceed out of our control, we had bought pizza, walked back to her room and were innocently munching at it on her bed... just not for long. Well, unhealthy lesbian hookups are pretty iconic when they don’t have wildly catastrophic repercussions, c’est la vie. 

Alors, I am no longer a virgin. I relish that fact, maybe a little too much. I am just a little fool conditioned by the patriarchy to base my self worth of being fucked... well at least it’s not by men this time. I am excited to see where my sexual potential leads me and feel grateful to have had this enlightening odyssey of self discovery in my first term of university. 

[storiesfromamess]

I over-communicate and feel too much

I am a chronic communicator. When I have a feeling inside of me I am unable too keep it inside of me, I MUST set it free; whether that be through verbal communication to an unfortunate friend or written communication to my trusty diary; it’s terribly obsessive and horrifically compulsive! 

This propensity of mine can be brilliant. It’s what fuels my passion of writing and my passion of writing is what makes me WHO I AM! I know, it sounds horrifically corny: I sound like a disgustingly pretentious, ruthlessly narcissistic wannabe writer in their late adolescence because YES, that’s EXACTLY what I am; but I’ve decided to embrace such an identity. I decided not to ignore that itch in my fingers that wills me to pick up a pen whenever I experience any sort of non-neutral emotion, and because of that I feel ALIVE. I write flamboyant poetry, idiosyncratic songs, hyperbolically ironic journal entries, attempted aphorisms, the occasional spot of failed fiction. Objectively, I have absolutely no idea where its merit lies, likely in the gutter along with all the other foolish children who dream of seeing books on shelves on which lie their name; but that doesn’t matter because I love it, you see. I adore all my creations unconditionally; they might be abominable, humiliating or completely reprehensible but unlike Frankenstein, I know it is my duty to nourish them like a mother!

The problematic aspect of my incurable inclination comes in relation to other people. Most often in a dysfunctional romantic context, I have been widely known to ‘over-communicate and feel too much’ (expressed with the wise words of Hayley Kiyoko) thus causing the object of my affections much distress as they are bombarded with verbal splurges of my sticky turmoil. When something goes wrong, I want to talk the FUCK out of it. A significant case study demonstrating this comes in the form of my break up last year. My ex-boyfriend was the exact opposite of me; he relished the suppression of one’s feelings and wished to end our relationships in as few words as possible (in fact, it took him but one word to end it as I called him up and inquired whether he was breaking up with me, to which he replied a furtive ‘yes’). Well, my communicative self simply couldn’t stand that, I needed to TALK and I needed to do it a lot. I could not fathom the notion of ‘space’, I would not be satisfied until a metaphysical dissertation was composed analysing each problem of our relationship and thus rationally concluding that there was absolutely no option to end it. To this day, despite having long disposed of any residue feelings for my ex, I still dream of us having a visceral Dawson’s Creek-esque discussion about the tragedy of our relationship. How utterly absurd the whole situation was; both enlightening and hysterical. It would satisfy my soul somehow; it would set my fruitless ponderings free. 

Alas, my wish shall likely never be granted and I do need to learn how to reach a healthy middle ground when it comes to communication. Learn to leave some things internal so as not to invade the lives of other people with my words. I suppose written communication, such as this, causes no harm. I, of course, have no audience to whom I can even cause harm! This fruitless blog is my therapy, my saviour from insanity and I will love it, forever and always. 

[storiesfromamess]

Brief tales of quotidian existence

It’s the Easter hols!!! I’ve had a fairly agreeable break so far, despite the fact I’ve had the unfulfilled duty to study looming over me the whole time, I shall encounter such obstacles as THAT next week. Anyway, in this mere insignificant two weeks I’ve had an eclectic mixture of mildly iconic experiences which I shall now impart, I love nothing more than a LIST:

- Had a lil reunion with some people from my old school and was ruthlessly grilled about my ‘exes’ (aka ANYONE who was a victim of my vague affections from the ages of 13-16, many of these are referenced earlier on this blog). It was nostalgic and refreshing

-Travelled all the way to Cardiff for a family gath on my Dad’s side, you could vaguely feel a sense of the underlying beef between two of my uncles but for the most part it was pretty functional

-Discovered the wonders of Hayley Kiyoko!! Nothing more iconic than lesbian music artists I swear, it's always exciting when I’m able to expand my exploration the glorious ocean of lesbian culture!

-Visited my old school for a concert, encountered my old music teacher on whom I used to have a massive crush; tragically, she is now married, to a MAN. Women... HONESTLY!

-Played my first game of Dungeons and Dragons: I adored the role play aspect, however I feel as if my character become too infiltrated by my own personality, I get carried away, you see. 

-Saw my (best) friend, the one I hooked up with on my bed when we’d had that bottle of wine. I was planning to be spontaneous this time, but that prospect was too challenging, instead I brought it up in verbal communication. Unfortunately, by the time we decided to re-ignite the fire (so to speak), we had only about 30 seconds left until I had to go home. I got some brief action, but it was FAR too brief. 

-Had another lil reunion with some even older friends from Junior school. One of them is now this really ‘cool’ gal who fucks loads of boys and does loads of drugs so she was telling me about all the acid trips she’d been on and how it changes your life and means you actually understand Beatles lyrics. She also recommended me this feminist porn website... 

-So, yes, this holiday, I lost my ocular virginity and indulged in some free range lesbian porn! I had some mixed feelings towards it; I found it more humorous than arousing, I’m starting to think that I’m not quite as sexually liberated as I once supposed. I feel like if I were I’d be able to handle a close-up of a vagina better... alas!

- Saw the film ‘Us’! It was the first good horror film I’ve seen in a while; absolutely INSANE the whole way through and Lupita Nyong’o is super hot. 

- Did a whole eight hour shift at work; it was EXHAUSTING but not as hellish as I thought it might be, I’ve become somewhat of a domestic Goddess now I have to clean the toilet and mop the floors so much, perhaps I shall be able to find a husband!

- Went to my first protest in London. It was a climate change strike one, but it was overwhelmingly orientated towards socialism so I fit right it; so many edgy gay socialists about! I relished the feeling of marching through London streets, chanting; the civilians on the pavements watching us like a spectacle and filming us with their phones. I also picked up some anarchist literature and have found their ideas somewhat enlightening, perhaps I shall now become a political lesbian!

Last Easter holiday, I was still recovering from my break up and I vividly remember being a TOTAL mess. Honestly, I have some harrowing memories (or lack thereof) of drunkenly wailing and having to be escorted home by my gracious friend on account of my intoxication. I’m not REALLY that much of a mess now! I mean, I’m still sorta in love with my friend (I bumped into her without warning yesterday in London, I had NO time to prepare myself for a functional interaction) and a couple of my friendships have been a little shaky but overall, I’m alright, yay! However, I now do the studying I have been so enthusiastically neglecting for the past couple of weeks or I shall fail my A Levels and be awfully sad. 

[storiesfromamess]

LABELZZZ

I’ve been obsessed with labelling my sexuality since I was 14. Picture me, a wee baby dyke who had just kissed a girl for the first time, lying on my bed wistfully listening to ‘Lovefool’ by the Cardigans, wondering why the hell my pants were so goddamn wet. It was an explosive occasion. ‘I’M A LESBIAN!!!!’ I thought and my lips curled into a smug grin; ‘I’m a homosexual, a dyke, a sapphist, a RUG-MUNCHER...’ I was ready to buy surplus flannel shirts, adorn an array of different coloured beanies and violently throw myself into the glorious ocean of lesbian culture... but I would soon find out my sexuality was not that simple. 

For once I had fallen out of love with this girl, my eyes once again drifted in the more masculine direction. I gained a burning curiosity for DICK. By 16, I had a boyfriend and I was figuratively in love. I warned him about my bisexual tendencies, which he certainly saw as a threat, but they never interfered too much. Fuck... what if I’m STRAIGHT? I thought. What if my wet panties after that time I kissed a girl were a fluke!? What if I’m just like everyone else?! It was an alarming notion, but I was too busy nursing my broken heart to think about girls after he dumped me, it seemed as if my Sapphic tendencies were PERHAPS a phase after all...

Ahahahahaa, not for long! A few months later (which brings us to recent times) I found myself once again down the lesbian rabbit hole with a passionate crush on my (female) friend. Oh my gosh, I love her, you know. She cruelly thieves me of my ability to be eloquent because she is so perfect. She makes me feel how I felt when I was 14 and lying on my bed with the wet panties. Like a DYKE. I’m the type of person who becomes disgustingly consumed by every crush I have. I’m a Romantic, you see, it's engrained into my soul. Anyhow, I believe that the reason my identity fluctuates in regards to sexuality is that, when I fall in love, I get SO obsessed that I utterly fixate on that one person, and thus that one gender, and forget that any other gender can be just as endearing. 

If I were REALLY to label myself, I am undoubtedly bisexual, in that I have the potential to fall in love with boys and girls and anything in between. My complex relationship with labels comes in the fact that my place upon Kinsey’s spectrum slips and slides is an unruly fashion based upon where my heart decides to lead me. We don’t REALLY need these labels, but they are nevertheless comforting, clarity is comforting, therefore I will gladly accept the label bisexual, for that is simply what I am!

[storiesfromamess]

Tipping the velvet

It's only the 18th of February yet I have already read some SCINTILLATING things in 2019, the most scintillating of which undoubtedly being Sarah Waters’ lesbian Bible; aka ‘Tipping the Velvet’. 

It was everything I could ask for in a novel: women in suits fucking each other, Victorian dildoes, the agonising thrill of first love, it was exquisite I tell you. A perfect read for a bewildered baby dyke! 

Unfortunately, the plot of this book currently has little resemblance to my own reality. I mean, I have a little gay turmoil that I’m currently grappling with but nothing overwhelmingly scandalous. I have droned on excessively about how I’m massively in love with this queer friend of mine (let’s call her ‘the bassist’)despite the fact she is not into me at all but instead lusting after a cellist in the year below who happens to be on my netball team. It's tragic I tell you. On Friday we had orchestra rehearsal and I ended up in a chatting circle consisting of me, the bassist and the cellist. As we made polite small talk I inconspicuously gazed at the bassist; I could see the suffering in her eyes, but she probably wasn’t suffering as much as I was. However, I also relished the beautiful dramatic irony of the situation, it was almost enough to overpower the murder fantasies I had when the cellist started talking about how she plays the bass as well, I LOVED that. 

Incidentally, about a week ago I hooked up with another friend of mine, my BEST friend really (let’s call her the violinist). She was round my house and she’d just cut my hair, we had drunk a bottle of white wine between the two of us, we were on my bed and well... It was good, you know, it was a HUGE shame when we heard the doorbell downstairs. I could barely sleep that night after SUCH sexual exhilaration, the next day I was far too flustered to think about the bassist, I thought perhaps I was cured of my futile infatuation. 

Unfortunately, Monday morning proved otherwise, as I caught a glimpse of her at assembly I felt my heart routinely crumble as it always does when I see her after an extended period of not seeing her. I think perhaps my illicit activities with the violinist have only made my affections for the bassist more inconvenient. It was the first time I’d hooked up with someone in a fair few months; it reawakened my atavistic tendencies, reminded me of the delights of indulging your lower pleasures, I can’t stop thinking about how sensational it would be to do such stuff with the bassist. Alas!

So, yes, I probably won’t be Tipping the Velvet anytime soon. My heart will likely keep crumbling away every time I see the bassist attempting awkward conversation with the cellist during orchestra but I’ve survived worse. In the meantime, I have the fictional exploits of Nan King to keep me occupied. 

Fucking string players!

[storiesfromamess]

Am I STILL in love?

Let’s break this down:

-I’ve been friends with this girl for about a year and a half now, we bonded over our queerness and past loves for girls BUT for the first year I knew her I had a boyfriend and hooked up with a couple other boys whom she knows

-Well, a couple months ago I realised I was in love with her!

-I told her and she didn’t feel the same way but thankfully it didn’t ruin our friendship at all

-In fact, our friendship just got stronger really 

-It’s actually stronger now than it’s ever been before 

-I’m helping her out with this crush she has on a girl in the year below who’s probably straight and this mean she thinks I’m completely over her 

-I mean, I really might be completely over her, but I just can’t tell 

-I’m still just a bit obsessed you know, I wanna talk to her all the time and I’ll make it my goal to bump into her at school as much as possible, I feel kinda jealous of her as well 

-I’m a really jealous friend sometimes, actually, it’s a HUGE vice of mine, I wish I could cure it

-We message a lot and whilst we’re messaging it feels like I’m over it, coz it’s fun enough that we’re just friends 

-But then afterwards I tend to get left feeling all this melancholy and confusion 

-Am I still in love with her or do I just want her to be my BEST friend FOREVER?

-Am I satisfied with our scintillating conversations or do I crave more?

-Alas, this realm remains eternally ambiguous!

[storiesfromamess]

In lieu of a pen

I lost my pen today and it’s been a personal tragedy. 

I know, I sound like a melodramatic little piece of shite but I believe I have at least some good reason for feeling devastated at the loss of this pen. 

No, it’s not one of those mega fancy £200 ones, in fact it was around £15 (which is still too much for a pen) and it’s a pink LAMY. However, as someone who considers writing to be pretty much integral to their identity, the loss of this pen feels like an impingement on who I am. You see, ever since my birthday last year I have used this pen to write in my journal for most nights (without fail). With this pen, I have crafted some of the most visceral prose of my existence, it has taken me on a beautiful journey of self discovery and anagnorisis; now it has gone and my heart weeps for it. 

This is a particular issue tonight owing to the abundance of emotions I am currently feeling as a result of various personal conundrums I must currently deal with. I could not possibly write in my journal in any pen but my LAMY, it would utterly ruin its aesthetic, and my journal is one of my most prized possessions, therefore I am physically unable to compose a journal entry tonight and thus the turbulent feelings I am experiencing must be left to bottle up. What doesn’t help is that I woke up this morning in a pool of my own blood. Yes, I am currently being bombarded with the tempestuous hormones of menstruation which have not failed to amplify my emotions to a striking degree. 

With any luck, tomorrow I will be reunited with my beloved LAMY but for now I am lost and have taken to the chronic listening of melancholy 1950s ballads to remedy my woes. 

Ay me, sad hours seem long...

[storiesfromamess]

Some really great things I read in 2018

Call Me By Your Name by Andre Aciman

I probably enjoyed this so much because I read it whilst I was ‘in love’ with a boy I was actually going out with. I could relate to Elio’s bemused commentary on the inexplicable bewilderment of being in love instead of feeling envious like I usually do when I read these sorts of novels. This book really was sublime though. What could be more fantastic than an erotic gay coming-of-age love story set in 1980s Italy? Well, I believe the answer is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! I am an absolute sucker for books that explore the wondrous mania that is adolescence, and this novel did so PERFECTLY.

L’Etranger (The Outsider) by Albert Camus

In 2018, I began to explore edgy philosophy, mostly as a coping mechanism to remedy the perpetual alienation I felt in terms of everyone else at school. I read this book because my Dad said it changed his life (isn’t that just the most pretentious thing you’ve ever heard?). Well, once I’d finished it, despite the fact that I felt no monumental alteration in terms of my outlook on life, I had certainly been enlightened. Mersault’s an outsider because he chooses not to bullshit, he’s the very antithesis of what Holden Caulfield would call a phoney and his narration is captivating. This book is a fabulous encapsulation of the inexplicably attractive existentialist aesthetic and will definitely help you sound wondrously intellectual if the topic of philosophy is brought up in conversation. 

Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh

Okay, fine, so I fell in love with the film first but the book was equally, if not more, exquisite. Irvine Welsh crafts an eclectic story surrounding the lives of a group of Scottish junkies making Mark Renton the problematic yet inexplicably lovable anti-hero who chooses not to choose life. What a fascinating philosophy! I mean, really, the overwhelming prevalence of heroin addiction in the novel allows Welsh to analyse the absurdity of life itself and how us bewildered humans may choose to cope with that. Do we allow ourselves to be swept away by the cruel capitalist society in which we live (‘choose mortgage payments; choose cars; choose sitting on a couch and watching mind-numbing and spirit-crushing game shows’) or do we choose not to choose life? Ultimately, THIS BOOK IS FABULOUS.

The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall

Radclyffe Hall was not a good person. She was a fascist, an anti-semite and a serial adulterer but in ‘The Well of Loneliness’, she did something pretty remarkable. I believe this was the first novel ever to explore lesbianism explicitly, having been published in 1928 to a tidal wave of public outrage. Hall accounts her fictionalised experience as a ‘sexual invert’ in early 20th century Britain, her intentions perfectly summarised by the novel’s final line ‘Acknowledge us, O God, before the whole world. Give us the right to our existence!’ Hall humanises the ‘invert’, detailing their perpetual battle against an intolerant society. The reception to this novel in 1928 was practically humorous, labelled as a ‘danger to the nation’ and ‘moral poison’, swiftly banned by the British courts. Well, this novel was not only a radical transgression against 1920s society, but it is also an incredibly raw tale of love and, really, what could be better than tales of scandalous affairs of undercover aristocratic lesbians in the 20s? 

Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown

Similarly to ‘The Well of Loneliness’, ‘Rubyfruit Jungle’ is undoubtedly a seminal lesbian novel. However, its main differential factor from the former is its overwhelming ‘vulgarity’ (which I am most definitely not complaining about). This novel primarily accounts the sexual exploits of Molly Bolt, the novel’s vivacious and sexually liberated lesbian protagonist as she navigates her way through mid 20th century American society. It is fantastic for indulging your unruly homosexual desires but also serves as a radical social commentary on a variety of issues. Despite being significantly more liberated than Stephen (Radclyffe Hall’s protagonist), Molly Bolt’s narration provides a continuation for the ongoing gay narrative, expressing the perpetual plight of the LGBT community against an intolerant society. On a personal level, however, this book is a complex insight into the mind of a girl and celebrates the beauty of the fluidity of female sexuality. 

Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle-Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg

And so continues my avid affection for lesbian literature. Fun fact, Fannie Flagg and Rita Mae Brown were in fact lovers for a brief period, how exciting! This novel is certainly wholesome in comparison to the erotic exploits of ‘Rubyfruit Jungle’, but is nevertheless beautiful and precious. It intertwines two contrasting narratives: one of Evelyn Couch, a 1980s timid housewife and her friendship with Ninny Threadgoode, an old woman who recounts her youth in 1920s Alabama, primarily focussing on the sublime ‘friendship’ of her sister-in-law Idgie and Ruth. If you need a little feminist empowerment, this book is PERFECT: each female protagonist must find the courage to stand up to the oppressive forces of various men in their lives. Overall, this book is beautiful: an exquisite celebration of female friendships and empowerment with some vague lesbianism sprinkled on top!

The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel

Yep, by the end of 2018 it was my goal to immerse myself in as much lesbian culture as was humanly possible, naturally ‘The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For’ was a perfect way to continue my odyssey. Unlike the rest of the texts I have listed, this is in fact not a novel but a collection of comic strips written over twenty years (1987- 2007) by the lesbian goddess that is Alison Bechdel. I firmly believe, however, that the prevalence of pictures in this work in no way diminishes its literary merit. ‘Essential Dykes’ documents the lives of a group of lesbians: exploring their quotidian struggles to get their lives in order and it is FABULOUS. I immediately fell ardently in love with all the characters and found it a huge challenge to put the book down once I started it. Not only is it the strip painfully relatable, but it also uses a continuous political backdrop to provide a social commentary on American society throughout the late 20th/ early 21st century. Overall, I’d recommend this to anyone regardless of sexuality: it is simply delightful!

[storiesfromamess]

2018: a self-indulgent year in review

I get painfully reflective as the year draws to a close. I’m already disgustingly pensive throughout the majority of the year, however the month of December seems to amplify my retrospective tendencies to a frightening degree. I suppose you could say 2018 was idiosyncratic for me. I have gained a fair few experiences which I did not have this time last year and, hopefully, I have developed and flourished in terms of my character. I might still be insufferable, narcissistic, horny and melodramatic but I suppose all that really matters is that I am less so than I once was.

Anyhow, to celebrate the almost end of 2018, I thought I’d count down the top 10 weirdest things I did this year!

10. Had an interview at Cambridge University!- Certainly an experience, definitely a shit show! I now have a phobia of poetry written by Irish folk but hey ho I’ll survive somehow.

9. Saw Brendon Urie in the flesh!- I suppose this wasn’t so much weird as it was fantastic! This was at Reading festival where I also saw the Wombats, Fall Out Boy and The Kooks plus others! 

8. Saw a counsellor for like 3 weeks!- Following a traumatic drunken black out at my friend’s 18th as the school year started, I became quite sad at school and saw the counsellor! I didn’t enjoy it much though coz it was a little stressful and I couldn’t really successfully articulate my feelings. 

7. Came out to my mum!- After spotting me reading Alison Bechdel’s comic strip ‘The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For’ rather conspicuously on the downstairs sofa, my mother enquired whether I was a lesbian. What came next was an uncomfortable conversation in which I established I was in fact bisexual! It was a little excruciating but I’m ultimately glad to not be hiding it anymore. 

6. Engaged in a scandalous drunken game of spin the bottle on choir tour!- Choir tour to Vienna was interesting, on the second night we snuck some vodka and a bunch of randomly-aged boys into our room and played a sordid game the spin the bottle. I made out with everyone there and it accidentally ended my friend’s relationship with her boyfriend. 

5. Told a girl I liked her in person!- I mean, I already wrote an extensive blog post on this but wow how traumatic! On the bright side, as a result of this confession I uttered the most iconic line of dialogue that I have uttered all year: ‘Can I go now, please?’

4. Got dumped over the phone!- In March, my first relationship of 3 months met its tragic demise. After a couple of days of suspicious unresponsiveness from my beloved I called him up and frantically enquired ‘are you breaking up with me then?’ to which he replied a furtive ‘yes’. And so began my brief epoch as a woman scorned. 

3. Saw two penises!- 2018 was certainly educational in terms of my introduction to male anatomy. Not only did I give a hand job to my boyfriend this year but also got sent a dick pic by another boy! Turns out the erect phallus is more grotesque to gaze upon than I could ever have imagined in my innocence last year!

2. Hooked up with a boy on choir tour!- Choir tour was a personal scandal-fest. The night prior to our drunk frolic, I engaged in some illicit activity with a boy in my hotel room for no particular reason. I suppose the prospect of getting caught heightened its fun and gave me motivation for doing so... it was pretty thrilling being forced to swiftly break apart from each other as we heard footsteps coming down the stairs. 

1. Discovered I might have an ear fetish!- My brief romance was certainly explorative. Inspired by the enchanting TV series ‘The End of the Fucking World’, this year I realised I LOVE nothing more than getting my ear licked! (It was, in fact, the closest my boyfriend got to making me come and not through lack of trying!)

Hehehe. So there you have the scandalous misadventures of a chaste adolescent! What an idiosyncratic year! Let’s hope for some more appropriate craziness in 2019. 

[storiesfromamess]

Being bisexual

Hi, I’m Meg and I’m bisexual. I thought I might as well write a blog post addressing the beautiful anarchy that comes with bisexuality. 

The questioning of my sexuality began when I was 11. At first it was something for which I felt shame. Whenever I realised I was getting a little too excited at the prospect of a girl, I’d attempt to violently dispel any sort of notion from my brain. I’d watch people’s coming-out videos and think ‘I’d never want to be like that’, I’d direct my focus on getting crushes on boys and nothing but boys. 

I’m fortunate really, in that my shame didn’t last long. By the time I was 13, I’d had my first romantic experience with a boy and I’d found it to be painfully anticlimactic. I recalled the suspicions I’d had two years prior about the possibility of not being straight and gladly began to explore this prospect. I embraced a whole load of lesbian culture (I binge watched ‘Orange is the New Black’ and fell ardently in love with Clea Duvall in ‘But I’m a Cheerleader’). I realised that if I were gay, it would be exciting, something to celebrate, I’d just never had a proper crush on a girl before, I needed something to prove I might actually be gay.

Well, my salvation came in the form of a fellow thirsty gay girl I met through a friend when I was 14. We bonded over our exhilarating sexual ambiguity and enthusiastically speculated about the intricacies of lesbian sex. The next time I met her, we kissed; it was brief but blissful and with that, I was IN LOVE.

And so began the most tragic few months of my life so far. Most unfortunately, this girl did not reciprocate my ardent affections meaning that the majority of our friendship was an excruciating ordeal. I mean, on the bright side, at least this pain provided me with some clarity, I most definitely was not straight!

Once my crush on her had thankfully fizzled out, I was left again in a state of ambiguity. I knew I could fall head over heals for girls but what about boys? Thankfully, I’d soon be given the opportunity to explore my more heterosexual side more extensively as I was moving back to a co-ed school for sixth form. By the third month of my new school, I’d gotten off with two boys in my year and very much fallen in love with the second. And so began my first relationship!

I really did like having a boyfriend. It was certainly a lot of fun, even though penises are utterly grotesque. When this boy dumped me, I was pretty crushed and got off with his friend as revenge. I was a proper woman scorned. ‘I HATE BOYS’ became my mantra until my heart just about recovered a few months on. 

And so that brings us up to now: currently, I am slightly in love with a friend of mine who is a girl and gay but, sadly, she is not feeling it (I suppose I must just be repulsive to the same sex). I am trying to embrace more lesbian culture (am currently making my way through Alison Bechdel’s ‘Essential Dykes to Watch Out For’ which is absolutely fantastic) and waiting patiently to meet the girl of my dreams. Bisexuality is exhilarating yet certainly daunting and I am excited to find out what is in store for me in the future!

[storiesfromamess]

Confessions of love are scary

I’ve had an excruciating week this week. For one I had my Cambridge interview, which was indeed a frightful ordeal, yet, surprisingly not the most frightening of ordeals I encountered this week. First place, in fact, goes to my confession of love to my friend on Tuesday- an experience which I will now recount.

Our brief tragedy occurs after school on Tuesday. I realise I ought to tell her soon owing to the abundant layers of stress that are piling up on top of me what with the prospect of my Cambridge interview and such; ‘this will be blissful relief, a weight taken off my shoulders’ I speculate in my head as I see her in the music resources room. 

‘Hi!’ I say ‘I’ve got an essay to write, I’ll come sit with you’ I proclaim, despite knowing full well that I had no intention to do ANY essay writing that evening.

We chat for the next hour. Our conversation takes an effortless odyssey around a myriad of scintillating topics, as it usually does. I am so absorbed in our conversation that I seem to forget that time exists: by the time I next check my phone it is already 5.07pm and it’s nearly time for me to get the train. I realise that it is time to bite the bullet so I let out a suspicious:

‘Um...’ That one nonsense syllable has the power to completely transform the tone of a conversation if the correct intonation is applied. She seems to pick up my hint well enough.

‘You have something to tell me, don’t you’ she says and I nod my head. I begin mentally preparing myself for the confession itself yet midway between a breath there’s a knock at the door! Some kid wants to come in and record something! Fucking first formers! We move outside to the corridor. 

The next 90 seconds are about the most excruciating 90 seconds of my existence. I try to say the words, I try with all my might, yet my brain doesn’t seem to want to let me. Instead I stutter like a lunatic and urge for her to guess:

‘It’s probably what you think it is, honestly, I just can’t say it’

After some deliberation however, out come the feelings. I stare at my feet, somewhat detach from my body and spit it out:

‘Okay, the truth is, a couple of weeks ago I realised... I have feelings for you... CAN I GO NOW PLEASE?’

And with that, I scram, I am physically unable to remain in that space for any longer. I run away to the train station and I don’t look back. I am filled with an overwhelming concoction of unruly feelings so I call up my friend and rant to her about my trauma. I message the object of my affections with a well-meaning apology to which I receive a gracious reply as she apologises for failing to return my affections. I am pretty bummed out for the night, but mostly down to how completely draining such a confession was. I am a serial over-sharer, I normally relish the exposition of my most visceral feelings, yet this was too far even for me. 

Well, at least I did it, and I am genuinely very proud of myself. Plus, in juxtaposition to this harrowing ordeal, my Cambridge interviews weren’t so bad! It was like my vaccination, you see, it made me immune to whatever else life throws at me. I talked to the girl about it and she admires my bravery, she just doesn’t like me like that, which is fine. I just need to work out how I’m going to handle it; whether I vaguely avoid her company or act like everything’s normal, I mean WHO KNOWS? I just know I’m bad at getting over people. I’ve got some fun times ahead of me!

[storiesfromamess]

I gotta crush

Hi, yeah, not much going down in my life right now apart from the fact that I have fallen in love. 

A couple of weeks ago, I realised I was experiencing some idiosyncratic emotions around my friend. My friend: she’s beautiful, she’s intellectually stimulating, she’s admirably benevolent and I just want to around her all the time and hold her hand. Oh boy! And she is gay, I’ve never proper fancied a straight girl before, which is great, but whether or not this crush could develop into anything substantial is currently ambiguous, there are indeed some possibly detrimental reasons why it will not happen ever:

1. She is fairly good friends with my ex- boyfriend (in terms of her gracious nature, this could be problematic)

2. She knows I’m a total mess when it comes to romance (she has many a time been the one I went to in order to commiserate about my romantic conundrums, hardly a good impression to make on a possible future lover)

3. She’ll probably never fall in love with me coz I’m too much of a crazy bitch and probably really ugly plus I’ve started to be all awkward around her recently meaning I say really mean things accidentally and I’m like oh shit meg that was not good ur a stooopid piece of shit

I mean, when I say I’m in love, that is indeed currently a hyperbole, I am certainly not as invested as I good be as of yet. This makes me wonder whether I should tell her soon, that way if she’s totally not into it I can just nip it in the bud. I doubt it would be a particular fatality in terms of our friendship, I know she would TOTALLY understand my pain coz she’s been in that agonising ‘unrequited lesbian crush on your friend’ situation before’ and most definitely survived. Like if she just sorta destroyed my hope now it’d be quick and painless, I can direct the focus back to our sublime friendship and stop fantasising about us watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine with my head on her lap. It’ll be so chill. 

Then again this is a total ‘Do I Wanna Know?’ situation (what a jam!) ‘I'm sorry to interrupt it's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you’- classic. Maybe I don’t wanna know. Maybe I wanna live this as a blissful metaphysical fantasy in my head a little longer. Maybe I don’t wanna have my temporary dreams crushed. What if the very notion of romantic association with me makes her feel nauseous? ‘Tis a dilemma, and I haven’t really had to CONFESS my feelings to someone before, not when it’s completely out of the blue anyway. I wouldn’t know how to say it, what words to use, whether to begin with a disclaimer, whether to leave the room immediately after to allow her to process. And in case of a miraculous scenario in which she does like me back, then what? Do we go on a date? Do we become girlfriends? Do we keep it a secret? Golly gosh, I am once again bombarded with confusion. Hey ho, will let you know how it all goes.  

[storiesfromamess]

A STUPID PIECE OF SHIT

What do you do when you fuck up and your friends turn against you? How do you handle the self-hatred without gratuitously damaging your self esteem forever? you stupid piece of shit, you stupid piece of shit, youstupidpieceofshit, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!!!! Such thoughts are the very antithesis of productive. What if it was something you didn’t mean to do? Something that just sort of happened, it was out of your control? Well, not TOTALLY out of your control but it’s something you struggle to control. Something you have an on-going problem with. Well you’re not sure if it’s a proper PROBLEM... but maybe it’s something you need help with.

My world has been crumbling around me all year. It’s been a gradual deterioration. I started the year with a boyfriend and a whole host of functional friendships... gradually these have declined. I get dumped, I get into a feud, people fade away, then I go and do this. It’s bleak. I still have a whole year of secondary school before I get the blissful new start of university. Last week I was anxious just about starting school again yet now I know returning for the next week will be much worse. I’ve made it worse for myself. So what do I do?

[storiesfromamess]

My last first day

I just started senior year, or upper 6th as we call it in the language of the posh twats! What a peculiar notion! We are all aging at an alarming rate, soon we will be legitimate adults and buy cheap spirits without using our friend’s fake ID or someone’s older sibling (I’ve always thought being able to purchase alcohol using non-illicit means may take some of the thrill out of it).

This is only my second year at this school, last year was certainly sufficiently turbulent, I’m anticipating a calmer year this year... perhaps. Here is how my last year went anyhow:

- I get a crush on a boy on the first week of school, a couple weeks later he hosts a party at which I get black out drunk. The next day, at a chapel service, I find out from some friends that me and this boy got off with each other that night after I drunkenly came onto him. Fantastic!

-I spend the next couple of months in emotional turmoil over this boy and what he could possibly think of me... I come to realise he is most definitely not worth my time: simultaneously, I start to experience the first inkling of feels around another boy, it is sudden and surprising.

- About a week after the first sign of feels, I host a party at which I get drunk again and accidentally come onto this boy I have feelings for. He tells me he wants to kiss me but feels I am too drunk to do so ethically. A week later we take a trip to the cinema at which he subtly slips his arm round my shoulder during the last 20 minutes of the movie, after which we decide to become ‘a thing’

- Most unfortunately, about three days after our agreement to become a thing, I am whisked away on a family holiday to New Zealand. We spend the whole three weeks taking turns at staying up till ridiculous hours, allowing us to uncertainly proclaim our new found love for each other on Instagram DM despite the thirteen hour time difference.

- I come home and we become proper boyfriend and girlfriend. We have our first kiss at Clapham Junction station and begin our blissful love affair, mostly made up of going round to each other’s house and making out until we hear our parents’ footsteps outside the door. The furthest we get is second base.

- Disaster strikes as, after three months of dating, I get dumped! It comes as a shock to me and completely obliterates my self esteem. I morph into the very epitome of a woman scorned and become even more insane than I previously was. 

- Two weeks after getting dumped, I get my revenge by drunkenly rebounding and getting off with my ex’s friend in my other friend’s upstairs bathroom. We unfortunately get discovered quicker than I had anticipated as mid-kiss the door is burst open and we are caught red handed by our friend whose bathroom it is. The news spreads and my ex is not pleased. 

- Everything remains pretty bleak and quiet until the choir trip to Vienna at the end of the school year at which I hook up with rebound boy once again whilst sober for no particular reason. We’ve been previously engaging in this twisted, over the phone, friends with benefits kinda situation but we both end up in despair really.

- Another scandal on this trip is a game of spin the bottle which occurs at around 2 am in our hotel room with a bunch of boys we snuck in. My best friend (who is dating my ex’s twin brother) engages in the game whilst sufficiently intoxicated. After sobering up, she cries tears of guilt and confesses to her boyfriend that she has illicitly kissed some people, their relationship goes into crisis and some of the blame is put on me. Me and my ex’s twin brother spend the summer in a feud.

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury 

Signifying nothing

[storiesfromamess]

Civil blood makes civil hands unclean

Overall, I’d say I’ve had a positive summer. I’ve embraced a whole load of culture and been to a bunch of places, I saw Panic at the Disco at Reading festival yesterday and died about seven times which is great- yet it has also been wildly tainted by a feud I am having with my friend. The intricate details of the feud are tiresome, it’s infantile stuff and it is certainly not my choice to maintain this quarrel. If it were up to me we’d drop everything for the sake of pragmatism in not adding to the whole pile of stress we’ll already have to deal with next school year, yet apparently it’s not up to me. My friend has been ignoring me the whole summer, thinking he’s the victim in this situation and therefore not giving me one slight chance to explain my actions and that both breaks my heart and fills me with utter rage. 

This year I’ve began to embrace various philosophical ideas more. This includes Sartre and Camus’ ideas of existentialism and the absolute absurdity of life as well as postmodernism and the idea that there is no objective morality. I find the combination of these two ideas somewhat useful in approaching such relatively frivolous moral dilemmas. The human inability to get on with one another is frightfully ubiquitous and absolutely absurd: we create masses of gratuitous conflict by merely pursuing our inclinations or following our instincts, it really is bad. Human relationships are inevitably tainted with anguish. This is where I like to employ the theology of St Augustine. He believed that before we fell from grace, humans were in a state of harmonious perfection until we disobeyed God and our will was weakened meaning we will too easily give into our instinctual vices such as lust and gluttony. Whilst I’m not even a Christian, I see some sense in his ideas. Human existence really is tainted and we can’t get on, it is absurd. This is overwhelmingly evident on both a rather small scale with matters of lover’s brawls and friendship dilemmas and a large scale what with the numerous wars and relentless violence that has occurred throughout human existence. It is totally absurd. 

I find postmodernism, therefore, a way of realising just how absurd human conflict is. Really, there is no objective reality, and if there is there is no way that we humans could realise this, our existence is too completely tainted with various inevitable biases that come with our particular experiences of life. There is no such thing as objective reality, merely desires and preferences. There’ s no higher power to determine who is morally good or bad, merely humans to express what we want and don't want. We don’t want to die or have to deal with bereavement, therefore murder is considered morally wrong. We want to be comfortable and free from pain and therefore acts of torture are considered morally wrong, it all comes from us and it is all very tenuous in the grand scheme of things. When applied to conflict, this idea perfectly highlights its absurdity, particularly in the case of petty high school drama. We must realise that there is no clear villain or victim in many situations and we can’t think ourselves as right in the objective sense. We must realise the varying degrees of the human moral compass and how this creates a grey area in many moral dilemmas.

It would sure be brilliant if navigating human relationships were less complicated, all my personal conflict this summer has certainly emphasised my misanthropic tendencies and therefore made me a hell of a lot more anxious to return to school. Things are certainly unstable, I don’t know how many proper friends I have left but I think it will be okay. There is certainly something comforting about hating everyone, about viewing yourself in terms of your own moral ideas and thinking ‘yep, I am the shit (subjectively)’. There is civil blood on all our hands really, let’s just try wash it off for the sake of pragmatism, shall we? 

[storiesfromamess]

The best idea I had this year

This year I did some questionable things. Things that made me the subject of gossip at school for a couple of days and made me squirm with shame as I contemplated my careless behaviour. Yet, as I look back, I realise I don’t regret any of it. In fact, I’m proud of a fair amount of it- not all of it, but some. Out of all of them, there is one idea I had which I now realise was pure genius.

As you know, I got dumped this year. Got my heart cruelly smashed into a million pieces by my viciously terrible first love: my tender introduction into the phallic world and the first boy who couldn’t make me come. It was traumatic. Not coz he’s a great guy; but because I’m a psychotic, insecure little bag of shite. Anyhow, I believe that I got some sufficient revenge for the cruelty inflicted on me by my horrible ex. I got off with his closest friend just two weeks after getting dumped!

I sort of started planning the rebound immediately after the break up. I fantasised about the satisfaction of romantic revenge and I knew the perfect boy on which to conduct my scheme: my ex’s closest friend who had never been kissed. It would be so simple. I’d get drunk, we'd be in a confined space together, I’d make a subtle advance, we’d get off and my ex would be utterly mortified, it was perfect.

And so that’s what I did. A bunch of us were at our friend’s house. Three ciders in, I suggested the boy come upstairs with me to the bathroom. I had a cricket helmet on but I took it off and turned off the lights. I hugged him, I moved onto the very tip of my toes, I found his lips with my lips and it happened. He evidently became a little over excited at the prospect of his first physical experience of a sexual nature, I hazily felt something digging into my waist as his hand grabbed my arse. This is a hazy memory, by the way, I was not very sober. Anyhow, tempestuously, the next thing I knew, the door had been blasted open by the boy who's house we were at. The news of the scandal quickly spread, much to my dismay and by the next day, had made it’s way right to my ex.

Of course, at the time I was a little mortified. I brushed it all off, excusing my actions due to my substantial intoxication and unstable mental state, I began to regret it at the time, yet looking back I think differently. I realise that I should not feel shame but in fact self-admiration. I gave a boy his first kiss, sufficiently disturbed my horrible ex and took control of my emotions, overall, I view it as a triumph!