it has been a long time

...since I last posted here. Of my almost-gone summer holidays, I spent three weeks in London, and the visit was not as happy as I remembered my last two. Still, it was far more pleasant than remaining home, and just a little bit refreshing. After my first week there I started to feel lonely again, the pain returned, and I had some quite poetic thoughts, which I didn't write down. I bought a notebook just for that use and made just one entry of two and a half pages, which I shall rewrite here some time soon. Most of the time I felt really down, and most of the time I did not have strength to pick up a pen and let all those feelings out. However, I spent only five (of 20 nights there) crying myself to sleep, so I count that one as a progress.

I spent most of my time there literally biding time till it was late enough to go back home, visiting a couple of museums I already saw, strolling through places I strolled a dozen times before, and thinking about what to do next. I went window-shopping for books, since I couldn't buy the lot of them - my suitcase would be way to heavy. However I bought a book called London's strangest tales, London pocket companion, and one trilogy by Trudi Canavan (that one I bought on the airport, on my way home). I did not read much there though.

Since I came back, I spent a week at my father's, which was a waste of time, seeing that I don't think I'll ever forgive him. It took me a lot of time to be able to write about that one - it was supposed to be a happy day, me finally getting my degree, and celebrating in accordingly fashion - but it turned out to be the worst day of my life.

First, I did not get enough sleep, day before the ceremony I had oral exam in defending my final work, and I had to clean my room and parts of our apartment till they were sparkling clean. My mother did not let me wash my hair (I was at the hairdressers two days before, but I felt I should do myself a new hair-do). I had to pay for a cab to drive me to a general rehearsal (my parents don't drive, nor do they own a car). There it was okay, even though we didn't have togas, or that caps. Our degrees were more of a certificates than degrees, and they were placed on our seats, leaving each of us to find it's own paper. After the rehearsal, my family came.

My father brought in a friend of my stepmother to drive them all there - pretty neat move, if you consider I did not invite my own aunt, uncle and cousin to the ceremony because we were told to not invite too many people. So I did not have my own family, but had a total stranger as a guest.
My stepmothers niece was staying with them, so the child came as well. Can't objectively say nothing against, but I hate it.
I did not see my grandmother there, she found it wise to get lost in the crowd.
I did not get any flowers from them, just a ugly little "bouquet" made of some colour paper and some pink marbles.
After the ceremony, noone stuck to take pictures, or congratulate me. Everyone except my mother packed themselves in the car and went home.
She did not congratulate me as well.
She would have went home, if there was enough place in the car.
When two of us got home, taking the cab again - this time I didn't pay, we found out that stepmother's friend was making herself comfortable. She was there when rest of my family came, and I could see them wandering why in the world did I not invite them to the ceremony, but I invited her. Hate it! Hate!
After she left, and everyone had lunch, "fun" started. Everyone started drinking, my father excessively. Even though I strolled between my room, where the stepmother's niece and my cousin were playing and watching photos, and living room, where everyone else was stationed, he made me jump every five minutes filling his cup with more wine.

When he and my mother were sufficiently drunk they found it appropriate to tell the tale how 10 years ago, in sixth grade of primary school I lied to them about me learning history lessons, and receiving F in class. Then they moved on about how I was lazy as hell, and how I would never ever get anywhere if they didn't make me study.

I let it go, heard it too much times before. It hurt just as bad, perhaps even more on that day, but I wasn't going to put a fight with two drunken bastards who just happen to like minimizing my academic success just because they don't have their own.

I turned to talk to my uncles, about how difficult it was, especially this last semester, when my father overheard that and started rambling how I just whine how it's difficult, how I never want to get down to work, and how I should went to a trading school when they were trying to make me do that (which was after I rolled in the best high school in town, only to passed first grade with mostly B grades - which they found as enough evidence that I was too stupid to finish that school).
In no time my mother joined in, and the rambling continued. Tales of me lazy, me stupid, me whining, me incompetent to do anything right, me stupid, stupid stupid. stupid and lazy.
Even my uncle, with whom I have almost no personal contact and no close emotional ties, asked them how did they dare to say that on a day like that one.

Guest left at around 7 pm, I cried in my room till 4 am. Then I got the rest of my wine, took out my favourite skirt and my favourite t-shirt, drank a bit, and danced alone to the happiest music I could find on my computer. It did not help much, even though I stopped sobbing. It took me till 6 am. to find some peace of mind, stop crying and make myself to go to sleep.
I tried to talk to my mother the next day, said I felt that their little speech was really downgrading, and that even my uncle thought so, but she said I was oversensitive and I was imagining things. So I stopped talking to her to avoid some more pain.
I did not want to talk to my father when he called. It took him three days before he asked whether I was angry. I told him that I was furious, that I did not understand how did they have the dignity to tell me such things, and he said I was overreacting, that I was imagining things.
Then he called my mother, and she bought me juice and chips. I like food, I do, but there is nothing in the world to mend what they broke that day, and even the thought she could buy my feelings back with that is humiliating. Now they just ignore it.
Worst of all, they stick to me imagining things. They won't stop saying such ugly things in my face, and they will never admit that those things hurt me. They keep trashing my skull with sentences like: "oh, you are so sensitive", "you're imagining this", "you are overreacting" etc., and I sometimes wonder, do I really? Is it normal for one's parents to smash every bit of self confidence you have, to never support you, to never express their belief in you, to keep telling you, over and over and over again you are no good for things you chose, that you cannot make it, cannot do it, cannot achieve nothing?

And I have to relive each tear they caused me, have to remember I cried all night, have to remember all the nasty things they said to me, have to remind myself every day that it is not normal.

And what next?

Well, this is it. Tomorrow I have to turn my index in, and have a verbal exam in two of my classes, which is more of a formality than an exam. After that, it's just a presentation of my final assignment, and bam! , I'm graduated. A baccalareus. And I do not feel happy about it. After all, I do have two years of masters in front of me, but I hoped getting this far would satisfy me, at least for a couple of days. The exams are over, the stress is almost over, and I do not feel any better. Perhaps it will sink in when I finally get my framed diploma and hang it on my wall. I do hope so.
For now, thoughts about the summer are killing me. I will have a month and a half of vacation this year, and the first time in past 5 years I won't be working. My Mother is already bitching about it, and lamenting why would I spent my free time on doing nothing. I cannot work again, I need rest. I feel like I've had years of one school year, the obligations never stopping, the stress never stopping, never having any fun, never being relaxed. I will rest this summer. I will gather my strength again.
I've met an acquaintance of mine on Wednesday, after my last written exam, and the first thing he said to me was: "Hi, when are you going to the seaside?". I told him I was probably going to my aunt's place in London, and if that one fails I would go to the seaside somewhere.

I lied.

It pains me to say so, but I lie a lot when someone asks me about my social life - I guess I'm to ashamed to admit I have none. Yes, perhaps I will go to my aunt's, but they're redecorating their house, and they are coming on vacation here, which in addition to my not-so-long holidays doesn't leave much time for me to visit London again. I honestly doubt I will be going there any time soon.
I haven't been to the seaside since I was 16 (I am 22 now). The first year I missed on it was a great year, when I went to England, and my high school class traveled to Amsterdam, 'cause it was the summer before our senior year. The summer after that one, and all the summers hence, I spent working. I'd tell anyone who'd ask me I did not like the summer, and I did not like the sea, and I did not like to be on the seashore, probably trying to convince myself more than anyone else.
I thought I might go for a week this year, but there is so many obstacles.
First, I have no money to pay for it. I got a 100£ that my aunt gave me over the past year, I got cca 50£ in the bank, and cca 40£ in my wallet. Not nearly enough to pay for the trip, and a place to stay, and the food and drinks when I'm down there - unless I get a job which I am quite determined I'll not do this year. But considering I did well in college, I might get my father to pay for it. Or I might share the expenses with someone, which brings me to the next point.
Secondly, and I believe more important, I would never find the strength to go alone. I would think everyone is looking at me for being alone, I would not dare to go to the beach and leave my stuff there unattended (and I will not even venture in describing how would I look in a bathing suit). So I start to count all of my friends who I might take along. Of my female friends, two are vacationing with their boyfriends (also my closest friends) in their own apartments. My best friend is not allowed to go to the seaside without her parents (Yes, I know, it sucks, but that's life). Another female friend of mine, this one outside my "standard" circle of friends is also taking her boyfriend along. Of my male friends, only one of them doesn't have a house in Dalmatia, and that one is visiting a friend who does.
Needless to say, I was not invited anywhere - and it hurts me. It hurts me even more that I cannot get over it. But, back to summer plans, I have considered every single person I would like to have for company, and every single one of them had plans that did not include me.
So I'll stay in Zagreb for the whole summer. I hope to go to my fathers, after I'm completely done with college - there at least is not as hot in the city, I can smoke, I can eat whenever I feel like it without being harassed, I can stay in my room and read if I feel like it, and I can play with the cats (those living things that like me, and let me pet them, and let me play with them, and even fall asleep in my arms just make me a bit more happier than I was). If I got lucky, they might go and visit my stepmother's family while she's on vacation, so I just might get a week or two on my own. That would be great - it's somewhat easier to be alone when you're lonely, than to be stuck with people.
And while I'm stuck here I might go to the zoo, I haven't been in years. Maybe even the cinema. I might even go walk through the city in the afternoons, after the sun begins to set. On the first not-so-hot day I might go and visit my grandfathers grave - it takes a lot of time to get there and back again. In the mornings I could go and walk in our botanical garden, while there's no lovers there.

If only I could make myself go to all those places on my own.

Fury

It is almost midnight, and I am completely stuck with my program. I have finished the web application, but have absolutely no idea how to make a pocket pc one, or for what purpose I have to use the web service, I do not even know how to write that damn service. Only two of six of my team members are awake, one who has done even less work than myself, and one who either doesn't see my IM's or has decided to block me out.
It angers me.
I hate being so incompetent, I hate not knowing, I hate being sleepy, I hate being afraid. I hate that my trillian window won't stop blinking, and I bloody hate that there's noone to help me. I hate that my team member, let's call him Jim, can't stop to ask me stupid questions like, "have you put your solution on the server" or "what have you done already" over and over and over again. And I hate that Jim always complains about something, and I hate the way he talks - it's almost like wailing - slow and stretched. And I hate that I cannot, that I do not allow myself to complain like he does, even though I would like to do so sometimes.
I hate that I always disappoint myself in people I believe that would help me the most, that would make a difference, that actually care about me.
I hate the world right now, and would love to scream, hit, break, destroy something, anything, scream, scream. The Anger rises, like a storm, like a thunder, and I cannot stop it, I cannot control it, I want to see the wreck in front of me, but I dare not touch anything, I dare not destroy the little of things I have, I dare not let it out.
I dare not lose control.

My favourite song of all times

Now that I've put my mind to music, I have to share (though I'm not sure with whom I'm sharing it) my favourite song ever.

Sting - Never coming home

Well it's five in the morning and the light's already broken
And the rainy streets are empty for nobody else has woken
Yet you turn towards the window as he sleeps beneath the covers
And you wonder what he's dreaming in his slumbers

There's a clock upon the table and it's burning up the hour
And you feel your life is shrinking like the petals of a flower
As you creep towards the closet you're so careful not to wake him
And you choose the cotton dress you bought last summer

There's a time of indecision between the bedroom and the door
But the part of you that knows that you can't take it any more
There's the promise of the future in the creaking of the floor
And you're torn if you should leave him with a number

And in your imagination you're a thousand miles away
Because too many of his promises got broken on the way
So you write it in a letter all the things you couldn't say
And you tell him that you're never coming home

She starts running for the railway station praying that her calculation's right
And there's a train just waiting there to get her to the city before night
A place to sleep a place to stay will get her through another day
She'll take a job she'll find a friend she'll make a life that's better

The passengers ignore her just a girl with an umbrella
And there's nothing they can do for her, there's nothing they can tell her
There's nothing they could ever say would change the way she feels today
She'd live the life she'd always dreamed if he had only let her

Now in her imagination she's a million miles away
When too many of his promises got broken on the way
So she wrote it in a letter all the things she couldn't say
And she told him she was never coming home
She told him she was never coming home

I wake up in an empty bed a road drill hammers in my head
I call her name there's no reply it's not like her to let me lie
It's time for work it's time to go but something's different I don't know
I need a cup of coffee I'll feel better

I stumble to the bathroom door, her make up bag is on the floor
It really is a mess this place it takes some time to shave my face
I'm not really thinking straight she never lets me sleep this late
I'm almost done and then I see the letter

In his imagination she's a universe away
Too many of his promises got broken on the way
So she wrote it in a letter all things she couldn't say
And she told him she was never coming home,
She told him she was never coming home,
She told him she was never coming home

I'm gonna live my life
And she told him she was never coming home
I'm gonna live my life in my own way

First time I heard that song was in the summer of 2004, when I was in London for the first time. I bought Sting's new album, Sacred Love there. Needless to say, I found that song completely touching and connected with that girl instantly. The more I listen to the song the more I like it, and more it comforts me. Whether I'm angry, sad, or simply down it gives me hope, well, more hope than I can give myself.

Hints of rain

There are days when I feel just fine - and today is not one of those. I slept badly, waking up every couple of hours, and I woke up scared and tired.
I feel empty, and I feel drained. I want to go to vacation, and I cannot make myself study, even though it's only a week to the end of exams. I am scared of what tomorrow will bring, scared of the very thought of failing, but I cannot make myself move, cannot make myself work. There is nothing that I would like better than to lay somewhere near the sea, listen to music and watch the skies, watch the clouds and look for different shapes in them. And music, oh , I want to listen to all the music of the world, and still I want to listen to same song over and over and over again. and then I want to listen to a bunch of songs over and over and over again, let my mind wander far far away, and close my eyes, and push all this reality far beyond my grasp. I want to imagine the trains, the roads, the world, the river, the people, the mountains and the dogs, and the blue sky with grey clouds, and the thunderstorms, and the rain and a lot of coloured umbrellas. And a pair of blue shoes, and a skirt and carefree walk, and freedom. Most of all the freedom. The world is out there somewhere, perhaps waiting for me, and I cannot move, cannot make it come closer, cannot push this boulders aside. I am thankful for not ever loosing my belief in future, and I am thankful for having the strength for not giving up on it. I am grateful for being able to cling to things that make me happy, even though I do not remember exactly how that feels like. I am grateful for my mind and my logic, both of which never let me give up, never let me fall beyond my own reach and never let me be completely hopeless. I will leave all this behind one day, and run far far away, and make myself a new life, out of scratch, and make myself a better life, make myself a happier life.
I just hope that day will come soon enough.

Never and far away

I have never been to a concert. Never to a ball game such as handball or football. I never went skiing. Never went hiking. Never had a meaningful relationship, nor have I ever been intimate with a man. Never learned to play drums, nor guitar nor piano. Never been able to carry out any tune without a lot of practice. Never been able to draw anything more complex than a simple geometric shape. I never liked the way I looked. I never learned how to drive a car.

I was not allowed to train handball because "it would affect my grades". I was not allowed to go to music school for the same reason. I was not allowed to train jazz dance in high school - guess - for the same reason. I was never allowed to speak my mind at home. I was never allowed to have a dog or a cat or a hamster.

I do not remember the last time I got a compliment. I do not remember the last time I went to the zoo. I do not remember the last time someone held my hand. I do not remember the last time someone said that they believed in me. I do not remember the time I did not want to leave home. I do not remember the time when romantic comedies did not make me cry. I do not remember the time when any kind of love on screen did not make me cry.

I got my last kiss on last New Year's Eve, from a very drunken guy. Last time someone said to me "I love you" was seven years ago. The last time I looked for comfort in people rather than books was year and half ago. I have not been to the cinema for almost a year. I have not been to the theatre in the last four years - ever since I rolled up in college. Since then I have not been out dancing the whole night away. A year ago was the last time I had feelings for someone (even though they were not returned). Last time I spent some time at the seaside was six years ago.

I can barely remember the time when I was happy.

Worry worry worry

It has been almost a week since my first/last post. And a quite overwhelming week it was.

On last Thursday I almost had a breakdown concerning my Final Project, better to say my mother. I was supposed to bring it in on Friday, so I intended to take it to a well known copy-place to have it bound, but my darling lovely mother decided that she wouldn't give a 100 kuna's (roughly 10£) and that she would take my work to her job. There her friend would bound it. I made it perfectly clear that the covers had to be hard, and that the front page had to be the same as the cover, and that after the front page she had to insert my final assignment - a piece of paper we got when we chose our themes for the work and which had a description of the task and a signature of my mentor. The original had to be bound with the papers.
Somewhere around nine a.m. she phoned me and said: "We bound it, sure, but you know, this looks kind a funny to me, you said that the cover had to be exactly the same as the front page, well, this one has no cover, it has a plastic sheet just to keep the front page from being the first". Needles to say I went berserk. The two of them didn't know what exactly the hard covers were, so I told them to take out my assignment paper, print out another copy of my work and have it properly bound. So they extracted my assignment (thank God it was still whole and clean) and gave it with another copy of my papers to some friend of their friend (0r whatever) who bound it the way it had to be bound. In the meantime noone had thought of phoning me back, so I spent roughly three and half hours shaking on my bed, trying to not be sick from worry, and praying that after weeks of not sleeping and hard working on that project (beside my regular classes) I would not be stopped by some foolish women. Were I to not submit my work on time (or worse, to destroy my assignment paper), I would have to take on another task in the next semester, and thus had to wait half a year longer to get my degree. And beside what disastrous effect it would have on me, my mother would never ever admit that it was her doing, and probably would refuse to talk to me like she did last time I failed at my classes. And worst of all : She found it really really funny that I worried so much about it. I was so angry at her. I wanted to scream at her, to make her afraid as I was, to make her see, to make her feel the bloody pain I endured about it, but I don't think I could ever make her understand what it means to me.

Now I know - next time I'll not make the same mistake of trusting my Mother with something so important.

As of not so recent

I am unhappy and lonely. Utterly lonely.
I am somewhat weird and quite neurotic. I react emotionally to situations more than most of the people I know, yet I have long left the habit of letting anyone know how I felt, for I have never got a soothing response, or any kind of response different from: "you'll get over it", or "lol", or "bah, you're imagining it". I often panic over unimportant matters and have difficult time pulling myself together. I can get very anxious over small matters, like sending an e-mail to my mentor, going to the store, and I get overwhelmed when I have to phone some unknown people. I get really angry at times, but I suppress it, as I always did.
I am a student of Computing, and next month I should get my Bachelor's (baccalarius) degree. After that I have two years of Master's ahead of me. I love my chosen profession but at the same time I feel stretched, exhausted and somewhat incompetent. In the academic part of my life, now more than ever, I am facing walls made of my own fear of failure and my low self-esteem (which I may add, is almost non-existent).
As much as I once loved crowded places, hanging out and meeting new people, I hate it now in the pretty much same extent. I am more happy alone in my loneliness - it is so hard facing other, happier people nowadays.
I live with my mother and my grandmother. I hate that they do not respect my privacy, I hate that I had to be 20 years old before I got my own room, and I hate even more that they just burst in here whenever they feel like it. I hate that they do not (nor have ever) cared for my emotional well-being. I hate that they do not let me smoke on the balcony, nor in their sight, even though my mother was allowed when she was younger, and any guest we do have are permitted to smoke even in the living room.
My father and I are not close, although, I like spending time with him and my stepmother, every now and then when I get a few days off college. We are quite alike, both stubborn, nervous most of the time, and we only recently managed to find a common language.
I hate my so called home, and I live for the moment I finish my college, get a decent job and move out. Over time I would like to move to London, better to say its suburb, get a nice house with a lovely garden, and most of all I wish to get a dog. A St. Bernard to be exact.
I hate what was my childhood, for ever since I was 12 years old and my grandfather died I have never felt as though I have someone to call a parent or a role-model. I hate that my mother always made me feel as I was worth only as good my grades in school were. I know that she loves me, but I do and did not feel it, and I hate that one too.
As of friends, I have a few great friends, all of whom I've met in high school, but I do not dare to share all of the above (and below) with them.
Once I had a boyfriend, roughly 7 years ago, and it was nothing more than a childish love and a disaster. I got hurt badly in the end and it took me a lot of time to deal with it. From that time I had noone special in my life, and as much as I yearn to be loved, it is my greatest fear of all - to just let go. It is hard being nobody's number 1, especially when I see all of my friends so happy. I hate that I get jealous at them, for I am glad they are happy.

And as of not so recent, I cry myself to sleep almost every night. It hurts so badly, this being alone, that I just wish to jump right out of my very skin, I shake, I cry, I want to wail but I dare not , should anyone hear me.
I have built myself a mask of happiness and of strength, but I am not happy, and as much as I try I cannot pull myself out. This is just another try on pouring the steam out, and I am hoping to get away with just minor burns.