Beginning of the End

Beginning of the end, he said to me,
Hold on to your hats, and get ready to flee,
There’s screaming and shouting,
And the world sounds like it’s ending,
But it’s ok, because you’re with me.

So he took my hand, and off we went,
Up the mountain we made our ascent,
Behind us the fire and flame consumed,
Everything that was destined to be doomed,
And on destruction, the world was bent.

We ran and we ran, to escape destiny,
Atop the world, we yearned to be free,
The whole world was ending, what could we do?
And in that moment, we both knew,
The world entirely, we had to flee.

But where could we go, what could we do?
Heaven was too far and it was true,
The world was ending and we were trapped,
Our lives, like others had been mapped,
We had no choice.

Destiny awaited as fear empowered us,
It was all gone, why make a fuss?
Take a deep breath and take the plunge,
Accept it now and begin to lunge,
Fall into it.

Embrace it, because it’s happening now,
You can’t fight it so don’t ask how,
Grab the moment and hold onto it,
You don’t know where you’re going,
So remember this for what it was,
Not for what it is.

critical family = low self-esteem

Sometimes I don't know how I'm ever going to survive at home whenI finish uni. They say its a dog-eat-dog world out there? Well thats nothing compared to my family. In order to be held in high esteem, you pretty much have to achieve perfection. If its not your grades, its your appearance, if its not your apperance its your personality, if its not your personality its your inablity to cook. You're always striving for that compliment from the parents, which is rarely ever given and once given can be retracted the minute you screw up the next thing.

All my life I've strived to reach this "perfection" that my parents want. From a young age I knew that I wouldn't ever be as slim as my sisters and nothing, not even dieting has been able to change this. The only thing that would get me to their size is probably anorexia or something equally as drastic. In fact now I've given up. I relish in the fact that I'm a size 12. I relish in the fact that I won't be able to drop 2 dress sizes to join my sisters in utter perfection.

My parents, especially my mother, with a bit of my grandmother thrown in there, pay a lot of attention to weight. Like I said, from a young age I've never been "slim" but in my parents eyes, I seem to be morbidly obese. Not a day goes by when they don't question my weight, or watch what I eat or ask me when I'm going to diet/go to the gym. And I'm bloody sick of it. They don't like me wearing hoodies, but around them I feel uncomfortable wearing anything else, simply becuase I know they'll comment on my weight. When I'm at home I have the lowest self esteem in the world. When I dress up nicely (or at least my opinion, and apparantly every one but parents opinion) it seems that I'm not dressed nicely enough. There will ALWAYS be something wrong. And it sucks. I hate it. I hate that my parents consistently demean me. I hate that they tell me I'm not good enough. Or that I don't dress well.

Why can't they accept me for who I am without trying to change me into a person I'm not? I'm not a bad person. I know my way around a kitchen better than my sisters. But my parents will always remind me that I'm not as slim or as attractive as my sisters. And it's doing my freaking nut in. I hate being at home.

I'd better find a husband quick if I don't want to move back home!

I used to have a blog, but there was a lot of embarassing posts on that thing so I deleted it. To be fair, it did have its fair share of good posts too, but that doesn't mean that you should expect anything exciting from me. By good posts, they appeared to be either musings on life, or poetry. I wrote a whole bunch of poetry. Some of it good, some of it bad, some of it ugly. But my poetry is not what I'm here to discuss.

Today I joined twitter. I realised that although twitter is fun, I miss blogging. Just being able to sit down after a crazy day and write down anything that had happened. Can't do that with twitter. I find myself having to update that thing every five minutes, becuase i sure as hell could not summarise my day in like ten characters.Good idea though. Slightly creepy at the same time though. I currently have seven updates and now I don't particularly want to update it because seven is my lucky number. I'm sure something exciting will happen which will make me want to tweet soon enough. Even if it is telling the whole world that my dear boyfriend just had gay sex. Or something along those lines.