The time away from this blog has been my time to heal. My summer wasn't quite as expected, and it still makes my heart ache to even contemplate what went down during those mere months of heat, and may I say, not much of a relaxation period.

Summer is my winter. As winter is to some, dark, desolate. Winter is the time I thrive, I am truly a winter child, and the cold is my haven. As it is, summer we're given the time off. This time was my time to self destruct. Like a timer, ticking. Oh the cogs and wheels going around in what I have replaced my broken adolescent heart with.

Clockwork.

Beginning of summer, I lost my second mother. I love her, and I still miss her, and writing this still makes me tear up. However, I think the best peace of mind is to believe she is truly at rest, and no longer in pain. As they say, she is in a better place. The funeral was a Catholic service, and I didn't understand anything. I'm not indicating to the service, that was perfectly understandable. It didn't have to be anymore blatant. There was a casket, and she was dead.

The End.

No. What I didn't understand is why I couldn't cry, when everyone around me was weeping. I sat with my sisters, passing them tissues. My older half sister, who's never taken a shine to me, something I have long accepted, scowled at me for my lack of display of emotion. Oh, she doesn't know the bravery I had in that church not to cry. However, I couldn't let myself get to me, I had to be strong. Unlike others, if I cry, I am gone. My mental state disappeared into a void of unknowingness and the bottle of pills tempting me forward. Alas, I did not cry at my own second mothers funeral.

Before she died, I sent her a letter. She recieved it, that I know. However, unlike my sister, I didn't scrawl down my trivial days, I didn't pretend that I was merely chatting to her, as we would have done in the mornings. Oh, the mornings, 6 AM jetlag and her walking down the stairs in a bathrobe, making us tea, talking. I could tell her anything.

She was the only person I could tell anything to.
Never was there a kinder soul, and God took her away.

Not to digress, and to continue forward (as I have been doing). I wrote her a letter of sincerity, thanking her for always being there for me, even if I wasn't always the most wonderful of people. For listening to me. For being what she was, a mother, more of a mother than my own mother could of ever been nor will ever be.

I knew she was going to die, and she did. A day after my letter was recieved. And I miss her every single day, small things reminding me of her. The hurt becomes less durable, sure, but it doesn't fade.

This was not the end of summer, just the beginning of the two months of which will change me from the person I was, to the person I am now.

Imagine having your heart beaten and broken, several times.

By death, family members and the one person in the world you thought you could trust.

I returned to home after the funeral in the UK. Home is where the heart is, as they say. That home was with her in the UK, but she is no longer there. So, my heart was a wonderer, a traveller if you will.

Returning home, I brought a few problems on myself. Everyone left, I was here alone. Alcohol, making 'tails, just for the colors. Then it turned into the reason for taste. Its how I manage to hurt someone I loved, more as a brother than anything.
I practically cheated, not in the way you think, I am not a whore.

With words. Simple words.
Until I realised what I was doing and stopped, oh the hypocricy when I point out someone elses mistake. I should really identify my own, because they can be greater than anything that someone else has committed. For theirs is highschool trivia, mine is, stupidity at its finest hour.

One night, I was in the park, with my sister and her friend. This was the second time we had done this, the ritual to purchase food and then have an all nighter in the park. It was summer, there no rules and no limits. However, the park in question was next to the pub. I didn't like that pub. You see, my dad and his friends drink there, and alcohol, that thing I had been so careless about, it changes people, and not usually for the better.

My dad becomes a borderline abusive asshole.
Normally, he's just an asshole.

Not that I can tell anyone this but you trusty blog.

They both went inside, I figured, they'd just come back out. They didn't, so I walked inside. Passing the men wth the tiger shrine, danger was indifferent by then though. To others, they were men with the potential to harm others. To me, they were superstitious wankers sitting around a shrine in the form of a striped animal. Basically, no different than the social scene. Losers.

Stepping inside the pub, oh how it had changed since the 90's. The decorations reflecting that of a coffee shop, it was almost amusing, if it weren't for those who spent their lives in it. The irony of the place contrasting with its drinkers. I smiled. What could I do? My dad was half toasted by then, and his friends weren't any better. My sister and her friend were working behind the bar, and the bartender looked like he was more out of it than anybody there, though he's the most decent.

Funnily enough, I cannot continue with this post...

It seems some stories are best kept hidden, in my clockwork heart preferably...

Quickie today:

I find it easier to question a subconscious when I can view my train of thought. I never really used to dream, to be honest, how could I? I barely sleep, and when I do I would deep sleep. Now I dream, and not only do I dream, but I can remember every detail of it. I connect the dream sequences together without a problem, and in the dream my mind had conjured up last night, I managed to do so with doorways and bridges.

Would it be completely unprofessional to copy and paste a conversation to my blog to give an example to support what I mean?
Perhaps, I may or may not. Either way, my friends, who kindly listen to my strange and bizzare dreams (intently, I might add, I love them for it) seem to find it odd that I can remember so much from it. It has got me questioning if I'm simply filling in the blanks on my own or, if I'm suffering something worse then half sleep?
Perhaps I'm closer to the surface then most, which would make sense due to the fact I wake up remarkably easier than most. However, what I'm questioning here is if it really is actually strange to remember every detail of your dream.

As I have explained in my last post, I remember my dreams via sight and not sound. So if there was dialogue in my dream, I very seldom remember it. I now find that I link my dreams via physical means (such as the bridge and door).

I've decided that I might as well share this particular dream with you, the one from last night. I won't decipher it as some of it (especially the last part) is very personal, and I understand it already. However, if you would like to, I wouldn't mind anyone else giving their own perspective/opinion on it.

Blue = CG's Friend
Purple = CG
Black = Additional notes/Input

For this entry, I am going to take a rest from my regular style of writing, for I believe the only way I can continue with such an attempt as to be completely honest with myself, is if I write thoroughly and properly.

Let me just say, I do not regret having met you. In a cheesy statement, I would say that if I was Kim, you would be my Ron. Pre-prom, of course. You are my closest guy friend, and I love you as such, but I think I need to let go.

I’m not ready to face the crowd of immaturity; I’m not ready to handle the words of others. I have done so, and I will continue to do so, but they sway you, I see they do, and she comes above all others.

Even your pixie.

You’re going to continue to hurt me, and it won’t be long before I watch our friendship fall. The tears I’ve shed over the forthcoming funeral are those based off my own reminiscing, and searching for any possible future has become something of an urban myth.

She is leaving, I know that. I understand you’ll need a shoulder, but I am sorry.

That shoulder cannot be mine.

All those times I’ve lost your shoulder. Where was it? Where was my support when I needed it? Which you know I so rarely do. No, you were too busy talking to her, laughing with her, even though you saw the pain I was in that day, or should I say those days. Specifically. You saw it, and you knew I felt utterly fucked over. You saw I was crying, you saw it all and yet you chose to  ignore me for the girl who’s been making your life a living hell.

You’re through with her? Oh what complete bullshit.

She gives you hell for knowing me, and it influences you. You act strange, and then go back to normal, and so the cycle continues.

This girl may be leaving, but she will be leaving destruction behind.

Why the dramatics? I don’t know.

I do know one thing though.

We’re from two different schools.

In other terms, we can agree that it concludes down to two different worlds.

The entirety of the situation is taking a toll on me. A selfish turn on events, I’m sure you’ll agree.

I wish she hadn’t learned of my existence.

I wish no one knew I was a part of your life.

I wish I hadn’t first met you at that Night Fair.

The strings attached are weakening my own will power to fight this, and a rivaling schools community. I don’t want a team, nor an opposing team. I don’t need this bullshit. I have enough bullshit of my own to deal with.

I don’t want someone I’ve never met, or conversed with, judging me through no words of my own. Making up shit about me that I’ve never heard of until now. I don’t need her friends following her in that same aspect.

And you know what; I certainly don’t need some bitch I’ve never met before, affecting my life.

So I have to say it now, I’m cutting the strings. Whether it’s slowly, or quickly, I don’t deserve this.

Even if I love you as one of my closest friends.

Even if it is completely masochistic for me to write this, or consider going through with it.

I just know I have to.

This is it.

I’m sorry and goodbye.

P.S. Thanks for the promised phone call; it was sweet and non existent.