Blogs about my life

Same old same old

Why do I always manage to make myself feel like an outsider? How do I manage to do it, so flawlessly in almost every situation? Why am I able to purposely make myself feel shit and worthless?

How do I always end up like this?

Feeling alone, and unliked.

Feeling boring, and plain.

Feeling not so good.

I’m not a depressed person, I can be happy, and smile and laugh and joke and dance and converse. But, it’s never for long, or there’s always a lingering thought of not being good enough. Someone else could easily take my place, and no one would care.

Why can’t anybody want to be with me first, over anyone else? Why am I a weight on people? How can I stop being one? It’s self confidence I know, but if I do try and be confident, it doesn’t work out well, and I don’t feel good, and I want to just be me again.

Jane Doe.

Blogs about my life

University Fresher.

It’s hard to get back into writing when you haven’t done it for a while. You don’t know where to start, or even what to say at all.

University. That’s where I’ll begin. 6 weeks in, already life changing. No longer the person I was before uni, although most wouldn’t notice that I’ve changed at all, because it’s the simple things. They’re hard to explain, so I won’t try.

I’ve already experienced a lot, and re thought a lot, and gone back to my old habits a lot, and been sad a lot, but also i’ve been happy a lot. I’ve been real. I’ve been having fun.

10/11/2014. 5 weeks left till first semester is done.

Blogs about my life


I want you to see how good I’m doing. I want you to know that I kissed someone else too. Albeit, he was no where near as good as you, but I still want you to know. I want you to see that I care as much about you, as you do about me. Which isn’t very much at all. But that’s a lie, you know it and I know it.
I’m lying to myself, thinking that you don’t hold any importance to me. Obviously you do, though. Obviously you do.
I tell myself that the ‘mature’ thing to do, is to not care. So I try not to care that much. And I actually have managed to not think about you. It’s not like I’m in love with you, or hold some great feelings for you, I just don’t not want to be your friend. I’d still like you to want to text me though, message me, snapchat me. Make some effort to communicate with me. Even just liking one of my facebook posts, something, just not nothing.
You sent me a snapchat the other day, so did your friend. I wanted to just reply to your friend, to show you that I didn’t even notice that you’d sent me anything. But I thought you’d think i was being ‘immature’ if I didn’t reply to you. So I sent you both a reply, the same one, so as not to make it seem like I put any effort or thought into it.
You didn’t reply though. So again, you hold the title of the one who ignored the other. The one with the power.
I guess I am just too immature. But, actually, I know, myself, that I’m not. I know that I’m perfectly fine where I am at the moment, and I shouldn’t care about what you think.
So thanks for the time we had, it was great, it was fun, it was something. I don’t regret any of it. Not even for a second.

29th August 2014.

Blogs about my life


When something is made out to be spectacular, built up so much so, that maybe the effect, the spectacular of it all, is lost gone, never to be touched by that person. 

It just makes you feel isolated. Maybe you’re immune. Unaffected because of your upbringing, or your parents upbringing. Genes, genetics, heritable factors. Factors beyond your control. 

Beyond my control. 

Blogs about my life

TV and what have you.

I get altered, knocked, changed by what I watch, listen and read. Even the dumbest of things, a silly teen romance, or an episode of teen titans. But it’s also by heard music that can be heard again and again, films which beg me to show to my friends, to be spread. To have it’s lingering affect on me dispersed, so that someone else can maybe understand me too. It’s my cry for help.


Jane Doe.

Consistent betrayal of the acceptance of reality, is my heads cycle. 


Blogs about my life


I felt different last night. Adventurous. In the moment. Care free. 

Until morning came round, and I realised that I wasn’t important. That I’m not important. 

I don’t regret it though, it was fun, it was an experience, it was my first. I’m glad it was my first in a way, glad that it didn’t feel awkward or wrong. I’m glad it happened. 

Now all I have to try to do is make it the real first. 

Challenge commence. 

Jane Doe. 

Blogs about my life

Old me, new me, whatever

I’ve been looking through some of my draft posts on here, and my ‘posts’ that have never even made it onto the computer, tucked away in a book on my shelf, thoughts I hadn’t felt brave enough or ready to share.

I came across one that said this:

Sometimes I forget that I’m just a

And it stops, nothing more after that. No title. No premature tags. Nothing to let me know of what I was going to say. I have an idea though.

It’s odd looking at old things I’ve written in my books, old things I’ve written and posted, and old things I’ve written for school. It’s almost like a snippet of a past me, that I get to look back on, that I otherwise wouldn’t be able to see.

It’s interesting.

and I’m not sure if I like it.

What do you sometimes forget you are?

Jane Doe.

Blogs about my life


Every now and then, the urge comes upon me to start smoking. I don’t though, I don’t want to ruin my lungs.

People who smoke, well some at least, to me, look contemplative. They make me want to know about them, know what they’re thinking about, what they’re keeping from the world to feel the need to hide behind a cigarette. Why did they decide to make the decision to have a hobby which ultimately ruins themselves. Is it similar to adrenaline junkies, jumping out of planes, off cliffs, no safety nets?

To know that you’re the one holding the power, and you’re choosing to hold it, light it, and inhale.

Maybe, for me, possibly, the act of inhaling danger, and exhaling something else is what appeals.

Jane Doe.