Later on today, I will be selling two things that I love - my iPhone and my Pink Laptop, because I'm so out of money it's unbelievable. Because of this, I have to transfer everything, and delete everything on my laptop, which will take a while.

Then me and Buzz are supposed to be going to a BBQ with another friend, but we have to go without Cazz, which I'm really not happy about, but Buzz has pointed out that this is my only chance to see the person before she goes to Germany to live there for a few months.

Then, on Sunday, I have to edit my story so that it reads the way I wanted it too, and thought it did. After some feedback from a friend, I have realised it didn't live up to my expectations. I'm glad of the feedback because she answered me honestly with constructive criticism, which was nice.

On Monday, I'll have to find a solicitor probably. Hmmm.

Ciao x

Wonderments

I had a really good and productive day yesterday, writing a story in which my main character, Jessica, finds out she has a brother. Not so far from my own life, I know. I decided, with help from Buzz, that it would be easier to write my own story through they eyes of someone else. I can agree now that it was a good idea. I've had to change some things of course, so it's not all true. Just based on the true story. I've decided to enter that first chapter into a competition because it can stand alone as a short story. I really want to continue writing it once I find out some more though. I'm hoping I can get a really good story out of it. 

Today, however, I am not feeling productive nor do I have the inclination to do anything at all. I feel quite sick, and can't even pay attention to Top Gear, which is playing on Buzz's laptop.  I know that I'm quite worried about the year abroad, but the amount of worry I'm holding over the whole Matthew situation is not doing me any good at all. I can't help but wonder if he saw the picture and thought, nopes - don't want anything to do with her. Alternatively, it could be the fault of the post. Or he's just busy/scared to write back. I genuinely don't know, and I wish I did.

I wish that I wasn't getting so worked up over things lately. Maybe I wouldn't be so worked up if I'd have actually saved my money. =/ Dunno how to survive this coming year. I've had some good chats with friends, but I still don't feel 100% better about anything. At least I know they'll be with my every step of the way, on the Internet at least!

Ciao x

My Original Writing From Year 11 - My GCSE Entry

Do you believe in angels? No? Maybe it’s just me then. I didn’t believe in them either. At least, not until the day I lost my faith in God.

            Maybe I should explain a little about myself first, before I go plunging into my worries all over again. My parents’ names me Charlotte but my friends call me Charlie. I am currently attending Grange Valley High School and I have an uncomfortably sad life full of sorrow and heartache.

            I really don’t mean to worry you and weigh you down with my problems but after all, why would you read if you didn’t care? Although, I must warn you that if you don’t like suffering then this really isn’t the story for you.

            Since I was about four years old my Mum and Dad have abused me.

            The only dream I can ever remember having is to be able to fit in. I have very few friends but those I have I value completely. Other children’s friends go to our school and they have someone to play with during break. I, on the other hand, have no friends at school. My friends play with me at home, or in the park at the weekend.

            Well, I don’t suppose I can put it off any longer really, can I? The reason you’re here. The reason I’m here. Maybe I was destined to tell you all along.  I suppose it all started eight years ago on the 6^th April 1997, my fourth birthday. It was not a successful day in any way. I had woken up with that strange tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach. You know the one you get before you go on stage? Something was going to happen to me. I didn’t see it coming but it definitely happened and it kept on happening. My Dad hit me with his smooth bare white hand. The same one he had bathed me with the night before. I received no reply as to why he had done it. There was no explanation for my Father hitting his four year old daughter. At that age I could only believe that he hadn’t meant to do it. Just a slip of the hand.  

            This was not a one off as I would have myself believe. On evenings when I returned home from school. On special “family” days or whenever the feeling took him, I knew what was going to happen. The cold bare white hand would appear once more and the cold sense of fear would creep into me, causing my heart to fail me. If it wasn’t for my naivety I might have gone crazy. I could not let myself believe that my Father was an abuser. My Mother did nothing to stop it, so I must have been right. It was just another slip.

            You may think I’m crazy. And rightly so. I went on believing the same lie for seven years. It is only recently that I have turned to my friends for help. Yes, I know what you are thinking. “She has no friends”. At least not material friends, my friends are the angels. They help me on my way every day when I can bear to think no more about my life.

            The teachers at school think that I’m an idiot. Oh how could Mary Jane possibly be a bully, she’s so sweet. She’s not sweet to me. All five days of the school week I go in dreading her appearance and come out with some strange feeling of relief. Mary Jane is one of those girls who seems to think she owns the world, with her group of good for nothing friends. They all give me a hard time. They don’t care about me. They like to see me suffer under their sarcastic snide comments. Unlike you. I know you care.

            I used to see a counsellor once. Someone I could talk to about my parents, my bullies, and my awful life. This was quite a while ago when I was ten years old. I can remember her very well because she had the voice of an angel. Not slow and hesitant but soft. She talked to me like an equal, I wasn’t beneath her. I told her everything I thought, all my troubles seemed to melt away for those two hours a week. She always said that God would help me when I needed him. If I thought and prayed with all my heard, He would hear me.

            Every night when I got home after the hand had hit, I would sit and pray. I told God my innermost thoughts and, if only for a while, this psychological effect worked. At times when I wasn’t with my counsellor, I would go to Him instead to relieve myself of pain and the ache in my heart that grew heavier every day.

            But then, one day my world was turned upside down like a tin of toy soldiers emptied all over the floor. He had taker her from me. He, my God had taken the only friend that I had. The only person I could talk to. My counsellor. The doctors said it was cancer that took her, but I knew the truth. My life only meant something when I was with her and now God has snatched her away. No, I’m not crazy. It’s true. From that day on, my God was no longer worthy of my trust or love. He was no longer my God.

            How could someone who had had their heart ripped out go on living? What was the point? I didn’t know. There was no point for my worthless, little life to carry on. To go on pretending my life was fine would have been more painful than Mary Jane and her gang of hounds, feeding off my flesh on a harsh winter’s night.

            I think you can guess what I was going to do, can’t you? Well, wouldn’t you? If your parents didn’t care, you had no friends and God had abandoned you. I think you would have thought about it too. No, it’s no use pretending there was another option. There wasn’t. Believe me, I thought over all the possibilities. To leave the world was my only option. The final milestone of my pathetic life. At the age of eleven I was planning my own death. And because of what? A bunch of stupid creatures in my class, added to the fact that God was no longer there for me. My Mum and Dad read the note on the eve of their anniversary. Once again the strange tingly feeling crept up and the hand swept across my face intent on making it a red symbol of rage. I knew then that I could not let anyone get the better of me. I would not give in. Not now. Not ever.

            I believed that if there was just someone who could make me feel safe, I would be fine. There was only one person who could do this. But she was gone. Or so I thought.

            Now please don’t laugh at me. But she was there with me. I could feel her. She was my guardian angel. I talked to her, she had friends in heaven. Friends that soon became mine too. There were children to play with me and the real parents I longed for but never knew - they were there too. My life was back on track. I had friends and parents, even if incorporeal. They were there. So, in a way I was wrong. God had not left me. He had taken her so I could discover more friends.

            So, I end this story with hope for children like me. It doesn’t matter how tough it gets, someone will always hear you. God is there for you. The angels are there. And I am here for you like you were there for me. Thank you. Life isn’t so bad after all.

A Song I Wrote When I Was In Year 7

So I let one of my Best Friend's read a song that I wrote in year 7. It is completely cringe worthy and even worse when you read it in the way that she did. So here it is, with no editing whatsoever, and all the nuances of a song:

You'll Never Come To Me

When you look in my eyes you see

The fear of insecurity.

But when you look to my heart you find, 

The love and tenderness that's in my life, oho that's in my life.

You ask me what is going on

And I tell you I don't know.

I expect you to help but

You just walk away. Yeah, oh, you just walk away. 

Now, tell me why, 

Why do I have to cry

To get your attention

To get you to know that I'm here.

I'm here with you, 

Expecting you to come,

But knowing that you never will.

Knowing that you'll never come to me. 

I open my eyes to look

At the love that you produce.

And everything's alright, 

Untill I see that you're not here.

I bury my head in my pillow, 

And the tears come flowing out. 

I try to block it out, 

But I know that you'll not come. 

Now, tell me why, 

Why do I have to cry

To get your attention

To get you to know that I'm here.

I'm here with you, 

Expecting you to come,

But knowing that you never will.

Knowing that you'll never come to me. 

You'll never come to me, 

No matter how I hard I cry. 

All the love that's in my heart, 

It's slowly draining out. 

No you'll never come, 

You'll never come to me again.

My life was a lot simpler before I had Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter and all the other social networking sites. If it weren't for Tumblr right now, I wouldn't be stuck in this predicament of having said sorry about something but being completely scared to go and deal with it, in case I go and mess things up again. I've done this to her twice already without meaning to. I don't think she can take a third time. But I've started it, do I have to finish it?

I also realised today that I'm very scared to go on my year abroad. So much, that I considered quitting altogether. I didn't say anything to my uni friends because I know they'd be supportive no matter what I chose, but deep down, I think they'd be disappointed if I just jacked it all in now, after how far I've come. I don't really know why I'm so scared. I'm used to being independent, but it's a lot to ask for me to just up ship and move again. I've done it before, and I vowed not to do it again. I hate moving, leaving, saying goodbye. I said it once before to Flo, and I have to say it again. I've never said it to the others but I have to this time. Knowing that it's not goodbye forever doesn't seem to console me at all. I just want to skip past it and get to the year after. Maybe then I can do something worthwhile and finally make some people proud of me.

I'm so lost in my own head that I don't know anything anymore. What on earth am I gonna teach a 12 year old about life? If I ever get to him at all...

Ciao x

Well, I have Google + now and I'm not quite sure what I think about it. I guess, it's Twitter, Facebook, YouTube and Skype all rolled into one...with a hint of msn I guess. Not sure whether I like it. I'll give it some time, but I don't expect it will be a thing quite yet.

However, I can invite people, so if you want an invite, lemme know!

The End Of Harry Potter

Hey :)

Last night I went to the cinema with some friends to watch the last Harry Potter film. To make the experience even better, some of us dressed up. I dressed up as Hermione because I think I identify with her a lot. My other friends dressed as Ron and Draco I think, though female versions. Together we make Slythindor :-). That's a thing now, yeah. We had a great time, and I enjoyed watching the film in 3D, which is a bit weird because I don't usually like watching 3D films. We got special Harry Potter glasses, and my friends said that I looked like Professor Trelawny when I put them on...

I have to say that it was the most amazing film that I've ever seen, and I spent about an hour or more crying my eyes out. I was shaking and not just because I hated the snake. I jumped several times at things, but they were mainly the snake, the spiders and some ridiculous noise that frightened me half to death and affected nobody else! I think that they pulled the second half of the book off really well in this film, and despite the trauma I enjoyed every moment of it. I feel thrilled to have been a part of Pottermania over the last decade. To be in the generation of people who truly empathise with the books and the films is amazing, and following the journey with the Characters has been a tremendous experience. 

I can't really say much else because I'm still getting over the shock of watching the film. I literally felt as though one of my best friends had died. It's going to take a while to get over this one. 

Ciao!