Get sick,

When I was young I used to love being at home. I always made excuses to go home early when I was supposed to be out playing with my friends. I just wanted to get my dinner, have my bath and get my pyjamas on and cuddle Splash (my seal) until I fell asleep. I didn’t really want friends; I just wanted to be on my own or with my parents. Whenever I would go and stay at a friend’s house I would probably make an excuse to go home early, regardless of whether this was in the middle of the night or not, I just had to go. I had to have my own bed and be around my mum and dad so that I felt safe. When we moved to England it got worse because I didn’t know who my friends were, apart from one, because everyone took the piss out of my accent. I didn’t know who I could talk to properly without being laughed at- so I didn’t talk to many people at all. I hid away at home and read books, drew pictures and wrote poems.

Now things aren’t so different, to be honest. Apart from the bit about not wanting to have friends, because there are a few amazing people in my life and I feel truly grateful to have them there. Anyway, I moved out when I had just turned 18, and now I’m almost 22. I don’t really know what I’m talking about anymore, so I’ll leave it there.

Being a literature student, I’m a bit of an emotional fag. I worry about everything, read too much into everything, overlook obvious things and spend hours trying to disappear into books to where I can see what other people feel, but can’t really get to grips with myself. Thank God the people around me are either: a) the same or b) very patient. But sometimes I wish I used the other half of my brain more than this wishy-washy confusingly indulgent side. It would be comforting, but maybe a bit cold, to live by facts and logic and rationality. I know people with interests in science are still people who feel and fuck up. But literature is a very vicarious discipline, in the way that we live through all the shit the characters go through, as well as all the shit we go through ourselves. This is why I read New Scientist and National Geographic when I get the chance; because sometimes it’s refreshing to NOT try to explain life through ifs and buts, but to read a lot of jargon you don’t understand and feel somewhat amazed that there are people who devote their lives to studying viruses and chemicals and don’t stop until they have a real answer that is tangible to them and doesn’t change depending on how much sleep they’ve had or whether they’ve had an argument with their wife or not.