Hurt @ MindSay

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Wednesdays are just shit - it seems that nothing is ever going to change that. They always have been shit and as far as things have been going for the past 305 blogs, they always will be shit.
 
Tutorial was a pointless chore - just a rant presented in the form of a Powerpoint presentation from this gadge who is in charge of financial shite at Teesside Uni - but I did learn one thing - that scholarship Sarah mentioned; there's no hope in hell of me getting it. The tariff is 400 UCAS points - and there's no way I can get 400 from only three A2s. Fail.
 
Media Studies was an even more pointless chore - AM set us off doing some pointless "rebranding Teesside" work - and I utterly refused to work with nose-up-her-arse-Hannah - coz she's a fucking slag. Thus I was working alone, AM said I could work with Lewis - but Lewis has disappeared off the face of the planet this week. He better be back next week. :(
 
So up until now, the day was just a pointless load of faff - but when Photography came around - I got hyper off my tits - for no apparent reason. Hyper to the point where I thought it was hilarious to kick Shelly's pinhole camera across the car park. IT PROPER ROLLED. No seriously though, it WAS funny - just Shelly was in a pissy mood, so she decided to shout at me. So I proper bounded off back into college and she couldn't catch up with me because I had a massive lead and was walking faster.
 
Sometimes Shelly does this thing where she mentions something that REALLY doesn't need to be brought up - and she MUST do it just for the sheer sake of causing shit. Today she decided to turn around and say:
 
"I found a blonde hair in my bed this morning. It could have been yours, or it could have been Charlie's... OR IT COULD HAVE BEEN MARIA'S!"
 
And I'm like: "WHAT. YOU HAD YOUR EX ROUND."
 
She goes: "Yeah, I said I had A FRIEND round yesterday."
 
Thus, this destroyed my hyper mood. And when I drop from a hyper mood to a sad one - I LAPSE TO FUCK. So it's fucking obvious why I got so upset and refused to let Shelly touch me.
Then once again, she ignores my statement of DON'T TOUCH ME and tries to fucking hug me every three seconds. I mean seriously, can she not fucking listen?
 
Then when she tried to be violent back with me, I slapped her - so she wandered off to the table and sat and cried to herself - while I stood behind her with my half-empty water bottle, ready to BLUDGEON HER if she said the wrong thing.
 
When I had to go to film studies - Shelly stood in my way.
Now for one, it's a fucking stupid idea to stand in my way anywhere - but to stand in my way INFRONT OF A FLIGHT OF STAIRS? I hadn't realised how fucking stupid Shelly was.
 
I had to fucking fight my way past her - and after a run-in with some teachers at the door:
"FUCK OFF."
"Langage!"
"I'm sorry, but: SHE'S PISSING ME OFF - SHE WON'T MOVE OUT OF THE WAY, I HAVE A LESSON AND SHE'S GETTING ON MY NERVES."
 
After I finally fought past her - film studies was yet another wasted effort.
AM told everyone to "think of ideas for their film sequences" - and there's me, having already wrote my whole script THREE WEEKS AGO.
 
I sat right at the back of the room and because I had no other means to hurt myself, I repeatedly hit my knuckles with one of my beasty silver pens until they were red and sore.
 
AM did have a look over my script - she says there's nothing wrong with it, there's nothing I really have to change. She seems more excited about it than I am.
And bloody Ash seems more excited about Spieluhr than I am - it's so frigging weird.

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I seriously fucking scared myself today.
I was reunited with that blackened, blankened emptiness in my head - the very same one I had when I spat on Ash from the top of the wonky stairs, when I punched her in the face by construction and the several major arguments with Shelly where I came close to strangling her.
 
I don't even remember what the build up to it was - I can only remember the during and the afterwards.
I remember getting more and more frustrated with her, knowing she was being a fucking stupid cunt as usual - being so damned selfish, self-centred, self-important, spiteful and generally immature - to the point where I ended up leaning over her, pinning her to my bed by her shoulders - actually not using a massive amount of strength, but she wasn't able to fight me off.
 
I wasn't violent - I didn't hit her - but I spoke with that incredibly sarcastic, patronising, calm-yet-very-violent tone - making no effort to swallow excess saliva - so when I said my harsh consonants, she got my wet rage on her cheeks. And I said a lot of harsh consonants.
 
I wanted her to be scared, and I knew when Shelly gets  that scared, she has accidents. I wanted her to piss herself - I wanted her to be humiliated, ashamed - I wanted her to have no control over herself.
I spoke to her like this for about 10 minutes, then went to sit at my computer for a while. What I did, I don't remember - but she didn't move - she stayed on my bed, laid in the same position.
 
I went back over to her afterwards and returned to what I was doing previously - but harsher.
At one point, I saw her flush red and she started crying hard - as opposed to the watery eyes she'd had for the rest of the time. I had a feeling I may have accomplished what I set out to do - but I made her admit to it to humiliate her further.
 
There's another gap in my recollection - but after this, I went to lay in my special space - between my bed and drawers. I took a pillow and laid on the floor, my head by the boiler and my feet by the desk. I cried a little bit, because I felt guilty. Then I cried a lot, because I was depressed and ashamed.
I couldn't apologise for a very long time - nor could I bring myself to look at Shelly. She made me eventually and I gave a sort-of apology. I don't think it was good enough, but she assured me that it was.
 
She made me tell her some events from "5 to 15" that I don't like talking about. She insists that they have some answers to why I feel the way I do now.
 
Well I'm willing to bet they do - but not as significant as she makes out. She fucking assumes wrong all the time. How dare she fucking assume and then go ahead to state that I ENJOY feeling depressed all the time. No, I'm not fucking content in my own depression. If that was the fucking case, I wouldn't have agreed to more sessions with Dianne. I wouldn't fight with myself every fucking night to stop myself cutting.
She is the fucking stupidest cunt I know. Who the fuck would say I enjoy being depressed? You can CLEARLY fucking see that I don't! Anybody could fucking tell you that!!

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Normally, having a dream like the one I just had wouldn't affect me the way it has done - but with the events of the week that have occured, and with all these events from previous times dwelling on my mind - I've woke up wondering what the fuck the dream was about. It seemed so real - and the fact it was full of people I knew, in a place I was familiar with - it's scared me.

It took place in the computer room we use for Photography lessons - only it had a slightly different layout. Perhaps it was the angle that the dream took place from - I could recognise the room, it just looked slightly different. Shelly wasn't there - but Michelle was, and I wanted to sit with her.

Now normally, there's a ton of empty computers in that room - but for some reason, there was only three empty ones. Two were together and one was out on its own on the end. I wanted to sit with Michelle, but this lass - who bore this horrible resemblence to Conway - only more chavvy, with blonder hair and an orange foundation was talking to her - and she pushed me aside and sat where I was about to - so I had to sit on the end computer by myself.
For some reason, I was more angry about this than I should have been, and I refused to do any work, I just sat and stared at my YouTube channel (which is weird, because YouTube is blocked on the college servers).

Paul set us off doing a task - then he wandered out as usual.
This chavvy lass stood up and walked over to me - she stood behind me and started hitting the back of my head. Then she was poking through my hair, prodding my excema scabs and making comments about them. I don't know WHAT her actual words were, but I could always tell what the subject was, because she'd touch or point at the subject in hand. She must've done it for 5-10 minutes solid, and I didn't actually retaliate until I stood up and said things back to her.

I'm not sure what the last thing she said was - but she made me snap.
I punched her in the face, grabbed her by the neck, digging both my thumbs into the pressure points that stop you breathing - and I pushed her across the room to the printer. When we were there, I smashed her head backwards four or five times onto it, then turned her around and punched her in the face a few more times and in the stomach whilst simultaneously kicking her in the legs.
She was trying to fight back, but all her punches seemed to hit my chin or my arms - and didn't hurt me very much.

After I'd kneed her inbewteen her legs, I pushed her to the ground, held her still with one of my arms and kicked her in the sides and in the side of her head a few times until she was bleeding down one side from her ear and her lip. I walked away from her and went to sit back at my computer.

She didn't move for quite a long time - but when Paul came back, he didn't seem to notice her until she stood up and went to blab to him. She was proper crying, but managed to maintain this sly smirk.
Paul moved a chair to the side of me and started talking to me - but not about what I'd just done, about my coursework.

This went on for a while until I turned around to Paul and said:  "Why haven't you even noticed what I've done?
She's proper blagged to you and she's got her crocodile tears, so why aren't you laying into me?"

Paul still seemed proper confused. So I said: "Won't I get kicked out of college?"
Then his mood changed and he proper started ranting about all the other options I have if I got kicked out of college. It was all very confusing.

But at no point during this dream did I ever feel remorse for what I did. I sat there with the same expression the entire time. I didn't ever once show anger. Even when I was kicking the shit out of this lass, my face was totally blank. And this is exactly how I feel when I get angry and hurt things. Hence the reason this dream bothered me so much...

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In today's "coursework research and planning" lesson for Media Studies - I'd announced to Sarah I'd just about finished off the script for the Spieluhr music video - so I said I'd be working on the script for my film sequence for Film Studies. She didn't seem to mind - so I got around 1/3 of it written.
Last night I'd had a dream about it, which had given me a fair few ideas - involving a young Abigail scene. I'd originally planned to have a young Abigail bit in our trailer last year - but we hadn't been able to pull it off. This time though, I sent a message to my aunty on Facebook, asking if I could borrow her kids - and mam had asked on my behalf too - so whenever we're ready to film it, I have my little cousin Lauren to help out as young Abigail (it helps that she looks a little bit like me) and Nelly to play the role of a bloody Brandon Henry - if he doesn't mind being dragged backwards down a path, spreading blood everywhere of course. :)

I actually don't hate English now anywhere near as much as I used to.
The start of the course was so tedious - but I'm actually starting to realise all the work I did last year at AS has rendered the A2 so much easier. A lot of it is simply applying your common sense and flinging in some theorist names. And of course, Angela gets us to draw baby heads and gingerbread men - and everything is colour coded. Being a visual style learner (or so they told me), this apparently helps. :D

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Shelly had promised me that when I went into college to get this HPV cervical cancer jab - she'd come in with me and hold my hand.
We had to go there before 2 - and I waited for her IN PLAIN VIEW on the tables by the clock tower entrance. I waited until 1:30 before I gave up - I went in to get the needle by myself.

I was reasonably composed up until I was about a metre away from the door.
I couldn't stop myself crying for long. Shelly wasn't there to comfort me or to hold my hand like she said she would have been. The only comfort I had was from these dozy AS students who asked me like the stupidest question ever: "Are you scared?"

And then the fucking nurse who gave me the needle was a cunt and a half. She saw the cuts and scars on my arms and asked: "Do you have a cat or a dog who scratches your arms?"
I lied, taking the chance and said simply: "Yeah."
She looked at them again and said: "They're not a cat or a dog, are they?"
I shook my head and answered: "Nope."
She gave me this proper weird look and said: "Is there something you want to tell me?"
I glared at her and said straight: "No."

So naturally when I went up to Photography - dozy Shelly was there, she said she'd been looking for me - well clearly she hadn't been looking fucking hard enough.
I was all set to punch her for lying to me - but the needle had scared me into crying - and because it's so difficult to let myself cry for all the other reasons, I sort of used it as an excuse to cry about other things - so she was sort of lumbered with me soaking her hoodie for a while.

And that's the first needle of THREE.
For fuck's sake!

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I was meant to go to Teesside University today for the open day.
I didn't go.
I was too nervous.
It sounds pathetic, I know.
I spent a lot of the day beating myself up over it.
I went into town with Lewis and Shelly.
We looked in all the charity shops for music boxes for the Spieluhr video.
We couldn't find any.
But I did get this retro bowl to use as a shaving bowl for our film sequence.
I ate a Greedy Joe's sandwich.
Then bought a shitload of crisps and a Snack bar when I went back to college.
We did more work with the pinhole cameras.
But I proper couldn't be arsed.
Shelly and I were at each others' throats a lot.
We punched each other and she pulled my hair, so I kicked her in the legs.
I was sad.
Today wasn't a good day for Dixie.