I just want you to know who I am.

To get straight to the point, I have had absolutely no luck recently.  Injuries, depression, worries and friend's problems, it's a lot for one person to deal with apparently. I had a fabulous birthday, everything was perfect, it was too good to be true. Obviously it was a little too good, because this week has just proved to me that good things don't ever last longer than a few days for me.

These past few days have been a slap to the face, a snap back to reality. All I can say is that life, specifically my life, is terrifying, disappointing and painful. It's even more painful when you really don't want to be here anymore. There are a handful of people in this world, family and friends, that would break my heart if they left me. The people that can make you laugh, smile and cry, sometimes simultaneously. Perhaps that's a good motive to go first, then I don't have to suffer that pain. Selfish, but even the thought of my parents ever leaving me is too much to deal with. I'd hate for them to leave and it hurts me to think of leaving them, even though I've tried to quite a few times now.

Sometimes though, those people you cherish the most aren't enough to halt the inevitable or destroy your despair. Even if you're in love with someone and you want to give them everything you have and share every moment with them, it just isn't enough. Just being in love with someone is an ordeal in itself, it's a bit like a thunderstorm. There's bright lights, loud noises and you're startled, but then there's rain and it's both fierce and calming. You're frightened, but at the same time you can't look away even if it means you get completely soaked to the bone. You can recognise something beautiful and terrifying when you see it and it makes you stay, despite all the fear. That's always what I've thought love to be anyway, something so powerful, destructive and beautiful all at once.

Even love and everything it encompasses isn't enough sometimes and really, if that isn't enough, what else could be? Hicks said there's a clear choice between fear and love and while I think the man was brilliant, sometimes there isn't that clear choice and that fear and your love for people meld into something dark and twisted. That's true despair.

I took a look at my life recently and I didn't like what I saw. I am so sick and tired of pain and hurting people, most of all I hate to disappoint people. I have been such a disappointment. I behaved myself throughout school because my sister was the rebellious child and my parents expected me to be good. I went to University because my family wanted me to go and be successful, not because I wanted to. I studied History because I originally loved it and so did my Nanna, but then she realised I didn't want to be a History teacher and she grew disappointed too. I've made all these choices and shaped my life around all these expectations and what I'm left with is nothing I originally wanted and absolutely no aspirations of my own. I've missed out on all the things other people my age have already done, all those relationships and stories they can tell, but I can't because it wasn't right of me to do those things when I was expected to be such a prim and proper person. I'm not saying I wasn't true to myself, I always wore what I wanted, listened to musicians who inspired me and picked my own influences, but my main choices were made for me. Maybe that's why I'm in such a mess now, I have no one to make my choices and I'm much better at managing other people and their problems than I am at managing myself.

This week I just wanted some sort of answer. I wanted to know where I was going. I wanted some sort of epiphany or talent that would take me somewhere. Instead I realised I had absolutely nothing, apart from my family and a few close friends, I have nothing of value to offer anyone. It's a terrible thing to rely on other people for your own happiness. I realised this, I bother people too much. I had some sort of moment of clarity when I realised that ending this, whatever this is, was the only thing I could choose for myself. I went from being so completely surrounded by darkness into somewhere brighter, just at the thought that I would never have to worry again. I wrote out all these notes and letters, not suicide notes, just notes of gratitude to everyone that I thought was significant in my life but who I had never gotten to thank. I wrote one to an art teacher I had whose kindness used to make me cry, another to one of my history teachers who I was always a bitch to and said something nasty to, something I still regret three years later. I wanted to thank him while I had the chance because he was actually amazing, perhaps a tad intimidating though. So I wrote out all these notes and they were heartfelt and genuine and I wrote them with feeling, like they would be my last ever words and my last chance to let them know how much I valued their impact on my life. When I woke up the next day, I was completely devastated. All my despair returned, all the things I wrote still sat there and I still can't touch them now. It's a bit like being tortured by some sort of mirage you see in the distance and as soon as you brush your fingertips against it, it just slips away again.

I spent hours and hours today just worrying and crying. I'll probably do the same tomorrow and the day after that, because there is no point to my life at the moment. There's nothing I want to achieve, there's nothing I want to do, I just want peace and some ending. I don't want to disappoint people but I don't want to be the same person. I've gone too far now though and I can't change anymore. I can't be bothered competing in a world full of people and I can't be bothered pretending to enjoy life. My father wrote on my birthday card last week that I should "love life" and all I could think of was that yes, I really should, but I don't. God I love my friends and my family and I would do anything for them, all I ask is that sometime soon they let me go. I just don't belong here anymore and I can feel it in my heart that these days are limited and those few moments when I laugh or when I smile, they are fewer and farther between. I don't want to leave though and be remembered as this loner, depressed girl, who hated parties and sat by herself. I want my family and my friends to remember how much I loved them and those moments when they made me laugh or smile, they were genuine moments. I want them to know how much their company and their happiness meant to me. Seeing my friends and my family happy has I think, been the highlight and greatest joy of my life.

Seriously, what the hell was I thinking? 04-09

Leaving primary school, I was told by a teacher of mine, that the friends I made in high school would be my friends for life. That was almost ten years ago and I've never forgotten it, purely because it was the absolute truth, at least for me.

The first friend I made was a girl named Tess, who shared a buddy with me. For the first two weeks we followed this girl around, neither of us speaking (shocking if you know us), until somehow we mutually decided to go off together and do our own thing. Good choice. I've made most of my friends like that, just through some shared idea or dislike of other girls we were surrounded by and I ended up with a group of friends that I've kept all these years. So my method must work.

The first three years of going to this school for me are mostly forgotten, mainly because I hated school and spent most of my days hanging out with older friends and watching films. I had some of the best nights of my life spent sitting on the floor of Blockbusters in Maroubra with friends, until they told us they were closing and we really had to leave. We would get pizza on the way home, laughing and eating, while we walked back to my house to spend a night watching stupid films. Those were the best of times.

The worst of times were when I was completely out of my depth and did not understand any of the rather elitist topics that were being mentioned by my peers. Weird names of other grammar schools I would never have heard of, people living in places I certainly had never visited and even people talking about their trips abroad, that just did not happen in my family! A trip into the city was considered an absolute treasure,  since it seemed like such a long way away from my home.

Even worse than feeling rather excluded, because eventually I got over all that rubbish when I found like-minded friends, was having teachers that obviously had a problem with you. Teachers really can make or break your experiences in school. I have a personal record of being told off by three teachers within five minutes, which was within the first hour of school. There is one particular teacher I had that I will never forget,  but for all the wrong reasons. Every time I saw her or had class with her, she always had something to say to me, such as "Do you ever stop talking Georgia? I don't think you do," or "Do you do anything apart from watching TV?" and my personal favourite, directed at my friend Laura and myself, "You know, I tried to integrate you girls into the form group, but you're both such social outcasts." I really have no idea why she started teaching, but it's a bit late now for her to find a new career. Pity.

Not all teachers were like that, the majority of the ones I had I didn't particularly care for, but a few of them were fantastic. Considering my last year and a half at school was spent quite ill, for reasons I've already covered, I had a lot more exposure outside of the class room to my teachers than I had ever had before. I got to see how compassionate some of them are and most importantly, how human and relatable they are. As a student, it's a very odd thing to consider that your teachers may have a life outside of school, so actually talking to them like you would any other person is quite revealing and highly enjoyable (only if they're interesting, if not, don't bother). If a teacher starts chatting to you about Doctor Who, roll with it, because that's not an opportunity to be missed!

I had a lovely art teacher, who would always smile at me when I came to class on a bad day and even let me sleep because I just could not keep my eyes open. I remember once she pulled me out of class, I was quite upset and sickly at the time, to comfort me and calm my nerves about a test I had after recess, which I just didn't think I could do. I think that was the closest point I ever reached to breaking down in front of one of my teachers (I tried very hard not to). When I went to go and sit my test after recess, I was told by my ancient history teacher that I didn't have to do it, that he could see I wasn't up for it. I later found out my art teacher had sought him out and spoken to him about me, which only made me even more fond of her and I thought I was so lucky to be taught by someone like that. I still consider myself so lucky, things could have been a lot worse for me if I didn't have people like that to care for me during that period of my life.  Even if I didn't fully appreciate it then, I most certainly do now.

I read three years worth of online journal entries to write this blog and have barely scratched the surface, but I think I said the most important things. I could have told you all  about my hair dying antics, bad skin, horrendous love of Gloria Jean's Iced chocolate (shudder) and all my angsty moments. I didn't though, because all of those things are to be expected, they were my teenage years after all!  I had some of the best times of my life, laughing and tripping up and down the Chapel stairs and just generally being with my group of friends, friends I still have. If I wanted to write about all of that, I would be here all night and you lot reading this would definitely fall asleep. 

Sometimes I really don't know what the hell I was thinking (apart from my bright green Docs, they still rock!) and I definitely don't know why I said some of the things I did (especially to my teachers, my bad), but in hindsight it wasn't all that bad. It could have been a lot worse. I got the best friends a person could have out of it and was not completely traumatised by my teachers (I've heard stories). I was definitely lucky, at least for a good seventy percent of the time.