i saw the world.

On the first night of many, I saw the world.
I looked around the air
and heard nothing but emptiness and screaming.
I looked through the trees
and saw nothing but the blood of men.
I looked in the rivers
and heard nothing but the shrill of bombs and disaster.
I looked into the earth
and saw nothing but the bile and bones of children.
I looked into the mountains
and heard nothing but betrayal.
I looked in the ocean
and saw nothing but sadness.
I saw the world and felt troubled.

Misandry.

Oh, Amanda. You are so cool. I wish I could be you. Because you can voice how you feel so much better than I can. And I'm struggling to scream.

"Misandry (pronounced /mɪˈsændri/) is hatred (or contempt) of men or boys. Misandry comes from Greek misos (μῖσος, "hatred") and anēr, andros (ἀνήρ, gen. ἀνδρός; "man"). It is parallel to misogyny—the hatred of women or girls. Misandry is also comparable with (but not the same as) misanthropy which is the hatred of humanity in general."

It all started with Amanda Palmer. She's the one who's become the trigger, the 'casus belli' within me. Thoughts and feelings can only bubble under the surface for so long. And it takes the most simplest of articles to send one girl raging over the edge. And I'm angry, so fucking angry.

All my life, I have been constantly let down by men. I have constantly been abandoned by them. The man who should have been my father walked out without a goodbye and shut me out of his life completely when I was only five years old. Too young to understand what he was thinking, but old enough to know I was not wanted. And since then, I have not had a father figure in my life. Grandfathers have been the closest thing I could have. But I wanted a father.

I was a Daddy's Girl as a child. And like any daughter, I wanted a father to be the one to chase all my fears away and be my hero. But my name is Cheryl Anne Dixon - carrier of the name of a man who abandoned his two young children - I am not allowed a hero.

Although too young to understand the true concept of hate as a naive and insecure child - I began to feel it toward my male classmates. They teased me. They pushed me over and stamped on any part their feet could reach. They pushed me into rose bushes and chased me home. I was used by them. I just didn't understand. I understand now and I block it out, unsure about what happened. I was too young, but I could feel a rage within me. And it grew. I became such an angry person. Underneath the clothes, the childish obsessions and strange ideas - there has been nothing but rage.

And because of this, my teenage years have suffered. Because of men, I am scared of being in a relationship. I fear intimacy. I'm scared of letting myself be happy because I know that one day, they'll leave me too - just like my father did. And so I shut myself off. And when I tried to force myself, I ended up doing more damage and end up curling up into myself - dying a little more inside because I know I can't do it and never will.

I get older and find out what men are truely like. What I excused to be the selfish and silly ideas of teenage schoolboys became something much more dark and horrible. And it scares me. Men use us as playthings - they want nothing much than to fuck us and leave us. Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen. They play with our hearts and heads and we're nothing but pawns - we are here to be their pawns. We're put on pedestals to be adored and worshiped - to be perfect and clean and everything they want us to be. It disgusts me.

And this is where Palmer comes into play. Go fucking Amanda Palmer. I love you.

It really comes into the image of women that men seem to want and it makes me fucking sick because it's fake and it's not what a real woman is. Apparently, we must be perfect. We must be flawless. And if we don't shave every inch of ourselves, we are unclean. The general idea from men over this pisses me off. It's like the ordinary girl has to look like the sluts in all the porn you watch. Get a fucking life and a real fucking woman. Like Amanda. She is a real woman. She had ups and downs, she was unsure - I guess. But to me, she is real.

And it is because of this belief I'm destroying myself just to be so fucking perfect for you. I don't know why I've ever bothered. I've probably felt so low and desperate that in order to belong - I have to conform. I feel uncomforable with myself, like this skin isn't mine - it doesn't feel right. And who's fault is this?

Yes. Yours. Fuck you.

Thank you for destroying me. I hope you're fucking happy.

I am not your plaything. I am not perfect. I am far from it and will never be perfect. I am a girl. A one who's been fucked up thanks to you. I will always be a girl, an angry one. I hate men, for what you've all done.

Because I know what you are inside. I know every inch of you, every inch of your being. I know what you are. You are the blood and the bones of your mothers, rejected. You are the violence. You are the screaming void. You are abandonment, the perverted, the bastard. You are the betrayer of my sex.

And I hate you.

I don't know how long I'll feel like this for, probably for the rest of my days - maybe until I can come to terms with myself and find the right person to accpet me for the self-loathing fuck up that I am.

But I'm tired, so fucking tired.

UH-merica.

I can't say I have much motivation right now. I don't even have any to eat. I'd rather sit and listen to my stomach make strange noises and make faces every time I feel a sharp stab of hunger pangs. It's like I can't be bothered to feed myself these days. I've got plenty of pasta to cook and mix with sauce, but I just don't care or don't have the energy. Sometimes it's like I don't want to bother feeding myself. I don't care. I just don't care anymore. Who wants to spend more than fives minutes in that kitchen anyway? Dirty dishes piled high, food left lying around, it's disgusting. I'm not cleaning it. It's not my mess, why should I pick up after everyone else. Cooking requires time and time is not what I want to spend in that kitchen. I need to go shopping. For food which is quick and easy to make and stops my stomach making strange noises. Tomorrow, I promise.

I woke up at 6am this morning, drank some orange juice and wrote a post for a site I'm role playing on. I drank some more orange juice and went back to bed. I heard a dog howl, fell asleep and then woke up another hour later. What a life I lead. Thrilling stuff.

I've been up for a shower, that's pretty much it. I'm still sat in my towel, I should really put some clothes on, for God's sake. Is there any need?

I need to hoover my floor. It's looking dire. I also need to write a story and a poem about how awesome Vickie is all because she guessed what the weather would be like and I didn't have five pound to make a proper bet. So I bet her some writing talents. I wish she were wrong. I want five pound right now. What else do I need to do? Oh yes, probably some washing and wash my dishes. Errgh.

WHY DOES EVERYONE AND THING WAS SOMETHING FROM ME. LEAVE ME ALONE DAMN YOU. ARGH.

BUMPER CARS WITH HOUSE. GO GO GO.

cracked.

My tooth cracked earlier today, but I didn't notice it at first. I just felt a line, a crack. I had a closer insepction and noticed it was loose. Oh shit. I've since then spent mose of today poking and prodding at it just to try and force it out. There's been a lot of pain, then none at all. A lot of the time there's been blood. Not nice at all.

It took a while, but I managed to yank it loose enough to pull it out. By this time the blood's dribbling down my chin and my head's dizzy from the pain. I was advised to go to the dentist's. But I don't trust them. They don't help me at all, any way. Why bother with a stupid, dirty tooth? I can deal with it myself.

There was a lot more blood, just a sudden rush and my whole mouth's full of it. I'm morbidly fascinated and horrified at the same time. But that's how I roll, yo. A whole half a tooth gone. It's currently lying on my desk in a bloodied mess. I'll deal with it later. It feels weird having it out. There's just a bigger hole in my jaw now. Lovely.

Umbrella Academy, aahhhhh!

a weeping world.

Sometimes, the wiser ones say
That it is better not to live,
For life is full of miserable things.
The call of war, the betrayal of friends,
The beauty of nature, all brought to an end.
They advise, on occasion,
That it is better not to love,
For love is hurtful and violent.
The unrequited feeling, the falsehood of dreams,
The elated sense is not all as it seems.
Sometimes, they preach to me,
That it is better not to have faith,
For faith is pointless and empty.
The hope of redemption, the community of lies,
Their pitiful acts all seen through God’s eyes.
It is often better,
Not to live, nor love, nor believe,
Because being is suffering and bland.
And the old man confides to me:
“For the world's more full of weeping, than you can understand.”

hellohellohello.

I have started a new blog. Observe it's shinyness and all round new car smell. Clean and pristine, although not for long. Give me some time and I'll just deface it with whiny, self-abusing words and make you not want to read what I have to say anymore. I love it. Ahahahah.

I am hungover and my insides are churning round and round like a washing machine. My feet hurt too. And I smashed my last wine glass and cut my left hand. It's not pleasant. But that doesn't matter, I suppose - 'tis only a flesh wound!

Because I know that last night was absolutely amazing. I drunk lots and lots and got cheesy chips and burnt my throat on the way home. It was fun. I love being drunk. I remember falling down the stairs at Independent. Well, Alex reminded me. I just remember this aching back of mine. Oosh.

I'm tired again. And I need some decent food, to go shopping and I need to wash my dishes. What a life.