My name is Shalom and I am terrified.

I’m scared of everything, of myself, of people, of windows, of mirrors, of rooms, of butterflies, of time.

Just scared.

 

I have severe panic and anxiety attacks that sometimes last for more than three hours.

I can’t do anything because I forget how to breathe. I forget how to function.

 

I can’t sleep and it’s 01:14 AM here is South Africa.

I have two exams tomorrow and my school career is in limbo.

 

I’m terrified, and I keep crying, and I don’t like it.

I keep doing it, and I can’t talk to anyone because sometimes just a person’s mouth moving can send me right into a state of severe panic.

 

I’m terrified.

-Scoot xx

Scoot On ~ Getting Out

I’ve got to get out.

My last Facebook status update that probably left 200 of the 760 Facebook friends that bother to read any of the crap that I post wondering what the hell I was on about. Well, firstly,I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain every time somebody asks me,”What’s wrong?” or even worse, “Are you okay?” I hate those questions, mostly because whoever’s asking them already knows what they want to hear in return. Most people,or at least most people who I’ve come across want to hear something like,”No, I’m not alright and I really need you to help me because you can fix me an I trust you so much and you’re actually such a great person forhelping me,” but unfortunately for those people, this is life and not a poorly written YA novel.

Basically, for everyone who has been wondering what the hell has been going on with me: a lot. That’s the answer.

In brief, I’m not coping at my school, I’m being bullied again and I have to get out of there before I have a suicide on my hands. And as dramatic as it sounds, it’s a real life issue, assuming that there is a fake life to compare it to.

I’m a tired person who’s struggling trying to prepare for exams and do well,and I want to go back to Parktown Girls because at least I functioned there, and I want to stop being so useless,and I also want to punch a girl named Bridgett in the face, because everything that she says makes me and so many other people feel so crap about themselves, and not taking responsibility for it is NOT okay. Not with me, anyway.

I have to get through this though, because in a little over 600 days I’m going to be in Magnificent Mishawaka, Indiana, at Bethel College. I have to get through this.

  • If you didn’t want to know this, (cool memory erasing thing from men in black activates and now you unknow)
  • If you did want to know this, well now you do.

History exam on Friday, preparation level = 3/10.

-Scoot

Scoot on ~ that emotion thing

faces

 

The weight

of a simple human emotion

weighs me down.

~Troye Sivan

Apart from providing you with some beautiful lyrics,I have another task today. It’s day 4 of my 100 happy days, and I’m feeling happy as can be – not really,but I feel alright – but I have something that I really need to get out.

No, it’s not a fart.

Okay, so I’ve been on this planet for almost 16 years and I’ve been impressed by it every day.I know sometimes people say that they’re so sick of the planet and they’d much rather go some place else, but there really isn’t any other place to go as of now. If you’re that person, sit tight and appreciate where you are or try to move planets and suffer the consequences (i.e. death with a side of death).

The basis of the existence of some people, and recently myself, is a war with one’s self. I think the fact that we are human plays a big role in this. I always marvel at the humans’ ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on – even with tears streaming down their faces.

This ability, I think, lies within emotion. Today I felt things that I would never have thought I would this time last year. I felt pain, but not physical or the usual emotional pain, but pain that comes from being so numb, it hurts. Well,that sounded dramatic! This human emotion thing is really a lot to deal with though.

The thing about these emotions for me is that I’m crazy about them. I’m crazy about hurt, and love, and pain. Not crazy about feeling them, they just fascinate me. I like the idea of different forms of the same emotions, and the way every single person can feel it regardless of who they are or what they’ve been through.

But that’s the thing about the love. It’s not about a boy or a girl or a cat for me, it’s just the love. I’m an addict, and I need my fix. But everyone is out. There is no love for me. None of the love to spare.

I feel that way sometimes. I don’t feel like nobody loves me (I think ermigaaard) or that I have nobody to love, it just feels like it’s run out everywhere. And all the love stores are on a very extended lunch break or are closed until further notice.

So, yes, I feel a little weighed down.

 

Until happier days, hopefully

-Scoot xx

 

 

Scoot on ~ why these shoes don’t fit anymore

So , hi.

This is a long post. Just saying.

My name is Shalom and I haven’t updated this blog in almost a month. To say I haven’t touched it would be lying, because the amount of times I’ve logged on to WordPress and typed up a draft, then realised the utter crapness of the post is crazily high. I haven’t been in Ethiopia or Lesotho or Sweden (because if I was in Sweden, believe me, YOU’D KNOW) but I have been through a lot in the past couple of months, so pardon my utter slackerage.

Good happy news though: I officially have a posting schedule! {Yay/wow/don’t care} I’ll be posting at least once every week now, and that’s not just in some vain attempt to increase traffic, because for some reason that’s been doing great all on it’s own, without me even.

On to the important stuff – well, relatively important because importance is really just relative to what’s going on in the current situation. For now, let’s all assume that we’re as dumb as I am, and place one month ago as the current current situation:

  1. I changed the theme of this here blog about 42 times.
  2. I did this to sort of match my mood but if a theme was created for every mood I had, I’m fairly certain the internet would crash.
  3. This theme makes me oddly calm so let’s go with it and avoid death of people who don’t (make me calm, that is).
  4. I do have an actual post to write, I just thought I needed to clear the air a bit.

So lately I’ve been spending a lot more time in my head, and if that adds up to insanity, I plead thoroughly guilty. And that’s okay, but not too much, because that, dear friends, results in characteristically antisocial and non-amiable behaviour which nobody ever found *too* attractive.

BUT WHO THE HELL SAID I WANTED TO BE ATTRACTIVE?

Look, nothing is wrong with being attractive, I say. I know so, so many tall, pretty, friendly, skinny blonde girls with  jealousy-creating friends and an Adonis of a boyfriend. Some of them are ridiculously happy, and that’s also totally fine. But I’ve seem to have[ (a) given myself (b) inherited, or (c) been given] these shoes that I’ve worn for so long. Have you ever had something that you’ve had for so long, that you can’t imagine not having it? That’s kind of how I feel with happiness. Not you’re-a-great-person-and-that-makes-me-happy, but rather oh-look-a-butterfly-everything-is-so-great-nothing-is-ever-the-matter-with-me-yay-love-smiles type happiness. I’m not saying that I never feel that way, but I am saying I don’t ALWAYS  feel so.

It’s like having shoes to fill. Happy shoes, if you will. These shoes that I’ve worn since eighth grade when I decided not to be bullied anymore, when I decided to be everyone’s friend. I swear, it’s not like I wasn’t friendly before, I was just not as loud and ridiculous as I tend to be sometimes. So I suppose you could say I’ve kind of grown out of those shoes. It’s quite sad. Like I said, those shoes came with friends and people who said they loved you, and really good food and a crazily brave fearlessness of sorts.

And now they’re too small.

Those people who loved you stopped, and then your friends weren’t anymore, and suddenly, you’re afraid of everything. It’s a scary thing, getting these new shoes. At least it is for me.

I’m currently at the Shoes of Life fitter. I’ve been here for months, and they still haven’t managed to find my size here. The shoemaker did say that custom orders took longer, though. How long is longer? I’m not certain in the slightest. But I do hope these new shoes come along sooner rather than later.

Though things have changed, and though I have changed, I’m not entirely different. I do still love people and things and places and life, but I do think that the years of pretending have taken their toll, so I apoplogise in advance for the melancholic zone created by such a potentially happy place.

Oh, and thank you for putting up with my metaphors.

All my love,

-Scoot xx

NEW FRIENDS NEEDED – APPLICATIONS OPEN

I owe you all a proper post. After this semi rant-rant.

So I’ve been on grade eleven camp for the past  four days, and the point of this camp is for the grade to bond, because we’ll be leading the school next year and stuff. We’re supposed to get to know people who we didn’t through the randomised groups we were put into, and then we’d learn to work with each other and a thoroughly fruitful experience would be had, yeah?

Nah.

So what actually happened on camp? For me, mostly everything that should have happened. I talked to people that I had only had my own formulated opinions about, and I got proven wrong almost every time. I had a 16 1/2 year old boy run down a hill with me on his back after I had hurt my ankle, and he just kep running and asking if I was okay.This boy that I thought hated my guts. Wow, surprise right? I got a couple of those – pleasant surprises.

But I also go some other surprises.

I guess they don’t count as surprises if I really knew that it was coming in the back of my mind, but the surprise came from the extent to which it happened. Confused? Let me fill you in.

So at school I used to sit with these people.  Three girls,  three boys- one of which who used to be my boyfriend for all of 2.5 months(wow [sarcasm]) , let’s call him Remy, and one who was my best friend that we’ll call Autumn (? questionable definition). Now one of the other girls that we’ll call Hazel is dating Travis, and Autumn is dating Seth (who in turn hates my guts, and only Jesus knows why because he doesn’t even know). Also in that group, Alaska, a lovely sweet girl who never gets involved in much and lives really close to me (so I’d rather stay on her side seeing that if a bear was chasing me, her house would be nearest to mine), and Audrey, who is overly brash and loud, but is basically a part of my family. Now that you’ve been introduced, let me tell you what happened:

Basically, as heard by 9 different eye witnesses,  Seth (hates me) and Travis (apparently hates me too?) along with Hazel, bitched about me for a whole 40 minutes, and called me several things, including 1)  backstabbing bitch who was never good enough for Remy – did I mention Seth and Remy are twins? 2) crazily inferior to Imogen (who calls herself my friend) , Seth’s new girl-girl, and 3) apparently smack-talking Autumn, all the time yeah?

WELL GUESS WHO JUST GOT RE-INTRODUCED TO HERSELF? ME!

I spoke to both Imogen and Hazel, and both seemed oblivious to any of the things said. Imogen apologised for not speaking to me, and told me she’d never want to ruin our friendship-cute hey? FACT TIME: NOT JEALOUS. Hurt that Imogen didn’t even make an attempt to speak to me about something involving the two of us after a month of brewing? Yes. Well, I was.

I don’t really care much now, but if they’re reading, these people know who they are.  Also I changed all of their names because I think mine are cooler except Travis. Travis is kinda ‘eh’.

Well, I’m in the business of looking again. New friends needed. Applications open.  Application closed to deadbeats, put downers, plastics and bitches.

-Scoot xx 

Scoot on ~ where social insecurities go to hide

So today I thought I’d write to you from my IT class. Being one out of the three people in my classroom environment filled with predominantly oestrogen, my class can be defined as territory for the brave. Okay, maybe I’m being a little exaggerative, but you need to hear me out.

As of now, I have science as my last lesson of the day and I’ve done no homework, I’m going to skip public speaking so that I can get a ride to ballet only to be told that I’m pointing my feet the wrong way and “not to worry, it’ll get better in time”, and then I’m going to get home and be swamped with homework and probably sit on the couch closest to the wireless router in my house and browse instagram, tumblr, and Facebook until my cows that I never have had the desire town come home.

But apart from all that, I have to deal with now. Right now, it is 12.29 pm GMT +2, and I am surrounded by 15 people currently (and hopefully for some or other person) equipped with otherwise shaped genitalia and RAGING HORMONES THAT I CANNOT ACTUALLY DEAL WITH.

Let me be enraged for a minute: IT IS NOT EASY TO BE THE FEMALE OBSERVER! I mean, you’re probably thinking, “Come on Scoot, it’s not that bad.” But let me tell you, THAT IT IS.

To be honest, the title of this post wasn’t planned coherently with this post but the more I write, the more it does. My IT class is full of expectation. Seriously: there are 15 boys to whom the perfect girl is fair skinned, thin, fit, fun-loving, smart, athletic and all in all, Christmas morning.

So, what does that have to do with anything? Well, once the guys are done feasting their prying eyes upon the protruding exterior of my incredibly intelligent IT teacher, they tend to look around them. And on several occasions, I’ve been told that Ashlyn and I aren’t Christmas morning. We aren’t up to scratch, not good enough.

But this is where it stops.

There are so many beautiful human beings – ale and female alike- who aren’t Christmas morning. And why would they want to be? Christmas is a capitalist ploy to extort consumers out of anything and everything in the shortest time frame possible. Maybe they’re Independence morning – loud, and over acknowledged, yet looked over at the same time. Maybe some of these people are new years day, because they bring fresh hope, yet always seem the same as the previous. Or maybe, just maybe, some of these people are nights, and don’t fit into the moulds of perfect mornings. 

But how would anybody know. Nobody ever asks.

Now, a class mostly full of penises, (in my opinion the plural of penis is actually peni but hey, whatever the English language says goes), some things are bound to appear. If you’re ashamed of your legs, then these boys will probably reassure you that you should be. It’s the way it goes sometimes.  Or, sometimes, they’ll tell you what I got told mid-2013:

What is actually wrong with you? Because I’m not gonna lie to you and tell you that supermodels have nothing on you or that you’re the hottest girl in the school, but I’ll tell you this: you have got to get over yourself. Because your body is fine and if you keep going about like the world is gonna end if you don’t transform into someone else- it’s probably going to end.”

A 16 year old boy told me this, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

There really are only so many things you can do: live, or die. Both happen, but only one is guaranteed to it’s full potential. (PS IT’S DEATH.) You have insecurities? Get them out. Because not everybody is lucky enough to be dipped into enough testosterone daily to be  reminded of why he or she shouldn’t have them.

All my love,

Scoot xx

Scoot on ~ 11th first day jitters

So the school year in South Africa starts tomorrow, and I’m going to be in eleventh grade.

ELEVENTH GRADE!!!

If there was ever one first day I was afraid for, it’s this one. Apart from my first day at my ballet studio, this probably takes the cake.

Yes, I know, most of you probably think that I’m mistaken. I went through first grade like a kid on steroids. I could not wait to get away from my mom and dad and finally get into real school where my big sister and brother were. I seriously thought that all the other crying kids were SO petty, and needed to get over themselves. I loved the idea of school, so much. So much! And first grade wasn’t awful, but being the only kid in the class who could read fluently, it had its setbacks. I had a lovely lady as a teacher though, and met some cool people who I’d meet again in 8th grade – which is the start of high school in SA.

Most of the people in my primary school went to Northcliff High for grade 8; and all I wanted to do was get away. I went to Parktown Girl for grade 8, and that was when I made the official switch to Scoot from my actual name, Shalom. (This thing keeps correcting that to Avalon which would have been an awesome name too :P) I made it my goal to talk to everyone, hoping that they wouldn’t all hate me as much as people in 7th did. Lucky me, most of them just did it in terms open so I wasn’t confused. 😛

I think that grade 8 was the time that I started noticing people for what they really can be, and I stopped being so foolish XD It was an interesting ride, and I left that school too, funnily enough.

I then moved to Northcliff, and met some people, and went about the same 8th grade strategy for 9th. It worked, more fake people, though. I guess some of them were alright, like Jess . And so I carried on, through 9th and 10th, so why should this be any different? Here’s why:

In South Africa, your report in 11th grade determines whether or not you get accepted into university. I need a bursary. So this year means endless work, and I have dance on top of that – I’m going to be trying to do the Cechetti Intermediate foundation exam, after a grand total of 7 months of dancing. XD The future for me is now, and it’s affecting me so hard that I cleaned my room.

WHAT
WHY

It’s funny, I suppose I have a habit of not doing what I have to unless I’m scared or anxious. Bring on the panic attacks!

I’ve never been able to sleep the night before school started. For 10 years, this being the 11th. Well, at least I’m consistent in one aspect.

All my love, especially to that one amazing viewer from the Russian Federation who I’d love to leave me a comment or something!

-Scoot xx

Scoot on ~ the instagram of it all

Hi best friend! I hope you’re having a stellar stellar day-day! And for yesterday and the day before and for all the days that you’ve ever had!

So, I have an announcement to make. I joined Instagram! Yes, I’m probably going to have to shoot myself in the foot and then feed myself said foot because that is the extent to which I am pushed due to some things.

Things I’ve noticed on instagram

1) Hashtags are seriously an epidemic. I mean, hashtags are meant to group posts, so do tell me who’s going to be looking for “#burgertimebestburgerofmylife” ? Noooo!
2) The selfie problem. Now this is a new disease called selfiesitis where the affected patient has an urge to take pictures of their face, often in the case of teenage girls, with their lips sucked towards the camera. Unfortunately, there seems to be no cure, and it only seems to be further reaching those who were the strongest protected against such.

3) The “I’m a photographer/model/ajwevbauywheiu.” Firstly, if you can take a photograph on your cellphone camera and edit it with a silly filter and call yourself a photographer, YOU ARE DELUDED. You, dearest, are what we call technologically literate – congratulations! Secondly, Instagram is NOT an agent. Sorry. Hate to break it to you. Someone had to say it.  And finally, you can be/do/say whatever you want. But just know, that stupidity tends to cause annoyance, and that’s something we could all do without.

That being said, and making this officially one of my shortest posts EVER, I’m going to be putting up a widget that links to my instagram so you can see what I’m getting up to. In a total non weird way.

I have instagram. Follow if you want – www.instagram.com/ahascoot

Till then best friends! 😀

All my love,

-Scoot xx

Scoot on ~ what NOT to do in an Ethiopian Airport

Hi guys! So I’m in Ethiopia, as this title may have informed you XD This is a beautiful country so far, and I’m really staying in such a great place – I think – and it should be good!

So the flight here from Joburg was good, and the plane was actually really cool! And then we touched down. At the airport.

Now, who knows how to spell trouble?

Me. T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

Also spelled as ‘my dad is a diplomat and has a tendency of causing trouble because he thinks he’s really REALLY important and everyone gets annoyed by that very quickly’.

In brief, what happened was that we got to passport control, and some protocol officer called my dad to the front. And then lots of arguing. And then pushing and shoving. And then ‘we were here first!’. And this continued for about…50 minutes?

So what’s the moral of the story? STAY IN THE DARN QUEUE! I honestly would rather have just stood peacefully for half an hour than stand and get shoved around for the most part of an hour.

So look. When in Ethiopia? Stay as normal as possible. Think you’re special? YOU’RE NOT. Hate to be the one who dampens your spirits, but I guess things are different in an airport?

You know you’re still amazing and all that, I mean, look at you! 😉

So I’ll be sure to update later, day 2 of Ethiopia awaits!

All my love, all the time
-Scoot xx