You won't read this, but I feel better when you're not here

It's incredibly petty and narrow minded of me, but I just can't help myself. I'v given you a fair chance, and to be honest, you're actually perfectly lovely and nice some of the time, but it's the other times that just tip the balance too far and make me wish that you weren't here at all.

When you don't come, I have really great evenings with my friends, we talk and laugh and chat about serious stuff and nonsense and everything in between. We're all relaxed and happy and no one has to worry about what they say or what they're doing.

With you here, all that abruptly stops. Now we have to watch every word, for fear you'll repeat something to the wrong person later. We have to be careful about where we leave things in case you pick them up and break them, or knock them over.

But the most annoying thing is how we constantly have to keep you entertained. Not a single minute of the conversation can't be about you, and if we try to move the subject onto more important things you find some pathetic reason to whine or complain or ask a question so that the focus is back on you.

I don't want you to think that I don't like you. You're perfectly nice, you're funny, a lot of the time I enjoy spending time with you. When you're in a good mood, you're really great company. It's just when you're in a bad mood that I spend the whole evening just hoping that you'll fall asleep again so we can all relax a bit.

Maybe when I've lived a little more I'll find the patience to cope with you. Until then, I'll just keep smiling and nodding while you bore the hell out of me again.

You won't read this, but you make me happy

This one is very veiled, because you're an internet person, as opposed to a real-world person.

Even though on paper, it shouldn't work at all between us. Whenever I'm with you, i feel safe and happy and loved.

I don' think you'll ever know how incredible each of those emotions are to me. They really don't happen often.

I love you. Thank you.

You won't read this, but I blame you

Mia. I blame you for quite a significant chunk of my adult 'issues'.

You were one of J's friends. Which meant that you were probably pretty fucked up yourself. I think we were both 16 when we met, but where I was shy and very naive, you were outrageous and already world-weary and experienced in all manner of sex and drugs and rock'n'roll related things. I'm fairly sure you'd slept with J. I know for a fact you'd slept with most of the other people in his group of friends, boys and girls alike.

I just want to tell you, Mia, that I don't know why J picked me up. I honestly don't know. No one was more baffled that he liked me than I was, believe me. But he did and it wasn't MY fault that he was spending time with me and not you. You weren't even interested until he turned you down. Then I guess it got personal.

It sounds strange, but I genuinely didn't notice how bitchy you were to me at first. All of J's friends were strange and confusing for me. You all lived such vastly different lives from mine, were all so much OLDER than me, even the ones who were younger, that a few sarcastic comments just passed me by. Then you changed tack. I can see that now, but at the time, i honestly thought you were trying to make friends.

I was very confused back then. I was incredibly innocent, for a teenager. And acutely aware of how fat and unattractive I was. But at the same time, the internet had given me a pretty thorough sex education and i knew a lot more about some things than I probably should have. Never as much as you though. I had a transvestite boyfriend. That in itself was worth a world of coolpoints, had i had the guts to tell anyone at the time. I was too afraid of losing him and being another of those girls who're labelled a slag or a whiner after they've been dumped at school. On the other hand, my boyfriend was in himself very confused, and while we messed around a lot, we never actually slept together.

Did you know that, Mia? You spent so much time being jealous that J was shagging me and not you, but did you ever find out that we'd never shagged at all? I'll always hate that you'd fucked him and I never got the chance. I'll always hate that I said no, thinking we had plenty of time for all of that.

Anyway. The big thing. You, Mia. You are one of the big causes of my crippling shyness around people today. Because it was you, you fucking cunt of a person, who was the first to actively set me up for ridicule. It's happened since and it'll probably happen again, but you were the first and I hate you for that.

Okay, so I was young and trusting and innocent. And yes, I was also fat and uncool and I didn't have any gothy or alternative clothes and mostly just lived in jeans and logo tops from Etam while you and all your friends looked like something out of a marilyn manson video. And yeah, i'd never done any drug harder than alcohol or more illegal than weed. But did i really deserve what you did to me?

I told you I didn't remember it because i had no other way of coping with what happened. But I remember all of it. You bought me a drink, which should have been a warning light in itself but i thought you were trying to be nice. And then when i was too fucked up to move or respond you took my jeans off me and sat there and laughed at me in front of all the other fucked up people in the room. I remember that it was dark but not dark enough. And i so desperately wanted to close my legs and run away, but i couldn't even let go of the table leg. I couldn't open my mouth.

Every moment of that night is seared into my brain forever. I can still see J right across the room, chatting with the two teenage boys that i never knew were prostitutes until years later when certain things finally clicked into place. And i remember you whispering stuff at me while you shoved things into me. and that other girl watching. and the filthy old man who always sat in the corner. Just watching. and you all laughing at the fat girl who thought she could come into your world of beautiful, fucked up people.

J got me dressed again. and got me home. and even apologised for you spiking my drink. but he never apologised for what you did. i asked him why he let it happen once, and he just shrugged and said you were like that. Did you know that? It gives me the creeps now. And even though i was devastated at the time, i think that J's car crash was the best thing that could have happened. Not only did it get rid of his horrible influence on my life, but it also meant that once and for all, you and every one of his friends were cut off from me.

I know you blame me for killing him, Mia. But he was going to destroy himself one way or another anyway. And I blame you for killing the person i could have been.

Without you, I would never had heard that ringing laughter. and i would never have developed such a strong suspicion of anyone who's ever nice to me. and i wouldn't have become so cripplingly shy and conservative that i run away from almost every relationship the moment it became intimate. I hate that you destroyed my life and you LAUGHED.

I hate you Mia. There are very few people on the planet I hate, but you are right up there near the top of the list.

I keep an eye on the local newspapers in you area, Mia. And hope that one day i'll see your name in the obituaries. That's the only satisfaction you could ever give me.

You won't read this, but I really miss you. [Part 1]

A] You were my first online friend ever. I was about 13 years old, perhaps a little older, and you were about the same and we met on the John5 fansite messageboard. We chatted on the board for a while, then started PMing, then eventually you convinced me to download MSN. Yes, my internet addiction is entirely your fault.

We were such good friends, I mean, as much as two teenagers full of fear about intarwebb pervs can be. And then things changed, J5 moved on to new things, both of us left school and followed different paths through college and we just drifted apart. It happens, it's normal and I'm not hugely sad about it, but I just wanted you to know that I still think about you occasionally, and I wonder how you're doing these days. I miss you.



B] You were one of the first friends I made at uni. I still remember the actual physical shock I felt when you airily denied that you were gay even though to me it was shockingly obvious. It was like you'd just stated you were a duck, instead of a human. I just stammered an apology and carried on, but it did confuse me a bit. I'd never really met someone in the closet before. People who were discreet, yeah, but never someone in denial.

Anyways, you took me to bridge club and I took you to LGBTA. I realise now that you only took me to bridge club for an excuse to come along to the gaybar with me, but that's fine, bridge was fun. Mind you, LGBTA was funner. You took me for a walk along the riverbank. It was dark and there was a beautiful crescent moon and I remember thinking that you were either going to come on to me, or come out to me. Of course, it was the latter. It always is! You hands were literally shaking as you pulled on your cigarette and told me. I just shrugged and nodded. I already knew. You gave me a big hug and I had to bite back a sob that yet again, I was the asexual confidante, and not the romantic interest.

It didn't matter though, you were vibrant and fun and you really helped me gain a lot of confidence through that awkward first term at uni. I liked that you were so outgoing, it helped mask my shyness a bit, helped me to not seem so aloof.

When you told me you were leaving, I was genuinely upset. And then when you gave me my goodbye gift, I actually did fill with tears. I'd never been given something that meant so much to someone before. I still have it. I take it out occasionally and think about how wonderful you were to me.

We're still sort of in touch, in a strange facebook-based kind of way. Both of us have moved on and I know that it wouldn't be the same if we met up again now. I do miss you though.



C] We met at college. You were in the year below me, and I clocked you on the first day because you had a beautiful full length purple velvet frock coat that looked fucking fantastic on your skinny body, and you had a backpack covered in AFI lyrics. And those beautiful big blue eyes. I called you AFI-girl, and AFI-girl you remained for weeks, because I could never quite gather up the courage to talk to you. You were so pretty, and cool in a bohemian alternative kind of way, and had such bright strong friends around you. I knew you'd never notice me.

Eventually, you did notice me. It was straight out of a cheap tv show. My friends and I were sat in the corridor during a rainy free period and your friends came and sat on the other side. And I got out my folder, which was covered in AFI pictures and causally waved it around until you noticed. "AFI!" you squealed, and at LAST, I had an excuse to talk to you. I wished you happy Davey's birthday and then we just started talking.

You liked Rachel Stamp. This was amazing. We went to see them together in Cardiff, you me and Steve. I took the last train home, but you and Steve stayed out there all night. I think you snuck into a gay bar or something. I worried about you that night.

Then I left for uni, but managed to get back in touch with you for the AFI tour in 2006. I bought you a ticket for the Birmingham gig and got us a hotel room and everything. You invited that guy back with us, but he was only interested in you. I'd never felt so fat, ugly and repulsive until that night. Lying there, pretending to be asleep while you guys got it on right there in the bed next to me. It was horrendous. Eventually, at about 5am, I got up and left. I sat in the corridor the rest of the night. I couldn't stand it in there any more.

I'm sorry that I was so brusque with you the next day. I'd had no sleep and was still trying to cope with being so horribly rejected and ignored. We've never spoken since I said goodbye at the train station. I think you've changed your number. I never had your email.

I hope that you're okay. I miss you.

You won't read this, but you're fucking irritating

You. yes, YOU, bunch of fluffy-haired girls in the second year of uni. I'm talking you YOU.

Now, I don't want to sound snobby, but you're clearly not hugely bright. I mean, you're at uni, but it's frankly a but of a third-rate university, isn't it? And you're hardly doing an 'academic' course are you? And you smoke. You're training to work with young children and you're still sucking at your cancer sticks. Like I say: clearly not hugely bright.

In my head, I call you set-3 girls. That's what set I expect you were put in at school. I think you're probably bright enough to have been set-2 girls, but you'd have been bumped down a bit because you WON'T STOP FUCKING TALKING.

I mean, JESUS CHRIST, what the fuck is wrong with you chicks? You're at fucking UNIVERSITY now, this isn't high school any more, Dorothy. You can't just sit and giggle all the way through class like you did when you were fucking fourteen years old. You're at uni. GROW UP. People are PAYING for those lectures and you, you fluffy-haired, heavily-mascara'd, leggings-and-smock-top-wearing morons are costing them their education.

You do know that the rest of the class despise you, right? And this isn't juvenile, teenage "omg, like, I totally hate her cos, like, she's totally wearing the same top as me, like, y'know?" jealousy, this is actual, grown up academic HATRED because every single time you guys whisper loudly, or mumble under your breath, or giggle at nothing, or get a text message, the whole class rolls their eyes in irritation that once again, you've interrupted, or obscured a relevant point that the lecturer was making.

And I mean, yeah, the class is fucking piss-easy and I can totally see why you're bored, but for christ's sake, why can't you sit and be bored IN SILENCE, like the rest of us are? I genuinely believe that you're the kind of girls who are too unintelligent to sit quietly when you're bored. You must have zero imagination. Instead of drifting off into peaceful daydreams, or absently doodling on paper like the rest of us, you're the kind of girls who simply cannot cope with the world unless you are talking at all times. It's like your brains aren't developed enough to cope with the concept of an INTERNAL monologue. Instead you constantly blurt every inane thought in your head out the the world, no matter how inappropriate it may be.

Because that's my main point. WHEN YOU ARE IN A LECTURE, YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP. This is how the world works. Perhaps it's not your fault, perhaps you've never experienced a decent academic environment before. I know that the lower classes at school place less emphasis on being quiet and learning than the top sets do, so maybe you've never actually been given in a situation where you have to LEARN before but frankly, that's no fucking excuse.

YOU ARE BEING FUCKING RUDE when you talk in class. In fact, you're being fucking ruse when you text in class but at least that's relatively quiet [except for you, fluffy-haired brunette, jesuschrist, your phone buttons click so loudly that we can all hear it right across the room, despite you 'hiding' your phone under the desk so that it just looks like you're intently flicking yourself off over there].

If you don't want to listen to the lecturer, then fine. That's your issue. But WHY, if you're not going to listen, do you insist on turning up every week? No one gives a shit if you attend or not. In fact, we'd all much prefer if you fucked off and left the rest of the class in peace. Your snide remarks are unpleasant and can only be interpreted as deliberately rude as you often don't bother to lower your voices when making your unkind comments. We'd all be much happier if you just didn't bother to turn up.

So yes, fluffy-haired girls in the back corner. I really wish that one day you would grow the fuck up and realise that the sigh of disappointment the class gives out when you stumble into the lecture ten minutes late, isn't disapproval at your lateness, it's just disappointment that you've come to class yet again, and resignation that once again the lecture will be ruined by your childishness.

PLEASE. SHUT THE FUCK UP.

You won't read this, but I think you're beautiful.

You work at the library. You have jaw length blonde surfer-hair, and a labret piercing. and glasses. And jesusfuck, you're beautiful. And shy - which only makes you more beautiful. And I know that 'beautiful' isn't a very masculine word but it fits you perfectly.

You make me want to hang out at the library more often, but I don't dare to because I'm so afraid that sooner or later you'll notice me gazing at you from across the room where I'm pretending to be working and you'll blush and run away.

Sometimes I see you around town, and yeah, I did once follow you all the way to the train station but it's okay, I managed to snap myself out of it before I chased you in there and made a mental note of which train you were catching. You always look like you're thinking about something. I like to think that you're mentally narrating your life - or your fantasy life - the way i constantly do too.

I want to talk to you. That's all it is. I mean, yeah, ultimately, I guess I want to date you and marry you and have kids with you - or at least have a damn good shag - but essentially, I want to talk with you and find out if you're as beautiful inside as you are on the outside. I want to ask you what you like to read, and watch, and listen to. I want to hear what your laugh sounds like.

But as you're too shy to deal with people at the helpdesk at the library, and shuffle off to do computerwork in the office at the back whenever one comes up; and as I'm much much too lacking in confidence to ever walk up to you and say hi. I can't even think of any smooth way to start a conversation when I have time to think, let alone doing it on the spur of the moment with you right there.

So I guess - unless we turn out to have a mutual interest or acquaintance, I'll just continue to keep an eye out for you, and continue to think you're beautiful - from a distance.