Contented

Today was always going to be hectic. I bag packed for four hours this morning, and had a flute lesson straight afterwards. I was met at my flute teacher’s house by a friend, and we went for a very rushed coffee. It’s been a day involving a lot of standing up, forced smiles, and encouraging words for the small people in yellow who I was helping at the supermarket. It was a little awkward, and I’ve been feeling a little emotional as of late. I knew the leader at bag packing is having a hard time, she told me twice today that I was awesome and someone to be relied on, and when I said goodbye, she said she would miss me. I really wanted to give her a hug and say thank you, but even though I’m eighteen now, I didn’t feel like I could. A similar thing happened when I left my flute teacher’s house. It was a little strange. My flute teacher knows most of my life happenings, but it’s just one step too far.

Of course, as is with everything right now, my best friend *cough, we’re retitling her ‘big sister’, asap* changed things. You may remember that back in March, I wrotethis post about lighting a candle in the church with my best friend. Tonight, we went and did that again. This time, we lit two candles each in the church. I don’t know what her two candles were for, and she doesn’t know what mine were for. I’d tell her if she asked, but there wasn’t a chance. I don’t know what it was that made tonight feel any different from any other time that she’s comforted me when I’m having a tough time, but today just was really special. I could see it in her eyes that she really meant everything that she said, and that every hug she gave me, when she held my hand, or gently touched my arm, it was about love, friendship, and nothing else. In a strange way, it kind of upset me more. She wasn’t doing it because she had to, she was doing it because she cared. She essentially had to carry me out of that church, and walk me back to the car with her arm around me and my head resting on her shoulders, whispering comforting words once more. She’s given me her ring again, the one that says ‘believe’. She’s told me to keep it until January. It’s one month until I see her again. It’s going to be a loooong month, and there’s going to be battles to fight. But I’ll do it, and then I get three whole days of her time, and that’s so exciting!

I’m lying on my bed now, my eyes still stinging from the tears, but I’m strangely content. I let music back into my life today, and a couple of days ago, I let my best friend back into my head, too. And breathe. I’m safe now. She tells me it’ll be okay, and that she’s always here for me. We may fight, but we’re essentially family, so it doesn’t change anything. I believe her. Christmas is a time for belief, and a time to be content.

My Problem With The Light

Whenever one of my flat mates walks past my open door and sees the lights turned off, she sighs, and switches them back on for me. You see, I don’t ever put the lights on in my room until it’s actually dark, and even then, if I’m just on my iPad or phone, I still don’t bother. It infuriates her a little, because she can’t stand to sit in the dark.

Today, she waltzed into my room, made a comment about how I’m more likely to be upset without the lights on because the light makes her happy, turned all four of the lights in my room on, and left again.

That very action stressed me out a little. I like the lights off. Firstly, my dad has been ranting and raving for years about saving electricity and lighting the world, and so I’ve just become accustomed to living in the dark. Now I’m older though, not only am I used to it, but I very much like it. With my curtains drawn I can ignore the rain, and with the lights off, I can sit on my bed in my room, with the door propped open, and people walk past without even noticing that I’m here. It means that I don’t have to communicate, I don’t have to smile and say hi, and I can sit in my own little world, whilst still observing the daily routines of my flat mates.

She’s right, I do cry more in the dark. Either way though, I’m not sure it matters. I’m sure as hell not going to cry while my door is wide open. I’m not sure what my point is, and I’m not sure why I don’t like the light on, really. But leave me to hide, perhaps sometimes, the dark can feel a little safer. The dark gives you time to be with just yourself, and to let down the guard that you spend all day propping up, even if just a very little bit.