I lost control. (sorry, contains talking about myself)

You've got me all mixed up inside,
These thoughts keep entering my mind,
I know these struggles all too well,
Guess I'm just one to kiss and tell
-Back Ted N-Ted, "The Mirror"

So. I did something stupid the other day.
If you’ve read this closely, or maybe even at all, you might have tried to guess but I haven’t done what you think. That would be more stupid. The other ironic thing would be that not even someone that read my blog would have thought of what I was thinking of then at all. Anyways.
A while ago, I went through an odd stage where I thought I was in love and around four months later, meaning now, I reached the point where I decided I’d tell my friends, or maybe just one of them, because it’s what teenage girls do. I’m not the sort of person that tells my friends everything I feel, just everything but this.

The situation it came out wasn’t really ideal, my friend and I were in a crowded place outside the canteen when she exclaimed, “Oh my God, it’s -insertnamehere-!”.
Her sister, Jemima, two years younger than us, had no idea what was going on but was passing and yelled, "-insertnamehere-!"
Rosie looked at me and her eyes lit up a little. "Wait, I know who -insertnamehere- is! Omigosh, what happened?!"
And then various more complex rumours began to circulate round the group of about ten of us, like gossip does. It's the kind I'd never been the subject of before, and I probably should have known it would happen. It was an experiment, and I didn't like it much. Lucky, none of them will have an oppurtunity to tell -insertnamehere-.
Now things are a mess. Over the last two days, it's developed and no-one understands, several people are mad at me because they feel like I owe them some kind of explanation for things that aren't to do with them. But I know how they feel.

I didn't think I'd feel like this. I thought I'd maybe just tell my best friend, who I should tell if anyone, and have time and space to explain it thoroughly and maybe cry a little and I'd feel better. That's not how it worked out. Suddenly everyone thinks things are a lot bigger than they area. My friendship group is dealing with bulimia and light sexual harrassment at the moment; it seemed like the time to tell someone my big thing. Now people think I'm pregnant and all sorts of things.

That's the only time I'll involve myself with teenagegirlytype behavior. I've learnt my lesson now, and I definitely won't use song lyrics to talk about my feelings because it's super-lame. There won't be blog posts like this again. Or situations I hope.

Goodnight xx

multiple personality disorder: a strange kind

If ever you read something on the internet, maybe somewhere like wordpress or livejournal, some forums, possibly even fanfiction.net, vaguely dark or sexual or violent that's written by someone named Beth Barrow, it's probably mine. Let me explain.

I first combined the internet and writing when I was younger and for around a year, I frequented fanfiction.net. Stupidly, around this time I thought it was a good idea to talk to my parents about the stuff I wrote and I didn't realise there'd be times when I didn't want them to read things. Although it's unlikely, I know people can Google me now and occasionally find things, and that is bad, sometimes, so I'm doing what everyone on the NaNo forums seems to do; I want a pen name.

When I was a child, every time my friend and I went on a day out with our mums, I would demand that we change our names for the day. I was the sort of child that liked to imagine things, to make everyday situations more like something else - there was a phase when I was about seven where I would call my coat my cloak, for two years of primary school I kept a diary of things that were just absolute lies, signing it at the end of every entry with the name Lyra. I can't remember all the names I'd had over the years, but I recall being Marina one time we went to a farm, demanding my friend Charlotte name herself Aqua. If we went to Cadbury's World, my name was Lola for the day. I was Laura, then later Melanie, after a phase I went through where I was a fan of a girl band called All Angel's, who I later realised were very Christian based. Aged eight, I once went camping and made friends with a girl who spent a whole two days believing I was named Lulu.

We all told lies when we were children. Mine were just less purposeful.

The idea of a pen name or maybe, for now at least, seems like a good idea. I won't tell you what it's going to be because that would ruin the pen name idea. Soon, I will start to write things which will appear on the blog and they will be kept under my real name, which although I'm pretty sure nobody reads this, I don't want to take any chances. If I make an account on a website I've never been to before, under a username or pseudonym, or what they actually call them, I can be free to write about anything I feel like. It doesn't matter if I say stupid things, or mess up. It's not like it's me, anyway.

I feel tired today. I have to go to the same food festival twice this weekend. A few days ago I sat down to write a blog, then realised a lot of blood was exiting my foot. That's all I have to say right now.

Lizzie

When Things Go Wrong: a letter to my 20 year old self

Dear Lizzie,

Is that still your name anymore? So far I've been a Beth, an Elizabeth, a Lizzie and recently I've been thinking of becoming a Beth again, when I leave school and appear somewhere where I can change my name because people don't know me, but it's easier to become something else when you're five, and there aren't twitter accounts or organ donor cards or email addresses.
I have so many things to ask you.
Do you have a job? I'm guessing you're maybe still at university in the last year, but it depends how long you're doing what it takes to do whatever you've decided to do. That was a mouthful, even though I typed it.
I feel oddly sheepish writing to you, because you're a grown woman and clearly, I am not. I don't completley like the taste of coffee yet, I still worry about things like my hair for longer than I will have to when I'm you, and I've not done half the awesome things that I hope we're going to.
I'm scared to think too much about what you do. It's because I honestly don't know how things are going to turn out - I think I'm not naive enough to believe I'll ever be a writer, not in the way that people like Neil Gaiman are, because right now I don't have the concentration, and spend time worrying about the future, I think, amoungst other things.
Are there really complex iPhones now, and do you have one? That would be awesome. Do you not get spots any more? What colour is your duvet sheet? Where do you live? Are you in contact with all your extended family, cousins and stuffs? Is anyone dead that's alive now, did any of your friends from school marry and have children? 20's young, I know, but it happens.
According to a mock Wikipedia page I wrote about by 32 year old self (a rainy day), by 2018 Guitar Heroes or whatever it'll be called should be pretty succesful, and you should have left university and living in London, in a flat with Poppy for a while, with maybe a cat, drinking a lot of Costa and on the brink of being published and wonderful, a novel that's yet to exist or be thought about much. Something in my mind says that somewhere, this is being read by a scruffy, overweight budding accountant/Tesco employee, blushing in a bedsit, but I have no idea what I can achieve. Something in the middle, at least.
I'm publishing this to my blog which no-one reads, so I don't want to use names, but there's someone who's only a small part in your life right now who you (I should say I) think about a lot and won't be involved with until you're/I'm/we're at least thirty, according to the Wikipedia page, but it felt like something I should mention. I'm sure it won't happen. He is far away and unlikely. Still, an important chapter of the stuff I think about right now.
Are you still in contact with any friends from school? Poppy, I hope, and Becky and Emily Rhodes. Maybe Kathryn. Possibly even Alison, I don't know why. Emily-Marie will make an effort. Of the others, I'm doubtful. I hope that high school won't seem as big a deal as it does now to you.
There should be something to summarize, because I need to go to bed now, but as usual, there's no point for me to make. I'm talking about things I don't understand, but please do something useful, or that I'd want. I'll remember what I was like now then, when I'm you. Remember all of the things I thought I wanted to do, and the Wikipedia page of hopefullnes.
I have to wake up at 06:30 tomorrow, to finish my Media Studies homework.

Lizzie

I eat to fill the time, not my stomach. + a purpose?

I started reading a book today, whilst I was in the bath. It's called The Blue Eyed Boy and sort of lit-fic/psychological thriller-y, about serial killers and music and the internet and blogging and I like it a lot, partly because it made me think that if I end up writing novels When I Grow Up then it's the sort of thing I want to write. It's by Joanne Harris, who wrote another book I love called The Lollipop Shoes.
When I decided to get out of the bath, I sat up too quickly and gasped, though more in my head, because of the sudden pain that had manifested in the right of my stomach. I couldn't move for a while and felt a bit panicky, then found a towel and hobbled to my room and googled the symptoms of appendicitus (sp?) which it seems I don't have.
One of the symptoms of appendicitis I found was loss of appetite, which I semi ticked because I realised that the piece of chocolate I was eating didn't taste good at all, and tasted in my mouth slightly like cardboard. Then I thought about food for a while, and it made me think about how much I actually eat.

I started to write that about two and a half hours ago, then left it when I went downstairs and ate dinner. I fell asleep flat out in front of How I Met Your Mother, and woke up as the credits rolled, slightly confused.
When I came upstairs, I brushed my teeth and hair, came back to my computer and read one of my friends' tumblr blog for a while, which is about music and I'd say his musical taste is in the top five of people I know (if we're counting internet peoples?)
That's not The Point. The Point is that my blog has no purpose at all, I just have too much to say and nowhere to say it.
Really, that's all I have to say. I've run out. But what I think I'm trying to say is, expect things more interesting, or enlightening, or fun, or worthful (worthful = a word?) in the future. I'll try to come up with something. I always do.
But now, I'm going to sleep, maybe for a few days if nothing interrupts me. um... watch this space?