My name is Jade. Jade Georgia. I’m a 19-year-old living smack in the middle of Oxfordshire, living up the fresh country air and numerous clouds of fag smoke. I like D&D, Audrey Hepburn, Fangoria… no really, I’m just a boring 19 year old. I don’t do much but be sad and smoke cigarettes and occasionally self harm or binge and purge. As you can tell I have issues with myself first and foremost, and secondly with most other people. I’ve struggled for too long with a multitude of things and sometimes that takes precedence over social construct or my own wellbeing. It’s really just how it is. My mum, my poor, lovely mum, doesn’t know the half of it bless her soul. I’m a devious bastard who keeps most things in this area secret from her, mostly to shield her from the knowledge that her youngest daughter is insanely fucked up and also because the fear of her disapproval or dislike is crippling. I’m always terrified that she’ll really believe that I’m making it up or doing it for attention. So I just don’t say anything. Maybe it’s easier that she doesn’t know, or that if she does, she just believes I’m a drama queen. Which, with all honesty, I really am. But not in this case. Not in these cases. And this blog, well, I’ve never had one before and I’m not sure how it works. I don’t want hundreds of followers and loads of recognition and God forbid I get any pity. I just want an online diary I guess because I’ll be honest, I write so much in my paper diary that I genuinely think I’m at a real risk of arthritis. I’d be happy if no one followed this blog to be honest. Maybe I’d let my closest friend, Pod, shall we call her, read my blog. I trust her. And her mum, if she was so inclined. She’s my inspiration for trying this. I’m obsessed with Sue’s blog actually, because I love both her and Pod so darn much and it helps me understand my little Podlet better. So I guess I could dedicate this to those two ragamuffins. My extended family. I love them dearly. Good God they’ve both saved me more than they’d know. Pod is stunning. There’s no other word for her. She is a work of art and I praise the earth every day for her existence. I hope one day she finds the path to being happy and recovering because no one deserves it like her. In ten years time, I pray that I’m looking down on her and she’s the mother she was meant to be, with a doting partner and unshakeable smile. She’s my sister. I don’t mean in some ghetto, ‘sister from another mister’ kind of way. Like, she genuinely is my soul sister. Older than me, annoying, infuriating, and my very best friend. I don’t know a more beautiful soul, or more exquisite face. I adore her to the ends of the earth even if she is the biggest drama queen I know. A nightmare on earth. A bat out of hell. My best friend.
Anyway, more about me. I digress. I have a dog called George, Georgie for short (so to speak). Or Georgie bear. Baby. Pookie. Angel. The African. Georgephine. Georgeanus. The list goes on. Needless to say, George is essentially my life and I’d undoubtedly be far worse off without my loyal companion. Who isn’t very loyal and is actually a little shit. And yet I’d die for the damn slug. Which I suppose isn’t saying much because I usually find myself wishing for death anyway. Haha. So back to George. He’s a 2 year old French Bulldog, with the IQ of a leaf but the lovableness of a newborn kitten. He’s the best thing this side of town. Which, again, isn’t saying much. My town is a shit hole. George is my registered therapy dog. He sleeps with me every night and keeps me somewhat sane during the day. He snorts like I do, does THE strangest things known to mankind, but also melts your heart with his buggy wet eyes. We also have another wonder dog called Teddy (I shan’t list Tedrick’s names or we shall be here all night). He’s an earth angel if ever I met one. Technically my sister’s therapy dog but basically the Universe’s therapy dog. He loves everything and everyone and I’ve never come across a living thing so relaxing and chilled out. His little golden brown eyes stare deep into your soul and he essentially mesmerises everyone he meets. That little doggo is golden. We have a cat too, but he isn’t really a cat. More of a dog/sloth hybrid. Excuse the language, but Benji does fuck all. He sleeps. He eats. This is all. Sometimes he shits. More likely he’s too busy sleeping or eating. He’s the laziest, fluffiest cat I know. He’s beautiful – a real King. No, really. He’ll attack you if you stop adoring him. But only if he can be bothered. Otherwise he’ll just glower his bright yellow eyes until you slowly inch closer again. He’s a real character. Or would be, if we ever saw him. The rare occasions I kick him outside, he just sleeps on the floor until I begrudgingly let him back in again and accept that he’ll never be anything other than terribly unmotivated and uninterested in anything non edible. As you can tell, my animals are my life. In fact, all animals are my life. Really, they’re the only thing that can sometimes distract me from the horrors of living.
On to my family. There’s my mother, this beautiful, crazy, clever woman. She means the world to me also. I feel sorry for everyone who doesn’t have an Angela in their lives. She makes everything better for as many people as she can and she never gives up. I love that she’s so strong. I aspire to be that courageous one day. She’s a real warrior. Nothing has ever kept her down. She’s a nightmare. Sometimes I could cry or just plain punch a wall she’s so infuriating. But is she really your mother if you don’t want to fling a glass of water at her at least once a day? I couldn’t live without her. I hope I never have to. My sister is a bit of a different ballgame. She’s warm and charismatic and friendly. But not so much to me. And I admit, it isn’t all her fault. We just aren’t close. She doesn’t like me much and honestly I can’t really blame her. I don’t like me either. She’s pretty and brave and lots of things that I’m not. I’m not jealous of Charlie. I definitely used to be. But then I realised we are entirely different people and she isn’t who I want to be. No disrespect to her, she just isn’t. If I have to be anyone, I might as well be me. Although I wouldn’t mind looking like Pod or Lu. My other dear friend, by the way. An angel in every sense of the word. So beautiful it actually hurts looking at her. The human of Benji’s brother and my dear little Russia’s son, Ozzy. So kind she breaks my heart. And my other best friend. Lu is a picture perfect painting of true beauty. I’d probably give my entire liver to look like Lu. Which would defeat the object, seeing as I’d be dead and all. At least I’d die pretty. There is also my younger brother Sebastian. The coolest child I know. I bloody adore the little ratbag. He’s strikingly beautiful – big blue eyes, soft tan skin; a cherub worthy face. He looks like he was carved by Botticelli himself. He was blessed by the Gods, that child. His character just about matches. Don’t get me wrong, he can be an evil little shit. But he’s the kindest, sweetest, most sensitive little boy. He’d give his all to someone just because sharing is good. He gives the best cuddles. He’s so adorable when he just wakes up or is just going to sleep, when he’s all ruffled and floppy and his little body snuggles into yours and his ketchuppy breath hits your face. He’s a wonderful kid. He’s going to be an amazing man one day. I almost hope I’m here to see it. There’s also my older brother, James. He’s an arsehole of the tallest order and I couldn’t love him more. Genuinely, he’s the male version of me. Only less fucked up. He’s so smart and funny, like the kind of funny that makes your guts hurt and your stomach heave. He’s so dry and sarcastic and witty, I don’t know how anyone could dislike him. Past the arsewipe exterior he’s a big softie, and things would be a hell of a lot worse if he wasn’t on this planet. He thinks he isn’t attractive or good-looking but it breaks my heart because it’s entirely the opposite. He’s beautiful. In so many ways. His soul shines out through him like a beacon. Yes he’s a miserable bastard but he’s a good man, a decent person. The kind of man who turns out to be the hero in movies. The guy that saves the day and finally gets the chance to show everyone what he’s made of. He’s blessed with high cheekbones and sharply carved lines and a noble, high forehead. Really, I have some darn stunning siblings. Looks like I got the short end of the straw (no pun intended). For all those wondering – everyone in my family is either normal height or very tall and I’m a few inches above legal midget. 5″1 at my last measurement, although Pod’s recent visit to the doctors labelled her taller than we thought so I may have gained an inch!
That’s that for now. That’s my introduction. Really more about everyone else than about me. But I guess I have a whole blog to myself so that’s okay. They’re more interesting anyway.