Followers... ZERO

Zero Followers - *sigh* (and yet I feel truly blessed and loved by many friends and family - perhaps they just can't read...?)

What a sad state of affairs... its the first thing that jumps out at me when I open this page. Let's face it. No one gives a rats arse about this blog - except me... its been a long time since I kept any sort of a diary - I used to... I had this magnificent account of all the angst going through my teenage years - the tears, the tantys, the broken hearts, the poetry, the crushes, the err... 'list'. It was awesome. Purple hardback which I lovingly decorated with the AC/DC logo that adorned anything I had that could be written on. And the stories...oh the stories... the memories, the rose-tinted tales that were yet to go horribly wrong and the horribly wrong situations that were yet to have closure. The flirtations and heart flutters and repetitive entries of "guess what! HE SPOKE TO ME" or "we had to squish up together in the car to fit everyone in so he told me to sit on his knee" etc etc - the excitable ramblings of a teenage girl, hormones exploding with the need to be wanted, accepted, desired, loved and COOL.

My diary was a fascinating literary piece, it lived safely in the journalism folder that housed years of very very singy-songy poetry... born lyricist, thats me. From about the age of 13 up until 18 - which is a wonderful time to record your history and SO MUCH happened to me during those few years - left school, started work, lost jobs, found jobs, fell in love, fell into groups, fell out of groups, lost my virginity, became a Mum, oh all sorts and the dramas that unfolded in many situations. Memories and detail that live in my heart but have long since faded from my mind - that book was my reminder of where I had been, who I was, who I was becomming and where I was going - if ever I felt a little lost or needed cheering up I took it out, read it or wrote in it and I would feel so much better... Helen Field would have been proud... Bridget Jones's New Zealand equivalent rocking the pages long before the idea had manifested.

Then that horrible awful gut-wrenchingly painful day.

Someone with no right, no justification, no reason besides an insanely fuelled internal battle with the demon jealousy - envy for unknown names, unknown places, times, a past and memories that were not their own - not their life - NOT THEIR JOURNEY... blinded by rage and ghosts of times gone by, voices in the head and internal inadequacies.... calously destroyed my beautiful biography.

I'm not sure how long before I noticed it was missing.

The second I did I could almost smell the fire...taste the ash... it was gone. Incinerated with the scrub from the construction of a new home. A place we were to grow old in, raise our family and live happily ever after in a loving, trusting environment.

You bastard.

I would have put up with a thousand black eyes, and a million nights of drunk bullshit and abuse but none would come close to the pure evil of burning someone's memories. The pain from that runs barely a hair-fracture second to the defiant ignorance, neglect and hatred that was showered upon an innocent child and both have an infinite degree of unacceptability the like which no mathematician can calculate in this world or another universe - ever.

For a long time I didn't write anything except poetry. Sad, lonely singy-songy poetry influenced by sad, lonely songs... and sadness... oh and lonelyness - better throw in a good dollop of hurt as well I reckon. But over the years I've written some short stories, plays and some bloody brilliant letters and emails to friends - many of which I kept meticulously and I hope to god I can extract them later when needed. But up until now... I hadn't kept anything personal really - there's a journal I started when the Bridget Jones craze came out but I really didn't stay on a roll. Now I kind of am - I have to get used to the fact that this IS a diary that people ARE permitted to be a part of... but as is with most things in my life these days - shrouded in humour to detract the hungry reader from the real me.

Okay stop, stop, stop, stop, STOP! Heavy... very heavy.

So ZERO FOLLOWERS - you can kiss my tighty whitey quite frankly coz if anything else... I entertained myself immensley - plus killed 30 minutes making the day go faster and get closer to the weekend PLUS offloaded what must have been worth at LEAST $4K worth of therapy - FOR FREE!

HAHA! And that's why they call me Vikki Stylz :-)

Peace - have a groovy weekend.
xxx