Mr. Internet

Okay, Hey guys! I wrote this years ago. Don't judge my 16yr old writing.



Pulse quickening, palms clammy, she skimmed through the torrent of love and abuse she was previously sent by those feeding her addiction over summer. Her addiction? Attention. The photos though...how could he? Staring in the mirror, she realised she was no longer so keen on the reflection, her bony frame meant nothing now. She saw the glinting metal of the scissors lying on the toilet cistern, inviting, welcoming, dangerous…

***

Glaring at herself in the mirror, she left physically sick at the curvy figure looking back. “Where are your collarbones?” She would scream at her reflection, “Where are your collarbones”… It was one of ‘those’ days. At just 15, Millie had a lot of those days. Strawberry blonde curls fell over her face as she pulled her hair loose. Ginge! She murmured to herself. Starting from the roots she massaged bleach into hair. The blonder, the better. A burning sensation and the stench of ammonia overwhelmed her senses as she opened the window for fresh air. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a group of girls who attended the same school walking past; they were giggling, smiling, and having fun. Heart racing, veins pulsing, a rush of envy swept over her, instantly turning into a green eyed monster. She was the loner, the freak. Slamming the window shut and darting out of sight, Millie unintentionally crashed into the cold, hard wall of her bedroom. Returning to the mirror, she stood sighing, forever lifelessly looking into the reflection, searching for a soul she had not yet found. An alarming tone sounded interrupting Millie’s trance, in that moment, sudden heat escaped her head. Remembering the bleach, she skidded along the landing in a pair of quirky socks she adored and frantically threw her hair under the shower head, pressing any button that her fingers found first. Freezing water blasted over her whilst a sigh of relief escaped as the cool water calmed her overheating scalp. Goodbye ginge, she thought aloud. Returning to her room with a towel wrapped around her head, she rummaged around her school rucksack in attempt to find her phone. Grabbing it out of the bag she stood in a state of confusion for a moment as more messages had been received since the initial alert… 

Slut. Fatso. Ginge. She received another text. Dreading the contents, she reluctantly picked up her phone again hoping it was just her parents letting her know they had arrived to the destination safely, they went away for the summer. “Wish I was there” she sighed as she checked the message. “WHORE” flashed back at her. That was it, she was sick of them all. Tip of the iceberg. “Why can’t they just leave me alone?” She stuttered mid-breakdown. 

Actually, Millie, you are looking a little on the curvy side, those girls are all thin and flawless; look at yourself. The truth hurts, tubby… nagged a little voice in her head. Millie raced to the bathroom, slipping on the landing once again. This time she grabbed her toothbrush, getting swept up in a moment of haste and hatred, she viscously attacked her throat, screaming between each painful gag. That was the start. It became an obsession... She couldn’t stop... She wouldn't stop. Terrified of waking up suffocating in cellulite, she stopped sleeping too. Spending the rest of her days in a haze, endlessly counting calories, lying to her parents whom were still on holiday, taking pill after pill until she eventually began to see a change. Thank god. Even though it had only been 8 days, if had felt like a life time to Millie.

It was so satisfying watching the skin disappear, months of persistence and determination; her hips defined, razor sharp. Although Millie got dramatically thin, dramatically fast, she loved it. Cake or collarbones she chanted. Always ignoring the side effects, she would rely on pro-anorexia websites for motivation. Disturbing, yet motivational quotes she found online were her continuous ‘thinspiration’. Going to bed hungry is worth waking up skinny. Hunger hurts but starving works. Your stomach isn’t growling; it’s applauding. The one that stuck out the most, every time you say “no thank you,” to food, you say “yes please,” to thin. That little irritating voice in her head would remind her of this each day, somehow, it didn’t seem like this was her own choice anymore… Motivation is what gets you started, but habit is what keeps you going.
Summer break was 3 weeks in and although Millie was feeling better than ever with her appearance, nothing else had really changed. She was still alone and isolated, causing her to ventur further into the depths of the internet; no longer restricting herself to pro anorexia websites and Facebook. One stereotypical summer evening noises outside disturbed her, gingerly peeking out of the window she noticed those girls again, acting just like before. Déjà vu. An all too familiar emotion of hatred and envy possessed her. Feeling undervalued, underappreciated and in need for attention she stumbled upon an X rated chat room, intriguing her.

Talking seductively and ‘naughty’ was new territory for Millie, she took on a sexy, confident, cyber persona that strangers adored, consequently leading her to spend all her time online.
Thriving on flattery, throughout the summer Millie craved attention from strangers which they happily gave to her. Aware that most of the things said to her were over-used clichés, she still felt a thrill from receiving so much flattery. “You’re so sweet, you could put Hershey’s out of business,” Hershey’s has a similar taste to the one that lingers in my mouth after vomiting, she thought to herself. It was all harmless fun, she thought, harmless fun for which she hungered. After a while, it narrowed down to just one man in which she became engrossed, and vice versa. Overexcitement and hormones combined and created quite a range of situations for the pair, she regularly received explicit images from him and then it came to her time to return the favour. She photographed herself both completely and semi nude on the night of her 16th birthday, towards the latter part of August. She then shared filthy photos and a few ‘extra saucy’ ones with the man she had been conversing with all summer, captioning them: “Not jailbait anymore, we’re good to go”. She saw no danger in any of her actions throughout summer, and failed to foresee any future danger with exchanging the photos. Whispers and utterances welcomed Millie back to school after summer. Although it was a brisk, dull day, her skirt was short and cleavage was visible, and she strutted down the corridors as she had never done before, flaunting a well deserved thigh gap and piercing bones. With a proud, confident expression all over her face, she held her head high and walked past her peers. The girls who once taunted her stood in disbelief, Millie had transformed herself. You’ve done it! Before this they wouldn’t have noticed you if you were a 10 storey building, but now they will see you if you’re just a crack in the paving, congratulated the little voice in her head. As the term progressed Millie was still the buzz of the school, being approached by girls inviting her out with them, boys approaching her asking her to ‘go out’ with them, such unfamiliar settings welcomed her with open arms; shining bright, she excelled. I finally fit in, she thought. With such success in creating a whole new self, thriving social life and transferring her online persona to daily life, she slowly stopped resorting to the internet in attempt to feel wanted, because she was wanted in reality. 

Mr. Internet wasn’t too keen on the idea of being left behind, he wanted something more than a few nasty pictures in return for his attention. It wasn’t until a short while after she had returned to school; she really got to know her internet ‘friend’, and just what he was capable of.
Whispers and utterances greeted Millie once again as she walked into school. “What the heck is this about?” She thought aloud as she approached her new friends in a state of ignorance and confusion. The girls seemed far too engrossed and amused staring at their mobiles to acknowledge her interrogation. Becoming progressively more irritated, she snatched one of the girls’ phones and studied the contents. Oh shit! She panicked, stood in shock, completely still, fixed upon the image staring right back at her, and unable to comprehend what had happened, unsure of how to handle the situation Millie was distraught. She saw herself and her favourite ‘toys’ presenting themselves to the camera. “How did you get this?” she murmured, but no response from her peers led to a hysterical scream. “WHO SENT YOU THIS?” she hollered in an unstable tone. I don’t even know why I’m asking, there’s only one place this could have came from. Christ, Millie you stupid, stupid girl, she scolded herself.
All day, Mille suffered in silence as ‘friends’ turned their back on her and started throwing names like ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ at her once again, but this time there was proof to back up their vulgar accusations. Later, glaring at the mess the day had made her, she gave herself no choice but revisit the chat room and fish out an unjustified excuse. She dusted off her old account information and accessed the profile she previously used, scrolling down the page and noticing nothing had really changed, until a once recognizable bing sounded. IM. There was a number of messages being received, all from her beloved. All so vicious, vile and vindictive. Shit.
It was difficult to take in; overwhelmed with emotion Millie fell into a dark place, a place she rarely visited… Imagining all the things her peers and family would say, remembering all the things she had done, he had seen, he knew. This was only the start of his wrath… unable to think of a way out, she skidded into the bathroom for a final time.

"Once a day, you receive a text message from yourself, six minutes in the future."

It would happen at 04:32pm. It would happen at 04:38pm. Every day. 

The unmistakable ping of a text message would sound at precisely thirty two minutes past four on a daily basis. After 17 years of messages, I never stopped to think that they were anything out of the ordinary. Until recently. 

It started when I was 8, obviously they didn’t quite take a text message form in 1993, but badly spelt words and sentences that were not quite strung together correctly would appear at the bottom of my homework, on the fridge where they were spelt out with magnetic letters, or even scribbled  in the back of a book I was reading. I would be puzzled for a moment or two at first, wondering where they had come from, but then I grew to appreciate them for what they were.

I thanked whoever it was for the subtle little life hacks or reminders. The milk’s off would come through, at 04:32pm. In the old days I would have forgotten about the message and have gone to make a cup of tea. 04:38pm. Disgusting. The milk was off. The text was always followed by the prediction, with a six minute interval between the two.

It was the little things that improved my life dramatically. 

I would be waiting at the bus stop and be instructed take a step back, a car would come speeding past and those standing closer to the curb would be soaked in dirty puddle water. Not me; muaha.

It wasn’t a while until I actually stopped to think. How is this happening? It must be from the future, I thought. It was the only thing that made sense, no matter how insane or irrational it sounded to others; not that I told anyone.

They were messages to me, from me. I guess the well known phrase “You have to look out for yourself first”, became quite literal in my sense. If they were from the future, why wouldn’t I prevent 9/11 or stop children being molested? Was future me that selfish? It was hard to grasp at first, I couldn’t stop questioning everything once I started. 

At 04:32pm, I would do as I was told and await the consequence. The anticipation killed me. Those were the longest 6 minutes of the day. I tried so hard not to be the socially constructed drone that society wanted me to be, yet I allowed myself to be a slave to myself. I would lie awake most nights, letting my mind run wild. Maybe it was all just a conspiracy. The theories poured out of me, it consumed my life. I began to resent my future self for what it had done to my present self.

I remember it well, the day I changed the game. It was a Tuesday, the runt of the week. April 22nd, 2014. Although the texts did nothing but try and help, in the grand scheme of it all I felt trapped, run down and sleep deprived. I couldn’t do it anymore. That day, my phone stayed turned off. 

It was blissful, I felt as free as I could possibly feel given the circumstances. I went throughout the day as normal, not knowing what could be different or what I could have prevented with the knowledge of my future self. They were only little things, afterall. Maybe I wouldn’t have dropped my biscuit into my tea or hole punched the paper on the wrong side. 

Or maybe I wouldn’t be lying in hospital, writing this from my literal death bed because I stood too close to the road when I car was just going too fast. It is the little things. “Take a step back”.

***

I got a little lazy writing this towards the end, thought I'd publish it anyway as I've been neglecting I couldn't even a lot. This piece stemmed from a writing prompt I found online. Feedback welcome. Expect more like it. 

Caffeine Fix: Kitchen and Pantry/Barossa

"Caffeine Fix: 02/July/14

After failing to post during my busy weekend that, let's face it, I can't remember, I dedicated my day off to writing. I think it's safe to say that got as far as writing get messages. So here I am, on my lunch at work"


Nearly a month later, this is still in my drafts. What even is that? I'm glad that jumbled up nonsense has never saw the light of day. Due to my gross negligence of I Couldn't Even I'm going to give you quick run down of the 2 coffee shops I have saved in my phone with notes from when I visited - bare in mind that they were a while ago now.

23/June/14
Kitchen and Pantry
http://www.kitchenandpantry.co.uk/

Sun blazing down on our backs, Rachelle (my flatmate- you'll probably hear more about her) and I walked through Chiswick en route to a tattoo and piercing parlor. Passing many cafes, restaurants and bakeries we decided to stop at Kitchen and Pantry as it was relatively busy and nicely decorated, definitely should have reconsidered judging this book by it's cover. A sign informing us that they sold Cheshire ice-cream was the overall decision maker, Rachelle being a Dapper 'n all.

Upon our entrance, it was instantly clear that the cornflakes of the woman who served us, had definitely been pissed in that morning. By all means I do not expect the staff to be as rude as this woman was every day of the week, but it did seem to shatter the whole experience a little bit.

There was little on the menue, especially on a day as hot as it was, or felt, we certainly weren't stuck for choice. I went for a earl grey iced tea and a slice of berry tart. As Rachelle and I both got the berry tart, the lady cut two different sized slices, however both still on the large side. Although it wasn't a problem with us, it did strike me as odd - surely there should be some sort of consistency standards that need to be kept? The tart was nice, but tasted a little stale. It also seemed that Kitchen and Pantry LOVE mint! Mint seemed to be in everything! In my iced tea, it was not pleasant.

On a regular day the experience may be better; yet there was nothing irregular about this particular day. If this is all Kitchen and Pantry have to offer, I would skip it next time.


02/July/14
Barossa
http://www.barossafulham.com/

Again, Rachelle and I were on our travels and set out to find Barossa. We read it was one of the best cafes in west London, but of course, you cannot believe everything you read! It was the cutest, friendliest place. Believe that.

After getting lost, breaking a bag,  and relying on city mapper way too much, it was surprisingly still morning when we found Barossa, on the outskirts of Fulham. As it's known to be an Australian cafe, we were pleasantly surprised to find the staff were all Australian too - apart from one gentleman that explained he was the only one who was not. Although it would have made no real difference to our experience there, it simply added to the authenticity of the place.

After taking our orders, a bottle of chilled water was placed on our table with two glasses, as well as our drinks being brought over after almost no time at all. We both had mocha's and the breakfast, Rachelle choosing the vegetarian option. Although this may not be for everyone, I love bacon cooked so the fat is crispy, yet everywhere I get  bacon it's stringy. as. hell. Not here! It was perfectly cooked to a more than happy medium, in my opinion. I don't normally like mushrooms, Barossa's garlic field mushrooms impressed me enough to eat and I would definitely get them again, despite still claiming to not like mushrooms. Rachelle seemed pleased with her breakfast too, however agreed the corn was a bit weird.

The food here was clearly on par with what we had read, which I am now reinforcing. You may have noticed I believe that good decor and service is essential to get a positive experience somewhere, so just to add: Barossa has the nicest staff who were willing to go above and beyond, outside there were white princess-like table and chairs to chill with a coffee, as well as beautiful canvas' and quotes on the walls inside.

I want to take everyone I know there, so of course I would recommend that you go!

Caffeine fix: Electric Coffee Co.

Caffeine Fix: 25/June/14

As I powered through the 23 degrees heat in London, frantically looking for a phone charger the sudden need for something overwhelmed me. A desire so strong that it stopped me in my tracks. My body ached for it. Throbbing, too painful to ignore. I just needed it.

A cuppa. I needed a cup of coffee. Damn, that was the worst headache ever.

Okay, so I've lived in London for around 8 months now, and the best thing about it is by far the extortionate amount of one off or unpopular - in which I mean they were simply unknown to me - coffee shops and cafes. After I fulfilled my mission to buy a new phone charger, I then wandered around looking for a cute coffee shop I hadn't been to.

Electric Coffee Co. 


Lets be honest; this coffee shop was recommended to me. It's tucked away just to the side of Ealing Broadway tube station and you wouldn't know what it was unless you had a good ol' neb*. Which, despite knowing where to look, I did anyway.

From the outside, it's definitely the plain Jane of coffee chains. While there was no typical sign for the shop drawing the public in, there was a subtle logo and name on the corner of the window, which made up pretty much the entire front of the building.

Intrigued by the simplicity of it all, I stepped inside and looked at what was available. The simplified decor was mirrored in the menu. Disappointed in the lack of choice of beverages, I went for my usual - a mocha - and turned my eye to the food. Here however, they had a lot more to offer apposed to the normal cake and sandwich selection you get in bigger chains. The food all looked delicious, however, being a brainwashed drone that I am, I went for the safe option and got a hummus and salad 'homemade' sarnie.

When placing my order, the staff were really friendly and engaged in light conversation, which frankly improved my overall experience as in my opinion, friendly banter with staff really does make all the difference. They were pleasant and polite, handing my over a wooden spoon with a number on it as my table number. I loved this; not once have I gone to a coffee shop and been given a spoon as if I was out for pub grub. It was a memorable characteristic, along side what I think were potato sacks as cushion covers, which were surprisingly comfortable.

The whole atmosphere was relaxed and the staff continuously engaged with costumers ensuring all there needs were met. At this point, mine were. The headache was successfully gone and the food was tasty! The home made sandwich actually tasted genuinely freshly home made, it was full of flavour and the bread, oh the bread. One member of staff actually offered a customer, who I assume was a regular, a different coffee as she had tried something new and didn't like it. That's good customer service.

100% recommend if you're looking for some relaxing time to yourself.

"On the whole, it was all very good. I'll go back there again."


*Neb: A lot of people when I use this term have no idea what it means, people out of the North East of course. It simply means being nosey, have a nose, a look around. Y'know?

Writers block? Bloggers block.

Since creating this blog I have had so much to write, however thought I needed some sort of introduction before I posted anything. As you can tell, the blog is empty. I just couldn't even think of how to 'introduce myself' in a witty and interesting way. Don't get me wrong, I still can't, but I couldn't even bare to leave I Couldn't Even bare. Ha.

I'm in love with the written word, but not those written by myself. Already I've found myself analysing sentences as they are written; Can I address the reader? Do I even have a singular reader, never mind pluralising the word? 'Pluralising the word', does that sound pretentious? Wait, is it even a word? Yes, yes it is.

So here it is: Hi, I'm Tasmin.

Most of my wild, rebellious life is spent working long ass hours and having nights in with Netflix; so if you're going to be a regular face then do take a moment and brace yourself for the scandalous inner workings of retail and bar work. Just to let you know, I'm rather socially inept unless I'm intoxicated, so when I do take a break from being boring and let my hair down, (in which I mean clip in my extensions), you will soon realise most things that are to be written on this blog have stemmed from drunken notes in my phone which, of course, are never anything but nice. Other than that, it will be crammed with caffein related everything and anything else that tickles my fancy to be honest.

Okay? Cool.