Darrien

Um, Darrien John something or John Darrien something. yet to change it. My Christian name is John David Jones, but I’m not a Christian anymore...

NAME:	Darrien
REAL NAME:	Um, Darrien John something or John Darrien something. yet to change it. My Christian name is John David Jones, but I’m not a Christian anymore...
NICKNAMES:	git, twat, “total joke”, other affectionate things...
HEIGHT:	5′6″. God cheated me.
WEIGHT:	Um, 145 pnds? Prolly a bit more, although I barely eat anything
HEALTH ISSUES:	Despite pleas to the contrary, I apparent suffer from depression (maybe bi-polar) only because I have insomnia. This is from the only doctor who has been prepared to listen about the cutting, biting, insomnia, depression, crying, lethargy, etc No-one else has ever thought it was anything “serious”. Even my family is happy to ignore the scars, thinking I simply “have too much time on my hands”.
MEDICATIONS:	To my knowledge, the only person Aimee has ever felt ought to be on drugs, despite her hating them. I’ve tried Triptafen (Amitriptyline Hydrochloride and Perphenazine) and Seroxat (Paroxetine Hydrochloride). Both produced side-effects without curing either the insomnia or the depression. My doctor has about given up, suggesting “asprin and whiskey” to get me to sleep. Elusis is currently considering becoming a qualified doctor just so she can prescribe me something.
SCARS:	About three deep, another 4-5 barely noticeable. Biting never leaves marks, nor does scratching. Irritated by the tolerance of my own skin to scar. Vowing never to own a Stanley knife for numerous reasons. Hmm... I have a scar on my forehead that my sister gave me when I was three ?
HAIR COLOR:	Black. Beautiful black. Actually terrbile dark brown streaks are showing through at the mo, so it does need re-dying.
EYE COLOR:	Grey-blue. As per everyone else, it changes with my mood.
RESIDENCE:	After enduring a uni-rented flat for two years, putting up with the sexist, racist, homophobic bigotry of my flatmates, I am finally moving to London to live with my acidic, insensitive but open-minded goth friend Aleph and a girl he shagged a few times.
TRANSPORTATION:	Wonderful black suede winkle-pickers. My leather ones have become irritating cos everyone thinks they’re cowboy boots. Wish I had a car cos driving gives me such a feeling of freedom that it’s better than sex.
S.O.:	Currently stand about much of getting an SO as I do of swimming the Atlantic.
SCHOOL:	Failing horribly. Need to just finish my bloody degree and then go and do a job I’ll love — computing, hopefully net-related.
OCCUPATION:	Being the only person most of my male friends can ever talk to if they want to drop the mucho bullshit for five seconds. Hopefully, I’ll add “computing person” in a few months to that too...
SMAE FLAVOR:	hig-flavour (in-joke)
TURNONS:	As per Joanne, necks. A serious neck fetish — only sensual and sexual place on a person. Open-mindedness, goths, summer evenings, irony Acceptance, empathy.
TURNOFFS:	to quote abby (as it is her form I stole); “people who think depression is a self-indulgent choice”. Biogtry (from the “majority” and the “minority”). Manipulation.
KEWL STUFF:	being able to smoke and be on my computer, getting ahold of US clove cigarettes, staring at the clouds on a summer day, being able to listen to music on my headphones and just scream, avoiding my family, freedom, wind but not cold, titus groan by mervyn peake, being able to forget who I am by day-dreaming during lectures, computers.
FAVORITE QUOTES:	I have swallowed a secret burning thread. It cuts me inside, And often I’ve bled — Suzanne Vega, The Queen and the Solider And when I’m dead, If you would tell them this: That what was wood became alive — Suzanne Vega, Wooden Horse (Caspeur Hauser’s Song) I reach for the crimson bubbles, Like tin, like I ran. I forgot how much it stings, And am left gripping at the air, As the lines puss up, Producing such little reward, For so much effort. I feel the distant whispers, My dear departed halves, As I make errors of my arm. But when I weep, It is for myself — Me, Release Guess you watch the trees blowing in the wind? We want you to lead a normal life. — Peter Gabriel, Lead a Normal Life I talk in pictures not in words. — Peter Gabriel, Through the Wire Her eyes were cobalt red, Her voice was cobalt blue — Andrew Eldritch, Ribbons “There are a thousand things,” he said “I’ll never say those things to you again” And turning on his heel He left a trace of bubbles Bleeding in his stead — Robert Smith, Like Cockatoos It was the sweetness of your skin It was the hope of all we might have been That fills me with the hope to wish Impossible things But now the sun shines cold And all the sky is grey The stars are dimmed by clouds and tears And all i wish Is gone away — Robert Smith, To Wish Impossible Things Because I could not stop for Death He kindly stopped for me — Emily Dickinson I’m nobody Who are you? Maybe you’re nobody too? — Emily Dickinson They say that Heaven is like TV A perfect little world That doesn’t really need you — Laurie Anderson, Strange Angels Something about just being with you Slapped me right in the face Nearly broke me in two It’s a mark I’ve taken on I know I will carry with me For a long long time I don’t know if I could drive a car Fast enough to get to where you are Or wild enough Not to miss the boat completely Honey, I’m thinking maybe Y’know just maybe I don’t know if I could fly a plane Well enough to tail-spin out your name Or high enough To lose control completely Honey, I’m thinking maybe Y’know just maybe — Liz Phair, Shatter I could easily go on...