I haven't left the house in seven days.
Seven days.
I've been sat here with the black dog.
Depression. I want to write about it, I keep typing out lines and deleting them. It all sounds contrived and false, it's probably the most real writing you'd get from me though.
I want to write about how beautiful depression is, about how exquisite it is to float in the blackness, how you breathe it in. It's a seductress, a haunting lover. How it feels like tinkling ivory piano keys or deep black velvet, warm and soft.
How it sings to you, just you, how you're so special, so utterly amazing and beautiful and wonderful you are.
That's what I let it say to me now.
Years ago it was a different story, years ago it tried to kill me.
I used to let the blackness in, I used to let it consume me, to eat away at me, to destroy my soul.
I drank, I tried cannabis, I tried self harming, I tried suicide. Anything to to block it out, cut it out or get me out of it.
Those where the days when the blackness was filled with faceless screaming monsters, when I couldn't look into it let alone look at myself. It filled my being, it drove icicles of fear right through my heart and I made so many mistakes, always running from the blackness that consumed me, emanated from me, was me.
It's broken my heart and torn me apart me than I care.
It's taken up so much of my life and I want it gone. I don't want this hold over me, I don't want this eternal dance of devoid emotion. I won't let it anymore.
So I dance, I put headphones on and I let the music wash over me, let the music wash it out of me. I dance with it, I love it, I don't let it go, I squeeze the life out of.
I'm too young to let this control the rest of my life, I'm going to tear it up, burn it up, blast it out of the universe.
It's not my friend and it's not faithful.
Tuesday 31 December 2013
Monday 30 December 2013
Breathe in more
Take me down
Upon the snow
Hand in hand
Feel the touch
Amber nectar
Liquid blues
Breathe in
Dont leave
Bend the rule
Lovers skin
Golden Hue
Rescue new
Killer line
Trace blind
Please please
Way upon
Swallows fly
Rubbed in
Tore apart
Pencil thin
Take it in
Upon the snow
Hand in hand
Feel the touch
Amber nectar
Liquid blues
Breathe in
Dont leave
Bend the rule
Lovers skin
Golden Hue
Rescue new
Killer line
Trace blind
Please please
Way upon
Swallows fly
Rubbed in
Tore apart
Pencil thin
Take it in
Lovers embrace
Darkness descends across the misty glen
Rest your boots in front of the croft
door
Lay your weary body down by the log
fire
Whispers of winds play beneath the
eaves
Snug inside by a roaring log fuelled
fire
Glowing light flickers across cushions
Haunting melodic music plays from
shadows
As two close figures sway across a
firelit room
Outside rain beats gently against glass
panes
Hands touching hands, bodies pulled
close
Feet dance together on the wooden floor
All the world fades away into the night
Sunday 29 December 2013
Weaving dreams
Long lazy highways
Cars rumble past
Lines flash in the
Headlights shine
Rolling past towns
And lonely diners
Darkness lighted
Windows down
Breeze teases hair
Arm catches nothing
Hands steer clear
Along the highway
Chasing the moon
Through midnight
Dark open road
Full of promises
Travelling onwards
Climbing mountains
Towards the dawn
Stars light skies
Breaking the morn
Over the road ahead
Straight through
The night slept on
Driving straight to
The open water
Sight catches sea
Journeys over
Cars rumble past
Lines flash in the
Headlights shine
Rolling past towns
And lonely diners
Darkness lighted
Windows down
Breeze teases hair
Arm catches nothing
Hands steer clear
Along the highway
Chasing the moon
Through midnight
Dark open road
Full of promises
Travelling onwards
Climbing mountains
Towards the dawn
Stars light skies
Breaking the morn
Over the road ahead
Straight through
The night slept on
Driving straight to
The open water
Sight catches sea
Journeys over
Monday 23 December 2013
Running Part 4
The man dived into the bush, beaking branches apart to reach the tiny girl curled up on the undergrowth. He bent over her, raising her limp body up into his arms, sweeping her hair back from her face as he screamed sobs of her name into the air.
The people of the town started to move toward the sound of the wretched wailing, concern and fear etched lines upon their faces. They looked to each other with searching, questioning eyes. They knew something was seriously wrong.
The first people to arrive at the bush saw the limp, ashen girl and called the emergency services. All they could stutter out from the fear clinging to their throats were choked sobs about a lifeless, bloody child. When the police swung into town with blaring sirens and swinging flashing lights, the townsfolk started to congregate in whispering, huddling crowds.
The arrival of a silent ambulance cut through the town like a knife. Faces huddled together looking ashen as the paramedics walked down the hill, one carrying a small body wrapped in a blanket, the other leading a blood covered man behind them.
The police cordoned off the path around the bush and started trying to disperse the crowd. Gently stating to the questioning faces that they had no information to give.
All the people could do was to head back to their homes, cradling their own much love children close to them. As the news of the death of a small child from their own town broke across the tv and radio many fell to their seats, hands held to their faces as their brains try to process the word murder.
That night many parents tucked their children up and lingered close by or held their childs hands as they fell into slumber. The parents found it difficult to find peace that night, the fears for their own children allowed childhood memories of monsters under the bed to mingle with the reality of monsters living and breathing somewhere close by.
The air over the town hung heavily in the stillness of the night.
The people of the town started to move toward the sound of the wretched wailing, concern and fear etched lines upon their faces. They looked to each other with searching, questioning eyes. They knew something was seriously wrong.
The first people to arrive at the bush saw the limp, ashen girl and called the emergency services. All they could stutter out from the fear clinging to their throats were choked sobs about a lifeless, bloody child. When the police swung into town with blaring sirens and swinging flashing lights, the townsfolk started to congregate in whispering, huddling crowds.
The arrival of a silent ambulance cut through the town like a knife. Faces huddled together looking ashen as the paramedics walked down the hill, one carrying a small body wrapped in a blanket, the other leading a blood covered man behind them.
The police cordoned off the path around the bush and started trying to disperse the crowd. Gently stating to the questioning faces that they had no information to give.
All the people could do was to head back to their homes, cradling their own much love children close to them. As the news of the death of a small child from their own town broke across the tv and radio many fell to their seats, hands held to their faces as their brains try to process the word murder.
That night many parents tucked their children up and lingered close by or held their childs hands as they fell into slumber. The parents found it difficult to find peace that night, the fears for their own children allowed childhood memories of monsters under the bed to mingle with the reality of monsters living and breathing somewhere close by.
The air over the town hung heavily in the stillness of the night.
Monday 16 December 2013
Running Part 3
Diving as fast as his can, he bolts into the undergrowth drawing the barking terrier into the darkness with him. He sweeps millimetres above the ground and towards the pale girl. The terrier pounds straight after him.
He reaches the girl and dives into the gap between her chin and the ground, coming to a sudden stop once he's behind her.
The terrier sees the girl and starts barking at her. He can smell blood and death close by but senses the an iota of life emanating from the girl. He barks louder and runs back to his owners then turns and runs back to the girl, barking constantly. H e can hear his owner on the path shouting for him. He grabs the girls top and starts pulling her but she weighs too much for him to be able to move her, he growls under his breath in desperation, his hackles raised, he doesn't like the smell coming from her, the smell of dying.
Dropping the girl, he runs back to the path and his owner. His owner sees him and shouts for him to come on. The little terrier barks and growls and runs back into the bush. He heads straight for the girl and starts trying to drag her out again.
He feels so hopeless as the tiny body barely moves beneath him. Desperately ploughing all his strength into his feet he almost stumbles backwards as the girl suddenly moves towards him as though pushed by an invisible hand. he drops his grip again and runs back to his owner. He reaches him and grabs his trouser leg, growling and pulling him back up the path towards the girl, a great fear of need to save the girl powering him on.
He drops his owners trouser leg and runs back into the bush, barking in what he feels is pure terror. He must save this girl.
Out on the path the terriers puzzled owner has turned back towards the bush and is trying to look through the foliage to see what his dog is doing. He has to break the branches open to get a good view, all the time thinking his daft weee dog has caught a rabbit or something.
As a gap opens up beneath his arms and he sees his terrier pulling something, it takes several minutes for his brain to recognise what is lying on the ground.
He takes a step backwards, clutching his hand to his face as he gasps a sob out loud.
"Oh dear god, no, not Jolea".
He reaches the girl and dives into the gap between her chin and the ground, coming to a sudden stop once he's behind her.
The terrier sees the girl and starts barking at her. He can smell blood and death close by but senses the an iota of life emanating from the girl. He barks louder and runs back to his owners then turns and runs back to the girl, barking constantly. H e can hear his owner on the path shouting for him. He grabs the girls top and starts pulling her but she weighs too much for him to be able to move her, he growls under his breath in desperation, his hackles raised, he doesn't like the smell coming from her, the smell of dying.
Dropping the girl, he runs back to the path and his owner. His owner sees him and shouts for him to come on. The little terrier barks and growls and runs back into the bush. He heads straight for the girl and starts trying to drag her out again.
He feels so hopeless as the tiny body barely moves beneath him. Desperately ploughing all his strength into his feet he almost stumbles backwards as the girl suddenly moves towards him as though pushed by an invisible hand. he drops his grip again and runs back to his owner. He reaches him and grabs his trouser leg, growling and pulling him back up the path towards the girl, a great fear of need to save the girl powering him on.
He drops his owners trouser leg and runs back into the bush, barking in what he feels is pure terror. He must save this girl.
Out on the path the terriers puzzled owner has turned back towards the bush and is trying to look through the foliage to see what his dog is doing. He has to break the branches open to get a good view, all the time thinking his daft weee dog has caught a rabbit or something.
As a gap opens up beneath his arms and he sees his terrier pulling something, it takes several minutes for his brain to recognise what is lying on the ground.
He takes a step backwards, clutching his hand to his face as he gasps a sob out loud.
"Oh dear god, no, not Jolea".
Saturday 14 December 2013
Running Part 2
She curls up into the warmth of the undergrowth as big, strong arms gentle enfold her. She sighs slowly and snuggles up into the warmth of the body protecting her. A tear rolls gently down her upturned cheek and falls slowly from her chin onto the leaves below.
A hand moves across and with thumb outstretched, carefully wipes away the tear stain from her grubby face. A face leans forward and places a long, gentle kiss on forehead.
As the girl slumbers the presence holds gently onto her, cradling her in their arms.
The sun starts to rise and glints through the broken bracken onto the sleeping child.
She stirs in her sleep, nuzzling herself further into the warmth of the body next to her.
A bird flutters onto a nearby branch and quizzically tilts it's head as it looks down upon the girl lying alone in the undergrowth.
She looks cold and still, blood has pooled around her and run out onto the leafy debris. Her chest barely moves as she breathes. A tiny little broken body.
The bird looks up to the sky and opens it beak to sing out to the world.
A mournful eulogy of pain and fear and worry no one can understand as the world awakens and people start to move around the town. Footsteps upon footsteps walk past the child sleeping in the undergrowth, children laughing and adults gossiping, all going about their everyday business. Just like normal.
The bird moves closer to the street, singing out his mournful cry as he keeps one eye on the barely moving girl. He bursts from the bush singing loudly and dashes to and fro beside the people walking by.
A child running past starts to laugh and point at the funny little bird dancing around. His mother impatiently drags the child away toward the school.
The bird stops and looks down sadly then turns to gaze back at the child laying still in the bush.
Suddenly thunderous footsteps and slobbering breaths pounce upon the bird who flits into life straight into the sky. The dog pounces upward as the bird turns midflight and swallow dives straight into the bush.
A hand moves across and with thumb outstretched, carefully wipes away the tear stain from her grubby face. A face leans forward and places a long, gentle kiss on forehead.
As the girl slumbers the presence holds gently onto her, cradling her in their arms.
The sun starts to rise and glints through the broken bracken onto the sleeping child.
She stirs in her sleep, nuzzling herself further into the warmth of the body next to her.
A bird flutters onto a nearby branch and quizzically tilts it's head as it looks down upon the girl lying alone in the undergrowth.
She looks cold and still, blood has pooled around her and run out onto the leafy debris. Her chest barely moves as she breathes. A tiny little broken body.
The bird looks up to the sky and opens it beak to sing out to the world.
A mournful eulogy of pain and fear and worry no one can understand as the world awakens and people start to move around the town. Footsteps upon footsteps walk past the child sleeping in the undergrowth, children laughing and adults gossiping, all going about their everyday business. Just like normal.
The bird moves closer to the street, singing out his mournful cry as he keeps one eye on the barely moving girl. He bursts from the bush singing loudly and dashes to and fro beside the people walking by.
A child running past starts to laugh and point at the funny little bird dancing around. His mother impatiently drags the child away toward the school.
The bird stops and looks down sadly then turns to gaze back at the child laying still in the bush.
Suddenly thunderous footsteps and slobbering breaths pounce upon the bird who flits into life straight into the sky. The dog pounces upward as the bird turns midflight and swallow dives straight into the bush.
Sunday 8 December 2013
Running
She fled down the darkened street, hair streaming wildly in the wind and the rain, feet splashing barefoot through puddles, arm swaying frantically, heart pounding.
She turns to look behind as she runs, forever fearful of footsteps behind.
Rains drives down as the wind howls whilst she flees through intermittent rays of light spraying down from the street lamps above.
Car headlights swim up out of the blackness and rain and speed on past the fleeing girl. She turns off the main street and out of the streets vision.
Hurtling past gardens, of houses sleeping in the night, she runs down by the river, through the undergrowth and falls down upon the pebble shore next to the flowing river.
Laying there, gasping for breathe, she bends over, double up in pain as cramps tear through her body. She holds onto her stomach and raises her hand up to the moonlight to see it covered in blood.
Voices shouting in the night cause her to look around and she scrambles up off the pebble beach and into the trees beside the bank. She presses herself into the blackness of the undergrowth, pulling every part of her out of the moonlight.
The voices grow nearer, calling out her name, asking her to come home, telling her they love her as another cramp surges through her stomach and she bites her own hand to stop herself screaming out loud.
Footsteps come nearer down the path forewarning of the torch light they bring with them. She gently slides back toward the bank, ready to dive into the icy water should the feet find her. She cries silent tears, cascading down a dirty, tired face.
Voices now span across both sides of the water, there is only one way out as she looks wistfully at the moonlit dappled water. The footsteps move past her, they move past her undergrowth. She leans her head back against the tree stump and breathes a quiet sigh of relief, shoulders sagging, arms going limp.
The voices trail off into the darkness.
She pulls her tops off and separates her t-shirt from her jumper. Tearing it along the seams she constructs a make shift bandage across her wound and pulls her jumper back. She rubs her feet to warm them up then slides into the icy water and back tracks her way up stream.
When she has walked for half an hour in the other direction she pulls her near freezing body out of the river and lays quietly behind the houses edging the banks. When she hears no noise she moves furtively forward, hiding behind the coal bunkers at the back of the buildings. Moving quickly now she breaks out onto the street again, once more intermittently splattered with the orange glow of street lamps, glooming hazily out of the rain and the wind. She bends her head into her and walks briskly up the street, taking a short cut through the back of the houses and up on to the main estate.
Hidden out view, halfway up the hill is a den made by the local kids, everyone knows it's there yet no one knows it's there. She crawls inside, where it's out of the cold and the wind and finds a comforting nest of leaves and pine needles. She lays down and pulls herself up into the fetal position, wrapping her arms around her legs and against her stomach to hopefully stem the bleeding.
As she falls sleeps she hopes her friends find her in the morning before the others do.
She turns to look behind as she runs, forever fearful of footsteps behind.
Rains drives down as the wind howls whilst she flees through intermittent rays of light spraying down from the street lamps above.
Car headlights swim up out of the blackness and rain and speed on past the fleeing girl. She turns off the main street and out of the streets vision.
Hurtling past gardens, of houses sleeping in the night, she runs down by the river, through the undergrowth and falls down upon the pebble shore next to the flowing river.
Laying there, gasping for breathe, she bends over, double up in pain as cramps tear through her body. She holds onto her stomach and raises her hand up to the moonlight to see it covered in blood.
Voices shouting in the night cause her to look around and she scrambles up off the pebble beach and into the trees beside the bank. She presses herself into the blackness of the undergrowth, pulling every part of her out of the moonlight.
The voices grow nearer, calling out her name, asking her to come home, telling her they love her as another cramp surges through her stomach and she bites her own hand to stop herself screaming out loud.
Footsteps come nearer down the path forewarning of the torch light they bring with them. She gently slides back toward the bank, ready to dive into the icy water should the feet find her. She cries silent tears, cascading down a dirty, tired face.
Voices now span across both sides of the water, there is only one way out as she looks wistfully at the moonlit dappled water. The footsteps move past her, they move past her undergrowth. She leans her head back against the tree stump and breathes a quiet sigh of relief, shoulders sagging, arms going limp.
The voices trail off into the darkness.
She pulls her tops off and separates her t-shirt from her jumper. Tearing it along the seams she constructs a make shift bandage across her wound and pulls her jumper back. She rubs her feet to warm them up then slides into the icy water and back tracks her way up stream.
When she has walked for half an hour in the other direction she pulls her near freezing body out of the river and lays quietly behind the houses edging the banks. When she hears no noise she moves furtively forward, hiding behind the coal bunkers at the back of the buildings. Moving quickly now she breaks out onto the street again, once more intermittently splattered with the orange glow of street lamps, glooming hazily out of the rain and the wind. She bends her head into her and walks briskly up the street, taking a short cut through the back of the houses and up on to the main estate.
Hidden out view, halfway up the hill is a den made by the local kids, everyone knows it's there yet no one knows it's there. She crawls inside, where it's out of the cold and the wind and finds a comforting nest of leaves and pine needles. She lays down and pulls herself up into the fetal position, wrapping her arms around her legs and against her stomach to hopefully stem the bleeding.
As she falls sleeps she hopes her friends find her in the morning before the others do.
Rolling up to christmas
Trigger
It's that time of year again, of festivities and familes and friends, where everyone joins together to eat good food and swap presents, where children play with the boxes rather than the toys and grandma falls asleep snoring in the chair after having one cooking sherry too many.
It's a time of glossy adverts and cutesy songs, of films only shown at this time of year. Of turkeys and cranberries and baileys. Of socialising, putting up with the family, nativities and midnight mass.
It's a wonderful time of year, cosy and heart warming.
Hopefully this year will be similar for me.
Albeit, without the socialising and extended family but I hope for the peace and goodwill and spending time with my little family, however small it is.
My childhood memories aren't of the glossy, cutesy, once a year, lovey type of memories. The stark facts of my childhood Christmases were of fear, violence and trying not to be noticed.
And it still goes on today.
Too many children are still living in fear at christmas, too many are going to be spending the day treading on eggshells they can't see, hear, or predict.
Too many will think themselves lucky if they get through the day without a bruise or a tirade or a bloody face.
We need to stop turning a blind eye to this, to stop being controlled by a corporate, commercial brain washing of what christmas should be and start thinking, no, start doing something to see no child, no family lives in fear this christmas.
If it's not good enough for you, it's not good enough for anyone.
It's that time of year again, of festivities and familes and friends, where everyone joins together to eat good food and swap presents, where children play with the boxes rather than the toys and grandma falls asleep snoring in the chair after having one cooking sherry too many.
It's a time of glossy adverts and cutesy songs, of films only shown at this time of year. Of turkeys and cranberries and baileys. Of socialising, putting up with the family, nativities and midnight mass.
It's a wonderful time of year, cosy and heart warming.
Hopefully this year will be similar for me.
Albeit, without the socialising and extended family but I hope for the peace and goodwill and spending time with my little family, however small it is.
My childhood memories aren't of the glossy, cutesy, once a year, lovey type of memories. The stark facts of my childhood Christmases were of fear, violence and trying not to be noticed.
And it still goes on today.
Too many children are still living in fear at christmas, too many are going to be spending the day treading on eggshells they can't see, hear, or predict.
Too many will think themselves lucky if they get through the day without a bruise or a tirade or a bloody face.
We need to stop turning a blind eye to this, to stop being controlled by a corporate, commercial brain washing of what christmas should be and start thinking, no, start doing something to see no child, no family lives in fear this christmas.
If it's not good enough for you, it's not good enough for anyone.
Wednesday 4 December 2013
Homage
Trigger
I am writing this with a heavy heart while I wait to hear news of whether another survivor who is begging for help is ok, I really fear the worst and wish I could have done more for them so this place wasn't reached.
I have the utmost respect for all survivors. The path we walk is one filled with so much pain. Unbearable, devestating, pain.
When I started to deal with the abuse I had gone through and all the implications of what it meant to me, to my life, to the people around me I endured what felt like insurmountable pain.
I felt like I had been run through by an articulated truck and my entire being was nothing but a raw, gaping, bleeding hole. I was heavily sedated on anti depressants and all I could manage each day was to put one foot in front of the other.
I felt raw and pain.
I felt like I was ripped to shreds.
I felt like I was bleeding out.
I never want anyone to feel like that and I don't know how I managed to survive.
Today I got myself a tattoo, I have never been a tattoo person, it just isn't my thing. It's not that I don't like them, I just don't feel either way about them. I never thought I would get one.
I was inspired though, by the tattoo of another survivor, it was simple, beautiful and full of meaning. So today, whilst I'm waiting to hear if they are ok, I got the tattoo.
The tattooist said I'd regret it, my colleagues made innuendos about it but it speaks mountains and worlds to me.
It is an homage to every survivor, those who are no longer here, gone but never forgotten, those who are still here, fighting the fight every day, even when they feel beyond weary and those survivors yet to face this.
To you all, you are the bravest people to walk this earth, you'll never realise how special you are.
"Strength"
I am writing this with a heavy heart while I wait to hear news of whether another survivor who is begging for help is ok, I really fear the worst and wish I could have done more for them so this place wasn't reached.
I have the utmost respect for all survivors. The path we walk is one filled with so much pain. Unbearable, devestating, pain.
When I started to deal with the abuse I had gone through and all the implications of what it meant to me, to my life, to the people around me I endured what felt like insurmountable pain.
I felt like I had been run through by an articulated truck and my entire being was nothing but a raw, gaping, bleeding hole. I was heavily sedated on anti depressants and all I could manage each day was to put one foot in front of the other.
I felt raw and pain.
I felt like I was ripped to shreds.
I felt like I was bleeding out.
I never want anyone to feel like that and I don't know how I managed to survive.
Today I got myself a tattoo, I have never been a tattoo person, it just isn't my thing. It's not that I don't like them, I just don't feel either way about them. I never thought I would get one.
I was inspired though, by the tattoo of another survivor, it was simple, beautiful and full of meaning. So today, whilst I'm waiting to hear if they are ok, I got the tattoo.
The tattooist said I'd regret it, my colleagues made innuendos about it but it speaks mountains and worlds to me.
It is an homage to every survivor, those who are no longer here, gone but never forgotten, those who are still here, fighting the fight every day, even when they feel beyond weary and those survivors yet to face this.
To you all, you are the bravest people to walk this earth, you'll never realise how special you are.
"Strength"
Monday 2 December 2013
Circles
I've written and deleted this several times now. I don't know what to write. Again, unedited and raw.
I want to say thank you, I love you, I feel alright. I'm being so paranoid about everything, I feel like my brain has lost it completely. I'm reading too much into everything and I feel so alone.
I keep playing Rihanna's Diamonds over and over, my brain is totally addicted to it. I want to have that. I want to feel that with someone. I want to love and be loved, to hold and be held. I want to be something to someone.
More than just a thing, more than just a friend. I want someone to care for me, to want to be near me, to want to share things with me.
I feel whiny and selfish typing that but I'm beginning to realise that the voice inside my head telling me I'm unlovable is the voice of ghosts and not what is true or right to feel.
No one has a guide book to tell me how to get through this, no one knows what damage I have had or how the scars have formed, so no one can start to help me work through it.
All I can do is learn from you guys, is learn what is right and what is wrong and hope that I make the right decisions, move in the right direction, fight for something better, something that is worth me.
I can choose to let the good things in, I just need to fight the monsters out of my head, banish them to the depths of hell and not allow them to control me any more.
I can be happy, I can laugh, I can love.
The ghosts in my head don't have any right to me anymore, I escaped, I got free. I ran as fast as I could away from all of that even though the chains bound me for years and kept me close to it all. Like I was still attached by a bungee cord pinging me back every time I got too clever for myself. That cord started fraying though, with every run too far it frayed and now it's hanging by a thread, remnants of ghosts who never wanted anything good for me, never chose to see me, love me for the person I am.
It's hard to realise that I've never been loved, that all I was, was nothing.
The biggest step I have to take is telling myself that I love me, I want the best for me. I need to love myself.
I've spent the last few years learning how to do that, I've had to learn that it's ok to do that, that I am allowed to do that.
It's hard to do, it's hard to do when all your learned behaviour is rejection and violence. When every instance you've needed love has been met with a turned back or a punch.
It's hard to know that that is wrong, it takes strength to know there has to be another way.
And another way comes from you, from your souls, from your words, from your feelings, from the way you talk about the people you love.
I'm fighting a conflicting battle within and I need you to keep talking, to keep shouting, to keep screaming about how you love, how you feel, how those who love you keep you strong, keep you real, keep you alive.
I feel so scared and alone fighting this but I deserve more.
I want to say thank you, I love you, I feel alright. I'm being so paranoid about everything, I feel like my brain has lost it completely. I'm reading too much into everything and I feel so alone.
I keep playing Rihanna's Diamonds over and over, my brain is totally addicted to it. I want to have that. I want to feel that with someone. I want to love and be loved, to hold and be held. I want to be something to someone.
More than just a thing, more than just a friend. I want someone to care for me, to want to be near me, to want to share things with me.
I feel whiny and selfish typing that but I'm beginning to realise that the voice inside my head telling me I'm unlovable is the voice of ghosts and not what is true or right to feel.
No one has a guide book to tell me how to get through this, no one knows what damage I have had or how the scars have formed, so no one can start to help me work through it.
All I can do is learn from you guys, is learn what is right and what is wrong and hope that I make the right decisions, move in the right direction, fight for something better, something that is worth me.
I can choose to let the good things in, I just need to fight the monsters out of my head, banish them to the depths of hell and not allow them to control me any more.
I can be happy, I can laugh, I can love.
The ghosts in my head don't have any right to me anymore, I escaped, I got free. I ran as fast as I could away from all of that even though the chains bound me for years and kept me close to it all. Like I was still attached by a bungee cord pinging me back every time I got too clever for myself. That cord started fraying though, with every run too far it frayed and now it's hanging by a thread, remnants of ghosts who never wanted anything good for me, never chose to see me, love me for the person I am.
It's hard to realise that I've never been loved, that all I was, was nothing.
The biggest step I have to take is telling myself that I love me, I want the best for me. I need to love myself.
I've spent the last few years learning how to do that, I've had to learn that it's ok to do that, that I am allowed to do that.
It's hard to do, it's hard to do when all your learned behaviour is rejection and violence. When every instance you've needed love has been met with a turned back or a punch.
It's hard to know that that is wrong, it takes strength to know there has to be another way.
And another way comes from you, from your souls, from your words, from your feelings, from the way you talk about the people you love.
I'm fighting a conflicting battle within and I need you to keep talking, to keep shouting, to keep screaming about how you love, how you feel, how those who love you keep you strong, keep you real, keep you alive.
I feel so scared and alone fighting this but I deserve more.
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