first blog post

I wanted to start a blog so that I wouldn’t have to keep buying diaries. Although I will probably keep buying diaries because they’re so pretty and I have no self control.


I wanted to start a blog so that I wouldn’t have to keep buying diaries. Although I will probably keep buying diaries because they’re so pretty and I have no self control.


I give up on you.

I give up on waiting for a reply to a message i sent a week ago.

I give up on having expectations because you never make an effort to meet any of them.

I give up on putting energy and thought into you when i dont get it back.

I give up on caring about you. And i say care, because love is too strong a word. What we had was puppy love and i see that now. It wasnt real. It was all in my head.

I give up on caring about your oppinion of me.

I give up on you.

Because youre not worth the time and effort.

I think my brain is broken. Its only been a short while since i last saw you but it feels like forever. I cant remember what it feels like when youre touching me. I cant recall how it felt when you pressed me up against my bedroom wall and held me there, teasingly. I should be able to bring the sensation to the forefront of my mind, but it slips from my grasp every time. I just want to feel your body pressed up against mine from head, to chest, to hip, to thigh, to toe. If only so i can ingrain that feeling in my memory. So i’ll never forget it again. I feel like everyday i forget something else important. I can feel the finer details of my life slipping away like grains of sand. Im struggling to remember things. Im struggling.

Im convinced you’re not real again. That i made you up. Youre a figment of my imagination. Its so like me to make you so unattainable.

New things

Can you be excited and terrified at the same time? Have you ever wanted to try something but at the same time worry that you wont like it as much as you think you will? I suppose thats why safe words were invented. I suppose thats why you try it in the first place; to see if you like it. Im scared. But i also have butterflies in my tummy every time i think of his hands creating a galaxy of brusies on my body. The thought of being inflicted with such pain ignites an excitement inside me that ive only ever felt two times before. Once when i decided to have sex for the very first time. The nerves coursed through my body like caffeine, making my hands shake and my body tense. But it also made me jumpy and paranoid, like every single person i encountered knew my secret. Like i was doing something so inherently wrong and dirty. The second time was when i decided to kill myself. The satisfaction of actually having a plan and knowing that it was all going to be over soon created an unstable sense of excitement inside me that was like no other feeling. It was a dangerous high. One that i didnt think i was capable of reaching and hope i never do again. I have been close many times. I have an addictive personality. So knowing the pleasure of such excitements is a dangerous game. Sometimes i fall into a mood where my will is weak and i binge. On food, on cigarettes, on alcohol, on orgams and pain. My mentality is masocistic. I seek out my weaknesses because i enjoy the torment and the suffering. I once told a friend that i was going to go out and get my heart broken because i had nothing better to do. I feel as i am a burden on those closest to me, because i rely on them to help me put myself together again. But i cant stop myself from wanting. His hands will enable me. They will feed my addictions and fuel my downward spiral. Once i know this new found pleasure, i fear it will become an addiction. I worry that i will crave the touch of abbrasive hands and feed on the tellings of high and mighty men.


I fell too fast. There was just something about him. He was addictive. Like crack except prettier. His laugh was infectious. His voice sweet and soothing. He had this playful but intense aura about him that drew me in. I thought that he was a good man. His hands were so gentle with me, as if he thought i might break. But there was something wild beyond the surface waiting to break free that had me fascinated and curious. Curious to see if i could break it and set it free. I thought the intimacy; that hot, heavy, passionate, toe curling connection was authentic. I fell in love. But with love came rose coloured vision. I didnt see him for what he really was. A man. Just a man. I have learned not to trust so easily. The heart i wore on my sleeve got crushed and so now it is safely tucked away in between my ribs. Locked away in a cage for its own protection. I shared dark secrets, and hopeful dreams that i wish never dared to escape my lips. I shared my very being and my soul. And he took all of that and ended it in one minute. It was a short romance, but it hit me deeply. I am recovered, but it will always stick with me, a cationary tale not to fall too fast too soon. Not to trust so easily and believe so readily. I am stronger for the heartbreak. And i do not regret the experience. But i will not go back. Only forwards.


Do you ever get that feeling where all you want to do is go home? But youre so lost in your mind and your life that you dont even know where that is anymore? Youre fucking everything thing up and disapointing everyone that cares about you. Do you know that saying home is where the heart is? What if youre heart is just as lost as your head? Youre completely fucked up and you honestly have no idea what to do. You feel like everything youve been trying to build is crumbling down around you and theres no way you can stop it. All the pieces are falling on top of you, waying you down and crushing you. You feel like you cant breath. You just want to go home. But you cant. Because you dont know where that is. You feel incredibly alone and theres nothing you can do but swim in it. Drown in it. Maybe when the loneliness fills up your lungs everything will be quiet. So you let it happen but it just gets louder and louder until you cant take it anymore. Thats when you decide to count all the knives you have in the kitchen. You put them all in the bottom draw and close it as hard as possible. Convincing your self that if they are in that draw, then they dont exist. Because all you want to do is use every single on of those nineteen knives to silence all the noise. Stop all the pain. Free everyone from the burden you have become. But instead you sit and you cry and you go back to that draw every half an hour and count them again, just to make sure you got it right.

thank you to the woman who saved my lifeĀ 

I feel like im on top of the world, like everything is going my way. I have goals that shine like hope into a future I couldn’t even imagine only months ago. The deep ache that consumed me is now but a distance thrum of energy, reminding me of the before and how far I’ve  come. I still have a long way to go, but the darkness that shrouded my path is gone. In its place is a golded warmth that makes me excited for life. I havent been excited about anything in a long time. 

I am comfortable in my home and the creeping anxiety is fading away. I am finally content with where my life is heading. I feel as though I am paving a stone path that will be the foundation of my happiness. Happiness is my goal and I’m so close to reaching it that I could scream. I want to run outside in a thunderstorm and spin around and around in cirles until the ground and the sky are confused in my vision. And if the great lightening chooses me to strike, I shall use its power to propell me towards my dreams.

 I want to say thank you, to the most beautiful best friend I could ever ask for. You picked me up when I was at the lowest point in my life and helped me see that I had potential. You see it in me everyday even when I can’t see it for myself. You pointed me towards a new begining and helped me to see that I am beautiful and worthy. So thank you, for saving me from myself. I will forever be greatful 

Rant: Bad friends and unhealthy expectations

My problem being depression and social anxiety, it was destined to end in disaster.

I moved to him because he inspired happiness. He was the type of person that had boundless energy that was contagious and I was desperately drained. I thought he was the solution to my problem. (I realise that he is not a solution to my problems but rather another human being and that putting that kind of responsibility on someone is unhealthy. What I’m trying to say is that I thought being around his personality and energy would help to motivate me to be better and get out there more, which it did to an extent.) My problem being depression and social anxiety, it was destined to end in disaster. So I moved in with him, in a share house with two other people. They were nice and quiet and kept to themselves mostly. I was okay with that, because he was there and his presence made me feel alive again after being so close to dead for so long. He was so fun and exciting. His life was always full of something, whether it be drama or relationships or depression. He was the everything to my nothing. He filled up the space that I had too much of. He distracted me from my problems and encouraged me to keep on forgetting about them.

But he was also so absorbed in his own life, and his own problems that he didn’t notice my struggle. And he had significant problems. Maybe even ones that were bigger and more important than my own. But friends are meant to be there for each other. I was there for him throughout the entire thing, even if sometimes he didn’t notice that he was unloading all his troubles onto my shoulders. At the time, the added weight didn’t make much difference, there was already so much there. But soon I began to stumble under it all, my shoulders began to ache and my back started to creek. I felt the need to put it all down and run away from it but I couldn’t leave him to deal with all his troubles on his own and run home to my mother. I was an adult now, a woman who could deal with her problems on her own without crying to mummy. And so I stayed.

The first eye opening thing that made me realise that maybe out friendship was lopsided was on New Years Eve. AKA the night that my Father killed himself seventeen years ago. This year, away from my family, it hit me particularly hard. My father had chosen to kill himself rather than to get help and live his life and raise me. It made me drag up hard questions. “Am I not worth wanting to stick around for?” “Did he not love me enough?” “Am I not good enough?” I had this hole in my chest where his love should have been and that night it started to ache so profusely and I needed my friend there to help me through it. Instead he chose to spend the night with his boyfriend, even though he knew what I was going through and dealing with. It was a sign. I should have seen it then and packed my bags, gone home or moved on to somewhere else. But I didn’t.

A month later he tells me he’s moving to Melbourne with his Boyfriend, whom he had only know for four months. We had been friends for three years and I had literally moved states to be with him and he’s just going to up and leave me here all alone. Now I understand that the move was this big thing for him. There are more job opportunities in Melbourne, his boyfriend was going to be there and he didn’t want to end things just because of the distance. But I thought at least he would have talked to me before he made the decision, asked me my opinion on the matter or something along those lines. Instead he just tells me, oh by the way I’m moving away and you’ll be here all by yourself and I don’t particularly care about your feelings on the matter.

Instead of yelling at him like I wanted to do, I told him to do what he wanted. And he did. It’s been a couple of months since he left and I’m still so angry with him, but I never expressed that anger to his face. I regret that I didn’t. We don’t talk as much anymore. I just don’t have the stomach to talk to him when all he can do is talk about himself and his life and his problems. He doesn’t even ask me how I’m doing. I’ve assumed he doesn’t care.

If he doesn’t care, then neither do I.