Rant: Bad friends and unhealthy expectations

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.


the constant barrage of good and bad thoughts that float through my brain on a day to day basis

The initial thoughts

Nobody wants you
Nobody likes you
You’re not good enough
You’re not worth their time
They don’t like you
They hate you
They only talk to you because they feel sorry for you
You’re ugly
You’re fat
You’re worthless
Your face is too round
Your stomach is so big you could use it as a bench
You need to loose weight
You need to wear makeup to make yourself look prettier
because nobody is going to notice you the way you are
You will never be enough no matter how hard you try
So stop trying

Counteracting thoughts

Love yourself no matter what
Who cares if you’re fat?
Stop caring about what other people think of you
As long as you are happy and healthy, nothing else matters
You do have people who love you
You do have people who care about you
You are not worthless
You are worth a thousand stars
You will burn bright and powerful
Bodies come in all shapes and sizes
Yours is normal
Yours is beautiful
Do what makes you happy
Wear makeup if you want to
Don’t wear makeup if you don’t want to
People will see you as you no matter what you think about yourself
What you see when you look at yourself is distorted by your minds opinions and insecurities
Other people don’t care about your weight
If they do, then they’re not worth your time
You are worthy
You are beautiful
You are amazing
Be yourself


An Observation; Ben

His hands are steady as he puts pen to paper; images flowing from his mind and into being. His face is the picture of concentration as he draws, his mouth set in a determined line. His usually expressive eyebrows still and clam as he works. He sings along absently to the blissful music spinning on the record player in the background. His fluffy hair hands in his face just touching the line of his brow and his eyelashes touch his cheeks each time he blinks. He is content.


my father

I miss what he was meant to be. I wonder what he was like. What type of music did he like to listen to? What did his toes look like? How did he eat spaghetti? What were his opinions on gay and trans people? What did his handwriting look like?

I can’t remember what it felt like to be in his arms, to be the reason that he smiled. I always find myself wondering what my life would have been like if he was here to participate in it. Would I have turned out differently to the person I am today? Would his influence have made me a better person? What kind of advice would he give me when I’m having a hard time?

I feel his absence like a hole in my chest. But that hole has always been there and I don’t know any differently. How do you miss someone that you never knew?

The word Dad or Daddy is foreign on my tongue. I look at my friends and their fathers and just find it so odd that they have this close loving relationship where I just have a gaping hole.

He died when I was three years old. It’s been seventeen years and I still have questions. Questions that will haunt me forever because they will never be answered.



I have found the illusive and mysterious unicorn. I have found it in the form of a man.

I have found it in the way he smiles when silence turns awkward and when his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs. He is a rare breed of polite man, whom doesn’t act like the ever so common fuck boy. He holds open doors, he drives you home after a date and he doesn’t expect anything in return. He is a nerd. He’s nearly got a science degree and he loves Lord of the Rings enough to actually get through reading all the books without wanting to die more than twice. He is genuinely kind. He loves dogs and thinks you’re weird because you don’t. He coo’s over dogs he meets in the street. He’s the nice guy that girls say that they’re looking for while they gallivant about with the aforementioned fuck boys. His body language screams strong and capable but a little bit self conscious. He wears shirts that fit him perfectly, outlining his arms and chest. Damn, I could stare at him all day and not get bored. I find myself wanting to lean into his warmth and feel his skin against mine.

I have found the illusive and mysterious unicorn. I have found it in the form of a man.


musings of a woman in crush mode

He had been so close to her, she had felt his body heat radiating out towards her. She couldn’t take her eyes of his lips. Then he leaned forward and pressed them against her own with his scratchy stubble tickling her. She hadn’t much experience kissing. The only proper kiss she had ever had was from a man who thought that shoving his tongue down her throat and slobbering all over her face was the right approach. That was nothing compared to his strong and sure lips, parted slightly against hers.

God, she wished he would kiss her again. She’d hardly been able to think of anything else since last Sunday. On the way home she couldn’t stop her smile from overwhelming her. It was certainly a memory she would hold on to.

She thought of ways she would have responded differently. She would have been more relaxed, more enthusiastic and she would have leaned in and kissed him again, if only to prolong the experience. She wondered what it would be like to sleep with him. From the way he talked, she knew he would be demanding and rough, and it made her core tingle just at the thought. But she also thought he would be extremely good at slow and teasing. She would certainly end up begging for more.

If only he actually messaged her back. She didn’t know if he was interested, or if he thought that she wasn’t interested. Maybe he was just busy and she was being paranoid and over anxious about the entire situation. She generally got that way about such things. The waiting around was killing her and she was eager for more of him, even if it was just a hug, she knew that she would make sure he knew that she wanted him. She wanted his intimacy. Her lack of it made her unused to human contact and now that she’d had just a little bit, she craved more.

She’d never been much of a hugging person. The only person that she had ever felt comfortable hugging after the age of thirteen was her best friend Amy. It was probably because Amy never judged her. The other girl made her feel loved and comfortable in her own skin. He made her feel like that too.

If only he knew the affect he had on her. Maybe to him, a kiss was just a kiss; something that had lost its meaning with time and repetition. But to her, it was the world. She didn’t usually feel comfortable enough to let any person kiss her but he made her feel things. What things, she was still figuring out but one day she would know, and hopefully he would too.