The air is heavy, the light is dull, the noise is a blur, and the same melody repeats itself in my ears, as it tries to sooth my mind into peaceful sleep. Images of my day flood my mind, my adventures in the forest, my tea with marshmallows, my feelings of emptiness and arrogance towards what is bothering me to the core.
A fresh stab of pain electrifies through my body. I feel my hairs stand up and rub my skin gentle to calm the current. I push it back down and wait for a night when crying is absolutely unavoidable, when I can wallow in it freely. Tonight is not that night. I must be strong, I must lie on the surface, I must let the actor come out and play.
I suddenly realise I'm biting my lip, and a sudden flash of last night’s dream appears in my head. Bushland, a farm on the outside and on the inside, a massive room full of emotionally unstable people, I recognise their faces, though I have never met them. I got out to the stables, people are scattered everywhere around the “Boss”. They looked terrified, children everywhere, and then people my age, horses and then the order from boss. We must find the boy. I was nervous and mounted the horse, it was night but I started riding, I followed boss, and then we split into ranks, I was by myself. I charged forward and then halted abruptly, I recognised him, the boy, and he was in the room, his face cut through my soul as terror spread through me, but it was for him. The others gathered around him, and moved in, then there was a flash of light, my eyes were squeezed tight, and as I opened them I could hear a heartbeat that was not my own. I looked up and I was lying on the grass in the same field, I was curled next to the boy and I looked into his face, I saw his soul through his captivating eyes. He spoke simple words, though the meant the world. “I will never break you”, that’s when I woke up.
I find it incredibly irritating when I wake up and try to remember dreams and then remember them later on instead, at a time that just bugs me... I phase back into reality, a fresh wave of pain conquers my body, I need to learn how to control it, if my mind didn’t wander freely as it does, then it wouldn’t be such a problem. I wouldn’t be reminded of you by the simplest of things. I run so far, so far that when I get pulled back, I’m knocked down and in more pain than anyone could experience. Being crushed by a car couldn’t compare to the intolerable pain a human can be exposed to.
The body heals faster than the heart or the mind, scars on the outside are reminders, they are finished, scars on the inside always threaten to rip open at anytime. Your face flashes into my mind, and a burning in my nose occurs, a sign of the tears to come. I hold my stomach tightly as the sickness overwhelms the pit; I breathe deeply and exhale lightly. I roll to my side, and smother myself with a pillow. I whisper your name and release the pillow, I can’t fight it anymore, the battle that is lost before its barely begun, makes the air catch in the back of my throat, I want to fight, I want to change what you’re doing, but I can’t. You will never change for me, the way I have changed for you.
I must let go now, I have to do what I hate, I have to let you have your way, the way I always have.
I close my eyes and ignore the scratching in my mind. Tomorrow I will be numb again.
Sunday, June 7
Saturday, June 6
no makeup. no worries.
Images plaster the internet, the news of the world. Of what we as humans are meant to be, meant to look like, meant to fit in to. Utter bullshit. We are who we are; I will no longer be put under the pressure of feeling like I’m not good enough because the calculation of my BMI is too high. I am me. Its hard enough trying to fit into a society where you are judged so crucially on where you stand, what you believe in, your opinions and your rights. Let alone adding more pressure on to it by telling us what we should look like, how we should dress, and what we should do to “improve” ourselves.
People say that it’s who we are that counts, the kind of person we are on the inside, and I support that, but that must mean the world is contradictory considering the fact that fashion and image is rated so highly. I understand, feeling beautiful, feeling worthy, is one of the most vital things anyone could experience as a person, but it should be you on the inside, not this false image of what the world wants.
It’s what you want that matters. Sometimes it’s about you. It’s never selfish to simply care about yourself. We weren’t made to be selfless; we were made to appreciate who we are on the inside and out. When and why did it become such an issue for people to be themselves? Why is it frowned upon that someone may weigh more, or someone might be shorter or taller than what is expected. Since when has skinny been equal to beautiful? Why should anyone force themselves into believing that they are unworthy and unwanted, because of these images that surround us?
I’m disgusted in the fact that people find joy in when they can fit into that tiny skirt they’ve wanted for so long, or that t-shirt from the store everyone hates, but still wants to find pride in wearing the clothes. Weight, height, looks; they mean nothing, nothing to me, without who you are behind them. I can, I will, love and care for anyone. I’m setting myself free, I’m not going to be bound by this world, and I’m going to be comfortable in my own skin.
Who I am is who I am. I won’t change who I am on the inside nor will I change who I am on the outside. It truly upsets me when I see people on TV, people who feel like they have no other choice that they are so uncomfortable in their own skin, that they feel they need to change who they are. The beauty that resides in them is meddled with. The magic, the element of their soul that is portrayed in their face, in their skin, in the life that shines through them is changed.
It’s awful for me when I walk into a room and realise the first thing I’ve notice about the people when I look at them, is how they look. That is so very wrong of me, wrong of everyone. I want people to see me, what’s written in my heart, my life, my story. Not what is my face or my body.
The world can be such and ignorant place. Who are we to define what is and is not good and beautiful in this world? What I find real beauty in, is when someone can walk up to me, tell me I look great, even though, I’ve just woken up, my hair’s a mess, I’m sick, and I’ve got no make up on. That’s real. That’s how it should be, how one day, it will be. That I can be loved without all the pressures of what the media and large companies want. Imagine how much good we could do, the problems we could fix, if the money that’s invested in make up was invested into our problems instead.
Cavemen and women found partners in that life, when none of what we have today, existed. That was real... I’m going to get what’s real.
People say that it’s who we are that counts, the kind of person we are on the inside, and I support that, but that must mean the world is contradictory considering the fact that fashion and image is rated so highly. I understand, feeling beautiful, feeling worthy, is one of the most vital things anyone could experience as a person, but it should be you on the inside, not this false image of what the world wants.
It’s what you want that matters. Sometimes it’s about you. It’s never selfish to simply care about yourself. We weren’t made to be selfless; we were made to appreciate who we are on the inside and out. When and why did it become such an issue for people to be themselves? Why is it frowned upon that someone may weigh more, or someone might be shorter or taller than what is expected. Since when has skinny been equal to beautiful? Why should anyone force themselves into believing that they are unworthy and unwanted, because of these images that surround us?
I’m disgusted in the fact that people find joy in when they can fit into that tiny skirt they’ve wanted for so long, or that t-shirt from the store everyone hates, but still wants to find pride in wearing the clothes. Weight, height, looks; they mean nothing, nothing to me, without who you are behind them. I can, I will, love and care for anyone. I’m setting myself free, I’m not going to be bound by this world, and I’m going to be comfortable in my own skin.
Who I am is who I am. I won’t change who I am on the inside nor will I change who I am on the outside. It truly upsets me when I see people on TV, people who feel like they have no other choice that they are so uncomfortable in their own skin, that they feel they need to change who they are. The beauty that resides in them is meddled with. The magic, the element of their soul that is portrayed in their face, in their skin, in the life that shines through them is changed.
It’s awful for me when I walk into a room and realise the first thing I’ve notice about the people when I look at them, is how they look. That is so very wrong of me, wrong of everyone. I want people to see me, what’s written in my heart, my life, my story. Not what is my face or my body.
The world can be such and ignorant place. Who are we to define what is and is not good and beautiful in this world? What I find real beauty in, is when someone can walk up to me, tell me I look great, even though, I’ve just woken up, my hair’s a mess, I’m sick, and I’ve got no make up on. That’s real. That’s how it should be, how one day, it will be. That I can be loved without all the pressures of what the media and large companies want. Imagine how much good we could do, the problems we could fix, if the money that’s invested in make up was invested into our problems instead.
Cavemen and women found partners in that life, when none of what we have today, existed. That was real... I’m going to get what’s real.
Friday, June 5
sleep the pain away.
I had to curl into a ball to try and stop the pain. I covered my face with my arms and held my head in my hands. My face was hot, unusually around my eyes. It was tear soaked and throbbed from the headache that was forming, from the hours of crying. My lips were dry and starting to crack, from my deep, sharp, gasps of breath. I pushed my chest into my lap and tried to focus on how uncomfortable I was, instead of the blazing, burning hurt, clawing and crawling up my chest and to my throat, where my cries of pain leaked out leaked out my mouth.
11:11 wish, make it through the night with my mind intact. Impossible I thought, I knew, of course I was going insane, trying to make it through another day of this. You were always the better part of me.
The minutes pass as I glanced frequently around my dark room, highlighted by the moon through my window. My bin, overflowing with white, the majority of a toilet paper roll, filled with my tears and coughs after forgetting to inhale. It seemed like there were more important things than to breathe, things like you. My pillow, covered in the memory of my screams for you to understand what you meant, that I needed you. My photos of us are scattered on the floor, some torn up, with the evidence of my plea for it to be okay, some saved by tape. My bear, my pig, the one you gave me as a promise of my heart to continue to beat, lay in front of me, still intoxicated with your scent, and the fact of knowing if I held it to me, I would feel comforted. I wouldn’t hold it; I wanted you to be consistent, not the bear.
I pulled the curtain back and stared into the driveway, the lamp on the street exposed the wetness of the ground. It had been raining in the outside world, as well as my own. Blank, was the sky, dark blue, to match me again. Ironic, the world can reflect your innermost feelings with the simplest of ease. Coughing, spluttering, a cold was coming from my insufferable night of misery.
I quickly and uneasily made my way to the toilet where I left my stomach and what was my dinner in the bottom. I drooped to the floor and lay on the cold tiles, feeling weak and unashamed, you couldn’t see me, and I was safe to wallow in my own self pity. At how disgustingly alone I felt in this world. I started to focus on the noise. The patter of the rain fell in time with my heart beat, and I found it amazingly odd how strange it was that I was living without you. As much as I hated the distance and wanted you every second that my unearthly pain endured, that I could still have a heartbeat, along with my shallow breathing. I was weak, alone, cold and sick to my stomach on the thought that tomorrow I would face all that was good and happy in the world and feel completely isolated, because no one would understand how every breathe on this earth without you was incomplete. That nothing means anything without you.
A single tear rolled down my face, which was now cold and imprinted from the tile floor. I dragged myself up to stand and walk back to my room, and caught a glimpse of reflection in the mirror. I didn’t recognize myself. Who was I without you? My face was etched with torture, agony and undeniable hate. I hated me; I was just me, without you. I leaned forward and stared into my hard blue eyes, bloodshot around the edges, and I saw that, I had put so much faith in the fact that nothing could break us, it was impossible. I made my way up the ladder for three years on my confidence, and self-esteem issues, to feeling safe in what we had, in what you had made me believe or realise what I was to you, you broke it. I was safe knowing that nothing could destroy us, never; never did I think you would be the one to put that there. You loved me; I believed that, I believed you. You said goodbye, and you’d decide when you wanted to come back.
I realised as I looked into my eyes that because you had given me the happiness I’d gained you could take it away in one instant. You didn’t realise the power you had over me, and I didn’t realise I let you have that power, because I undeniably loved you. I felt a shudder run through my body, what was I going to do now? No messages? No phone calls? No looking or speaking to you? No nothing. My hands were shaking, along with the rest of my body. I bit my lip hard to stop my cry of pain escaping.
Instant burning, then sudden soothing trickled down my throat as I drank my apple juice. My lips hurt, even more so as the liquid spilled on to them. I would have to remember to wear lip balm from now on. So many inconveniences came from the situation you left me in. I was in the kitchen now, my routine that I go through when I normally wake up in the middle of the night. The difference was I hadn’t slept. I wandered around trying not to step hard on the ground as dad was asleep downstairs.
There was nothing I could do to numb the pain, so I made my way back to my safety, my room. I collapsed into bed. All the crying and stress had worn me out. I was warm now, my face now the same temperature as my body, if not, slightly colder. My eyes burnt and stung in their sockets, the same result I always get after crying. It made them heavy. So I lie down and felt my heart throb for I unconsciously for what i knew would come from tomorrow. I closed my eyes, and heaved a sigh; I waited for the real agony to begin. My faith, confidence, hope, self esteem, and self loving, all drifted out of my body, as I slipped into a better world, a world where hopefully you would show and it stay a dream, rather then turn into the nightmare that is my reality I am faced with, without you there, to pick me up when I fall...
11:11 wish, make it through the night with my mind intact. Impossible I thought, I knew, of course I was going insane, trying to make it through another day of this. You were always the better part of me.
The minutes pass as I glanced frequently around my dark room, highlighted by the moon through my window. My bin, overflowing with white, the majority of a toilet paper roll, filled with my tears and coughs after forgetting to inhale. It seemed like there were more important things than to breathe, things like you. My pillow, covered in the memory of my screams for you to understand what you meant, that I needed you. My photos of us are scattered on the floor, some torn up, with the evidence of my plea for it to be okay, some saved by tape. My bear, my pig, the one you gave me as a promise of my heart to continue to beat, lay in front of me, still intoxicated with your scent, and the fact of knowing if I held it to me, I would feel comforted. I wouldn’t hold it; I wanted you to be consistent, not the bear.
I pulled the curtain back and stared into the driveway, the lamp on the street exposed the wetness of the ground. It had been raining in the outside world, as well as my own. Blank, was the sky, dark blue, to match me again. Ironic, the world can reflect your innermost feelings with the simplest of ease. Coughing, spluttering, a cold was coming from my insufferable night of misery.
I quickly and uneasily made my way to the toilet where I left my stomach and what was my dinner in the bottom. I drooped to the floor and lay on the cold tiles, feeling weak and unashamed, you couldn’t see me, and I was safe to wallow in my own self pity. At how disgustingly alone I felt in this world. I started to focus on the noise. The patter of the rain fell in time with my heart beat, and I found it amazingly odd how strange it was that I was living without you. As much as I hated the distance and wanted you every second that my unearthly pain endured, that I could still have a heartbeat, along with my shallow breathing. I was weak, alone, cold and sick to my stomach on the thought that tomorrow I would face all that was good and happy in the world and feel completely isolated, because no one would understand how every breathe on this earth without you was incomplete. That nothing means anything without you.
A single tear rolled down my face, which was now cold and imprinted from the tile floor. I dragged myself up to stand and walk back to my room, and caught a glimpse of reflection in the mirror. I didn’t recognize myself. Who was I without you? My face was etched with torture, agony and undeniable hate. I hated me; I was just me, without you. I leaned forward and stared into my hard blue eyes, bloodshot around the edges, and I saw that, I had put so much faith in the fact that nothing could break us, it was impossible. I made my way up the ladder for three years on my confidence, and self-esteem issues, to feeling safe in what we had, in what you had made me believe or realise what I was to you, you broke it. I was safe knowing that nothing could destroy us, never; never did I think you would be the one to put that there. You loved me; I believed that, I believed you. You said goodbye, and you’d decide when you wanted to come back.
I realised as I looked into my eyes that because you had given me the happiness I’d gained you could take it away in one instant. You didn’t realise the power you had over me, and I didn’t realise I let you have that power, because I undeniably loved you. I felt a shudder run through my body, what was I going to do now? No messages? No phone calls? No looking or speaking to you? No nothing. My hands were shaking, along with the rest of my body. I bit my lip hard to stop my cry of pain escaping.
Instant burning, then sudden soothing trickled down my throat as I drank my apple juice. My lips hurt, even more so as the liquid spilled on to them. I would have to remember to wear lip balm from now on. So many inconveniences came from the situation you left me in. I was in the kitchen now, my routine that I go through when I normally wake up in the middle of the night. The difference was I hadn’t slept. I wandered around trying not to step hard on the ground as dad was asleep downstairs.
There was nothing I could do to numb the pain, so I made my way back to my safety, my room. I collapsed into bed. All the crying and stress had worn me out. I was warm now, my face now the same temperature as my body, if not, slightly colder. My eyes burnt and stung in their sockets, the same result I always get after crying. It made them heavy. So I lie down and felt my heart throb for I unconsciously for what i knew would come from tomorrow. I closed my eyes, and heaved a sigh; I waited for the real agony to begin. My faith, confidence, hope, self esteem, and self loving, all drifted out of my body, as I slipped into a better world, a world where hopefully you would show and it stay a dream, rather then turn into the nightmare that is my reality I am faced with, without you there, to pick me up when I fall...
Thursday, June 4
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