The unspoken childhood, part 1: Younger years

My childhood, while filled with fun family memories, also has a lot hiding in the shadows of my brain; ones I desperately desire to forget, ones that have stayed with me for years and never been said out loud.

This might even be the only time I ever talk about some things, a bit because I feel it's not important to my growth and healing, and also because I just don't want to keep reliving them.
I'm hoping that by me typing about it will help remove them from the back of my mind and allow me to forgive myself for things I've done.

And I know some of what I say will make me sound horrible, I've done some bad things and I'm far from proud of what I've done in order to fit in as a teenager; but the past can't be changed; only learnt from.

So best place to start is at the beginning. I was a sick baby when I was first born from what I've been told; either that or I was just a little shit, once again, according to my parents.
After putting my mum through three days of labour; I finally came into the world, except I was half dead due to the umbilical cord being wrapped around my neck. I was blue in the face. I was dying in front of my mothers eyes.
My mum wasn't even allowed to hold me after they unwrapped the cord from my neck because I was whisked away to ICU.
I had a couple problems due to my mum developing a bladder infection whilst carrying me, so I wasn't very well. I refused to eat for a while; I wouldn't take my mums nipple or a bottle, I was starving myself until a nurse pretty much shoved it into my mouth and I began to drink.

So needless to say I caused my mum a lot of worry within a short amount of time.

As I grew up, my parents began to realise I didn't seem to know when I needed to pee until I was bursting and barely able to hold it in. I wet myself a lot, as I did my bed. Turns out I had a small bladder and my nerves and neurons that told me when I needed to pee didn't work properly.
It was embarrassing, being 7 years old and waking up to a drenched bed where I had dreamt about going to the toilet and my body went in real life.

I don't know why, because I know what I'm about to say isn't true, but I've always had a "memory" of being put in a diaper because "If I couldn't control myself then I should be in a nappy like the baby I am." "Only babies wet themselves."
In the memory, my dad said both of these, I was 5 or 6 years old; but it never actually happened, so why do i remember that happening? Was it my minds way of telling me how embarrassed I am of myself? Punishing and mocking myself for something I couldn't control? I don't know.

I realised a few years ago that all my nightmares or "memories" always contained my dad when i was growing up. One nightmare that I remember and haunts me was I had done something to disappoint my dad, I made him angry somehow and to punish me, he tore up my teddies in front of me. Ripping them to shreds, burning them, stabbing, everything. He always started with my favourite. Bambi, who I still have to this day. I would wake up soaked in my own tears. I could never stop it, I could never wake up until it was over, and it always felt real. I could never tell it was a dream until I'd woken up.

As I grew up and started school I'd always seemed a target for bullying in some way, I had very few friends and although most of the bullying in primary school was pretty harmless; some wasn't.

The first was in year 1, I want to state now, I had stupidly long hair. It had never been cut, only trimmed and I loved my hair. It was precious to me.
There was this girl who was our years bully; she was mean and spiteful. One day, she got me to follow her back into the classroom and sit down, she then came up behind me and said she wanted to play hairdresser. I wasn't allowed to leave. I had to sit very still so she didn't get me with the scissors. I was only 6 and I was honestly scared. She then cut a chunk of my hair off behind my hair. My hair that was down to my waist had been cut to the scalp. I cried, a teacher came and told her off.
She eventually left the school, whether they moved or she was kicked out I have no idea but I was glad she was gone.

I was never really bullied after in primary, the only thing that sucked was the boys being boys and saying how ugly I was; no one would ever like me; they certainly didn't like me as a human being in general. It hurt, and made me feel disgusting about how I looked but I know that kids are just that. Kids. They didn't know what affect that would have in my life, how painful their words really were.

I had one good experience in that school. My first crush.
I got along with most of the girls but most of them were really girly, like most little girls are. I was pretty much the odd one out except for my friend Victoria. She was an oddball like me. She never liked her full name, I always called her Vickie for the first few years I knew her, and eventually it was completely shortened to Tor.

We were the only tomboys, until i met the twins. I don't know if they were there the whole time, I'm pretty sure they were but I only ever really noticed them until year 4. They were identical twins, Sophia and Claudia. Considering they were identical, they couldn't be anymore different personality wise. Claudia was a girly girl; loved dresses, found bugs creepy and hated sports, but Sophia was more like me. A tomboy, didn't care if she got dirty and loved to play football. I loved her.
I remember me and her laying on the grass one summer, just chatting and I looked at her, I remember finding it strange how different she looked from her sister despite them being identical, I had noticed the tiny differences between them. I wanted so desperately to hold her hand, I even felt compelled to kiss her cheek.
I never did, I never knew if she felt the same way or never even noticed, but I really liked her.

As a class, we were horrible. The only teacher who could handle us was Mr McCabb, an Irish teacher who knew how to deal with our outbursts. He was pretty strict when he needed to be, but also a really good laugh.

In year 5 we were playing bulldog at break, I was running to the over side of the playground when a kid suddenly stopped in front of me because of a bulldog/tagger was about to get him. I didn't stop in time and my face connected with the back of his head. It knocked me out and left me with a massive swelling and bruising around my right eye. Mr McCabb gave me a nickname the day I came back to school sporting this bruise. Shiner. He would shout Shiner instead of my name during roll call. I was pretty funny but I was looking forward to getting a new teacher in year 6.
Well, guess who I got in year 6? Him. I was greeted the first day with "Morning, Shiner."

He taught me and my class in year 5 and 6 because, as I said, he was the only one who could handle us. I'm fairly certain the head mistress wanted to kill us at points, especially Oscar. He had anger issues and that's putting it mildly. Once, he climbed onto the roof of the school and then jumped down on the other side of the fence and walked home because a teacher yelled at him after this kid had flipped a table and then threw a chair at a supply teacher. He was insane.

One day, we found out we were going to have a supply teacher so of course before we all went into class we all decided to see how long it would take until we could make her leave.
It took one lesson. That's it. A single lesson, an hour, 60 minutes until she ran out of the classroom in tears. I feel bad to this day about it; we all saw how nervous she was, it must of been one of her first teaching spots and we tore into her like a pack of starving hyenas. Yet we were proud of ourselves. She left and we all cheered and celebrated that we broke her before laughing and high fiving.
It was so fucked, but that's what we did. We were the nightmare class and we relished that title.
Every guest speaker, every supply teacher, every chance we had, we took. We harassed, and tormented and heckled. Oliver always took it the furthest, throwing stuff and screaming until he was red in the face.

But there was one time I led the charge.
Back in those days, knowing the teachers first name was the key to the world, and one day, we had a supply teacher who I knew. Miss Joe Star. She was at the amateur dramatics group I went to with my family so I knew her decently well.
She never really liked me, but after what I did. She hated me.
Because she knew me she would constantly get me to answer questions, hand up or not. If I got it wrong, she would shake her head and say how she expected better from me. She humiliated me by doing this.
By now the class had caught onto how Miss Star sounded very much like Mister, so, in our usual game of torture the supply teacher, everyone said Mister. She noticed this of course and blamed me for starting it.
During lunch, I decided to tell everyone her first name and how it's a "boys" name. Mister Joe kicked off immediately. I could feel the hatred burning into me as she glared at me,it was obvious it was me who told everyone her first name but I didn't care. In my eyes, I had my revenge. She was a lot colder towards me back at the acting group after that.


Family life was difficult at points, my sister is 7 years older than me so was already a teenager by the time I was in year 5. It put a wall between us, she was a rebellious teenager and I was her little kid sister who cramped her style. I always wanted to hang out with her and her friends but she never let me except for a few times were I would then be laughed at. I didn't get why they were laughing at the time, but it was funny exploiting my innocent mind to them.

I remember the day they put me in a "sexual" situation and laughed. I had a crush on my sisters boyfriend at the time, and I mean a mega crush. Cheeks red, shyness kind of crush. Him and some of her friends were in her bedroom hanging out and I wanted to join and sit next to him. They let me even though my sister didn't want me there. Eventually everyone was laying on the bed, legs hanging off the side. I was excited to be slightly cuddled up to him. My sister had already told them that her dumb sister had a crush on her boyfriend. One of them then suggested I cuddle him properly. I was surprised they'd let me so I did. Then they said about putting my leg across him. So his side/leg was between mine. I was confused as to why they were giggling but I moved my leg slightly over him.
They encouraged me to move my leg over more before eventually one girl took my ankle and pulled my leg straight out across his belly. I was pressed against his side and everyone was laughing. I suddenly didn't feel like they were laughing with me so I got up and left. I didn't understand why they were laughing at me. I thought it might of been because they found me having a crush on an older boy funny. But it wasn't just that, they were laughing at a little girl having her leg draped over a teenage boy with her private parts pressed up against his hip.
I can't remember if my sister was laughing at that point, or if she was just annoyed I was there, or maybe even annoyed that I was cuddling her boyfriend. But she didn't stop anything.

2am Thoughts and Stresses

Things are starting to build up once more, so many little things combining and melding together to create one huge wave to bullshit stress.

So much has gone on since I last posted here, I've fallen in love, had my heart broken, lost friends and reconnected with others.

My Grandad is getting married in August, I'm so excited for him. When he first started to date again after my nan passed around 7 years ago. I hated it at the beginning, he was replacing my nan in my mind.
Her passing had affected me a lot when it happened. She left us in june and shortly after her funeral, I tried to take my life for the first time. It was the first loss I had experienced and I was in a bad mental state; I couldn't take saying goodbye and tried to join her I guess... I ended up being placed into a psych ward and missing my exams.

I hadn't fully let go when he started to look for a partner to end his journey with, I even got to the point of resenting him for even trying, I was selfish. As he dated he found most older women didn't want a real connection, a real life partner; just some quick fun.
Then he met Sandra.
It was mean't to be there and then.
A lot of people think you have only one true love, but if you're lucky you'll find a second.
I was still uncomfortable at the beginning; until we went over to her bungalow for a dinner; my Grandad was already practically living with her at this point and would sortly go on to sell his house.
After dinner I went down to the bottom of the garden with my Grandad and sat on a swing seat with him. And that's when I realised, as I looked into his eyes, there was that spark he used to have, rekindled and alive once more. I finally saw the smile on his face and remembered how his hand never left her knee; just wishing to touch her.

Thats when I asked him. "You're really happy aren't you? You love her." And he nodded and said yes, and how he knew it was probably hard for me to see him with someone else. He probably knew this from the fact I rarely spoke or looked at her; but after seeing that smile. I was happy, I knew my nan would want him to be happy and not lonely.


Soon they booked a ticket to cruise around the carribbean and he proposed to her there.
Now their wedding is coming up, these two huge families are going to become one humongous family. We could fill a small village with this family.

My Grandad and Sandra have asked me and my two cousins if we want to read a poem; they want to get everyone involved and have a little part to play in the wedding.
Apart from the standing in front of everyone and reading out loud I ws excited to do this. I love poetry. I read, listen, and write poems and my cousins have admitted they don't know much about poetry.
This is where the stress and fustration begins.
I find a poem about two old people being in love and finishing thei journey together is more beautiful than a young couple jsut beginning their journey. It fits perfectly as well as being short and sweet.
I send it to my cousin.
She replies with it's not appropriate because of the word old.
I'm annoyed but ok, lets look for another.
She finds a winnie the pooh poem which only mentions two is better than one at the end as a last sentence. It's not wedding material, mainly for the fact that it doesn't really say anything about love, or couples, weddings, or even families.

She agrees and we both go searching again, my cousin pops up on my phone with a poem she wrote herself and it isn't too bad. I agree that its good and we can use it but ask to edit it a little so it flows a little better.

I spend a good chunk of my day writing the original and then my rework down; but I'm proud of it. It flowed a lot better and some of the words were changed so the sentences weren't so bulky.

She hates the rework, using the sorry if I sound rude excuse as she goes "Togetherness works better, so does swells and blah blah blah blah blah blah. I like the end the day with simply I love you" (hers read "end the day with I simply love you... Sooooooooo)
I'm ready to pull my hair out. I just worked on the poem for it to be thrown back at me because my cousin who doesn't even read poetry doesn't like a couple words and prefers her own.

So I've let her change whatever she wants and I'm tempted to just pull out of the poetry reading; It was a stressful enough thought as it was but now with my anger shoved into the mix I feel like the anxiety is starting to bubble over and is about to explode any second like a volitale stick of dynamite that's been dropped from a fifty storey building.

I don't want to disappoint my Grandad but at the same time I don't want to read something I haven't put myself into. The poem has nothing to represent me.
It sounds like an ego trip, at least ti does to me as I read this, but it's the opposite. I want to make my Grandad happy.

Gotta Earn a Living

As Christmas and the New Year inches closer I'm reminded of how I'm struggling for money.
Christmas sint' so bad, I have few people I need to buy for and they're poor as em so we don't expect amazing, expensive gifts.
In the New Year however, I have a trip.
In February I will be leaving Kent and Heading to Cardiff for a show. Know, I know I'm 22 and will soon be 23 when i leave, and I know the show is Markiplier, a youtuber that people often associate with teenagers; but I really enjoy this man and his content. I can't count the times he's made me laugh and pulled me up from the dark abyss of depression.

So that's why I brought a V.I.P ticket to see him, but London was booked up and I stupidly thoguth Cardiff was in Essex or close. For people who don't know, it's actually in Wales.
So I'm a twat, but it's not stopped me from going, my hotel is booked and I have to buy a coach ticket to get there.
Now here lies the problem with money.

The hotel is £400 for the few nights I've booked, pretty good price but then again, it is in February.
A coach ticket is a hell of a lot cheaper than a train, so it's worth the being on the road for a day to get there. The coach is around £50 where a train would be bordering on £300 so train is out of the question.

The hotel and website I went through is great, I don't have to pay upfront of booking, I can pay once I'm there which is brilliant because it means I can save up to easily pay for everything... If I remembered to save. It's now December and all I have is the ticket.
I have two months roughly to gather around £500 for everything, thats not including what the hell I'm going to eat or do, fuck if I want to even buy anything. So, that's going to be a fun scramble for money these next months.

Now, saving would be easy. If I had a job. I don't work, I techincally can't because of how bad my mental and physcial health is. I'm too tempremental to work with people and I'm unreliable,e specially if I have a bad day I won't be going into work. So, probably a good choice to not hire me yet.

I've never had a real job, never worked properly. The closest I came to was when I was at my worst, depressed and suicidal; I hated myself. I no longer cared but I wanted money to spend on crap. SO I became an escort.
It was surprising at how many guys wanted to pay for me, but I was giving them something not many escort sites have; a large woman. So, I would meet up with these complete strangers, fuck in their car or in their work place they ran by themselves and I would get £100 for each hour. It was pretty good I thought. I mean, these married guys (yes pretty much all of them were married, most of them would just tell me outright because their wife thinks they're somewhere else, they loved to share their lie with me.) but these married men got their rocks off an I got paid so I didn't care. I knew it was a dangerous game I was playing, my first meet I ended up being raped; but I continued, it only filled my mind with more thoughts of how worthless I was, that I was lucky these guys wanted to pay for me to lay there and get fucked.

And as I sit here, in a money crisis, I won't lie. My mind goes back to wondering if I should just do it again for a bit, until I got the money I needed. I think if I didn't have a boyfriend, a guy who actually loves me; I would do it. I would go sleep around once more to get some money.

It's horrible to know I think so lowely of myself but at the same time not care and agree with myself that this IS all I'm worth.

I'm not stable enough to work a proper job and sometimes escorting feels like my only option.
I know if I make sure I save and borrow a little money off my parents that I'll be fine, I can pay them back quickly, it's the worry I won't save in time that pushes me off the edge, I know I'm terrible with money, I always impulse buy and that will be my downfall.

If I ain't drunk then it ain't Christmas

As I write this I can imagine how hard this time of year can be for a lot of people, people who don't have a family, money or even a roof over their heads. It's hard to be thankful when you have little to be thankful for.

I know as I go into this I may sound whiny and selfish and just stuck up, but hey, it's my blog so I can say what I like.

Christmas has always been a hard time for me, in fact, any time that money has to be spent on me like my birthday is hard. My family have very little money and lucky to even have a house. There have been times when we've had to live off a months worth of shopping for about 6 months because we just couldn't afford anything. So this time of year can be tough.
I learnt this very quickly that my parents struggled with money; so I stopped asking for things and said I don't need anything. It's gotten to the point my mum has to force me to buy clothes that don't have holes or shoes that aren't falling apart.

So when Christmas time rolls around and all you see is "buy this, buy that. If you love them you'll give us the money!" and it hurts; not because my parents can't buy me things, but because I can't buy them things. We're actually planning on going around charity shops to find some presents for each other this year but even then charity shops are getting more and more expensive we probably won't even be able to afford them soon.

I haven't enjoyed Christmas in so long, I can't even remember when the last time was. The only time I've come close to being happy is a few years ago I got my benefits and all the back pay right around Christmas, I got £1,000. I was so happy, I spent it all on Christmas, I got my mum new tree lights to replace the ones we've had for 15 odd years, I got my family presents and stocking stuff and even got my friends some gifts as well. I even gave £100 to a man I'd gotten to known over my college year. He worked with the big issue and luckily had a flat given to him and he had the most gorgeous staff. Quite often I'd talk to him, say hello to his dog and buy her a treat from the shop or often give him the little money I had for lunch to him since I didn't really eat at the time.

When I gave him the money, I told him to wait till he got home to open it, I was worried the wind would catch the money or something and it'd be lost. So when I saw him the next day, he cried and thanked me.
I also left £20 pound notes for some guys who were sleeping rough when I was doing some shopping. I felt bad that it was all I could give them since I didn't have much left by then but it was horrible seeing them asleep and as I placed the money near them they woke up, fear in their eyes that I was going to hurt them or something. They didn't speak English but Canterbury has a lot of Polish people on the streets so it wasn't surprising. I just smiled and handed him and his friend the money, said Merry Christmas and left.

That Christmas felt good, I did what I could to make others happy, because I know I won't be truly happy because of my depression.

Family traditions are another thing that kill me inside. Every year for Christmas the whole family would go to my Nan and Grandads (dads side) and we'd play games and laugh and be silly; but as my depression got worse I had to put on more of an act. No one understood back then what was going on so they just thought I was being a hormonal teenager when in fact all I wanted to do was kill myself.
And then my nan passed away, shortly after my birthday and I ended up trying to kill myself shortly before my GCSE's.

I loved my nan, but her funeral tipped me over the edge. I still cherish the last Christmas we spent with her though. We were all playing that game guess who you are where you had a name card on your forehead and had to guess who you were. Well my cousin was cheating and looking up at the mirror on the other side of the wall to figure it out. We noticed and it started a bit of an argument because she denied it etc etc, and while we were arguing my nan took off hers, looked at it and then put it back on her forehead like nothing happened.
Well, when we carried on the game and it got to her turn she guessed. "Am I the Queen?" We all said no, and she got confused and pulled the card back down. "I could of sworn it said Queen." and we all ended up pissing ourselves laughing because we realised she had cheated and still got it wrong.

Even with her Alzheimer's she was still amazing.
But then she left us. It still hurts to this day and it was nearly 7 years ago now.
I know why it's got even more sore though, my grandad, he's sold the house. The house my dad grew up in, the house we always spent Christmas playing games. He's moved into his girlfriends bungalow; and it hurts. Like, really hurts. I'm happy he's found someone to spend his last years with; she's amazing and he's honestly in love. What hurts is I'll never see that house again. I'll never go into the spare room and see the door art my dad made as a kid himself of his favourite book; Duncton Woods.

I'm finding more reasons to hate Christmas and losing more to love it. It's just not the same and I can't pretend to be happy anymore, I wish I could just cancel it, pretend it's not there and just treat it like a normal day; but I can't. The decorations will go up, the Carole's will be sung and Christmas will be everywhere and I can't stop it.
If i had some money I'd book a hotel for Christmas and hide out in the room for the day with my phone and maybe just sleep the day away.
I don't want Christmas to come, I want it to end.

That makes me suicidal honestly, but sometimes I wonder if I would be better off dead but considering how much funerals cost I can't even afford to die right now.

Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll

Sex and relationships are a hard thing, especially when you're dealing with a long distance relationship because there is none. No kissing, no sex, no intimacy. It is a hard thing to deal with but if you love each other you make it work.

So a little background information first. I'm in a relatiosnhip; with a guy in Poland. I'm in England but this isn't my first rodeo, I've had long distance relationships before, more than normal, lives in the same town relationships. Those I've had two of, long distance? Well, this will be my fifth.

It's not that I prefer having my partner miles away where I can never see them, it's more they get to know my personality before seeing me, so they don't see a fat girl with scars and rarely smiling. They see the funny, care free girl who is a goof; and I get to see who they are inside as well.

I know how hard a long distance is, and how much pressure it can put on the relationship; but I know it's worth it, all those hardships are worth being with them in the end, it makes your time together even more special and amazing.

But I'm what's known as an easy target, during my years I've had a lot of sex, most with strangers and only as a one time thing; but some are with people who stay in my life. These are the dangerous people, the ones who know how to manipulate me and twist things just right to get me to think they care while having rough, sometimes violent sex.

These people are the one's who swoop in when they find out I'm in a relationship. They don't even know that my partner is in another country. Soon as they know I'm dating they try and get me to have sex with them anyway and keep it a secret, to not tell him, to cheat.

I've only ever cheated once in my life, and I regret it to this day. I was 16 and dating a girl long distance. I had just got out of a mental health hospital where I'd been staying for a month after my first overdose. I asked her to date me and she said yes. It was great for the first five seconds. She was extremely clingy, wanted me on the phone or on skype every second of the day. I tdrove me insane. After all, I had just been cooped up with 9 other kids, being checked on every 15 minutes for a month, I wanted my space and she refused to give it to me, but I still really liked her.

Then a friend of mine came to visit; we went to London together and had a good time. Only problem is I had an arguement with my girl before I left for London because she was pissed off I wouldn't be able to talk to her every second due to being away and wanting time with my friend. So I slept with him. I knew he liked me and I had a crush just enough to make me think I liked him. So we had sex, in a Hostel, while my roomates were there. It was horrible. I lost my virginity and hated myself after. The sex itself was terrible and nwo how a first time should be.

Me and my girlfriend broke up after that when I told her what happened.

I made damn sure I would never cheat again, and I didn't. I've been sexually assaulted by a stranger while I was in a relationship and my boyfriend decided that I had cheated on him, when the truth was I was drunk as hell and kept telling this guy to stop and leave me alone. (He was supposed to be my friend.)

So now, in this relationship I want things to go right, I don't want fuck ups and mistakes to happen, I don't want to go out at night and get assaulted in case he see's it as cheating and leaves me too.

I have all these fears and worries that will cause us to fall apart, but my own worry might be what causes it.

Drugs where a major part of when I was sleeping around before my relationship. I mainly just smoked pot but I've had coke offered as well as heroine. It scares me how tempted I was by all of these offers, even though I never took them if it had been offered a year earlier I would of done it, I know I would of; mainly because I was on the search of drugs at the time.

It worries me how much my life would of been different if i had got hold of drugs, or said yes to them in exchange for sex, I doubt I'd even be in a loving relationship right now. I'd be in an abusive, drug dependant one, or dead.

But now I'm with someone who cares about me, who doesn't want to hurt me, I can finally see how bad it used to be, how I got raped but it's all ok because he gave me more alcohol after, or a joint. That my no's were just me messing about.
But it was never ok, people seek out emotionally unstable girls because we'll allow them to do anything to us; because we don't care. But I do, I care now.

Back Once More

Been over a year since I've written here, honestly I forgot all about it until someone brought it up.

I want to start writing on here again, to vent, to share, to just... Be able to get things out of my head.

Surprisingly I have a boyfriend now, he's really sweet but I'm scared, I'm scared I'll screw it up, like I always have. I want to be happy but it's like my subconcious won't allow me to be, I sabotage myself.

I feel like I have nothing to say right now, but I have so many things running through my head as well. It's almost like it's too much to write about; it's travelling through my head at 50 miles an hour and I can't make sense of it all.

I keep messing around with my meds, not taking them and then taking two at a time. I'm not sure why I do it, the not taking them is more forgetfullness than anything but I don't know why I'm then over medicating with more, all it does is fuck up my schedule and my head even more, yet I keep doing it, it's like slowly i'm bringing myself back to my destructive ways, as it is I self harmed again.

I'm disappointed in myself for that... I'd been clean for so long, since Januray 1st actually, after that horrible overdose I took, it's like it had knocked sense into me and even though I had urges, I never did it.
And then about a month ago, I started getting nightmares; flashbacks as well. All while I was asleep so I couldn't even stop it and distract myself. I had to go through it all. I woke up crying so often and I couldn't take it anymore; so I cut. Just shallow ones, more like scratches really. But that intense relief I felt, it was better than any orgasasm I could ever had. I felt so complete and relaxed and.. Happy.

The nightmares stopped after that, it was like my mind was trying to get me to hurt myself so it upped it's game and made all the nightmares, forcing me to seek some sort of relief, and it worked. I'm so disappointed in myself, because it's all I've wanted to do since; I've wanted to self harm again, I've wanted  to overdose again.
I can't, I know I can't but I want to.
Because part of me knows, that if I overdose again, it might be the last I'll ever have to do.
It could kill me.

With my last overdose on December 31st 2016, I took my anti physcotics. About 6 of them, that was all I needed. I felt so out of it, I could barely concerntrate on what the paramedic was saying.
I knew he was worried, he didn't want to leave me an my parents couldn't drive me up to the hospital because they'd been smoking for my mum's pain.
He ended up taking me in his own car and sat with me until my parents came up in a taxi.
He was scared, and it made me scared because he knew something.
Thats when he told me, why he was so scared for me.

A woman a couple weeks ago had taken 10 of the same pills, same dosage and died of organ failure. And from how I was acting I could very well die.

I hurt, all over, I could feel my own organs struggling to cope, I knew they were weak from the overdoses I had taken before; this was not my first rodeo.
But I don't know why I became so scared, dying was the plan in the first place. Maybe it's because it would of been a painful death, or I worried for my family and my niece and nephew, but I was scared; but I didn't want to survive either. I was hoping that 6 would be enough to stop my heart and kill me.

I still wish it did even now.

It's coming closer and closer, the day I took them; and it's all I can think about lately. About how I should save up more this time, take them with the other hundred painkillers I have stashed away in my room.

I want to stop feeling like this, I can't even remember the little girl who was always talking and had a smile on her face. She's dead, and now I'm left with a husk of a human being, who feels weird when she's happy, and hates to smile, and hates to feel, and hates to live.

I should be happy, I have a good life. Loving family, a boyfriend who actually cares about me; but then I realise... That's all I have, I have no career, no future, no friends, no life, nothing.
I sit at the computer and drink energy drinks and then go to bed and sleep for hours on end to wake up and go sit on the computer and drink energy drinks.
What kind of life is that?

I want to go back to college, I want to study. I want all of that, I want a future but I can't see it right now and I don't know if I ever will.



They say 9 out of 10 people suffer with depression at one point in their life, why couldn't I of been number 10? Why couldn't I of had a normal life and not be bullied by kids younger than me in school.
Why did I have to feel so horrible about myself I just carried on eating because apparently I was fat anyway even though size 12 is not fat. I've doubled that now.
I sit here, a size 24 with too many stretch marks and scars of count, with a body that makes me physically sick to see in a mirror.
I'm on pills that make me shit myself to help me lose weight since the gym just hurt my joints thanks to my disability that will one day soon put me in a wheelchair and the dietican gave up on me because I don't even eat, I just starve myself and then binge, and then purge. It's a cycle I'm trying to break but I can't see the end of the road, nor the light at the end of this tunnel.

I jsut don't know what to do anymore...

10 Things I Hate About You

I saw someone who looked like you today, same height, same hair, same face, hell even your facial hair and dorky grin.
And I hate the fact a part of me, just for a moment, thought it was you.
6 years it's been since I fell in love with you, and it's never gone. Hard as I try it just won't go away. Why do you have to be in my head 24/7? I thought for a while I had gotten over you, but then you messaged me and it all came flooding back. I'm just glad I have no chance of running into you in person, because I'm sure my heart would break all over again.
I wish I could say you died, because then at least my heartbreak would be justified, but you're not. Instead you're fucking girls left right and center and get annoyed because I won't sext with you.

Why did you have to enter my life? Why did you have to take such a large part of my heart that makes it now so difficult to love anyone else.
I just wanted to cry on that train, not because he looked like you, but because he wasn't you.
Why do you have to have such a hold in my life? I still hug the teddy you gave me and keep everything you sent and I know you have to. Because despite all we've done and put each other through. We both still love each other unconditionally.
I'm glad we didn't kiss or I'd savour your taste even now. I'm glad we didn't hug because I'd miss your warmth every night.
I miss you enough without these problems added.
Why did you give up on us if you still love me? Was it because I fucked up too much? Or was the reason because I was no longer going to be a whore for you? Every time we talk that's all you ever seem to want.
Don't you understand? i'm not that way anymore.
No, you don't. I tried explaining it to you and you just got the huff with me. Yet I'll still forever run to you.
My kitten.
I hate the way I don't hate you, not even close, not even a little kit, not even at all...