2018

Okay, so my booty didn’t grow. But it’s cool. I’m here and I’m actually… dare I say it… okay.

This has been a year of “meh”

In fact, I’m probably more than okay. I just have this fear of being happy… like I can never allow myself to be happy. It’s terrible. I’m so horrible to myself at times, but I’m certainly learning to be kinder. I made that a promise at the beginning of the year.

So 2018, hmmm. Yeah this has been a year of “meh”. Please don’t ask me what meh means because that’s kind of the whole point. I have no real complaints, which is a dramatic change compared to the past 5 years of my existence. There were ups and there were downs.

you have to get up, you have to get active, you have to make it happen

I don’t really want to discuss events of this past year, not much to say if I’m honest. It’s been BORING. Haven’t written for a while so quick update to get y’all up to speed:

  • Turned 21 in Jan
  • Completed my work placement
  • Started my final year of uni
  • My health is still in the gutter (but I am better)
  • Broke, so I’ve lost weight
  • Got a part time job, but still broke, so still losing weight
  • Still promising myself to join the gym
  • My hair has grown
  • Started building a closer relationship with my parents
  • Been over a year since I’ve self harmed (blade, burning etc) !!!
  • Loveless but still a hopeless romantic- no heartbreaks this year though!

Cool, so what did this year teach me? I guess the ultimate lesson I am taking from 2018 is that you have to get up, you have to get active, you have to make it happen. Anyone who knows me, knows how lazy I am. I promise you, even getting out of bed drains all the energy out of me and my life bar is left in the orangey yellow zone. Depleted. I like to blame it on being severely anemic, and although that is partly the case, I know I’m just being lazy. I never make things happen. I just watch life pass me by. Opportunities pass me by, I never grab them.

Not once have I regretted getting out there. Not once.

Sometimes I think life hates me and that’s why nothing great ever happens; but really I’ve just been hating myself. I never got up and utilised my opportunities because deep down I felt I didn’t deserve to, or that I’d fuck it up. And yes, I really and truly do fuck a lot of things up. However, I also get a lot of things right. I really hate being cliche but please please listen when people say “love yourself”. It IS the KEY to everything.  Balance. Give and take *insert meme*. It’s only towards the latter end of this year that I started getting up, going out, grabbing opportunities. Opportunities to make great memories, opportunities to share my art of writing, opportunities to network, opportunities to support my friends and loved ones, opportunities to create more opportunities.

Let me tell you now, ever since I’ve started to force myself to actually take control and take ownership of my life, my reality, my future- not once have I regretted getting out there. Not once. But I am still a working progress because whew chile, let me tell you, my fire burns out fairly quick (51% extroverted and 49% introverted apparently) and I desperately have to search for wood to keep it aflame. A lot of times I have ended up back in bed doing nothing all day and either overthinking or sleeping; avoiding my responsibilities, avoiding my friends and family, avoiding my hopes and dreams. It’s ugly. It’s embarrassing. It’s stupid. Get up Tam, GET OUT!

So yeah, I waffled a bit, grateful for those of you who actually take time out of their day to read my stuff. It’s great. You’re great! I love you. You keep me alive.

Okay 2019, I’m gonna get up. I’m gonna get active. I’m going to make it happen!

Time to get shit POPPIN’

See you on the other side my loves!

**p.s. I promised to take more full length pictures and I really did. My snap and IG stories have been glowing all year round.**

– Love Tam

– Love The Rose xo

Martyr

Now I don’t even know where to begin with this post. I guess I will just talk about my individual experience and hope that those who need to see this and relate, will.

For reasons I’m not prepared to go into detail with right now, I have battled with depression and anxiety from as young as eight years old. However I was only medically diagnosed with clinical depression as a teenager. I guess I’ll start there, teenage Tam.

Teenage Tam had some sort of victim complex.

What I mean by that is, in any situation, I saw myself as the victim. Life was cruel to me and only me. Everything and anything I may have done wasn’t entirely my fault, as I (of course) was always the victim. In ANY case.

By professional definition, individuals diagnosed** with the “martyr complex” actually desire the feelings of repeatedly being the victim. Going as far as to seek out or even encourage, their own victimisation in order to either satisfy a psychological need or as an excuse to avoid personal responsibility.

** I was never diagnosed with this.

Somehow over the years, I had allowed myself to use my trauma and depression as an excuse for anything I found myself facing in life. I refused to accept any accountability for my actions, it was also someone else’s fault, or something greater’s fault. I fed off my woes. I enjoyed being sad. I liked to believe that sadness was my only comfort because it was the only thing I was familiar with.

With this mindset came, as you can imagine, some major implications. One being that I could never allow myself to be happy, I aided my own depression. Two being that I became a toxic individual.

I want to talk about two.

It’s not easy to admit to being the toxic one in a situation. Or to acknowledge your toxic traits, especially when you’re not necessarily a “bad person”. We all have toxic traits. We are all flawed. Some, arguably more than others. Breathe. It’s okay… Because once you identify your ill-habits, you can begin to change them. The responsibility is YOURS to change.

I was TOXIC AF. I didn’t realise it and looking back, I’m not sure if people around me even realised it. When people feel sorry for you or are so scared that you might hurt yourself, a lot of things get ignored.

Literally just froze for a second, because this is the hardest bit to write. The hardest thing to admit and actually put in writing for everyone to witness. But I want to, so let me stop procrastinating. Breathe.

As I reflect back on the person I was, I have felt disgusted at the way I used my illness to manipulate others, to absolve any responsibility of my wrong doings, to treating people badly because I was having a bad time (misery really does love company) being so caught up in my own darkness, I couldn’t even care for anyone else (though I believed I did), narcissistic traits. I once told a guy I would kill myself if he leaves, I had no intention of killing myself but I knew he’d believe me because I have been suicidal before. He left anyway. Good on him.

I didn’t know it at the time but that was emotionally abusive and if someone had pointed it out, I would’ve argued and cried and pulled the victim card as to why it wasn’t. The cycle seemed to have been set in stone. It was becoming a character flaw. Part of me. My identity. I would say it scared me, but it didn’t, at the time I saw no wrong in how I was behaving.

Going for men I knew would hurt me, just so I could feel sorry for myself later. Putting myself in situations where I knew I’d get hurt, just because. I used to say, “I’d rather feel pain that nothing at all”. As if I’d become a masochist, I enjoyed it.

Maybe in a few years time I’ll look back and be able to tell you how I got out of that cycle (I’m not toxic-trait-free yet) but as of now, I genuinely have no clue. It’s as if it happened overnight *click* and I became a new person. I didn’t want to be sad anymore. I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me anymore. I didn’t want to make those I love suffer trying to keep me happy.

I will say this though, the behaviour I exhibited wasn’t truly “me”. I didn’t wake up every morning with intentions of disruption and devastation. I rarely want to intentionally cause harm to others, it’s not in my nature. The harm I caused, I didn’t see/realise/recognise/understand. I’m not removing the blame from myself. Whether that was “truly me” or not, I still allowed myself to become that person. I did those things. I failed to see the error in my ways. That’s why as soon as I woke up, I had to change. I couldn’t continue being that person knowing that my behaviour was adversely affecting those around me (and my myself).

Weird that, a Bible App notification just popped up… Verse of the Day, “Be careful how you think; your life is shaped by your thoughts.” -Proverbs 4:23 (GNB). Whether you’re religious or not, that proverb still reigns true. I started thinking differently, in turn acting differently, ultimately changing my life.

It’s okay to admit to your faults. I’ve done bad things but it doesn’t make me a bad person per say (others may disagree, who cares). Forgive yourself. Breathe. Know better, do better, be better.

If any of this resonates with you, I pray you find the peace you’re so desperately indirectly seeking.

– Love, Tam

New Year, Same Thoughts

2017 is yet another year I’d love to forget, unfortunately I know that it’ll be a year I’m constantly reminded of and haunted by.

It started off horrifically and ended just as horrifically. Not to say that there were no good days, there’s always the good in the bad- or so I allow myself to believe. Regardless, I’m grateful that even if in brief passings, I got to smile last year.

I can’t help but wonder when things will start going right for me? Sometimes I feel like the most doomed person in the world, I’m sure many can relate to that feeling. I just want to be okay. I want to feel okay. Will 2018 be kinder to me? Please 2018, be kinder to me.

That being said, this year I’m actively going to chase my happiness. The world owes me nothing. I haven’t quite assembled a mental plan of how I am going to make this year great, but I have a few ideas. I’ve chased death so long that I haven’t really lived. I did that to myself and that sucks. Too consumed in watching my abusers live their lives whilst I’ve been held in mental and physical captivity. They’ve moved on and I’m still stuck.

I’ve wanted to die so long but now that death is actually knocking on my door, I’m hesitant to answer. Maybe I never wanted to die; I just wanted a way out. This could be the last year any of us will see, I know that… It’s different though, being told that. Hearing that your own body has turned against you and this could be it. You’re literally sucking the life out of yourself. It be ya own body. It really be ya own niggas. Deep in the calming centre of my being, I know that I’ll be okay. Whatever happens, I’ll be okay. I’m saying that to you too, WE GON’ BE ALRIGHT! So fuck it, even if 2018 isn’t going to be kind me, I’ll make sure I’m kind to myself.

Self care. Self love. Gonna grow my hair long (health permitting), skin is gonna be clear and my booty WILL grow.

Bring on the New Year!

What If

So it’s like 3am and I’m laying in bed chasing sleep. Then it hits me. Hurls at me full speed and crashes. The voice starts out faint from the far corners of my mind, little echoes of uncertainty down the hallway till it screeches and comes to a long halt. Then resumes,  “What if I never get to be happy?” And the thought just sits there.

Harassing me.

As pessimistic as I may sound sometimes regarding my future, I do have faith that one day I’ll actually be okay and (maybe) start enjoying life. Although I still strongly believe that those odds are not so much in my favour; it’s the small possibility of happiness that keeps me going. But that ‘what if’ thought persistently taunts me. I’m constantly subjected to the harassing whispers of doubt. It’s filthy and clingy.

I hate it.

What I hate even more is expressing these thoughts out loud to a confidant, only to be shut down with the usual blanket statements along the lines of, “you’re young”. WELL NO SHIT SHERLOCK! What the fuck has age got to do with anything? I am talking about the future… What about then? What if I’m still not happy then? I already feel stupidly insecure and dumb for losing sleep over a simple what if question and shit like that honestly doesn’t put my mind at ease in the slightest. Sorry to be the dramatic villain, I know people just try to help. But maybe we should all learn to listen just to… you know… listen? Sometimes we listen to reply. Dish out unwanted advice just to stroke our ego. Sometimes advice isn’t what I am seeking. I’m difficult, I know.

But there it is again… Can you hear it?

Another lonely 3am.

What if I never get to be happy? What if that isn’t in the cards for me? Does it mean that all this would be for no reason? I am suffering for no reason… Working tirelessly through an eternity of days I do not want to live through just to build a foundation in hopes of a bright future when the weatherman is predicting dark clouds and thundering storms for the rest of my breaths. Oh God… Oh God…OH GOD this is all for nothing. Pass me the rope. Let me end it now.

Fuck, I hate these sleepless nights. These thoughts do not stop. There is no dam, they just flood in and I drown. I drown in my thoughts. I drown in my tears. I drown in the liquor hidden under my mattress.

Then, I wake up the next morning, not remembering actually falling asleep. Puffy eyes, swollen nose, swollen lips. Plaster a smile on my face and get on with my day… My thoughts just at bay. Banging. Pounding. Heaving. At the seconds that count down to 3am.

Then he called me a hoe

*TRIGGER WARNING*

I won’t go into context of how two people may end up in this situation, it’s not important and plus it varies. I’ll just delve straight into the moment.

Girls, I’m sure a lot if you have been here before.

Guys, I’m sure a lot of you will be triggered.

“Stop!” she sighed while dodging his kisses and moving his hand as he tried to wiggle them into her jeans. They had repeated this play at least five times within the last ten minutes. Maybe her no wasn’t adamant enough? Again, she rehearsed her giggled sigh as she brushed him off and rolled over to the edge of the bed, “Stoppppp it uhhh.”
It was beyond her as to why he couldn’t just keep his hands to himself.

“So man can’t you touch you nah?” he whined, playing on emotional guilt, “I ain’t tryna do nothing. Moving like I’m a rapist. Allow it”.

Somehow he managed to make her feel guilty for not wanting to be touched. After a while she gave up rejecting his neck kisses and reluctantly allowed his hands to wander. Every touch felt like ice. As he was busy slobbering away and staining every part of her body with his kisses, she had to hold back tears. This is not what she wanted. “But if this was not what I wanted, I shouldn’t have come” she thought, trying to reason and convince herself that it was her fault. Funny that, because as he climbed on top of her and proceeded to fumble with the buttons on her jeans, she recalled how many times she forewarned him that sex was not on the cards before they met up.
“What are you doing?” She blurted. Her body froze as his fingers slipped into her vagina. Too busy consumed by her thoughts and battling things over in her mind, she hadn’t even realised his hands had travelled so far down south. Too late.

She let him continue for a minute, body frozen, eyes closed wishing herself far away. Suddenly, she felt the urge to shove him off. He sulked. He genuinely looked wounded and confused. Why was he confused? Just when it seemed like he was ready to call it quits, throw the towel in and finally leave her alone, he hits her with, “I’ll just finger you and that’s it. Then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”  Fingering isn’t so bad right, she can let him get away with that? Right??? 

Again, she decided to lose herself in her thoughts. She wondered how he couldn’t read her body language- how could he not tell that she really wasn’t into it? Did he really think he if he was persistent he’d ‘change her mind’ and ‘turn her on’? So many thoughts ran through her head. “I just want him to leave me alone.” her thoughts recycled, “I just want it to be over and done with”. Every time his boner dug into her pelvis she felt a chilling shiver ripe with disgust shoot straight up her spine.
By the time he started pulling down his trousers and stretching her knickers to the side, she had little energy to stop what was about to happen. She simply crossed her legs. He argued her pussy was wet and therefore she was turned on. She repeated that she didn’t want to have sex. He sulked. She felt bad. She felt obliged. He won. As she “voluntarily” opened up her legs to him, as she gave her body to him, her soul blackened. This was not what she wanted. Regardless of her “consent”, this is NOT what she wanted. She hated herself. She wished she was strong enough to say no, walk out of the room and go home. Why didn’t she?

His persistence and nagging and touching and slobbering and entitlement and touching and nagging and touching and touching and slobbering… it worked. Not in the way he thought it worked however. She was not turned on, she was not willing. Instead her consent was coerced, it was cold, it was reluctant. Was he to know she was not playing coy to ‘free it up’ and that she really meant every “stop” no matter how playful her tone sounded now that she let him inside her? After all, if she really didn’t want it, she would’ve kept saying no and not allowed him to do anything- he used no physical force. Right? Right????

Her arms rigid by her side, her eyes firmly shut and her stomach in knots, as he pleasured himself. He asked her questions, she didn’t respond. He folded her in different positions, she passively obeyed. At least he was enjoying himself. She wasn’t. How could he possibly enjoy having sex with someone who visibly wasn’t enjoying it? She couldn’t wait for it all to be over. Hopefully after he finished, they could go back to normal and actually chill together like she intended.

He rolled off her. Then fell asleep. She tried to cuddle, he pushed her away. Lucky him, she couldn’t manage to sleep, she felt horrid. So she laid there on her back, still as can be, staring at the ceiling and finally allowing the tears to fall and crash on the pillow case. Eventually, he woke up, kissed her forehead and ordered food. Relief, everything was okay. They watched movies and ate, he was normal and chatty and she prayed he didn’t notice her awkward demeanour towards him. She liked him. Despite what had just happened, she did like him.

On her way home, she smiled as messaged her girl’s group chat telling them about how nice he was. No mention of sex. She wanted her friends to like him, she needed approval.

Funny that, because as she left, he quickly sent a voice message to his group chat and proceeded to tell his friends how he fucked her on the first link. Jokingly arguing with his friends as they collectively branded her a hoe, not knowing how their boy had to beg and plead and hassle and force for the beat.

Why did she find herself aggressively scrubbing her skin in the shower, trying to get the touch of him off her? The water pouring masking her tears. If only she could drown. She liked him. Yet, there she was disgusted with herself for ‘allowing’ him to have sex with her. She was conflicted. She felt dirty. She felt like nothing.

“But I consented” she reminded herself, “so I have no business crying and complaining.” I guess in many ways some people would agree with her… So she stepped out the shower, took a deep breath, wiped away the tears and smiled at her sad reflection in the mirror. Checked her phone to see if he had replied to her last message. Opened message. No reply.

She didn’t know then that she’d find herself checking her phone consistently only to see those same two blue ticks staring back at her, taunting her, laughing at her. Hoe.

[DISCLAIMER: I am not giving my verdict on what to call this scenario because I want YOU to decide. I just want to give you insight into the implications of your actions. I want you to understand. I need you to understand]

Hiatus 

I believe everyone has some form of existential crisis. Where you don’t know where you’re going or where you want to go. It’s like you’re just existing but not living. Numbing. It’s a point of neutral. Lukewarm feelings. Lukewarm emotions. Nothing stirs you and you’ve come to a standstill. The momentum is gone, the drive is obsolete. You don’t know where to begin, how to start… you don’t even know if you want to anymore. But you try anyway. Because life keeps moving in infinity and even though you’re getting by, you find yourself in the same spot. You’ve spent your whole life trying to figure out your significance- your purpose. Just when you think you’ve got it, you’re sorted… you find yourself second guessing. Life isn’t enough. The world owes me nothing, I get it. But what worth am I to this world? I’m not needed. In the depths of my heart I know I’m nothing special. I want to be needed. I want to be special. Life is passing me by and I feel as trapped as those working dead-end non-gratifying jobs. Midlife crisis at twenty? Spare me. I’m bored of life. I’m bored of feeling this way. Perhaps I’m even more bothered about not having things figured out right now because I don’t plan to be here much longer. I pray nightly that my time on this earth will be brief. So if I’m gonna live life, I need to start living now. I remember a time I used to look forward to things. Times where I couldn’t sleep at night due to pure excitement and anxious anticipation. Where did those feelings go? I want them back. I was never a happy child, but I still had vibrant emotions. I miss it. I stopped looking forward to a future when I realised I was never going to get what I want. People will ask me how and the story is in my scars. Life keeps reminding me that I am not enough. I’ve seen the reality of those who were fated to be alone. My stomach twists knots tighter than a boy scout. I feel sick. Because something… something keeps yelling at me from the dark corners of my mind that that’s my fate. Every time I allow myself to even think otherwise, life sends me another reminder to knock me down. It’s like all my life I encounter people who want to abuse me. So much so, I started abusing myself. I don’t want to be alone. But alas, it seems like that’s what’s in store for me. It’s the simpler solution to accept and conform to my reality than dream of another. It drives me crazy. My heart aches. I don’t want to be sold anymore dreams. I don’t want to keep feeling like this. You see, I know all the things I don’t want- but what do I want? What’s left for me if my deepest heart’s desire will not be fulfilled? I don’t know where I’m going, I’ve lost all sense of direction. My existence keeps getting smaller each day. In this world of billions of somebodies I feel like a nobody. Insignificant me. Nothing keeps that flame burning anymore. It’s dwindling. I just have to refocus. I need a break from myself. I need a hiatus.

The Past

You can’t run. You can’t hide. You can’t erase it. 

Know that now.

Hiding proved pointless, how can you hide from something that’s already with you, part of you?

I thought that if I never talked about things that happened to me in the past, I would get over it. I thought if I just ignored my past, it’ll go away. If no one knew about my history, well, it didn’t happen… right? Wrong. It did happen. It happened. It happened. It happened.

Running didn’t work, it caught up to me. Years of silence shattered and I ended up picking up the jagged pieces to etch my story on my skin so deep the scars are imprinted and indented. I ran and ran from it, denied it, disaccociated myself from 8 year old me, then 14 year old me, then 17 year old me. My past always caught up to me and tagged me, now I found myself in a daunting playground with all the kids running away from me because I was “it”, I had the lurgies. I was alone and isolated.

Hiding proved pointless, how can you hide from something that’s already with you, part of you? Everywhere I went, the memories followed. The nightmares. The guilt. The scars. There was no hiding. My past simply tapped me on the shoulder and shrieked, “I found you!” As if we had been playing a game of hide and seek. My hiding days had come to an end and now it was my turn to seek out what hid in the shadows and corners of my mind.

My subconscious wouldn’t let me get away with it.

Well what if that one thing never happened? What if I didn’t make that one mistake? What if I just erase it from memory? All the what ifs and fantasy alternate universes drove my crazy to a point in my life where I lost my grip on reality. No longer could I distinguish between the lies I had fed myself and actual events that had occurred. I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t know how to heal. I just wanted to forget it all; Every bad thing that happened to me, every bad thing I had done. But I couldn’t. My thoughts taunted and teased me. Memories and recollections piecing back together things I didn’t want to remember. Stalking me, pestering me.

It’s funny because more and more all these cliché sayings are so relevant in my life.

“MAKE IT STOP!!!” I remember screaming this through my screeching sobs, at my Head of Sixth Form in his office. Poor guy. Probably had no idea I was this way or what on earth I was referring to. But I knew. I was made to face it. My subconscious wouldn’t let me get away with it.

I’ve done some stupid things and made some awful decisions that I will never confess to a soul, only to the wind, sun, moon and stars. Things I wish I never did. Things I cannot change. Things I’m ashamed and embarrassed to admit to, even to this day. But I’ve had to forgive myself. It’s funny because more and more all these cliché sayings are so relevant in my life. The ones we all roll our eyes to when someone is trying to console us. (Tamsyn please don’t say it)… Nah, I’m gonna say it. TIME HEALS. There. I said it. Time actually can heal.

You need time to process things, to accept what happened, analyse it then you can move on. I can’t promise anything, there is no guarantee in this life except death. Scratch that, I can promise you this, it won’t be easy. I’m sorry if that isn’t a comforting reality, but it’s the reality. Fuck it. Another promise, it gets easier. Learning to move on gets easier, it gets better, it’s worth it. Once I realised this, I stopped anchoring myself, painfully attached to my past while trying to escape it.

Loving yourself is YOUR responsibility.

Know yourself. Know who you are. Know what you want. 

Accept your past, it happened and you can’t change it, you cannot erase it. So no, you didn’t delete that person off your “bodycount”. Draya, you fine woman, hoeness cannot be deleted. Sorry. No, you can’t take the hurtful words you hurled back. No, you cannot just neglect your deviant past. I’m sorry you were hurt, abused, touched in certain places- trust me, I can relate. It’s happened to me. But it’s part of my life story and I refuse to omit it. Every little detail of your life, right from birth has shaped you. All those insignificant moments you’ve probably forgotten, they’ve had an effect. Loving yourself is YOUR responsibility. The world may not forgive you or accept your past. Labels will forever be stuck to your back, don’t let society define you.

If you need someone to talk to, please find a person you trust. You don’t have to journey alone- I don’t. Learn from the past, better your future. Don’t trap and lock yourself in a cage roaring of doubt, death and despair. They’ll devour you. Okay, enough alliteration (was neat though right?) You’ve got the key! We have so much potential but some of us can’t move forward because we have unfinished business in the past. Resolve it and prosper.

Nothing but good energies people.

Happy 20th birthday to me! 29.01.17

Stay blessed,

The Rose xo

I Want To Die

What do you call someone who wants to die but isn’t necessarily suicidal?

I mean, I just do not want to live. I cannot explain it, this feeling has lingered for as long as I can remember. Eight years old jumping from my bedroom window thinking that was enough to kill me. Twelve years old eating a bit of rat poison with my meals thinking it was going to be enough to kill me. Sixteen years old cutting myself deeply with a blade on my thigh because that day in my science lesson I learned that there was a main artery located there. Eighteen years old taking enough pills to have me hospitalised and then sectioned under the mental health act- again. I share this freely with you simply because I no longer care. But now, I have reached a stage of growth where I do not want to kill myself, I personally believe that I just don’t own that right to kill myself. Yet, I still want to die.

I anticipate my death. I embrace everyday knowing that it’s a day closer to the day I will cease to exist on this earth. Yes, I am simply waiting to die. And I can’t help but feel this way. No matter how great my life is going right now, I can’t shake this feeling off. How do I explain this to the people that love me the most without upsetting them? Please understand that this is not a sad feeling, or one filled with despair or self-pity. It’s unexplainable, but if I were to associate one word with it, I’d describe it as a comforting feeling.

There have been days where I fantasise about dying. Reading through suicide pact forums, researching ways to die quickly, writing suicide notes etc. Like, I enjoy flirting with the idea of suicide. Ask me how I will kill myself and be prepared for a dissertation on 1000 ways to die. I am disgusted with myself. I feel sick. Am I sick? What type of person doesn’t want to live? Sometimes I truly do despise myself for feeling the way I do. Everyone says I have so much potential, and it’s not even like I don’t see this for myself. Quite simply, it makes no sense. And that’s exactly the reason why it hurts so much, it’s so suffocating living every day wanting to die. You know, my parents will ask me about my future plans, kids, marriage, career, the works and I’d engage in detailing my plans for the future and how I’m going to achieve all of this. Truth is, it’s all a lie, it’s all rehearsed. I tell them mainly things they want to hear with just-about-enough elements of rebellious/non-conforming ideas, to seem genuine to them. I cannot imagine life past the age of 27. I literally see nothing.

I have spent nights trying to envision my life at 30 and I can’t. My mind fades to a fuzzy grey like when your tape on the VCR goes all crazy and static and refuses to play. In my head I frantically press the play button, then the pause, switch it on and off, wind the tape, blow on it, dust it, pressing play till it becomes all too exhausting and I switch it off together. By that point I find myself in tears. I see no future for myself. And I’ll never stop asking myself why.

I realise to a lot of you this sounds so silly. Firstly, I don’t care. However, I do agree. It sounds silly. But to me, it’s all too real. This is the reality I live in. 

Well, I’m still hopeful that the same way I have overcome the urge to commit suicide, is the same way I will get rid of this scent of death that follows me and has embedded itself in my mind. Because life is so great for me at the moment and I have just begun seeing the beauty of it. I’m beginning to love myself and I really see no reason as to why I should still feel like I want to die. I’m just existing for now, and that’s okay. I’m okay with that- for now. But I look forward to day that I start living. Everyone keeps pointing out improvements in my attitude towards life and how much more positive I’ve become. I want to spread good energies and in order to do that I must generate good energies. It’s literally just this daft sense of wanting to die that holds me back from being the person I really want to be.

I am not sad, nor am I happy. It’s odd because sometimes I feel everything and nothing at the same time. Unexplainable. But I’m beginning to like that about me, I like the fact that I can never be fully understood, figured out or solved. The element of the unknown, it’s intriguing, no? I shall stress again, I AM NOT SAD. I am not suicidal. I am simply waiting to die. That’s the point I am at in life. Nothing is set in stone, feelings change and shift and recycle. My journey isn’t over.

Good energies.

Wishing you healing, peace and growth. Love,

The Rose, xo

World’s End

I refuse to allow myself to be sad for too long. I will no longer dwell in the dark abyss of my mind. I will always run towards the light, no matter how far, no matter how small.

Today, I don’t feel like living anymore. Each breath is in vain and time’s melody counts down to my death. I can’t wait to kiss her lips as she draws the very life from my body, till it’s limp and- on this forsaken earth- Tamsyn will cease to exist.

My mind taunts me, every passing second seems like a mockery. Am I still considered suicidal even though the thought of suicide no longer comforts me, it’s no longer a possiblity? I will not die by my own hand. I am just simply waiting to die. For now, that’s okay.

Today just happens to be one of those days you know? I’m fed up and I wish I could give myself a rational reason to even feel this way. Thoughts in my head work against me, how is it that I make myself so sad? I want to stop, I’ve tried to stop. Understand that is not as easy as just thinking happy thoughts, if that were the case, I’d be a happy person. Oh, I live for that feeling of “happy”!  I savour every joyful moment. Time slows and repeats in other parallels for in those moments I am paralysed with laughter till my lungs feel as if they are about to explode.

Enemy. My enemy is internal. There is conflict within me. Everyday my thoughts are clouded by gas bombs and thick smoke from the aftermath of C4 explosions, residue of bad memories rain down and the skies are blackish, grey. I ignore it. But I warn you. A storm is brewing. I fight back, the darkness fights harder. I attack, the darkness counters. I never lose, yet I never win. It’s a stale battle. Mutually assured destruction. The coldest war in the backdrop of my happy thoughts. It’s tiring. I want it to stop and I know it won’t stop and my mind continues to wander and the darkness continues to creep and my fears continue to manifest, yet the sun keeps shinning.

Even today, at my world’s end, the winter sun shone. So I will keep to my word and keep on running towards the light. There was a time when I saw no light at all. Tomorrow and tomorrow’s morrow awaits me. I am grateful to be blessed with the possibility of a new day and in turn, the possibilities of new happy moments. There is hope.

And well done to us, anyone like me, for surviving through all those days we never even wanted to face. Living through days we never even wanted to be alive for.

We are gladiators. Warriors. Give yourself some damn credit, you deserve it. As my friend once said, “sometimes living is the harder option.”