I don’t even know anymore.

I think about death, so much, I’ve tried to end my life, and I have no doubt that I will again, and maybe one day, I won’t be so useless.

Or, my time will come naturally, either way death is a part of life. Even though the thought of death often fills my mind. I’m terrified, even though my fear is decreasing, I hope it never stops.

It’s ironic because I’m worried no one will remember me, I haven’t done anything remotely worth remembering. The world will keep spinning and the people consumed in their lives will keep on living, which is hilarious because it’s what’s happening now. I’m so confused about myself. What am I doing? Where am I going? WHAT AM I EVEN THINKING?

It’s like, I was born backwards. It’s like it’s a one-way-street, everyone is going in the right direction, sometimes making a few wrong turns, but getting back on the road, while I’m being pulled, kicking and screaming by something that I can’t see or comprehend, sometimes just letting it drag me, others, I’m grabbing to people, begging, pleading.

It’s like I have this inability to communicate, like being born backwards is making me talk backwards, no one is understanding me and they are just looking at me confused before they move away or leave. They always leave.

Posting what I was feeling used to make me feel, now the only thing I feel is numb. I have no energy. My body is tired, my mind is exhausted. What’s the point of talking if we cannot even speak the same language. I cannot even say I have lost my will to fight, because I don’t even think I had it to begin with.

I do not wish for someone to understand, my body aches at the thought of this, simple because, if you can understand me, you feel it, live it, too. Which is upsetting, because I don’t want anyone to hurt. I want to see people smile, even though I’m not included.

It’s bittersweet to be dragged down, while I’m accepting my fate, I feel comfort in knowing that, someone, any face that is looking right through me, is feeling life. 

Everyone believes in something. I believe in hope, it’s what gets me through the day, but even more so at night.

I hope that I never lose hope. 


A perfect stranger.

A progress update.

When blogging for my own mental health, and exploring my thoughts and emotions was first suggested to me, I rolled my eyes. I can barely speak a word that I’m thinking, without the possibility of myself sounding like a simpleton.

I know what I want to say, I think about it, but it’s almost like the words come out backwards, or in slow motion. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain, and probably harder to understand.

But anyway, since attempting to blog to help my expression, my mental health. I have honesty met, well spoke to, the most amazing people that have ever graced my presence.

From a young age, I, personally was taught to hate a perfect stranger, to assume the worst. Everyone is guilty until proven innocent, but one thing blogging has shown me, is that I was completely wrong. There is such thing as a perfect stranger.

And what I mean when I say “perfect stranger” is someone completely unknown to me, meaning that their persona, their raw beauty, is perfect. It’s only until we communicate when we make first impressions and understand their personality.

I was so consumed in my own opinion, of what I thought everyone was like (yes, I categorised) that I never gave myself a chance to get to know someone, because I never allowed them the opportunity to prove me wrong.

But, following the selection of blogs that I do, reading them, commenting, thinking. I started to realise, that I was the one stopping my own progression, I was hurting my communication. I was mentally hurting myself.

A blog I follow, has been the only thing I have ever experienced that allowed me to provide relatable and understandable information that was surprisingly education about my mental health, allowing the strain I cause on my family to decrease.

Having a text book, and clinical facts isn’t always a way someone is going to be easily able to understand the information given to them. Until reading this specific persons’ blog, I was convinced there was no other words or ways the information can be delivered. I’m so thankful that this person, let themselves be raw, and shine a light into a dark place.

I frequently spoke to a woman who was a sociopath, who completely blew my mind, with nothing but brutal honesty and intelligence, helping me open my eyes to situations that were clouding my head, she is a constant support network for me, and I value every inch of advice, criticism and respect she provides for me, which she did, not because she thought she had to, because she wanted to. I’m forever thankful for the kindness of this woman, I’m not sure if she knows how much she has helped me understand the situations I face.

Another opinionated blog I really enjoy, not because of his popularity, because of his honest, confronting and real posts. All thought, aside from a few comment replies, we have never really spoken well enough for me to learn something from his personality shown in his communication, the subject with his blogs provide enough.

He shows me a personality trait that I seriously lacked, free-thinking.

For those that are wondering, Wikipedia defines free-thinking as (below)
Freethought or free thought is a philosophical viewpoint which holds that positions regarding truth should be formed on the basis of logic, reason, and empiricism, rather than authority, tradition, or other dogmas.

His brain is always ticking, I’ve barely read a post before another one has been written, all differing in topic, size and opinion, and I am completely in awe. I was completely blinded to the fact that logic and reasoning should be large factors in my opinions, this blogger also showed me, (over the times I stalked his communication with his followers) that it is possible for two opinions to be different, one person isn’t always necessarily correct, or incorrect. I know, this may seem logical and simple to you, but my brain functions differently.

Also, I have a follower, that is a beautiful soul, that has showed me that it is completely possible to care about someone you have never met. If she asks me if I am okay, I feel nothing but sincerity, and she cared about the answer. I just assumed that people asked if you were okay, to seem polite. It wasn’t heartfelt, and the answer wasn’t important.

While it may seem silly to you, that these perfect strangers have provided so many life lessons that I should already have, I know, and I understand.

I lacked the guidance and understanding to learn these simple things.

I can feel my being becoming a better person, all because strangers allowed me to see into their lives, exposing themselves in their blogs, unintentionally providing me with valuable information that I was greatly needing, and the best thing? Some of them don’t even know how they have assisted in changing my life. They were just being them, being perfect strangers.

My opinions have the human mind, and the kindness of people have completely changed. I no longer assume that someone unknown is guilty until proven innocent, and I also believe that everyone has a lesson to teach, we just have to ask the right questions, and look in the right places.



It’s certainly interesting when people find out I’m a drug user, (I don’t have specific drug of choice, it all depends on my mood, ranging from H, to acid)

Some people are surprised, some denial, and others, well I have lost “friends” to say the least.

Regardless of their reaction, and their judgment, they all ask the same question, which is usually blurted out in nothing short of confusion and curiosity, maybe even some care?

Some assume, that I self medicate, or that I want to die, want to hurt myself, that I hope I overdose.

Some assume it’s pure stupidity, not that I disagree with that assumption.

Up until recently, I also found it difficult to explain, especially because I don’t use in a party setting very often, it’s regularly by myself, which also lead to their confusion, and fuelled the assumptions that I was trying to hurt myself, or self medicate.

Unable to give an acceptable answer as to why, I would just always say no. Especially if they asked if I was planning on stopping, which made them assume I was a hardcore addict.

Sometimes I would agree, that I am addicted, not to a specific drug, but for what happens, which makes little to no sense for someone who hasn’t used.

So, I decided to put serious thought into it, not just so I can explain myself, or maybe justify my actions to others, but to understand why I do it.

I’m not trying to hurt myself, even though I fully understand the dangers, the risks, the damage the various drugs I partake in can cause, I don’t want to use drugs to kill myself.

I don’t self medicate with drugs, I’ve been down that road, and from my experience, it made living with Bi-polar extremely worse.

I’m an addict in the sense, that I enjoy it, I don’t need it to survive, to function. So after going over my answers, and questioning myself as I do best, I realised..

I do drugs, because I like to lose my mind. I enjoy feeling out of control, or a different version of myself, not because it provides artificial happiness, because it provides me with a moment where I can see things from a different perspective, I can think, without judging myself, or bullying myself. Different drugs provide me with different emotional thought processes, and euphoria, but they all provide me with a sense of losing my mind.

I can understand that my reasoning may not make sense, I don’t expect people to understand, until you live a life where your own mind is your enemy, it can be releasing to lose it.

Which is peculiar, because while I love the high, I prefer the come down, where the drugs are leaving your system, and the high is passing, my body may ache, but I feel myself coming back into reality, with what I can relate to as, a fresh of breath air. Allowing my mind to get lost, and give me momentary peace and artificial happiness. I find myself more capable to see the “good” around me, I feel I appreciate myself, and things more, even if it only lasts a day, or a week.

I could almost use the analogy, that my brain is a battery that has gone flat, all I need is a jump start, and I am able to perform for a little while longer.

I know, someone out there reading this, is probably not making any sense of my answer, and that’s completely okay.

We all have something that helps us get through the day, but even more so at night.

While I am expressing my personal opinion on my drug use, I do not condone drug use, or am I making an attempt to glorify it.

If you feel like you are dependant on substances, it is okay to seek help. Your life is important, and while I am sharing my thoughts on my personal use, do not think that the same process will happen to you. Drugs are illegal and dangerous. I am aware of the damage I am doing to my body, and if you are not a user, the damages are not worth the risk of hoping to reach a state similar to mine. Drug addictions can ruin your life, and turn a bad situation into a worse one, so whatever you are going through, please know you do not need to rely on substances, there are people who care, and people who will help. Please understand that if you are not a user, it is certainly not worth the risk, and while I enjoy it, and continue I do wish, I never started.


Being me.

Imagine, just for a moment, there was a bee stuck inside your head.

You can hear it.
You don’t know why it’s there.
You can’t get it out.
And it will never stop.
Only you can hear it.

Imagine, how insane you will begin to feel, experiencing this over, and over.

Now, imagine, trying to explain the bee in your head to someone. Imagine how it would feel as you watch their facial expressions change, ranging from humour, to confusion. How frustrating it is, all the while that bee, is just getting louder and louder.

When you reach a state of mania, consider how insulting it can be, to hear the people you have told about your bee, question it more.

but, how can you have that bee, if you’re happy? You can’t just pick and choose when you hear the bee, I’m not sure there is a bee at all.

Sometimes, that bee is my friend. Sometimes, that bee has the ability to make me hyperactive, and full of love, and life. That bee fills me with the desire to buy and do everything, at once! The bee controls my sexual desire, helping me feel sexy and attractive. That bee shows me just how exhilarating things can truly be. I feel like I can do anything and everything!

But most of the time, that bee is determined to kill me make me hate myself, completely.

That bee gets louder, more frequent, and I begin to feel irritated, frustrated and full of rage, that bee shows me how uncontrollable I can be. I want to hurt you, I want to hurt me, I want to hurt the world.

The bee never shuts up. The buzzing pushes me into the darkness of my own mind, where madness carves it’s own reality, either into my skin, or into my mind.

My body, and my state of mind, consists of nothing but blackness, terror and pure undefined hate, all because of that bee.

Imagine sitting next to someone, a perfect stranger, and wishing you could have their mind, and whatever troubles they are going through, just so you could experience a life without the bee buzzing.

That bee causes me to lose my bearings. Have you ever gotten on a train, and completely forgotten where you were going because of how loud that buzzing is?

Nothing at all seems worth it, when you’ve endlessly tried to shut that cunt up.

I cannot trust my reactions, I cannot trust my thoughts, I cannot trust my being, I cannot trust myself.

That bee has caused me to forget who I am.

I hope, you never hear that bee.



dealing with rape.

There is no set guideline of dealing with sexual abuse or being raped.

It often takes years of mistakes, pain and allowing yourself to be in situations that will only further hurt you to realise that you will never get over it.

It’s only when you decide to let it stop controlling you, do you reach a state of where you are most comfortable with yourself again. Maybe then, the dreams will stop, you’ll be able to deal with sexual activity, maybe you’ll even start to understand yourself and love yourself again.

Or maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll just glide through life, rather than comfortable, but comfortably numb.

I’ve found that the only way I achieved comfortably numb was when I accepted it. When I was okay enough to say that I, was raped

you have to be strong

Bullshit, you do not have to be strong, be weak if you want, cry if you need. Hate the world, hate yourself. It’s how you heal. It’s how you learn to cope, to deal, to overcome being raped.

I stopped believing it was something I could get over and started realising it was a part of my life, there’s nothing I could do to change that, no matter how many bottles I drank, how many pills I took, how many scars I left, nothing makes it go away, but you.

You lost control, you need to take it back. Stop fighting it, stop fighting yourself.

Out of everything in my useless, pathetic life, my rape, is the only thing, that doesn’t hurt me; anymore.


Alice in wonderland.

“who are YOU?” Said the caterpillar. Alice replied rather shyly “I-I hardly know, sir, just at the present, at least, I know who I WAS when I woke up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times several times since then”

“What do you mean by that?” Said the caterpillar sternly “explain yourself!”

“I cant explain MYSELF” Alice said, “because I’m not myself, you see”

“I don’t see” said the caterpillar

I never thought, for even a moment that a quote of a child’s book, would be the literal meaning to my actual life.

Sometimes in a sad way, sometimes in a way that brings my own comfort.

I’m yet to fully understand why.

Maybe it’s because, I haven’t completely understood myself yet? or maybe it’s because I have difficulty explaining myself?

Or maybe, it’s because I think that my explanations aren’t making sense to the person asking me?

Do we ever truly know who we are?


A dress, fit for a wedding…?

I still remember when boyfriend stuttered out those words, every girl dreams of hearing, “will you marry me?” As his hands shook, opening that tiny ring box, exposing a ring that I could see that he worked hard for, stumbling his knees, I felt nothing back that cliche, magical moment without hesitation, I squeaked “yes” and for a brief moment, I thought I was happy.

Happy someone finally accepted me, that’s what you do when you want to marry someone, right? Accept them?

It was only until I had the realisation that I had to wear a dress, in front of not just my soon to be husband, but his entire family. Was I ready to let everyone see my scars? Would I get to live the dream of feeling like a princess, looking to my king as he takes my hand and makes me his wife? Or would I have to sit there, and look at my wedding pictures, knowing that I asked the photographer to photoshop what the make up isn’t covering, and feel like I’m hiding myself again, and let it eat my insides because I ruined my body?

So it left me with the same bullshit thoughts and the feelings associated with the constant battles about my self harm, and suicide attempts. Do I hide myself, like always or do I expose myself, and let the world see me? Am I actually strong enough to do either or those options?

I’m not sure, with having thought about this, if he was to ask my hand again, if I would say yes or no. He is such a beautiful man, loving, caring, gives me support like I’ve never known.

Why am I not thankful?! All my life I’ve begged and pleaded to be loved, and to be loved by someone who will never hurt me, and now I finally have it, I’m constantly questioning if I’m making the right choices
Making him, happy. A beautiful soul deserves nothing less than everything

He has talked about the infamous white dress, with nothing but passion and excitement squeezing into the pitch of his voice, giving me detailed thoughts about the moment he sees me, wearing a stunning couture gown, strapless, perfectly fitting my body.


Exposing my scars, making that beautiful dress, and that wonderful moment, tainted by my hate.

I want to be proud, stride down that isle, a woman becoming a wife, maybe I should expose myself, let his family see, let them talk, let them as questions BUT how will those questions be answered to his younger family members?

she’s sick, she has bi-polar, she can’t help it

I’m so uncomfortable with letting people see, let alone children, who’s innocence is beautiful.

Maybe I should cover up? Maybe lace sleeves wouldn’t be all so bad, I would be the same person I am right now, hidden, covered up from the world. I’m yet to find the reason why both those ideas seem so uncomfortable and depressing.

Maybe because, I feel being married is an opportunity to become a newer version of myself? Maybe it’s the day where my life actually begins.

And maybe that’s also the terrifying part? Because I will be changing? Maybe I’m terrified that I won’t change, maybe the fear is coming from the thought that it I don’t deserve it. I think, maybe, I just don’t deserve him.

Opportunities happen constantly, some rewarding, some punishing.

What helps us to decide when to take that leap of faith?


Blogging for mental health.

Who actually knew, that creating a blog would be considered as a technique to help you deal with your mental health, how things have changed.

I’m not sure if my blog is private, the app is difficult to navigate, I’m not worried, there are far too many depressing blogs out there for people to bother looking at mine, which is actually my preference.

Writing daily entries is no doubt going to be difficult for me, I can barely remember to feed myself, let alone blog, but, a girls gotta try. Right?

It’s slightly interesting that every word I type, I’m hearing it in my own voice, hmm, maybe that’s why online bullying is as terrible as people say, who knows.

Maybe this will become like my diary, I’m not sure though, I haven’t used a diary in at least five years.

Well. Here goes nothing.