I thought I’d succeed this time .
I’d die reciting poetry under my favourite duvet ..
Perhaps listening to music.
Nearly ended up sectioned .
Making the most of a new day.
No serious damage except to my ego.
I’ve never felt so ashamed at failing to take my own life as this attempt.
Why ? Cos I’m still fucking here.
Apologising to people for not wanting to be here.
Time to keep going.
Moving to a new home is a priority..
This house is a poltergeist.
It feeds my need to keep bleeding.
I love my husband
My mommy & daughter.
3 good reasons to state that I’m
She gets on with life as a wannabe music journalist,
She’s a charismatic kinda gal.
She likes chilling on Sundays,
She likes reading in the week.
She likes to contemplate owning a goat.
But when she starts to daydream,
Her mind turns straight back to her cat-Tatty Anna
Sometimes I look at her and I look into her eyes,
I notice the way she idolises about Tatiana with a smile,
sensual lips she can’t disguise.
But she thinks it’s GOAT making her life worthwhile.
Why is it so hard for her to decide which she loves more?
She likes to use words like ‘eish man
She likes to use words like ‘sorry.’
She likes to use words about GOAT finds
But when she stops her talking,
Her mind turns straight back to Tatiana having a heart attack.
She likes to hang out with Pinkie
She likes to kick back with Belle,
But when left alone,
Her mind turns inwards she obsesses over losing her Tats
She’s not too fond of gossip,
She really loves cheesecake & wants a goat
But she just thinks back to Tatiana
And she’s happy once again. knowing she is owned.
I had nothing prepared to blog about in my mind. Again – I thought. No inspiration to type anything.
I’m finding out my inspiration comes from reading your posts!
So thank you.
Her child hood scars remind me of my own scars.
One scar I have is huge – it almost wraps all the way around my upper wrist -it is 2-3 cm wide. Indented, It reminds me of a dried up river.
Before I continue…
Domestic abuse & Toxic relationships
Rape -NO means NO.
I’m going to state the obvious here.
Domestic violence is a relationship fucks about with your mental health, whether you love the person or not.
Toxic relationships have usually tipped me over into using shitty coping mechanisms like drinking too much, taking drugs, overdosing and not managing my medication or my eating disorder and Bipolar.
So back to the blood river scar.
One night- no
Another night of heavy drinking and arguing, I found me in a house -not mine- that looked like a slaughterhouse. all dirty browns. There was a rusty scent of blood impossible to ignore.
Every time I inhaled, the scent would drip down the back of my throat like a tap -I could taste it too.
I had mixed copious amounts of alcohol with my medication and all I remember is trying to push my ex away with my left hand ( I am left-handed) , he grabbed my arm and I struggled back.
a massive shard of re-enforced window glass- barbered- poking out of my right arm.
the back of my exes legs and back running up the stairs.
WHERE IS THE ORANGE JUICE?
WHERE IS THE GLASS?
WHERE IS MY EX?
An arm coated thick with blood. I wear it like an accessory
Blood makes noise.
I hear screaming.
Ex reappears and tries to grab me.
I try to run away.
I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE.
Why is my ex naked?
In the middle of the street?
Rolling on the floor with me- trying to muffle my screams with his hand. Trying to stop me from running away...
MIND FUCKERY at its best.
“Look what you have done…” ex says.
6 hours later – location: hospital.
The doctor asks to speak with me in private. My ex doesn’t want to leave my side.
I don’t say anything. quack quack! quack quack! quack quack! the word on a loop…
“What happened?” he wants to know.
“We don’t know. We were drinking. I can’t remember. It was an accident.” my ex speaks for us.
My head bows down,it almost appears as if I am nodding. I can’t quite remember.
What I do remember feels like I have made it up, it is so detached from my mind and emotions. It is about as close to me as Pluto or Saturn.
3 days in hospital my ex never left my side.
Not even to go home to wash or brush his teeth.
I wasn’t alone- my mother was with us too.
I was high on morphine for the pain.
Why didn’t they operate sooner?
Did they want to monitor me?
three days later… I’m being wheeled on the hospital bed- away from the stale, coughing ward…
“countback with me from 10,” says the anaesthetist.
“ 10 , 9 ,8 ……“
“1”. my eyes burst open. I gasp a breath. It is like I’ve been living in a home made sac filled with half shallow water and half air .
I look down at the art work the surgeon has done.
No more blood .
re stuffed re patched, re covered ,
by a micro surgic hand.
Back to the carnival freak show.
I enter his home – a massacre.
Dry blood everywhere.
If only it could serve as a reminder of what actually happened that night.
“I don’t remember” the ex says.
How can he and I not know?
Every time I look at my scar I am reminded of the chaos that was my life for 4 years.
This scar says –
This scar reminds me to NEVER be silent in the name of so called love or a sense of loyalty to one who claimed to love me so much he would do anything to keep me.
When I left him, I did not take his threats seriously.
What he did next gave serious competition with the scar I see .
That everyone can see.
Toxic relationships result in severe loss – sometimes that means your life.
Think carefully about what and who your life may include.
I was re born again on the 06/05/2015.
The day the court ordered social services out of my life.
The day that my ex turned his back on me, is they day I realised I had been holding my breath for years.
I had forgotten how to breath. I might have been dead- a wanderer.
06/05/2015 -I remembered not only how to breathe again but why.
Life -not just my own but that who is of me.
Life is precious
Life is my responsibility